This came out of some re-investigating I did on Willie Loomis' experience trying to warn Maggie Evans in "Dark Shadows". If anyone recalls, he was worried for her safety and ran to the Evans Cottage to warn her. As a result he was shot by the police who lay in waiting to discover her kidnapper. (And shot at least five times. Yikes!) He was in the hospital quite a while from these injuries before moving on to Wyndcliff Sanitarium. When he returned on the original program, to my knowledge, it was never discussed. This was why in my story "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" I addressed that between Willie and Barnabas. Both that scene and this one have been a struggle to unravel. Would enjoy some perspective on it. Thanks.

Willies Wounds

I was coming to terms with the unfortunate factor in this life that Barnabas had committed dreadful crimes due to what became of him. When I remembered everything and more was explained to me by Pop I blamed the source for it all: Angelique Bouchard. It was a better situation to consider that way. Still, I knew the anger and resentment would come out. I was yearning to release that in some way if I could as inside it was beginning to mar the happiness in my marriage and the worry that I couldn't face that was something Barnabas had been deeply concerned about as well.

I heard the shuffling of steps as I knocked on the door. Willie opened it looking like he half expected someone else, that curiousity in his face lightening as he recognized mine.

"Maggie?" he asked, "it's good to see you. You've been alone so much I was gettin' a little worried about'cha."

"It's a long story, and likely one you know about, Willie. May I come in?"

"... sure! Sure..., just have a seat here. Mind if I sit on the bed? My backside is sore from the harder chair."

I sat, "Oh... Lie down on the bed for all I care, Willie. We aren't strangers here, are we? We're family."

He snickered in his usual way, "Of course, of course... perhaps I'll just lounge back on the headboard." Then he lifted the pillow to brace his back against said headboard, and not much of a headboard, truth be told. "Now, y'look like you wanted to tell me something."

"More ask you, Willie. I... well, I've been by myself so much because of what happened between the three of us... you know... when I was kidnapped."

Willie blew a breath of air out, "Ohhh, boy. I was surprised that didn't come up before you to got married... well, I guess it did, but... not... like this?"

"No, Willie... not like this. I've been re-living it. At first it was in flashes and now we're getting distant, or I am, or I don't know. Barnabas wants me to be angry at him and I have been. But then he's so kind when I am I don't know how to let it out. I was hoping I could ask you about what happened to you... you know... when you went away after trying to rescue me from his idea of...of..."

"Of killin' ya, do you mean?" Willie finally ventured.

"Yes... and you were gone such a long time, and you'd been hurt so badly... on my account."

Willie Loomis crossed his arms, holding his elbows in his hands and leaning his head back, his eyes closing half-way, "Ya mean... while I was gone? Ya know... it was more of a dream in some ways, Maggie. Maybe I was so pumped full of medicine for the pain... y'know, them taking the bullets out of me... I gotta hard time figurin' out what really happened. I don't like to think of that, really... so can I tell ya about a bettah part of it?"

"Yes," I said, "tell me anything about it. I just need to think about you're being in the hospital and at Wyndcliff and why you were there."

When Willie Loomis explained to me the dream he had, I feel I cannot express it in his words, which are usually small and adequate, but hard to translate to anyone later.

What Willie told me was both tangibly erotic and horrifically sensual. He hadn't told it to any of the staff at the sanatorium. Why would anyone want to tell this to a working professional? One would rather tell of this to a friend. And such, I suppose, I would be. After all, it was an odd predicament we found ourselves in now. Once upon a time I had been the kidnapped Maggie Evans, hypnotized into being a poor representation of Josette Dupres. I had almost no recollection of that life in 1795 and, as my husband continues to mourn, the keys to who I was then were limited to him as well.

But what all this did for Willie Loomis provided a duality of the pathetic and strange. He'd shown himself as the likely side-car of Jason McGuire's despicable treachery. But then he became a victim to Barnabas' madness and his curse, as I did later on. It was why I came to ask him what he went through at the hospital and at Wyndcliff.

As we sat in his shabby quarters, of which I kept suggesting be changed and he insisted not, Willie Loomis explained to me, shakily, what happened when he was moved from the hospital to the sanitarium, a place we both knew well.

Perhaps it was a drug induced stupor that caused him to imagine this, or the shock of all he'd gone through. But that nurse, was as kind as any could be, from what he told me. This is why I've made the effort to reach out to her for his sake. And from what I've gathered, she's not taken undue notice toward him. He wasn't making up any flicker or gleam between them. But still, what he described terrified me. For all that, his wounds had been on my account.

My fear comes from what he said; he isn't sure if it was a dream or not. But the risk of infection on such a plight would be a concern, especially by one in the medical profession, which is without any doubt… her. He had to remain on his stomach many long days and nights to heal from bullets so pummeled into him… and, as he said, there were doors opening and shutting, lights flickering, darkness and shadow, the inability to know the difference between day and night, and for some reason, not a clock in the room that he could see.

Still, he did heal… but as he healed… something slowly took place, in arcs of time he had to cobble together in the end, so that it was like a long string of images that came in sync to form a single fantasy that fed the psyche into a shorter span of time, as he fumblingly expressed it later.

It was a moistness on his back… a warm moistness. A smooth probing that awoke him in the half light, a kissing sensation that poured over him, as a soft hand gently stroked the back of his head and neck. I could not ask him if it really was truly a dream to him. I could only pray that it was not. Something or someone was genuinely trying to sooth him, and I thanked heaven for it, even it was only an inner realm of his subconscious.

It had to be a woman, the lightness of breath that he described, the slimness of touch, the echo of sweet lips upon his ears. It stimulated him in all his uncertain mobility. It had to be more than kissing she did, as he had to describe to me that thick moistness trailing along his spine, warm but not watery, with the coolness that comes later when the air slowly moves over each damp area. Again, from what he was telling me, could it really be a dream? And wasn't this someone that had spent so much time with him? That discussed her smaller interests? That was so pleasant to us when we came looking for him?

She could hardly massage his back, as it was so tormented with the muscle splitting damage, torn skin and the metal that had to be removed… but She… according to what he experienced, or perhaps only dreamed, so lightly suckled and licked on those areas, something loving and painfully sweet. Someone, who'd known him and wanted to know him more… someone who tried to face him in the dark, but whose face he could barely make out in this memory of it now.

"Did she never kiss you, Willie?" I asked, "Didn't she speak to you, or look into your face?"

"Ya know," he answered slowly, "I thought she had… but then, I thought I felt I was… on her… and it must'a just been the bed itself."

"That's all right," I told him, "Willie, just tell me… did you try and touch… her?"

He did. He was certain she knelt to face him and he'd slipped his fingers along her jawline and they tenderly kissed. Then the way he described her lips, full and soft and almost candied, wasn't what I expected. Something just too vivid to be a dream.

That's when I knew, I had to find her and bring her here. His own description was too visceral, even for him, that that particular piece of the puzzle was only a fantasy to him? It must have happened. And then I remembered that old Willie Loomis… the mean and cruel imbecile that once snorted out insults and made improper passes at us all.

Did we ever give him credit for being able to change? And what had changed him? It was something terrible, I know, and hard to understand how something so awful, as his helplessness could alter that behaviour. Or was it also having to change who he was around most of the time? Still, when I sat, listening to him, and comparing the two, there seemed such a stark difference. I'd think of one as brusque and unfeeling as a lover, not delicate in his attempt to caress another as he was describing.

"You… you… you don't mind that I'm tellin' you all this, do ya?" he suddenly asked. I hadn't realized we'd both been silent for over a minute.

"No, no," I answered quickly, "I understand. There are always times that you want to make sure you're not imagining things… or trying to decide what was real and what wasn't."

"Do… do ya think, it… could have happened, Maggie?"

"Anything is possible… especially around here, you know. But when it comes to that… are you sure it wasn't only her cleaning you with a warm rag on your back?"

He had that usual quiet snicker, looking down, "Maggie… wash rags don't exactly pucker, do they?"

"True… but, I suppose I've got to wonder how you felt about it. Were you shocked? Or…?"

"I hafta tell ya… I got the chills, but… you know… the surprised kind… and then… the good kind."

I had to softly smile at this. Something in such a situation, that could be creepy on one hand, and beautiful on the other, seemed to fit Mr. Loomis. It had to be so beyond his experience. I found myself very grateful that in all that time someone had taken his pathetic form to her heart and perhaps could build his confidence, which he needed very carefully built up. Carefully, because I remember the cocky, un-sober Willie Loomis who was indifferent to the truth, as long as he could get something expensive out of it. I had no desire to see that man again. Who he was exploring himself to be, someone deeper, and thoughtful, was who I wanted to see, and when it came down to it, so did everyone else in a way. Who could object to such a gentle man, if indeed he could be in the end?

"Willie," I asked, "you sound so unsure where this took place. Could it have actually been the sanitarium?"

"A'course it could… if it happened, Maggie… like I said, everything is such a blur… except how she touched me… j-u-s-t the way she pressed her lips on my back… ran her fingers through my hair… and…" he faltered.

"And what? Her shadow?" I asked.

"That's not the right word for it… I think… I think," he sighed, trying to come up with it.

I waited.

"The one thing… stronger than anything else I can remember about it." His eyes had been open but they closed now, lost in the thought.

"Yes?"

"Was… her… silhouette."

We had sat there for several minutes, or perhaps only one. He was so mesmerized and I welcomed this change in him. Perhaps... all this happening was the right thing... or... No. It could make beautiful things happen, of course, but that wasn't what I came here to reflect. The bullets, the pain, the change, and how much Willie Loomis had done for the both of us, for all of us.

My heart, now circulating the blood of the beast I'd swallowed, gave me darker thoughts. Something passionate but still angry, and more angry than having the anxiety of it. I was growing determined.

"Willie," I beckoned him out of his reverie, "would you help me with something?"

"What would that be, Maggie?" he asked.

"Do we have any shackles in the byway of the cellar?"

"What? The chains? What d'yeh need those for?" Willie grew concerned, he uncrossed his ankles, switched his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. His shoes touched the ground.

"Well I don't want anything dirty... wouldn't want my bed filled with filth."

A look of incredulity formed on his face, "Well... I mean, some have been cleaned up enough to look new, but I didn't think they'd been cleaned for... for the purpose of... what is it ya wanna do?"

"Willie, how strong do you think my bed is now?"

He began to peer at me, not sure whether to be shocked or to smile, "Maggie, are you thinking of... chainin' him down?"

"Yes," I nodded, decisively, "I have to do something and he knows it."

Willie eyes widened in a semi-horror, his vest seemed to hang even looser on him as he rested his arms on his knees to face me, "How are you going to do that?"

"Wait until he's asleep," I told him, so flatly I wasn't sure I was feeling anything when I said it.

"Ya... ya... you really want to do that, Maggie?" he quavered.

"Yes, tonight while I'm still so upset. It's been surging on me, Willie. I have to throw all that outrage at him. It's burning me up not to."

Willie leaned back, lapsing his hand back from his knees and pressing them on his waist in some bafflement, "All... alright. I'll get them for you. I'm not sure how you aim to get them fixed up by tonight." He rose and stepped with a heavy tread to his door, but I caught his sleeve before he reached the knob.

"He's resting down stairs. He's very tired over this, I'm sure, fades in and out of consciousness. I'll bring him upstairs when we're done putting it together and let him believe things are better. But can you get something for me afterward?"

"Sure..." he sighed, " what else do you need?"

I tried to catch his eyes so he knew I meant it, "A very large bucket of ice."

What came from his shake of sandy hair and uncertainty could have fooled others as laughter, but it didn't fool me.

"Maggie..." he uttered, "you ain't foolin' around... are ya?"

"No," I said, a cold wrath starting to take over now, "I'm not. And believe me Willie, I'm not only doing this for my sake anymore. I'm doing it for yours, too."

Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows notes (which you are welcome to skip) : As my radio drama became less farcical and more of a series with comedic relief while incorporating romance, drama, etc. I knew I was getting closer to bringing Willie Loomis back into the fold. I was afraid to write for him but wasn't sure why. When I delved further into his character he made me realise that not only did I have life experiences close to his but also that I understood almost all of the characters in their troubles and personal afflictions.

The more I struggled with bringing him in, the more I cared for him and didn't want to see him harmed. That's when I fell in love with him and with a thud. I'd originally left him out to give him a better Collinwood to come back to, but then found myself becoming extremely protective which may very well be something almost no other fan of Mr. Loomis has experienced. (I would be happy to be wrong about this.)

If Barnabas and Maggie/Josette have melted the 8 years of ice in my 21 year relationship with my (now) husband, Willie Loomis made the first crack in that ice. I can safely admit that, yes, Mr. Loomis (& Mr. Karlen) have given us something very precious indeed. Thanks.