The Beach House

It was nearing dawn. Angelique paced back and forth, her bloodlust growing, but her intelligence telling her it was too late to go out and find someone and that it was unwise to finish off Chad. If she could only white-knuckle until dawn, she could enter her coffin and have some respite from the horrible urges. When she had first awakened from her grave, cursed to be a vampire by the demon Ra, the bloodlust had driven her like an animal. She hated being like that and was glad to have regained some measure of composure. Still, it was terrifying even to her to crave to drink the blood of human beings.

“Hello, Miranda,” came a voice from behind her.

She wheeled around with catlike speed, poised ready to pounce. It would not have paid to attack the being that stood before her. It was Raymond Murdoch, the demon Ra in human form.

“Isn’t it enough that you’ve done our master’s bidding in cursing me like this?” she accused. “Must you also torment me with your foul presence?”

“Dear Sister,” Murdoch said condescendingly. “You hurt me with your insults.”

“I wish I could truly hurt you, Dear Brother,” she mocked.

“It is nothing personal, my dear,” Murdoch whined. “I was only doing what our master ordered me to do.”

“You know that neither one of us always does exactly what we are told. Diabolos expects a little chaos from us,” Angelique said angrily.

“How true, dear Miranda! I admit it! I enjoyed what I did and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Then you came here to gloat.” she reproved.

“Yes, and to warn you,” he said menacingly. “I don’t think you’ve done anything to steal Damien away from us, but you’d better not interfere. We know how to make your kind suffer, Miranda. I will not tolerate any interference from you. Is that understood?”

“I care nothing for your petty little plans, Ramaphos,” she taunted.

“Don’t call me that, Miranda!” he blustered.

She laughed. “I see you’re still sensitive about your past blundering.” With menace to equal his own, she said, “You’ve given me powers and protection that you have no means of guarding against. I can’t undo what you’ve done to me, but I am not yours to command. I never will be. I will not interfere with your plans, but I will not tolerate your interference in mine. I had my revenge on Nicholas Blair and I will have my revenge on you as well.”

Murdoch smiled widely. “Still the same spirited Miranda, I see. I hope you are not foolish enough to go against our master’s plan to destroy the Collins families.”

“I may not be able to stop that plan, but now that I know I have children, I will not destroy them.”

“You mean the little Collins kiddies? Well, the master was not aware that the Jennings line came through your daughter. He doesn’t keep track of such things.”

“Then you don’t know in what way Stephen and Katy are descended from me?”

“No, I don’t. Neither does the master,” Murdoch said.

“It’s perfectly logical that you are too inept to know that, but I find it hard to believe our master didn’t know. I’m sure he knew, but didn’t care. He’s not known as the Father of Lies without cause.”

“Careful, Miranda. You may not be answerable to me, but you’re still answerable to the master.”

Again she laughed. “Very true, and he’s more flattered by what I just said than anything. Now leave me alone.”

“I will leave you, Miranda, but repeat my warning. Do not interfere.”

With that, the old demon disappeared in a flash of fire.

Collinsport Sheriff’s Office

Sheriff Drew sat behind his desk with the telephone receiver next to his ear. Several officers and volunteers were scurrying around the rooms in the police station, making it hard to hear the conversation he was having.

“Thanks, Joe,” Randall was saying. “I know it’s been combed a few times before, but would you and the men you’re with check the beach again. It’s unthinkable, but sometimes in this town, when someone is that lost, we find their body washed up on the shore at some point.”

On the other end of the conversation Joe answered, “That’s a gruesome thought, Randall, but we’ll check.”

“Thanks again, Joe.”

Sheriff drew hung up the phone and rubbed his sore eyes. It had been a long night for the entire town.

As expected, the phone rang again. It had not stopped ringing all night. Some of the volunteers were screening his calls, but even with the flakes weeded out, there were still people lining up to talk to the sheriff.

He answered it, “Sheriff Drew.”

The voice of David Collins was on the other end. “Hello, Sheriff. Sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy.”

“What can I do for you Mr. Collins?”

“Well, Chris Jennings and I were with Alex Collins searching up by Eagle Hill Cemetery a while ago. He jumped up and ran off like he had some idea of where he was going and we haven’t seen or heard from him since,” David said.

“I imagine he’s pretty distraught. Bound to be acting a little odd,” the sheriff reassured.

“I know, Sheriff, but we’ve called over at Rose Cottage and they haven’t heard from him in some time and he isn’t answering his phone,” David said.

“That is odd, Mr. Collins, but parents do get that way in a crisis like this. Still, I’ll see what I can find out. Did he give any clue at all where he was going?”

“Well,” David said, “Chris and I have been discussing that. We had just mentioned about Chad Jenkins missing and speculated about there being some kind of connection. We had hardly finished the thought when Chad had run off into the darkness.”

“I see,” Randall said. “You know, somewhere here on my desk I saw a note when I came back from checking a few things out, a message from Chad Jenkins’ mother.”

He rummaged through the piles of papers on his desk and found a yellow-sticky with a note that said, “Mrs. Jenkins called. Chad is alive and working for some woman down at the Collins beach house.”

To David, Randall said, “Mr. Collins, I’m going to go check a few things out. I might have a lead.”

David said, “May we help?”

“I’ll be in touch. For the time being, just keep searching. Call if you see or hear anything from Alex,” Randall instructed and then hung up.

He called his deputy in as he stood and grabbed his hat and gloves. “Tell the phone volunteers to ask every party that checks in if they’ve seen Alex Collins and try to get a message to him to call me. Patch his call in to me as soon as he calls or if anyone can tell me his whereabouts. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it,” the deputy acknowledged. “Dr. Haskell called a minute ago and said she wanted to help, in case a doctor was needed.”

“Call her back and tell her ‘thanks’,” Randall ordered. He considered leaving it at that, but reconsidered. “Send her down to the beach to join her husband in searching down there. I hate to think about it, but we may have a drowning and that would be a good place to have a doctor on-hand.”

The deputy nodded and Randall hastened out to his car, intending to first go to Rose Cottage and talk to Eleanor Collins and Carolyn Loomis.

Evans Cottage

Dr. Maggie Haskell hung up her phone and quickly got dressed and donned her coat. Grabbing her medical bag and a flashlight, she headed out into the night. The strange visit by Laura Murdoch had been on her mind and she could not sleep thinking about poor lost Damien and her husband out searching for him. She preferred to be part of the action rather than wait.

She drove to the public parking area near Collinsport beach and started on foot north along the shore. This route was becoming much too familiar to her again. She had walked it many times growing up in Collinsport, but the most recent memories of it had not been at all pleasant. Her mind went back to when she had so recently found Joe here, once in fear and once in calmness. She remembered the cave and the secret tunnel that led into the murky blackness and on up to the Old House.

Suddenly an idea came to her that she perhaps should look there. No one else would know to look there. She stopped where she was and noted the waterline. The tide was in and the cave would not be reachable now. Earlier in the evening, though, it would probably have been accessible to young Damien, so she still felt she should check it out.

Turning back around, she returned to her car and headed towards the Old House.

Collinsport Village

Quentin had arrived in the village proper intending to report to the sheriff and volunteer to help with the search. He had offered to drop Alex off at Rose Cottage, but Alex instead preferred to be dropped off at Collinsport Inn.

It was weighing on Quentin’s mind that he had promised Angelique to not warn Barnabas about her. Could he really keep that promise? He wondered.

For the time being, it was in his best interests. It was nearing dawn anyway, and Angelique would not have enough time to move against Barnabas yet. As he had left the beach house where Angelique was, she had given him the belongings that had been removed, his planner and his cellular phone. He opened the planner and turned to the directory to the ‘R’ page. Scanning down with his finger, he located an entry for “Mrs. Miriam Rice–Chicago, Illinois.”

He dialed the number and a drowsy woman answered with a timid, “Good morning.”

“Mrs. Rice?” Quentin asked.

“Yes,” the woman responded.

“This is Grant Douglas, Mrs. Rice.”

“Oh, Mr. Douglas, I’m glad you called. Mr. Kittle said he could not reach you,” she said.

“I’ve been out of reach for a couple of days,” he said. “Did you accomplish what I paid you to do?”

“Certainly, Mr. Douglas. Your property is safe from further meddling by dark forces.”

“Good,” Quentin said, relieved. “Now, Mrs. Rice, I have another task for you, if you have experience in it.”

“What is that, Mr. Douglas?”

“Missing children.”

“Ah! Yes, I’ve located a few of them, mostly dead, sad to say,” the woman grimly boasted. “Who is the child and what are the circumstances of his disappearance?”

“The child is Damien Collins of Collinsport, Maine. That’s where I am now. He has been missing since last evening. Can you help?”

“I could fly out this morning, Mr. Douglas, if that would help.”

“It would help, Mrs. Rice, but unfortunately, I’m afraid it is more urgent than that. Can you recommend someone nearby?”

“The closest would be in Boston. I could be there almost as quickly as someone from Boston,” the woman offered.

“Is there something you can do from there?”

“You’ll need to tell me more, sir,” she explained.

“It is a long story, Mrs. Rice. Evil powers are at work and the boy is the focus. Do you know what a phoenix is, Mrs. Rice?” Quentin asked.

There was nothing but silence at the other end. Finally, a very timid voice uttered, “I don’t think I can help you, Mr. Douglas. That is far beyond my powers to deal with. The boy is the child of a phoenix, then?”

“Yes,” Quentin replied.

“Then the phoenix likely has possession of the boy,” she surmised.

“I don’t think so,” Quentin replied, but it is possible.

“Has there been a painting done of the boy’s mother?” she asked.

“I believe there has.”

“That usually means the boy is under the influence of the phoenix. If he is not with her, he is certainly doing her bidding.”

“This boy is special, Mrs. Rice. I don’t know why, but he has a reputation for insights that are far beyond even simple clairvoyance. His stepmother was telling me that he often will state things as fact that no one could possibly know and always turns out to be right.”

“The boy has a stepmother?” Mrs. Rice asked with interest.

“Yes,” Quentin said.

“What is the quality of their relationship?”

“She is slightly immature and has her hands full with her own children,” Quentin observed. “Is it important?”

“It could be. Often, if the child of the phoenix has developed an attachment to another woman, she can influence him. Of course, she would also be in grave danger if she openly opposes the phoenix.”

“I’ll remember that if it gets to that point. What about the clairvoyance?”

“The offspring of a phoenix is often latently gifted, but rarely has the opportunity to cultivate those powers. I’ve never heard of a case where one was as endowed with talent as this Damien seems to be. What is the father’s family like?”

Quentin smirked to himself. “Definitely odd, Mrs. Rice.”

“Any history of supernatural disturbances?”

“Disturbances galore!” Quentin assured her.

“It is possible, Mr. Douglas,” Mrs. Rice informed, “that the boy carries the blood of some other supernatural, corporeal being through the father’s line and that this combination of powers combines in the boy to produce these talents, where they remain dormant in the rest of his family.”

Quentin thought for a long moment. “Mrs. Rice,” he said, “If the boy were the son of a phoenix and the descendant of a high-level witch on his father’s side, would that account for this anomaly?”

“Most definitely, Mr. Douglas.”

“You’ve been most helpful, Mrs. Rice. I will be in touch. Call Mr. Kittle and arrange to fly out here as soon as possible. Goodbye,” Quentin said hastily and then hung up.

He got back in his car and turned back towards the beach, urgently wanting to arrive before dawn.

Collinsport Inn

Alex knocked on the suite door and called out, “Laura! Are you in there?”

There was no answer. He knocked again louder. “Laura! It’s me, Alex. Open the door! I want to talk to you.”

After a few moments and just as Alex was about ready to give up, someone came from down the corridor to his left. It was his ex-wife’s grandfather, Raymond Murdoch.

Upon seeing Alex, Raymond said, “Mr. Collins, my granddaughter is not here. What do you want?”

Alex was rude. “If it’s any of your business, I wanted to talk to her about our son.”

The old man ignored the ill manners. “Well, she isn’t here. I imagine she’s out searching for Damien, as you should be.”

“I have been out searching,” Alex insisted.

“Then I suggest you continue until you have found my great-grandson,” Murdoch said.

“Well, sir, it’s none of your business,” Alex said rudely, “but I just want to satisfy myself that you and your granddaughter had nothing to do with my son’s disappearance.”

If the old attorney had been ruffled by the near-accusation, he didn’t show it. “I’m quite aware, Mr. Collins, as an attorney, that non-custodial parents often abduct their children, but it is not generally like them to hang around town and wait.”

From inside another suite, someone shouted, “Could you please take your conversation somewhere else?!”

“Let’s go inside,” the old lawyer invited.

Alex was wary, but agreed.

After they entered the suite and closed the door, Alex said, “It is not outside the realm of possibilities, sir, that you have sent Damien away and are staying around to deflect suspicion.”

“True, Mr. Collins,” the old gent said. “I can do no more than assure you that we have nothing to do with Damien’s disappearance and are just as concerned about him as you are.”

It galled the old demon to be telling truth to a mortal. He always preferred to lie whenever possible.

Just then, Alex noticed standing on a table a painting that looked like his ex-wife. Going over to it, he said, “I’ve never seen this painting of Laura. It looks old, too old to her.”

“The paint is indeed old, and therefore so is the painting. It is not of my granddaughter, Laura, but of my daughter, Laura, your ex-wife’s aunt,” Murdoch explained. He was satisfied. Here was the lie he had been aching to tell.

“The one that was the mother of my distant cousin, David?” Alex inquired.

“One and the same,” he answered.

Losing interest in the painting again, Alex turned back to the old man and said, “I suppose I have no choice other than to accept your word about Damien. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll resume my search.”

“Not at all,” the old man said and let the young man out.

Collinsport Beach

Joe Haskell walked alongside two other villagers, close to the surf as the waves came rolling in from the ocean. Each held aloft a lantern. Unlike most other searchers this night, Joe hoped he didn’t find young Damien, at least not while fulfilling this morbid assignment for Sheriff Drew. He would much rather be searching places like the woods, where Damien might be found cold and scared, but alive.

His two companions decided they should fan out a little, and the three of them take different strips of beach, remaining close enough to not miss anything between them, but far enough to cover any place the boy’s body might have washed up.

Joe was given the highest ground, farthest from the water. He trudged through drier and therefore more difficult sand. As he looked back and forth in his strip of beach, he noticed the houses lined up there. Naturally, after a few minutes of walking, he was parallel with the hated house, the Collins beach house where he had once been a slave to the evil vampire, Angelique, and who only recently had held such influence over him. A cold chill passed through him. The sea breeze howled past his ears and he imagined hearing a light female voice calling his name.

“Joe!” it called. Then there was laughter. It was just the wind, he was sure, the wind and his fear of that house playing tricks on his hearing.

Despite thusly reassuring himself, he shuddered again and looked up at the house.

A light burned in the front room, something he thought was odd. Perhaps the Collins family had rented it out again. As he looked, the fear gripped him again and he stumbled, his lantern falling into the soft sand.

“Are you all right, Joe?” one of his co-searchers called out.

“Yes, fine,” Joe called back. “I have something I need to check out. You two go ahead without me.”

“OK, Joe. We’ll look for you on the way back down the beach.”

Joe looked again at what he had seen that had horrified him, just to make sure it was real. There she was, pacing back and forth in the front room of the house, visible through the window. It was Angelique!

Looking intently with his lantern, Joe located a long piece of driftwood. With his strong hands, he broke off a sharp end, doused his lantern light, and stealthily headed towards the beach house.

Collinwood Cottage

Clive Broman sat in a chair, looking at his wife’s sleeping face with concern. They had not gone to bed, but instead had spent most of the night trying various powers Ramona had acquired to help in the search for Damien Collins. She had fallen asleep while taking a break, her face leaning against a soft cushion on her chair.

Her husband was concerned because of her extensive use of phoenix powers, something that would not for long go unnoticed by his ancient adversary, Ramaphos, also known as Ra, also known as Raymond Murdoch.

He wondered when the right time would be to tell his wife who she really was. He kept the truth from her, as he had done so many times before with her ancestors, women he had met, enhanced their powers, and then unleashed them against his old foe. Generation after generation he had done this, always having to find the right woman with the right genes. He kept an extensive genealogy which he would one day show his beloved Ramona, but for now felt it was safer for her to not know what she had inherited from scores of generations of ancestors.

What was more, she had something none of them before her had. None of her predecessors had the advantage of having been changed into a being like a phoenix by the demon Ra like she had been. Ra had blundered with that move and probably knew it by now. Another thing that was different about Ramona from her ancestors was that Clive had fallen in love with her. After millennia of having lived, he was finally and completely in love. It frightened him, frightened him for her sake, because he knew his judgment was impaired by the love.

He looked at her face again, eyes closed. Her beautiful black skin pushed up against the pillow made him smile with a deep reverence. He reminisced about how much Ramona looked like her ancestor, Eugenie. He remembered the former slave so well, full of fight and self-respect. What a formidable woman she had become in her new American homeland.

On the brief trip from Martinique, she had already learned some English. She was a fast learner, as Clive would have guessed. All women of that bloodline were fast learners. Barnabas Collins had sent her and her brawny husband to Boston, with letters to rich relations there to please see to their welfare. Barnabas had dismissed the idea of sending the couple to Collinwood, where father Joshua would treat them like slaves. Joshua was firmly anti-slavery, but not in the least reserved about treating freemen like slaves. Indeed, to Joshua Collins, people, including his family members, were often little more than part of the estate. If Eugenie were to succeed in America, Collinwood was not the right place for her.

Ten years later, when Clive Broman met Eugenie, she was a well-respected member of the black community of Boston, which in late eighteenth century America, was not much, but better than most women in her position enjoyed. Her husband was not highly accomplished, but he made for a good genetic match for Eugenie, producing five good sons, which sons produced daughters, one of whom, Alexandra, Clive taught some of the ancient Egyptian ways. The poor woman had not been strong enough, or well-trained enough, to thwart Luara and Ra, then posing as a wealthy Boston attorney. Eugenie DuPres’ granddaughter had perished in a fight with Laura Murdoch Harrison, as she was called in the mid-1800′s.

Clive winced at that memory. He had done his best to train young Alexandra, but perhaps should not have allowed her to match herself against the phoenix and her demonic master. The thought made him again doubt his competency and returned his focus back to his wife. He feared for her.

All at once, his heart started to pound. He felt heat. The medallion he wore around his neck had started to heat up. Something was happening and he woke Ramona.

“My dear,” he said urgently. “Are you wearing your medallion?”

“Yes, Clive,” Ramona said groggily. “What is wrong?”

“I don’t know, but I think we have been discovered.”

“By whom?” she asked fearfully.

“Probably by Laura or Raymond,” he answered.

“What shall we do?”

“Take the ben-ben in your hands and repeat after me,” he ordered.

She complied and repeated strange Egyptian words, over and over again as he urged.

The Old House

Maggie pulled up into the driveway near the Old House. She thought it odd that the Rolls Royce was gone at this hour, but went to the door. She did not want to waken anyone, so she tried to turn the knob. It turned and the door opened. She made her way to the cellar and down into the cell which held such frightening memories for her. She shook the memories away and reminded herself that a child’s life hung in the balance.

Finding the right brick, she opened the secret door and cautiously and nervously entered the catacombed underground passages. Making her way to the tunnel that led to the shore, she called out Damien’s name as she went. Suddenly she realized how stupid it had been of her to think he would be down here. She and Barnabas were the only souls who knew about this route. How could a little boy possibly be down here?

Because of the tide, she couldn’t exit this way anyway and if he had been down here, he would have answered her calls. Then she remembered that the last time she had come through here, several weeks before, something about the place had seemed strangely cared for, as if someone had been maintaining the passages. It surely had not been Barnabas, since he had been away for many years. Then who?

The thought frightened her and she turned to go back up to the Old House. She had only taken a few steps when she heard, “Hello, Maggie,” from behind her. It was a child’s voice, and she wheeled around, and said, “Damien?”

“Who’s Damien?” asked the little girl who stood before her.

“Sarah!” Maggie exclaimed.

“What are you doing down here?” the girl asked.

“Sarah! I’m so happy to see you,” Maggie said excitedly. Even though it was disconcerting to think she was seeing the little ghost girl that had been out of her life for nearly thirty years, Maggie’s fondness for the little spirit was as powerful as ever.

“I’m looking for someone, Sarah. It’s a boy, about your age, named Damien.”

“Oh, him,” Sarah said knowingly. “He’s not down here anymore. We were playing and then he said he had to leave.”

“Do you know where he went?” Maggie asked.

“No, but I can help you look for him,” Sarah offered. “I’ve been away so long and I’d like to spend some time with you.”

“Who are you talking to, Maggie?” came a man’s voice from behind her.

Wheeling around, Maggie’s flashlight shone right into Willie Loomis’ face. He blinked and held up his hand to shield his eyes from the blaring light.

“Lower the light, please!” Willie asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Willie,” Maggie said. “I was talking to Sarah.”

“Sarah?!’ Willie said incredulously.

Maggie turned around, but the girl had gone. “Sarah!” she called out, but her voice only echoed in the passages.

Maggie turned back to Willie and said in exasperation, “I swear to you, Willie, Sarah was standing right there talking to me.”

“What are you doin’ down here, Maggie?” Willie asked, “and how did you know this place exists?”

“You forget, Willie,” Maggie said, “that I once escaped from the Old House this way.”

Willie looked surprised. “You remember that?!”

“Yes, Willie,” Maggie told him. “I remember everything, especially how you tried to help me.”

She put her hand on his now drooping shoulder.

“I’m so ashamed of everything I helped Barnabas do to you.”

“Willie!” Maggie exclaimed, “If it weren’t for you placing yourself in danger time and time again, I’d probably be dead or worse.”

“You don’t hate Barnabas, do you?” Willie asked pleadingly.

“No, strangely enough, I have a lot of empathy for him,” Maggie revealed.

“So do I. You know he did the same thing to me before he did it to you, you know, with the blood and all.”

“Yes, and Julia believes that it is why we feel the way we do about Barnabas, that we still share some kind of psychic connection with him.”

“It’s more than that, Maggie,” Willie said. “I remember some things that only Barnabas should be able to remember.”

“I do too, Willie. I do too.” She stopped a moment and decided to change the subject. It was hard on her and she was sure it was hard on Willie. “So you’re the one who keeps this place maintained?” she asked.

“I sure am,” Willie said. “It just seems like it’s part of the house to me, and keeping the Old House in good shape is my passion.”

“Then what are you doing down here?” Maggie asked.

“It’s a long-shot, but I was wondering if maybe young Damien Collins somehow got in here.”

“That’s why I’m here too,” Maggie admitted.

“Well, did you find anythin’?” Willie asked hopefully.

“No, not even a trace, but then I got frightened and didn’t go all the way down to the cave. Tide’s in anyway. Sarah said that Damien was down here earlier, that they were playing together.”

“Honestly, Maggie,” Willie observed, “I think you seein’ Sarah was more on account of the dark and bein’ nervous and all.”

She half-believed him.

“Well,” Willie ordered, “I’m going to satisfy myself about the rest of the tunnel and you can go right back up to the Old House.”

“I think I’ll go with you, Willie,” Maggie said. “I’d rather go farther with you than go back or wait here alone.”

“Suit yourself, Maggie,” Willie said. “I’ll be grateful for the company, especially after you sayin’ you saw that ghost.”

“Sarah’s not frightening, Willie,” Maggie said as they began to descend again.

“Maybe not,” Willie granted, “but it is kinda confusin’ to think she’s hauntin’ the place again. I mean, we thought she had found peace after savin’ you. I don’t think I’ll tell Barnabas what you saw. It’ll break his heart to think that little Sarah is still roaming around instead of sleepin’ in her grave.”

Maggie realized that Willie was right, and it made her sad to think about the poor little restless spirit.

Willie said, “I thought it was odd that the Rolls Royce was gone from the driveway. When I saw your car, I figured you were in the house too, but when I checked around I couldn’t see you nor Barnabas anywhere in the house. I thought maybe you went somewhere with him. I woke Hiro up and told him Barnabas was gone. He’s out looking for him now.”

“Where would Barnabas go at this time of the night?” Maggie wondered.

“Maybe he’s out searching for Damien, too,” Willie concluded. “Hear that?”

“Hear what?” Maggie asked.

“Water up ahead. We’ve almost come to the end of the line. We’d better not go any farther, since the tide is in. Even though the cave entrance is blocked, water still comes into the lowest part of the tunnel through cracks in the walls.”

“All right, Willie. Shall we turn around here?”

Willie was in front of Maggie and said, “Wait a minute. I see something up ahead.”

“Damien?” Maggie asked hopefully.

“No, something flat leaning up against the tunnel wall.”

“Well, we’d better check it out, Willie,” Maggie said.

They arrived at the object. Willie lifted it up and pointed the flashlight on it.

Willie said, “Why, it’s a painting of a woman, being burnt!”

“Let me see that!” Maggie insisted.

After looking it over, Maggie said, “Willie, it’s a painting of Laura Collins, almost exactly like the one she found at my place tonight and took with her.”

This must be the one we were trying to get away from Damien. Willie explained to Maggie everything he had learned earlier at Professor Broman’s place.

“Then Damien was down here, Willie, but where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Maggie, but I think we’d better get out of here and go tell the others.”

Satisfied that Damien was no longer down in the tunnels, they returned to the Old House. Willie headed for the cottage and Maggie decided to return to the beach in search of Joe.

She thought about Sarah as she drove. Here, in her car, surrounded by the panel lights, street lights, and other modern surroundings, she began to doubt whether she had actually seen her old friend, Sarah Collins, the ghost. It must have been the atmosphere in that old rock tunnel and the memories of her first trip through there. A small part of her mind still believed that she had actually seen and spoken to Sarah, especially since the little apparition had been right about Damien having been in the tunnel, but she preferred to believe it was her imagination. She favored the thought that little Sarah Collins, sweet and gentle, had found peace and was no longer roaming the region searching for her family. She uttered a small prayer to that effect and felt better.

Arriving again at the public parking lot near Collinsport beach, she headed back north along the shore.

Rose Cottage

The telephone rang and everyone in Eleanor’s study jumped. Most had been dozing and catching short naps while they waited for news of the missing child.

Eleanor answered.

“Oh, Alex,” she said. “We’ve been worried about you.”

On the other end of the conversation, Alex said, “I know. I’m sorry. My cellular phone seems to be out of order. I’m calling from a pay phone near the hotel.”

“Sheriff Drew has been trying to get in touch with you,” she informed him. “He just left here.”

“Do you know where he was going?” Alex asked.

“No, I don’t, but he said that if we heard from you we were to have you contact him through his deputy right away. David has also been asking about you.”

“Any word about Damien?” Alex asked.

“No, Alex. I’m sorry. Would you like to talk to Amy? She’s upstairs with the children.”

“No, Eleanor,” Alex said. “I’d better check in with Randall. I’ll be in touch.”

“All right, Alex,” Eleanor said. “I’ll send someone up to tell Amy we heard from you. She’ll be relieved.”

Collinsport Village

Alex hung up the phone and called the police station. The deputy immediately patched him through to the Sheriff’s car.

“Mr. Collins,” the sheriff said, “Where have you been? We’ve been thinking of organizing a search party for you.”

“I’ve been over at the inn talking to Raymond Murdoch,” Alex volunteered.

“What did you hope to accomplish by that?” the sheriff asked.

“Just wanted to satisfy myself that they don’t have Damien,” Alex admitted.

“I could have saved you the trouble, Mr. Collins,” the sheriff chided. “That was the first place I looked.”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff, but that’s something I needed to know for myself.”

“I understand,” Randall said. “Where are you now?”

“I’m at a pay phone near Collinsport Inn,” Alex told him.

The sheriff ordered, “I’ll swing by and pick you up. Wait for me. I’ll be there in about five.”

Alex assented and hung the receiver up.

After a few minutes, Sheriff Drew’s police cruiser pulled up next to the curb and Alex climbed inside on the passenger side.

“Where are we going?” Alex asked.

Without answering the question, Sheriff Drew interrogated, “How long have you known the whereabouts of Chad Jenkins?”

Alex was startled. “For a few days now,” he said nervously.

“Didn’t you know that his mother thought he was missing?” Randall demanded.

Alex stuttered, “I…I…I did, but he asked me not to say anything to anyone about where he was.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Collins,” Sheriff Drew said. “You should have let me know. We’ve been looking for him for a while and you knew it. What is your relationship with Chad Jenkins?”

“Just friends, Randall,” Alex said with a little annoyance. He felt guilty about not having told what had happened, but he was a Collins after all, and didn’t feel he should be treated with suspicion by the local constable. The questioning was getting too personal.

“Well, Alex,” Randall said, being deliberately informal, “there is more here than you are willing to talk about, but with your son’s life potentially at stake, I’m going to have to make any inquiries I see fit. Is that clear?”

“Not only clear, Sheriff, but appreciated,” Alex said.

“Good,” the sheriff replied.

“Now, are you going to tell me where we are going?” Alex insisted.

“To talk to Chad Jenkins, of course,” Randall answered.

Collinsport Beach

Joe crept closer and closer to the beach house. He was delaying intentionally, wanting to get to the rear of the house and wait for dawn. He was determined, but not foolish enough to face Angelique while she was up and active.

She had walked away from the window where he had first seen her and it made him nervous to not know exactly where she was. The eastern sky gave no hint of sunlight about to appear. Instead, it was thickly overcast. He wondered whether an overcast sky would extend a vampire’s ability to stay out of the coffin. He looked at his watch. He wasn’t sure when sunrise was supposed to be, but was disappointed to estimate that it was more than thirty minutes away.

He suddenly felt exposed out on the beach. He had expected sunrise to be closer, but now, realizing the time was far enough off that Angelique could reach him, he panicked.

Quickly, he dropped to the sand and hoped to hide, dropping his lantern and stake. Behind him came the familiar mocking laughter of the woman he hated with all his heart. He flipped over onto his back to see Angelique standing over him, her cruel smile playing on her face and her eyes piercing him. She was dressed in a white flowing dressing gown and looked like an angel, but for the evil countenance.

“Oh, Joe Haskell,” she said, “how sweet of you to come to me without me even calling, seeing how I am very short on time and in great need.”

He tried to scream but couldn’t. Her eyes had already engaged his and he was in her thrall again. He reached up and grabbed his coat collar and pulled it down.

“Get up, you fool,” she said contemptuously. “Do you expect me to come down there and wallow in the sand with you?”

Collinsport Inn

Raymond Murdoch sat impatiently in his hotel suite, his wrath brewing inside him. He was not one to enjoy waiting. He closed his eyes and concentrated on Laura, trying to communicate with her. He would certainly punish her when she returned for not responding to his telepathic messages.

The painting of modern Laura on the table stared at him defiantly. He stared back at it, looking into those widened eyes. Standing and approaching it, his malicious spirit began to take control and he determined he would destroy the painting and lock Laura into that fiery being she had become. That would serve her right for trying his patience this way.

His mind began to formulate the Egyptian chant that would accomplish his revenge, but before he began to utter the spell with his lips, he saw the winged and burning woman float into the room through the wall.

“Where have you been?” he demanded.

Again she ignored him and placed herself between him and the painting. Reaching out and touching it, she again traded places and found herself standing before a painting of herself ablaze. She slumped to the floor.

Raymond Murdoch did not bend over to help her. Instead, he angrily returned to where he had been sitting and waited for her to regain her strength.

She eventually found the strength to pull herself to the sofa and sit on it.

“Now, answer me!” he commanded. “Where have you been?”

“Looking for Damien,” she said weakly.

“And did you find him?” he interrogated.

“No,” she began to explain.

“Fool!” he said as he stood menacingly.

“But I found her!” she proclaimed.

Collinsport Beach

Joe stood and faced his undead mistress. She still had control over him. He had been too often in her power for him to resist her now.

She moved slowly closer. She could easily take him at any moment, but she seemed to be cruelly savoring his terror and submissiveness.

He removed his coat and let it drop to the sand, granting more access to his solidly muscled neck.

Angelique shuddered at the beauty of that neck. Though he was now middle-aged, he was every bit as handsome as he had been thirty years before when she had savored his blood and the feel of his flesh in her mouth.

She wrapped her arms around him and drew him closer to her, moving her face to the side of his. She opened her mouth, revealing gleaming white fangs, and poised herself to sink them into the artery.

Just as she was about to plunge her canines into him, a light shone on them from near the beach house, the headlights of a car pulling up next to her home.

She quickly backed away. She could not ascertain what kind of vehicle it was, could only see the two blaring headlights, now placed on high-beam.

Someone opened the car door and got out and stood by the car, facing the ocean. She could not see who it was.

“Who is out there?” a masculine voice called.

She instantly recognized the voice. It was Barnabas. Her heart leapt and she softly cried out in anguish.

“No, Damien!” she heard Barnabas call out as the passenger door opened.

“Grandmother!” a boy’s voice cried out as the little boy began running out onto the beach, followed slowly by the nearly invalid old man who kept calling, “Damien! Come back!”

Angelique wondered why the boy had referred to her as grandmother. In an instant, she tried to decide what to do. She could vanish right then and there and almost did, considering that she did not want Barnabas to see her. At the same time, she wanted him to see her, to come to her and become hers.

The boy continued to run towards her, calling out, “Grandmother! Grandmother!”

It was that fervent and innocent cry that made her hesitate. In hesitating, she lost her concentration on Joe Haskell, who had dropped back down to the ground and was desperately searching the sand for something he had lost.

Behind the car next to the house, another car had just arrived. Quentin emerged and raced towards the scene playing out on the beach.

Angelique was confused. Now Barnabas was crying out, “Angelique! My darling Angelique!”

He had seen her and she screamed, “No, Barnabas! Stay away from me!”

Damien reached her first and grabbed at her arms. “Grandmother!” he shouted.

She looked down at him, perplexed but angry. With a menacing growl, she frightened the poor boy into loosening his grip. He began to cry, but Angelique knew no compassion for the boy.

Quentin passed Barnabas, who was unable to navigate his weak legs through the sand.

Joe found what he was searching for, the wooden stake he had broken off the piece of driftwood earlier. In the confusion of Damien clawing at her and Barnabas’ incessant cries, Angelique did not notice Joe raising his weapon against her. He held it aloft in both hands, poised to drive it with all his might into Angelique’s evil breast.