The Old House

Julia listened as Angelique finished her speech to Barnabas and then surmised that Angelique was doing the deed that Julia had urged her to do.

Julia wanted to burst in and interfere, but she knew she couldn’t back out now. She had bungled the job of saving Barnabas herself and knew that his only hope was in Angelique finishing the job of turning Barnabas back into a vampire so she could start over.

Remorse for her incompetence was not what was on her mind now, as she leaned her greyed head against the wall. The tears were not out of fear or sorrow, but for what she realized she herself was paying as a price by inviting Angelique here.

For thirty years, she had been the woman in Barnabas’ life. He had relied on her through every trial of the past three decades and before. Never once did Barnabas show any indication of loving her like she wanted him to love her, but she knew that he did love her, loved her in the way that made Angelique jealous.

Now, Julia Hoffman was the one to be jealous. Would Barnabas realize what she was sacrificing for him? Angelique was risking her existence, but the possible reward was a grateful Barnabas’ heart. No such reward awaited Julia. She knew it would be the end of their relationship as she had come to enjoy over thirty years of fierce loyalty. Another woman would be preeminent in Barnabas’ eyes and Julia knew it before she even suggested what Angelique should do.

If Barnabas survived, even if Angelique did not, foremost in his heart would be Angelique. That was Julia’s sacrifice and no one would notice it but her. For the past thirty years, Barnabas had thought about Angelique often, but his sense of duty to the work Barnabas and Julia had done together had put her first in his thoughts. Angelique was but a regret to him-a powerful regret, but out of sight and out of mind.

Supreme loneliness overwhelmed Dr. Julia Hoffman. It seemed there was not a soul, living or dead, that understood her pain or would recognize her sacrifice so that Barnabas could live.

She kept her sobs quiet. If she made noise, it might distract Angelique or prevent any cries for help from being heard. If she had been able to weep out loud, perhaps it would not hurt so much, but for Barnabas’ sake, she stifled herself.

Had her nose not been so stuffed from her crying, she would have immediately smelled the scent of jasmine filling the corridor outside of Barnabas’ room, but as the aroma increased in intensity, Julia became aware of it.

She stood and looked around and called quietly, “Josette! Is that you?”

Suddenly, a sensation enveloped her, a feeling that some unseen angel had wrapped giant protective wings around her entire body. The entity that had joined her in the hall began to weep loudly, but it seemed to Julia that the sound was contained inside the white aura she sensed around her.

Julia sobbed too, and knew she was being wrapped in the loving arms of some magnificent being that smelled of jasmine. It was Josette, not a restless spirit, but an angel of mercy and comfort, an angel who understood what it meant to offer the greater sacrifice for her beloved–to let another woman have him.

It seemed to last forever, but it was only a small instant. The presence left and Julia leaned against the wall outside of Barnabas’ room. She reached into the pocket of her lab coat and brought out a handkerchief that she used to mop up the rivers running from her eyes.

Then the thought came, “Sometimes it is just as great a sacrifice to live for someone as it is to die for someone.”

 

Inside the room, Angelique dutifully performed her function. The blood that oozed from Barnabas’ neck was warm, but without her bloodlust to spur her on, it was a distasteful but necessary chore for her. All that motivated her was love and fear, fear that Julia was right about him dying without her intervention.

Something else was different this time. The blood should have been satisfying, but instead it was uncomfortable, and as it rushed into her mouth, it irritated her lips. It began as an itch and was swiftly becoming a burning sensation in her gums and throat. Still, she forged onward in her task.

A vampire, when drinking the blood of its victim, does not swallow the blood. It is a psychic draining and the blood disappears into the life force of the vampire after it enters the mouth. With each wave of blood Angelique siphoned from Barnabas, the pain in her mouth increased until it became a firestorm of anguish. Still, she pressed on, determined she would do this thing or perish in the attempt.

As the waves of blood emptied into her soul, she felt herself weaken. She did not fully comprehend what was happening to her until she took a momentary break to catch her breath and happened to look at her hand. Dark lines had formed down the backs of her fingers and age spots were forming.

She reached up and touched her face and felt the deepening crevices there. She pulled a lock of hair around to where she could see it and it had turned to silver. She was growing old, rapidly and irreversibly.

Her mouth still burned with a hot fever but she managed to croak out, “Julia! Help me!”

Without an instant’s hesitation, the door flung open and Julia was at Angelique’s side. The old crone that Angelique had become dropped to emaciated knees.

“I can do no more,” she gasped. “How is Barnabas?”

Julia lifted Angelique’s weak head and allowed her to look at Barnabas. He still looked like a seventy-year-old man. Though his condition showed him to be near death, a transformation had come over him. Instead of the tortured look he had worn since Angelique’s previous attack, his countenance was full of peace.

“Did I succeed, Julia?” Angelique asked feebly.

“Yes, Angelique, but I’m afraid you won’t survive.”

“It doesn’t matter, dear friend,” Angelique said. “I die happy.”

With that she slumped over onto the floor.

Julia grabbed a sheet off of a nearby shelf and laid it over the corpse on the floor. She then hastened to the door and called out for Quentin and Maggie to come up.

Returning to the bed, she felt Barnabas’ pulse and checked his other vitals.

“What’s happened?” Maggie said as she entered the room, followed by Quentin and Joe.

“Angelique is dead,” Julia answered as she pointed to the heap under the sheet. “I will want to examine the body later, but for the moment I want Joe and Quentin to lay her out for me in the laboratory downstairs.”

Quentin bent over and lifted up the sheet. A tear formed in his eye and he asked, “What happened to her?”

Julia turned to him and said, “I’ll explain everything later. She sacrificed herself to save Barnabas.”

Joe looked under the sheet as well then quickly turned away in revulsion.

“Help me, Joe,” Quentin commanded and the two of them lifted the body in the sheet and carried it out of the room.

Maggie, who had been checking Barnabas, said to Julia, “He’s slipping away, Doctor. What do we do?”

“Let him go, Maggie,” Julia replied. “There’s nothing we can do for him until he is clinically dead.”

“We could possibly revive him, Julia!” Maggie protested.

“Possibly,” Julia answered, “but to what end? He needs to revert to being a vampire so we can begin treatments anew. It’s the only way.”

Maggie stepped back fearfully. “Is he going to revert tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Julia said. “This is unfamiliar territory for me. I suspect he will die first. We will put him in his coffin and see what happens. For all I know, his death may be permanent this time. If it is, I know he’ll at least be at rest.”

“What about Angelique?” Maggie asked.

Julia choked up. “I think she has ceased to exist. She deliberately allowed herself to take in the serum in Barnabas’ blood in order to hopefully save him.”

“Seems out of character for her,” Maggie observed.

“Not when you understand how much she has always loved him,” Julia said with emotion.

Before long, Quentin joined them.

“Where is Joe?” Maggie asked.

Quentin frowned, “He decided to guard Angelique’s body. He doesn’t seem to trust her to stay dead.”

“He must understand that I don’t want her body mutilated in any way until I’ve had a chance to examine her. You don’t think he’ll…?” Julia stopped.

“No, Julia,” Quentin reasssured her. “I made it clear that her body was not to be tampered with.”

“We’ve got to decide what to do, Quentin,” Julia said. “I need your help.”

“What do we have to decide?” Maggie asked.

Julia said, “For starters, after I examine Angelique’s body, we will bury her again in her grave. For Joe’s peace of mind, we will chain the coffin closed and put a crucifix on it. Agreed?”

Maggie and Quentin nodded.

“Now,” Julia said, “I told Sheriff Drew that we were going to transfer Barnabas to Windcliffe. I have a feeling he’ll check it out for himself.”

“What do you need to do for Barnabas?” Quentin asked.

“For the moment, wait for him to expire,” Julia said painfully. “He is near death now, but I can’t hurry that process.”

“Then what?”

“Well,” Julia explained. “We can either let the world know he has died or pretend to take him to Windcliffe as a living patient.”

“Which do you suggest, Julia?” Quentin asked.

“I’m not certain, Quentin,” Julia replied. “How can I be certain what he’ll look like when he returns as a vampire? Will he look aged as he is now or will he revert to a more youthful version of himself? If we tell everyone that he has died and he returns at his current physical age, how would we explain his death and resurrection? If we tell everyone he was ill for a while and he returns looking more youthful, how will we explain that?”

Quentin said, “If we tell everyone he has died and he returns as a younger man, he will need a new identity. If we tell everyone that he was ill and he returns as an older man, there will not need to be any explanations.”

“Why not tell everyone he left on an extended trip and decide after he has returned what we will tell them?” Maggie asked.

“That would normally be my preference, Maggie,” Julia explained, “But I doubt Sheriff Drew would be happy with that explanation. In fact, since Barnabas was somehow mixed up in Damien’s disappearance, Sheriff Drew may conclude Barnabas has something to hide if he leaves abruptly.”

“There is another problem you may not have considered, Julia,” Quentin said.

“What is that?” Julia asked.

“Eleanor Collins was attacked by Laura Collins through psychic means. Laura tried to kill her.”

“What does that have to do with Barnabas?” Julia wondered.

“Professor Broman believes that the Murdochs want a Collins dead so that the whole family will have to be together under one roof for a funeral. If we tell everyone that Barnabas is dead, there will have to be a funeral. Even if you kept it private for the immediate family, you’d still have enough phoenix descendants gathered together under one roof to provide an irresistible temptation for Laura.”

Julia considered. “Then it seems my only real choice is to take Barnabas to Windcliffe as I told Sheriff Drew and hope that the sheriff leaves us alone for a while.”

Quentin frowned.

“Do you not agree, Quentin?” Julia asked.

Quentin thought a moment then replied, “I agree, Julia, if I were thinking for you, but if I were thinking for Barnabas–what Barnabas would want if he were able to tell us–I would probably make a different choice.”

“What do you mean, Quentin?” Maggie asked.

“If Barnabas’ death does not provide the excuse the Murdochs need, what will they do instead?”

Julia nodded knowingly. “They will kill someone else.”

“Barnabas would not want that, would he?” Quentin asked.

“No,” Julia admitted. “If Barnabas could speak, he’d want us to use him as bait for the Murdochs and devise a plan to destroy them when they make the attempt.”

“Exactly,” Quentin said.

“Well, Quentin,” Julia replied defiantly, “Barnabas is not here to offer himself like that and I won’t permit it.”

As she spoke the words, the room filled with the scent of jasmine as it had in the hall moments before.

“Must save David. Must save Damien,” came a faint feminine voice. “I will protect.”

“Did you hear that?” Julia asked the other two.

“No, I didn’t hear anything, Julia,” Maggie answered.

“It’s the voice of Josette. She wants me to agree to use Barnabas’ death as an opportunity to help Damien and David. I won’t do it,” Julia insisted. To the air, she cried, “No, Josette! No! I won’t!”

Quentin pleaded, “Julia, think. Barnabas won’t be at risk. It will only be the rest of the family. They’re already at risk and isn’t it better to control the conditions and the battlefield? Barnabas will be safe and we’ll save the life of some unfortunate at Rose Cottage. It could even be one of the children or poor Trina that the Murdochs attack to have their family funeral.”

Julia thought long and hard. She hated what was being proposed but knew that it was the right thing to do, the thing Barnabas would want to do if he could speak for himself.

Behind her, Barnabas stirred.

“Julia!” he called.

She rushed to his side. “Don’t speak, Barnabas,” she urged him.

“Is Damien safe?” he asked in a tortured whisper.

“Yes,” Julia cried.

“Where is Angelique?” Barnabas murmured.

“I don’t know,” Julia lied.

Barnabas closed his eyes and ceased to breathe.

Julia cried for a long time, her head buried on Barnabas’ motionless chest. Quentin knelt beside her and put his arm around her shoulder.

Then, she lifted herself from the bedside and turned to Quentin, “Maggie and I will make out a death certificate and call Sheriff Drew. You and Joe bury Angelique as we discussed, but first, call Willie and tell him to get over here.”

Rose Cottage

Professor Clive Broman walked around and around the perimeter of the Rose Cottage estate, keeping his senses alert as he looked for any sign of danger to the house. He had done this so many times without the inhabitants being aware, but now he was doing it as a promised duty. Nevertheless, he felt no more responsible to guard well than the heavy burden he felt before.

Despite his wife’s suggestion that the Murdochs might try to employ a more conventional method for bringing about the demise of a Collins, Clive did not feel inclined to worry about that possibility. He more realistically expected them to regroup for a day or two and then retry Laura’s powers.

Passing across the driveway, he saw the front door of the house had open and a figure started to come towards him. He recognized it as Mrs. Miriam Rice, the parapsychologist medium he had just met an hour or two before.

He stopped and waited for her. “Mrs. Rice,” he questioned when she reached him, “I thought you were going to watch over the children.”

She nodded and replied, “The children are quite safe, Professor Broman. I left them in the care of Mrs. Hammond. I wanted to come and talk to you.”

“All right,” he agreed, “but let’s keep moving.”

The hearty woman agreed and walked by his side as he continued his vigilant march.

“While I was with the children, Professor Broman, I sensed that they were more well-protected from harm by the phoenix than anyone I’ve ever seen. I sensed that she was completely powerless over them. I was hoping you could explain that to me, Professor.”

Clive smiled knowingly. He had not thought of it and was impressed with this woman’s abilities.

“Well, Mrs. Rice, I am not certain I should tell you. It involves your client,” he explained.

“I understand, Professor. Perhaps I should wait and ask him about it.”

Clive thought a moment as he walked. “Well, Mrs. Rice, I think I’ll trust you. We have to trust someone and I am becoming more and more in awe of your skills and talents.”

“Why, thank you, Professor Broman. Coming from you, I’m quite honored,” the woman answered.

Clive hesitated, then asked, “You are familiar with the legendary scarab ring of the Phoenix cult?”

“Yes, the one that supposedly has the power to protect the wearer and his descendants from evil spells and curses?”

“Yes, the very one,” Broman declared. “Your employer wears it upon his finger.”

“Interesting,” Miriam said. “But I’m not sure how that protects these children. They are the children of Alex and Amy Collins, not of Quentin Collins.”

“Not his children, Mrs. Rice, but his descendants. Your employer is much older than he appears.”

Mrs. Rice looked thoughtful and downward, as if searching inside herself for understanding. “Ah!” she exlaimed, “a couple of pieces of the puzzle now fit. Thank you, Professor Broman.”

“Of course, I will need to mention this to Mr. Collins so that he knows you are aware of his secret.”

“Naturally, Professor,” she said. “I will bring it up with him also.”

They walked for a few moments in silence, near the rear of the house, where Mrs. Rice excused herself to return inside.

Once inside, she waited near the rear door until she was certain Professor Broman would be around the front of the house again, then slipped back out the door and to an opening in the rear hedge she had noticed while walking with the Professor. Some kind of intuition told her that this path would lead her to Quentin Collins. Though she was quite tired after a long trip and very little rest, she wanted now more than ever to meet with this strange client who looked young enough to be in his early twenties but was an ancestor of two children. It was not lost on her that Clive Broman had chosen the word “ancestor” instead of “grandfather.” She could conceive of the man being very youthful-looking but old enough to have a grown daughter or son that had children of their own. She had known men like that, who never looked a day over twenty-five until after they turned fifty. But, Professor Broman had said, “ancestor.”

Something else drove her to want to meet her patron face-to-face again, some premonition that she was supposed to see something. Luckily, she had remembered a flashlight when she first purposed to visit the professor on his prowl around the house. The path she found through the opening in the laurels was dark and tangled.

She wondered if the Professor had detected her passing. She had employed a method of clearing her mind as she departed the estate that should have protected her from his extra-sensory perceptions. Besides, he would be hoping to detect someone entering the estate, not leaving it.

No matter, though. If he detected her, it merely meant he knew she was leaving. He would not leave his post for that and it was important that she not be a distraction to him. She trusted him and hoped he would continue to trust her.

The night was cold and she pulled her coat so that the lapels were high around her neck and buttoned it in that position. Noises in the woods occasionally distracted her, but she was reasonably unafraid. She had the ability to sense real danger and detected none as yet. Her largest concern was to avoid tripping on the occasional root or rock on the trail, so she kept her light trained downward.

After some time she arrived at a clearing and quickly recognized that she was in a cemetery. Something was drawing her here and it became clearer to her that it was not just her own second sight, but a friendly spirit guiding her ideas and thoughts. Some restless but benevolent spirit from the past wanted her to see something occurring tonight in this cemetery.

Following the guidance she was receiving, she felt impressed to turn her light off and proceed in the dark. This took no small amount of trust on her part, as there were many more things to trip over in a cemetery than on a forest path, but she did as she was led to do.

Walking slowly, she heard a sound as of two men talking and the distinct sound of spades entering the ground, lifting dirt, and throwing it onto a box.

“Grave robbers?” she wondered. She dismissed the idea, because she doubted the spirit would lead her to danger.

Approaching the sound, she began to see two men doing what she suspected. They were burying someone in a coffin.

One of the men, Joe Haskell, turned and noticed her dark figure standing there.

“Who are you?” he called out as the other man turned to look at her too. She was close enough to recognize Quentin Collins.

“Miriam Rice,” she answered.

“Mrs. Rice,” Quentin questioned as he put down his shovel and walked towards her, “what are you doing here?”

“I was brought here, Mr. Collins,” the woman explained.

“By whom?” Quentin asked.

“A spirit of some kind,” the woman replied.

Quentin looked knowingly at her. “Then you are supposed to witness this, I think.”

“Witness what?” the woman asked.

“We are burying or rather re-burying this woman,” he pointed at the headstone of a Miranda Collins, the wife of Barnabas Collins.

“Who is this?” Joe asked Quentin.

Quentin apologized for not having introduced the two and explained to Joe that Mrs. Rice was a medium in his employ.

Mrs. Rice said to Quentin, “I sincerely doubt that I was brought here merely to observe. It doesn’t seem like you are doing anything that needs a witness.”

“Then why?” Quentin asked curtly.

“Most likely to advise or to speak for the spirit that brought me to you,” Miriam said.

“Is the spirit’s name Josette?” Quentin asked.

Miriam thought a moment then confirmed, “Yes, that is her name.”

“What does she want?” Joe asked skeptically.

“I don’t know yet,” Miriam said. “Let me see this Miranda Collins, whom I suspect has another name.”

“But we’ve already begun to bury her,” Joe protested loudly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Haskell,” Miriam apologized, “but this is extremely important for some reason. I must see her.”

Quentin took charge. “Joe, I’ve trusted this woman with my very existence and I believe what she says. Let’s give her a look.”

Joe remonstrated even more vehemently. “I won’t be around when you open that lid.” Turning to Miriam he exclaimed, “You don’t know what she is!”

“What is she, sir?” Miriam asked.

“A vampire!” Joe declared.

Miriam shuddered. “Then we are all in grave danger. I am not prepared to face a vampire.”

Quentin intervened. “I assure you, Mrs. Rice, this vampire is in no position to harm anyone.”

“If it were not the middle of the night, Mr. Collins, I’d tend to agree with you,” Miriam avowed, “but the sun is not up and it is perilous to even be in the vicinity when a vampire is nearby, even in her coffin. I won’t take the risk to…” Miriam was stopped short in her excuse by a strong rush of jasmine-scented breeze. “It seems,” she continued, “that Josette urges me to look anyway and promises me it will be safe.”

Joe declared, “Well, I will not stay and watch you do it,” and hurried off into the night.

“Open the coffin, if you please, Mr. Collins,” Miriam requested.

Quentin knocked some of the dirt away from the lid of the coffin with his shovel, then lay on the edge of the grave to reach down inside and open the coffin.

Miriam retrieved her flashlight from her pocket and shone it into the dark grave and the box inside. Miriam saw there an emaciated corpse of a woman and felt a wave of compassion flow from the haunting spirit that accompanied her. She thought it singularly interesting that this spirit would take such pains to bring her here and see this sight.

“Mr. Collins,” Miriam said, “If this woman is a vampire, then something has happened to her that I can’t explain. Can you?”

“Not easily,” he said. “Suffice it to say, we know more about vampires around here than most and this one is not going to rise again.”

“Perhaps not, Mr. Collins,” Miriam acquiesced, “but this spirit of Josette does not want us to bury this woman in the ground.”

“What does she want, then?” Quentin asked.

“She wants her left above ground, hidden inside her coffin, but not under the earth,” Miriam said.

“I can’t do that if there is even the slightest chance she might rise again and prey on the locals as she did,” Quentin insisted.

“We can take precautions, Mr. Collins. Do you have a place where we can hide her?”

“Yes, but not without help,” Quentin said. “What do I need?”

“A strong chain, a heavy-duty lock, and a large crucifix,” Miriam said.

Pulling out his cellular phone, Quentin called Hiro and asked him to bring the items.

The Old House

Willie Loomis stood next to Julia as she held Barnabas’ hand. Willie put his arm around his old friend and tried to comfort her.

“You did what you had t’do,” Willie consoled. “I sure hate to see him like that again. You don’t think he’ll come out of it cruel like he did before, do you?”

“I don’t know, Willie,” Julia shook her head. “I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing.”

“Well, as I understand it, Julia, we’re doin’ what Barnabas would want, at least as far as protecting his family is concerned.”

“Yes, I suppose we are, especially since the ones at Rose Cottage are his own flesh and blood. He’d do anything to keep them safe.”

“What can I do?” Willie asked.

“Well,” Julia said, “get Barnabas’ coffin from wherever you’ve hidden it and get it ready for him in the cellar. After I convince Sheriff Drew to accept my diagnosis and cause of death, we’ll put Barnabas in his coffin. I want you to inform the family at both houses and start to make funeral arrangements with Carolyn. He’d want you the two of you to do it if he were normally dead. Also, call the local newspaper. We need news of Barnabas’ death to be tomorrow’s headline.”

Willie hung his head. “I almost wish he was dead like normal people. I’m afraid of what he’ll have become when he arises.”

“If he arises, Willie. If…”

“You think he might be permanently dead?”

“It’s possible, Willie, and part of me hopes so. The more selfish part of me wants him back, though.”

Just then, the door opened and Sheriff Randall Drew entered followed by Maggie.

Randall addressed Willie first, “Mr. Loomis, my condolences to you and your family up at Collinwood. I understand Mr. Collins was the favorite Collins relation.”

“Thanks, Randall. Carolyn will appreciate it,” Willie answered. “I’ll go see to calling the rest of the family now.”

Willie left the room.

“I’m sorry about your patient, Dr. Hoffman,” Randall said. “I know he was also your friend.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Julia said. “It’s customary to notify the authorities of a death. Dr. Haskell and I agree on the cause of death and we’ve prepared a death certificate.”

Julia handed the paper to the Sheriff, who examined it and then looked at Barnabas’ body. He felt the head and looked at the wound on the neck.

“All right, Doctor,” Randall said. “Given Mr. Collins’ age and general condition, I would not dispute your identification of natural causes arising out of this blood condition you mentioned earlier. It concerns me about the animal attack. I’d hate to think that there was an animal out there carrying a virus that could put the town at risk. Can you assure me that the animal bite was not the cause of death, I mean, give me your word as a physician? I’d be more convinced by that than a piece of paper.” He pushed the certificate back at Julia.

“I promise you, Sheriff Drew,” Julia said confidently, “that whatever animal attacked Mr. Collins is not a carrier of any disease that could threaten the town.”

Turning to Maggie, he said, “And what about you, Dr. Haskell? Do you agree with Dr. Hoffman’s assessment of the situation?”

Maggie nodded and said, “I do, Sheriff. Mr. Collins died from the blood condition. His condition was merely aggravated by the animal attack.”

“What perplexes me the most,” Sheriff Drew said to both women, “is that I still have no answers as to how Damien Collins ended up being with Barnabas Collins on the beach. I would dearly love to have that answer.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you with that,” Julia said. “May we proceed with funeral arrangements?”

Sheriff Drew answered, “I don’t see why not. I’ll pass this death certificate on to the coroner and if he has any questions, he’ll be in touch.”

“Very well,” Julia said.

Professor Stokes’ Cottage

Being the perennial night owl, Professor T. Eliot Stokes was sitting reading one of his many rare books, comfortably resting in his easy chair. He was surrounded by elegant antiques of an early colonial period. He loved this setting for reading. Occasionally, he would nod off into a nap. Retirement suited him well, but his interest in the occult never waned, even when he was no longer teaching it at the university.

The telephone on the table next to him rang and he answered with a gruff, “Hello.”

“Professor Stokes,” came Sheriff Drew’s voice over the line, “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Not at all, Randall. I was just reading here in my parlor. What can I do for you?”

“I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news, along with a concern,” Randall said. “May I pay you a visit?”

“Certainly, Randall,” Professor Stokes said.

“I’m on the old Collins Road now,” Randall explained. “I should be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Very well, Randall. I’ll see you then.”

Professor Stokes slowly lifted himself out of his easy chair and went into his kitchen. He rarely drank coffee, but kept some on hand for visitors. He pulled out the old coffee maker from where he pushed it when not in use and started a batch brewing.

He had it ready and hot by the time his former student arrived.

After both of them sat down with a cup of coffee, Professor Stokes asked, “Well, Randall, is this bad news for me, or just bad news in general.”

“I’m afraid, sir, it’s bad news for you,” the sheriff said. He sipped a drink of his coffee and broke the news. “I’ve just come from the Old Collins House where Mr. Barnabas Collins has died. I know you and he were friends.”

Professor Stokes looked surprised, “Yes, Randall, we were very good friends. Thank you for coming to tell me in person. How is Julia taking it?”

“The poor woman looks like she hasn’t slept in days,” Randall said. “I don’t suppose she’s doing very well, though she seemed quite clinical when I was there.”

Professor Stokes looked down into his coffee. “Julia is a woman of deep feelings and intelligence, Randall. And she was utterly devoted to Barnabas.”

“I could tell,” Randall agreed.

“You said you also had a concern, Randall,” the professor reminded him. “What was it?”

“Do you recall when I came to you about the problems with these White Lady sightings?”

“Indeed,” the professor said.

“The other night, Mr. Collins was attacked by some kind of animal. Immediately after, I saw a woman in white running from the scene. When she saw me, she vanished or at least it appeared as if she did. I am concerned about a possible connection with this White Lady creature and Mr. Collins’ death.”

“Most distressing,” Eliot agreed. “What do you suspect?”

“Well, Professor Stokes,” Randall continued, “Of all the things I learned from you in college, I was never more fascinated than by your belief in the existence of vampires.”

Professor Stokes hid his discomfort. “Are you saying that you think the White Lady is a vampire?”

“I am considering the possibility, and if she is, that Mr. Barnabas Collins was her victim, and that his death is more than just attributable to some rare blood disease Dr. Hoffman says he suffered from.”

“And if that is true, you are anxious that Mr. Collins may rise as the undead and prey upon Collinsport citizens?” Stokes asked without sounding incredulous.

“Exactly, Professor. Do you think I’m being stupid?” Randall asked.

“You know me better than that, my boy,” the old professor croaked. “I’m proud to see you employing an open mind in your work. I will tell you what, though. I will pay a call on Julia Hoffman tomorrow and see what I can do to ease your mind about it.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Sheriff Drew said as he finished his coffee.

Eagle Hill Cemetery

Hiro waited until Quentin and Miriam Rice came out of the secret room in the Collins Mausoleum and then pulled the ring in the lion’s mouth to shut the door. Inside was a coffin containing Angelique Collins, heavily chained, locked, and guarded with a crucifix.

“May I trouble you for a ride back to Rose Cottage?” Miriam asked Hiro, who bowed his assent.

Quentin and Hiro had refilled the grave of Miranda prior to finishing the job in the mausoleum.

After delivering Mrs. Rice to the front door of Rose Cottage, Quentin and Hiro returned to the Old House.

Miriam entered the house, surprised to find Professor Broman inside with his wife and Eleanor Collins.

“We’ve just had some bad news,” Eleanor told Miriam.

“Yes, I know,” Miriam replied. “Barnabas Collins has died. I was just with Quentin and Mr. Collins’ chauffeur.”

“This changes things,” Professor Broman said. “As soon as the Murdochs hear of this, they’ll hopefully be satisfied with that one death and make their plans around it. It is sad to say, but the death of Barnabas Collins may have saved the life of someone in this house.”

“But,” Eleanor asked, “Doesn’t it mean that the Murdochs will make their move at the funeral for Mr. Collins?”

“Yes,” Broman admitted, “but we’ll be ready for them.”

“How?!” Eleanor demanded. “I will not send Damien to that funeral, no matter how inappropriate it may seem to the rest of the family. Carolyn and Willie will understand.”

Professor Broman spoke. “Dear Mrs. Collins, I hope I can convince you to change your mind. If Damien doesn’t attend the funeral, they will not give up on him. I’m sure Mrs. Rice will agree with me when I tell you that they would like to have all of the Collinses perish by fire with Laura, but given a choice, they will go after Damien first. He is her highest priority, David next, and the others after that. By keeping Damien away from the funeral, you will force them to concentrate their efforts on him. By having the entire family at the funeral for Barnabas Collins, we will not only force their hand, but force them to do battle on a battlefield we can control. Even if they realize we have guessed their plans, they will have to come on our terms.”

Miriam added, “I agree with Professor Broman, Mrs. Collins. We must make a stand and present a united front.”

Eleanor said defiantly, “I will take Damien and go into hiding with him. Fight the Murdochs without him!”

“Mrs. Collins…Eleanor,” Clive said, “You felt Laura’s power tonight. Do you really think you can hide from her? Damien himself will be like a beacon. She will find him wherever he goes. You can’t hide or run away. You must face her. You will either run away and face her alone or you will stand with the rest of us against her. Remember also that your good friend Carolyn Loomis is in danger as well. The best thing for all concerned, and for Damien, is to stay and fight.”

Eleanor wept and acquiesced. “All right, Professor. I’ll do it your way.”

Miriam put her arm around Eleanor and said, “You should sleep now. We will make plans first thing in the morning.”

Mrs. Hammond was called for to help the mistress of Rose Cottage up to bed, while the Bromans and Mrs. Rice met in Eleanor’s study to plan their strategy.

Collinsport Inn

Laura Murdoch Collins once again stared into the flames of the fireplace in her suite in the Collinsport Inn. Raymond Murdoch stood by, watching, an evil grin playing on his face.

Laura’s eyes widened and filled with red light as she sought the aid of the fire. She slumped over and said, “I will need more time to regain my strength. Perhaps tomorrow.”

Raymond advanced as she stood up to face him. His leathered hand reached out and struck her across the face.

“While you recover from your bumbling, recover from that!” he shouted.

Her red-filled eyes flashed at him in contempt, but she made no move against him. She was powerless to harm him, but that didn’t stop her from hating him.

She thought to herself, “If I achieve this next level, I will be more powerful than he is, and then I will have my revenge on him.”