Still more turmoil and travail in store. . .

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"COMMONPLACE EVILS" By Lorraine A. Balint

Part FOUR----CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Pavlos stood behind the bar in the nearly-empty Koffeehaus, wiping the spots off some cups and glasses that he had just extracted from the dishwasher. Dimitrios, who, since Pavlos's return from Boston, was now his full-fledged partner, was on the small stage, helping the band set up their equipment for later. Afterward, while the band took a break, Dimitrios joined Pavlos in the small office.

"So," Dimitrios began, "Have you thought about how you want things set up here, for your wedding next week?"

"I will not be setting anything up here, Dimi. Due to the grave illness of my intended's sister-in-law, Janice and I will simply set out for Reverend Brand's rectory, returning, after, to my new stepdaughter's cottage for luncheon with as many of my children who care to come. Both you and Willie will be our witnesses, as Cellie has been too wrapped up with her aunt's care to represent her mother in our wedding party. Of course, you are invited for the lunch, also."

"I'll have to bring something from my Uncle Stavros's diner."

"That would be nice. Janice and I will prepare some of the food, and Cellie, if she's not too busy with Julia. I don't know what my children will bring, if, in fact, any of them come. I know how they feel about this marriage, especially my Theodore. He has, in his seminarian's zeal, gone so far as to denounce it as 'impious'."

"Aw, Pavlos, you know how it is with the children of divorced parents. No matter how lousy the marriage was, they always cherish a tiny hope that their folks will get back together."

"I am deeply sorry about the anguish my troubles with Eudoxia caused that boy, as I am about those with my first wife, Maria, and my third, Vasiliki. I can only promise not to ruin things with Janice. I am older now. I like to think I've finally grown up."

"Nobody who's seen how you are around Janice's family has the right to say anything different, Constantinos." Dimitrios's voice grew husky, as he addressed his partner by his Christian name. "Your son may not be willing to test the waters to find out, just yet, but with any luck, your other children will be on hand to report back to him."

One of the band members called out for Dimitrios. As he stood in the doorway of the office, poised to leave, he said, "Oh, by the way, Pavlos. I don't think I ever formally congratulated you."

"Shall you still congratulate me when I tell you I've made arrangements in my will to leave shares in this place to my new wife and stepdaughter?" Pavlos chuckled.

"Once they've seen what a job running this circus is, I doubt they'll be thanking you. Then you won't want my congratulations. You'll want my condolences!" Dimitrios joked, as he disappeared into the auditorium.

Pavlos sat at his desk, gazing at the icons of his patron saints and the Virgin, in the corner of the room. He had prayed for guidance, once it was clear there would be no reconciliation with his church in this matter, barring the timely demise of one of his previous wives. He felt a degree of reassurance, after such prayers, which he was certain was not the result of wishful thinking about God's attitude towards such a union. He and Janice were meant to be, for whatever time he had left.

He had also prayed, many hours, for Julia and her child, and for his Flame to have courage in the trials he now felt to imminent. He thought of the discussions he and Cellie had about Julia's condition, and how Cellie believed it was massive suggestion that caused her aunt to have the internal bleeding and wretched sleep habits that resembled a vampire's curse. Pavlos wished he could participate, with Cellie, in a foray to the depths of Julia's emotional state, but they all knew it would be fatal to him, and Pavlos didn't want to die, while he could, at least, still offer counsel to these afflicted people.

He did not want to die before he could reconcile with all his children, especially Theodore. He did not want to die before he and Janice could experience some of the positive aspects of marriage. After all, he wouldn't have tried it so often if he didn't feel there was some reward in that institution, and he had, in fact, known many. It was just that his pride in his gift had gotten in the way. For the first time since he had received the gift, he believed that it would only enhance this final union. Pavlos had reason to think that, at long last in his checkered marital history, his empathism had helped his new mate.

He recalled how Janice had behaved, the first time he'd met her, at her daughter's wedding reception. She was newly separated from Walter for the last time, and, after a gallant effort at asserting her new independence, was on the verge of relapsing into the pill addiction Cellie had confided about to him. Pavlos had insinuated himself into Janice's emotional state gently. He'd made her laugh, and walked around the early spring garden at Collinwood with her, diverting her from a similar stroll with Roger.

Of course Pavlos had nothing personal in mind, either against Roger, or for Janice, when he led his friend's mother to the lookout point he'd heard was called Widow's Hill. He shuddered at the omens implicit in such a name, but the view was breath-taking. And, as he glimpsed Janice's youthful, barely-lined face gazing out to sea, he suddenly decided that she was nearly as breath-taking. But he found himself tongue-tied, and shy as when he was a boy, meeting his first bride. Plus, as he'd originally intended only to put Janice at ease in her current distress, Pavlos didn't want to take advantage of her vulnerabilities. He felt Cellie would never forgive him for that.

It would be months before Pavlos had another opportunity to express this new feeling to Janice. Still, in spite of his temptations along the way during that period, her giddy flirtation with her boss in Boston, and the appalling circumstances under which they were to meet again, they had connected within a short time. Pavlos knew his gift performed almost the same function, keeping Janice's mind clear, as Cellie's did for Willie. Pavlos prayed that the healing process would continue in his lover, even after he was gone, and not a plunge into some other form of addiction.

Janice came straight from her office, after work, to pick him up. Pavlos loved the way she looked in her navy-blue suit, with her freshly-rinsed blonde hair tumbling out of its proper, businesslike bun, into delicate tendrils on her shoulders. She looked at least ten years younger to Pavlos, thirty-six instead of forty-six. Janice and Pavlos locked in one of their "this may be the last" embraces. After he thoroughly destroyed Janice's coiffure, Pavlos whispered, "So, how has Roger been treating you since he heard the news?"

Janice pulled away from her fiance, and patted down her hair. "Well, Elizabeth must have him on elephant tranquilizers, that's all I can think of. He's been terribly subdued, even when we're forced to meet alone. I really feel so sorry for him."

"He has had a rough time with the women in his life, has Roger," Pavlos said, sympathetically. "He is like me, in a way. He never expected to feel this way for another lady. I am only sorry I cannot--what do they call it?-- 'clone' you so that he might be happy, also. I don't like to think of my joy bringing sorrow to another."

"That's what I love about you, Constantinos," Janice replied. "I can't imagine this much magnanimity coming from Roger himself, or even from Walter, at least not until lately."

"Roger is hurt. I can afford to be generous with my sympathy, as well as my empathy. Ah, well. Once you are installed as partner in this place, you won't have to see his sorrowful looks. Just don't wave your satisfaction in his face. You were in his position, once, when someone you loved left you for another."

Janice sighed, and nestled in his arms. "I wish there was a hopeful outlook for my daughter and son-in-law. Things are just going from bad to worse, there. I went over to the cottage this morning, before work, to pick up some coffeecake Cellie promised me, and I found Willie sleeping on the sofa downstairs. He was so embarrassed. I didn't ask, but he blurted out that they were fighting constantly now. I don't understand, Constantinos. He adores her, and she did love him. Is it over? Is it dead? You know more about these things than I do. You've said, over and over, that if they break up, Sarah Teresa

will fall under some influence. What influence? Is it the same one that's making Julia sick? I remember you saying something of the kind when Maggie was having so many problems, before Walter mercifully married her, and whisked her to safety."

"If Sarah Teresa should come under this influence, Janice, then there will be NO safety. Willie and Cellie must reconcile. They will always have some differences, partly because of the age and educational disparities, but those were minor before, and can be made so again, if they can get past this crisis. Moreover, if they don't, things will be bleak for Julia's unborn child. Cellie will need all her husband's support to help her aunt, and to keep her uncle. . . well, from making promises he shouldn't be expected to keep." Pavlos released Janice.

"I will make a point of talking to Willie. He tells me things he can tell no other man, or woman. I have made a mistake, Janice. Like so many other people, I have laid all the responsibility for repairing the relationship on the woman's shoulders. Willie must be made to take up his share."

* * * * * * * * * * *

A few days later, Cellie had left her daughter with Janice, who came over to sit with Julia while Barnabas took a much-needed rest. Janice had protested, "Cellie, you know you're not supposed to practice on that motorcycle without someone to watch you!"

"Oh, Mom," Cellie had replied with disgust. "That's just Will's paranoia coming through. Buzz said I'm almost ready to get a permit, even without having had formal lessons."

"Oh, that Buzz. . . He's the one who took that big fall off his bike a few years ago. Cellie! I thought you had more sense! At least, call someone who'd be willing to ride along with you."

"Okay, okay," her daughter said, shrugging. "God, I just have to get out of here!" She started to cry.

"Cellie," Janice said. "What's the matter with you, and Willie? It's not Lester, is it?"

"NO!" Cellie exploded. "I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks. I don't think I'm interested in him, anymore, anyway. I tried with Will, I really did! But we can't---He can't---" She clapped her hands over her mouth, and turned dark red. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm just a bundle of nerves. So's Will. That's all it is. . . "

Janice held her daughter, and whispered, "Look, Honey, if Willie's

having some--some problems, just make him go to a doctor. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"A doctor won't help," the girl protested. "It's way more than any doctor can handle, even Aunt Jule, when she was healthy. I don't know what to do. I tried to be ready for what was coming. . . But I can't, without him. I need him so bad. I need. . . Never mind. Mom, just let me go riding. I'll try calling Louise, okay? Maybe she has some time."

As it happened, Louise, when she heard the urgent, almost desperate note in her friend's voice, agreed to leave her sons at her mother's place, and come out to Cellie's and Buzz's favorite practice route. "But only for an hour or so, okay, Cellie?" she'd said. "I have to get home to heat up some dinner to take to Buzz at the Cycle shop, before I go in for my shift later."

Cellie strapped on her helmet, now brightly decorated with stickers Sarah Teresa had helped select. "This is for Mommy's 'Vroom-Vroom'," Cellie had explained, as the precocious infant pointed to this and that rainbow-hued stamp. "Bvooom! Bvooom!" The baby yelled, in reply.

Janice held up her grand-daughter now, to watch Cellie set off, cautiously, down Widow's Hill Road, from which she would pick her way through back trails to her destination, a road that ran alongside Eagle Hill Cemetery. "Meh-Meh! Bvoooom!" Sarah Teresa squealed, her arms and legs waving.

Meanwhile, across town, Louise Hackett jumped on her motorcycle,

and rode it a short distance down her parents' street. Suddenly, a sleek red car driven by a blonde woman cut Louise off, and tumbled her into some nearby rosebushes. When she managed to get up, Louise yelped in pain. She yanked off her boot, and examined her ankle. Just a twist, thank God! She hobbled to her cycle, with the intention of leading it back to her parent's house, and getting her mother to

drive her to the rendezvous, so that she could tell Cellie that she wouldn't be able to join her after all, and that they would have to make it another day.

Once she got home, though, she saw that it was out of the question to ask her mother to take her out toward Chartville. Little Buzz had suddenly developed a fever, and began to vomit. Mrs. Baracini ended up taking her injured daughter, sick grandson, and healthy but impatient older grandson, to the emergency room, after Louise had called Cellie's mother to have Janice relay the message that she wouldn't be able to meet her friend. Hopefully, either Janice could meet Cellie, or send someone, to tell the girl it would be better to return home, to wait until Louise and Buzz, Jr. had recovered.

Back at Collinwood, Janice, who had both the baby and Julia to watch, discovered that Mrs. Johnson had an errand to run near Chartville, and was willing to overcome her anxiety about driving near Eagle Hill Cemetery, in order to deliver the brief message to Cellie. The housekeeper boarded her sturdy Chevrolet, and soon drove out of sight.

Within fifteen minutes, Mrs. Johnson, who was by no means a fast driver, but liked to get things done with dispatch, was slowing her car near the cemetery, searching for the dirt road. She remembered, that was where corteges had parked for various funerals. In the past couple of years, the bushes and smaller trees had encroached, obscuring the entrance to the simple track. Then, she noticed a series

of red and blue reflections blinking in the shadiest spot. Police car lights, she thought, her heart starting to pound. Perhaps Cellie had an accident.

In a moment, Mrs. Johnson found the road, and turned onto it. She saw Cellie's absurdly-decorated motorcycle lying along the side of the road, her equally garish helmet balanced on one of the upturned handles. The Sheriff's car, its lights flashing, was parked beside it. Mrs. Johnson was about to get out of her car to check out the situation, when she saw Cellie's and Lester's heads close together, in the back seat of the Sheriff's car. As she peered more closely, she saw something that made her face burn with embarrassment, and prompted her to turn around, rather abruptly and noisily, and return to Collinwood.

It was clear that nobody would have to worry about Cellie and her wretched motorcycle, Mrs. Johnson thought angrily. "Poor Willie!" she sighed.

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Willie swept small twigs and the fragments of dried leaves, winter's remaining debris, from the long cement walk between Collinwood and the Old House. He'd really wanted to spend the afternoon with his daughter, but he was still upset by the argument he had with his wife this morning. He may have been angry at Cecily, but he did agree with her usual dictum that physical labor was the easiest way for him to calm down, short of her own ministrations. He wanted to mellow out as soon as possible, so as not to upset his sensitive little girl again.

How much he loved that baby! And what a lousy mother Cecily was turning out to be, spending so much of the time she wasn't looking after Julia, with her books and her Karate and her damnable obsession with her motorcycle! Willie was jealous of the cycle itself. Cecily actually talked to it, and patted it, calling it "Peter" like that crazy Siobhan once did, as though it was a faithful horse. Next thing, she'd be feeding sugar lumps to it, he grumped to himself. He was irked when Janice told him Cecily had left the baby, and Julia, to go for a little spin, even dragging poor Louise from her own family duties, and, later, inconveniencing Mrs. Johnson, when Louise cancelled out.

He shouldn't have married Cecily, he realized now. He should have

been man enough to let her alone in the first place. Then he wouldn't have these problems! He wouldn't have Sarah Teresa, either, but maybe another, more mature woman might have come along, and there would have been other children, sooner or later. . .

Probably later, or, more likely, never. Willie tried to get a grip on these thoughts, sweeping harder when they were meanest and darkest. He did love Cecily, so much it was making him sick. That's what the problem was. Only last night, he tried so hard to make things up with her. She never got mad at him, or even lost patience with him, until he started in again, this morning, badgering her about Lester and David and Barnabas, and anyone else who'd glanced at her twice. He even mentioned the times he'd seen her hug Pavlos and the Professor. "Geeeez. . . Oh, Will, shut up already, damn it. I'm so tired! I'm so tired!" she'd wept.

"But you slept like a log, after I---after we---I guess that doesn't bother you much, anymore, if you can sleep!"

"I just have one crappy dream after another! Indians turning into Vietnamese children turning into Maggie's baby trying to escape the doctor, and those green lights. . . I guess my father's blood must have messed us up, too. . ."

"Things haven't been the same for any of us, Cecily, since then."

"Thank God Anissa hasn't been around, lately---"

Willie blew up. "THAT'S IT! Blame her for ALL our own problems!

It's US, Cecily, us! We don't belong together! I'm too old! You're too young, and you got an itch! I can't scratch it for you anymore. . . No good. It's no good. First Barnabas didn't really need me anymore, but He was stuck with me. And now, it's the same with you! It's over! If it wasn't for my Teresa. . ."

"YOUR Teresa! SARAH Teresa is one-half mine, and don't you EVER forget it! Even Nicholas wouldn't forget that--- Oh, my God." She suddenly grew very still. Willie could hear their baby crying upstairs. Cellie whispered, "I said his name, like I was beseeching him, or something. Oh, my God. Forgive me, God. . ." She sobbed. "If only I didn't feel so worn out. . . Sorry. . ."

He'd reached for her, but she went upstairs, and, in a few minutes, brought Sarah Teresa down, with her supply bag. The baby had stopped crying, and suffered it quietly when her mother put her, a little roughly, into her stroller. Willie crouched down, and stroked his daughter's face. She flashed her four-toothed grin, and offered him her Teddy bear. He whispered, "Teresa. Don't worry about Mommy. She's not feeling too good today, but she'll get better. You have to watch out for her, now." He kissed the baby, then rose, and pecked his wife on the cheek. "You be careful with my child," he warned.

"I'm always careful with my child," she sniffed.

As he watched Cellie wheel Sarah Teresa down the walk from Abijah's Cottage, Willie could hear his daughter gurgle happily, "Jeh-Jeh! Jeh-Jeh!"

If only he could hear that laugh, now. If only his Cecily would smile at him, the way she used to, so sweet and pitying, like an angel in a church window. She had tried to, last night, but the smile died in her eyes.

Willie swept harder and harder. He thought, at least Mrs. Stoddard and Barnabas would appreciate what he'd done today. And Carolyn wouldn't go around complaining about how she kept getting twigs and old rock salt, left over from the winter, stuck in her fancy shoes. Someone would care about what he'd done, maybe even THANK him for once!

There was a point on the walk, where one could look in the distance, away from the houses and the ocean, towards the old Henderson Place. Cecily had told him that it was built by descendants of Nathaniel Collins's pathetic little Indian rape victim. Willie had been disgusted by the story. It reminded him of his father and poor Fran, and that miserable Saint Dymphna with her Dad. Still, even though Tekwitha herself had come to a bad end, her daughter and descendants did well for themselves. The simple mansion, Willie was told, had just fourteen rooms less than Collinwood.

Twenty-six rooms seemed like a manageable number. The house

didn't appear to be so complex in construction that one could really lose oneself in a maze of abandoned corridors, as one still could at Collinwood. But there had only been one occupant for so long, that some of the place must have fallen into disrepair. There was surely a ton of dust and cobwebs by now, Willie thought, remembering the condition of the Old House when Barnabas first brought him to live there.

Then, he heard the roar of an engine, coming from that direction. He saw a sportscar pull into the drive, right near the front door of the Henderson Place. A blonde woman got out, and looked up the hill, directly at him.

Anissa! Willie thought, dismayed. He hoped she wouldn't come up to bother him. This was just the sort of thing Cecily would chew him out for.

His hopes were dashed when he observed Anissa, trudging up the knoll in her sturdy boots, as agile as a mountain goat. "Willie! I didn't realize we were neighbors!"

"We're not," he replied evasively. "I'm just here, doing some chores for the Collinses."

"I don't think so," she said, pertly. "You see, I just stopped by the Antique Shoppe, to see if you had any more of those pretty old frames, and I noticed the 'Closed For Improvements Until April' sign in the window. The back of the store, where you were living, had a forlorn look."

"Okay, so we're living here. I don't consider us neighbors, though, even if you are living in that warehouse down there."

"It's not a warehouse. It's been kept up very nicely. Perhaps I can show you sometime--- with your wife, of course."

"Yeah, SURE, you want Cecily around." Willie turned from Anissa, and resumed sweeping. "How could you afford a huge place like that, anyway? I'll bet you just broke in and camped out. I heard about your rich old boyfriend. You haven't seen him for a while. I can't believe he's still sending you dough, since you've been seeing Lester. Even though I heard that's over. Sorry."

"I'm not, especially, though I can tell you are," she replied, pertly. "Lasha didn't mind, all that much. We keep in closer touch than you'll ever know. Anyway, I'm not paying the whole tab, which is quite reasonable, thank you very much. I have a housemate, a male friend who pays half."

"Who is he? What does he do? Why hasn't he come up to the Big House? Everybody new in the neighborhood ends up there sooner or later."

"Oh, I daresay you'll be seeing him soon." Anissa reached out, and rubbed Willie's arm. Her hand was very warm, and she massaged his muscles, which had gotten sore from his thorough sweeping motion. He could have stood there all day.

When she was finished, he joked, "Maybe you should rub the other arm. And my legs, and my back. And my neck."

"Everything could probably use a little rubdown, eh?" Her dark brown eyes sparkled.

Willie turned maroon. "That's--that's not what I meant. I don't mess around on the side from my wife. I meant, you give good massages. I had a swell massage in Japan, once. The girl who gave it was little, but boy, was she tough! She mauled me around, and walked on my back. It felt awful at first, but later, I felt like a million bucks. I'll have to get my Cecily to take lessons in that, instead of Karate!" He grinned, his embarrassment, and his irritation at his wife, easing.

"You're a better man than she deserves, Willie," Anissa sighed.

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" Willie demanded. "I always hear how she's too good for me! And it's true," he concluded sadly.

"Never mind. Forget I said that. I guess I'm just doing what I told you about, once, coveting something I don't have. Lasha is a sweetie, but he can get tiresome, which is why I'm here. A little vacation, you could call it."

"If he was really a good guy, he'd come and get you, and never let you go. He'd probably knock the block off that guy you're staying with, whether you two were doing something or not. I sure would, if it was MY lady."

"Good to hear about such old-fashioned values in this day and age.

I have to go. Be seeing you, Willie." Anissa trotted back down the hill.

Willie finished sweeping the walk, and headed toward the Great House. He was eager to see his daughter, and he wanted to check in on Julia. His personal anguish at her plight was the closest point of total agreement between himself and his wife these days. He remembered, vaguely, making some remark to Barnabas, about the happiness his employer would experience when he felt his child moving inside of Julia. That was a long time ago, before Jack Knowlton killed his mother

and tried to kill both Barnabas and Cecily.

How happy they'd all been, just to survive those days, and what joy there was, when it turned out that Barnabas and Julia had "scooped" the fertility clinic after all. Now, all the gold had turned to rust. Barnabas actually wept whenever he felt his doomed offspring assert itself inside Julia's womb. He couldn't face the threat of Julia's ending up a vampire, and yet he couldn't stand the thought of putting an end to her dangerous pregnancy.

If only Willie could muster up the enthusiasm to "replenish" his wife's gift, so she could aid her stricken aunt. That seemed to be Cecily's mission (aside from protecting her own child), to help the children of others, now that she could have no more herself. She saved Margene's boy, even before Sarah Teresa was born. She had saved Maggie's unborn baby.

He went into the house to see his baby, and to prepare himself for his wife's return. He wished he could get Cecily one of those flimsy kimonoes, like the one his Japanese masseuse had worn. Oh, well, the turquoise gown would be enough. Surely, tonight, things would be better---Willie almost collided with Mrs. Johnson, who appeared very upset about something. When she saw him, she actually ran toward the kitchen passage. "What's the matter, Mrs. J.?" he pleaded, frightened. "Did Julia take a turn for the worse? Is it my little girl? Or did Cecily---" he broke off, with a sob "--Did Cecily have an accident?" Oh, how he regretted those angry words and thoughts---

Mrs. Johnson clapped her hand over her mouth, as though she was going to throw up. Her face burned red, again.

"Tell me, Mrs. Johnson. Something happened to Cecily! I'm gonna find out sooner or later, it might as well be sooner!"

"Yes," she finally said, almost in a whisper. "It may as well be sooner. . . I hate to be the one to break this to you, Willie. I certainly wouldn't, if I hadn't seen the evidence with my own eyes. . . Even then, I would spare you, but the thought--- the thought of that brazen--- I'm nearly as fond of you as I am of my daughter, and God knows, you sure turned out better than my own son. . . I know I wouldn't even want HIM to be in the dark about something like this---"

"Out with it, then! What was Cecily up to!"

"Willie, calm down, or I won't--"

Willie grabbed the housekeeper roughly by the shoulders. "TELL ME!"

"When I went out to find her, to tell her to bring her motorcycle home, I drove down the lane by the cemetery, and I saw her, in the back seat of the Sheriff's car, with Lester Arliss. . . I can't bring myself to tell you any more," she wept.

Willie released her, and ran out the front doors. "Willie, I'm sure they're not there, anymore!" Mrs. Johnson called after him. "I made a lot of noise, driving away, I'm sure they were scared off!"

David Collins drove up in his beige "Hupmobile" just as Willie was getting into his station wagon. Mrs. Johnson yelled, "Stop him!" David jumped from his car, and jumped on Willie, who fought like an animal. David had the advantage of knowing some slightly illegal tackling manuevers, and was soon sitting on Willie's back. "Now, someone tell me what this is all about!" he shouted.

"Gonna kill that alley-cat tramp, no-good whore," Willie mumbled beneath David. "Mrs. Johnson saw her and Lester in the Sheriff's car--"

"She just couldn't resist telling you, could she?" David sneered. "I'll bet she was so far away from them, she didn't get a clear view of anything."

"I'm afraid I got a very good look, David," Mrs. Johnson said, indignantly. "I thought Willie had a right to know. Why should any husband put up with such goings-on, I'd like to know? And think of your God-daughter, David."

"You know how Willie gets!" David shouted.

"And well he should," the housekeeper harrumphed.

"Okay, okay," David said. "But we can't have Willie carrying on like this, and risk getting anyone else in the house upset. Not until Cellie shows up, and has a chance to speak for herself. Keep this under your bonnet, Mrs. J., that is, if the bee in it isn't stinging too hard! I'm taking Willie to see Pavlos, to talk some sense into him."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cellie waited a few minutes for Louise to show up. She walked up toward the main road, along the edge of the woods, looking for her, and examining the white anemones that were peeking up from under dead leaves. She didn't even hear a car drive by. Concluding that her friend had been held up by family concerns, Cellie saw no reason not to start riding back and forth on the dirt track for a little while.

She felt good, bumping along the ruts, hanging on tightly to the handlebars, clinging to the saddle, leaning forward to feel the welcome rush of cold air on her face. This rough solitary activity gave her more relief than climbing the jungle gym at the State Park, or practicing martial arts manuevers with Ralph Baracini. Something about the jolting even relieved the irritation caused by the green lights she saw in her mind. It was all the relief she expected to get, since

she had come to believe she'd reached the end of the line with her husband.

She was tired of reassuring Willie that she loved and wanted only him. She was tired of his treating her like the "Negligent Mother of the Year" she'd once joked about being. She adored her child, and spent a lot more time with her, since they'd come to the cottage. But, she thought, her husband, of all people, should have realized that the onus of responsibility for facing the threat before them was on her shoulders, more than ever. Pavlos could no longer help her in the way she needed most. Barnabas was becoming more lost in his despondency over Julia's condition. The Professor made it clear she could contact him any hour of the day or night, even if he was working, but it was a thirty-mile drive from Orono. Even her father, who was no maven of the occult, but had finally developed a respectful attitude toward her beliefs, wasn't available to her. He had to stay in Boston, to protect Maggie.

Sometimes, Cellie questioned if Nicholas was ever really going to return, what with the curse of Ock-Wen-Uck hanging over his head. Why did he require so much time to figure out how to banish Sarah Collins's spirit from the baby's body? Perhaps, she thought, Desiree was the real problem. She had done so much harm already. Cellie thought back to baby Marcus C.'s convulsions. Such an act against a helpless infant sounded more and more like something Desiree would do. At Nicholas's direction, of course, but the means of execution was in her unique style.

Anissa had to be Desiree. Cellie had already figured out that Anissa may have started her campaign against the Loomises by the simple act of keeping the original receipt with Willie's writing. Still, there was the chance he might have handed her the carbon instead, so she had to have gotten her hands on something else, something innocuous, commonplace, taken for granted. Cellie had considered the Mizpah pendant, but she and Willie had removed them every time they'd attempted to make love since they were in Boston, and he still had his problem. Okay, perhaps Anissa had not only handled Willie's pendant, but something else he had on him every day.

Cellie wracked her brain. The answer was so simple, and stupid, she would never discover it, except by accident. Cellie recalled when the folksinger Latilda's rendition of "The Master Song" gave her the tiny hint that had prompted the revelations about Willie's relationship with Barnabas. Something about a golden string, which made her think of the ring. . .

The RING! The wedding ring! Willie's wedding ring! Anissa must have touched--- CRUNCH! Cellie's bike hit a loose pile of large rocks that had somehow accumulated in the track. She had been venturing further and further into the woods, and so, had run into them. When she tried to slow the motorcycle, she was pitched off, right onto the track. As Buzz had instructed her, she made herself shield her helmetted head and neck with her arms. "You can break an arm, you can break your jaw, or your cute little nose, Roja," he'd admonished. "Those can be fixed. But a broken neck is forever."

Fortunately, she fell flat, halfway into the new grass. Her legs, however, hit the rocks scattered in the track. She didn't think she'd broken anything, but she was sure to be bruised pretty badly. She began to wish she'd gone home when Louise didn't show up. She began to wish it even more, when she glimpsed a police car making its way slowly down the rutted lane. She began to wish it with all her heart and soul, when the vehicle came into full sight, and she realized this was no ordinary squad car.

Lester Arliss emerged from the Sheriff's car, and walked right up to her. "Oh, my God, Cellie," he exclaimed. "What happened here? Are you injured?"

"No, Les," she replied, sitting, painfully, near where she'd yanked herself out of the deeply-depressed track. "I had a little spill. Hurts like the dickens, but I'm okay. Honest. You can leave, now. I was just about to head home, anyway."

"In your condition? Maybe you didn't break anything, but I doubt you'll be able to sit on that Harley. I couldn't let you go, just like that, anyway," he said in a stern voice.

"Why not? I learned my lesson. I'll never ride alone again, till I have my license--- Oh!" she cried in dismay. "I guess I'm going to get a citation for riding this baby without a license."

"And disturbing the peace."

"Whose peace? The folks in the graveyard?" Cellie smiled a little.

Lester gazed at her face, then made himself look away. "I got a complaint, a few minutes ago, from a lady who lives in the new subdivision up the road, claiming she saw a girl fitting your description riding her motorcycle through an isolated section of her property. So while you managed to avoid riding on the public streets, you were trespassing. I just happened to be nearby, so I figured it would be expedient to handle it myself."

"Especially since you suspected it was me, anyway," Cellie sighed.

"Okay, write out the tickets, and give me a lift home. Will's going to be furious, but I'll survive his wrath."

"I should probably take you to the emergency room first, just in case you have internal injuries."

"I'm fine! Look!" She stood up, slowly, but easily.

"Alright, then. Come sit in the car while I write out the tickets." Lester opened the back door, and motioned to Cellie to drape herself across the wide back seat. He sat in the front, scribbling out the tickets on a clipboard he carried for the purpose. "I won't impound your motorcycle, have no fear. We'll need a pick-up truck to bring that heap back to your place. Because you're a friend, and you've

been so co-operative, I'll pay for that out of my own pocket. Strictly off the record, of course."

"I'll offically deny it to anyone who asks," Cellie giggled.

Lester looked back at her. "You're so pretty when you smile like that, Cellie. You know that?"

Cellie immediately composed her features into a grave expression.

"I won't smile like that again, unless it shaves some bucks off my fine."

Lester smiled, now. "Hmmm. . . Offering to bribe the Sheriff. . . That's another citation. . ." He flung the clipboard aside, and got out of the car, to get into the back seat with Cellie.

She was reluctant to move over for him. "Where's my tickets?" she

laughed uneasily.

He gently slid her legs off the seat, sat right up against her, and put his arm around her shoulders. "Cellie. . ." Lester began. "I didn't really think I'd ever have this opportunity, to be alone with you, to talk. . . You have to know. I stopped seeing Anissa because of the way I feel about you."

"You're better off not seeing her, Les. She's bad news in more ways than one. But that mustn't have anything to do with me. I'm married, and that's just the way it's going to stay."

"Cellie, are you really happy? You don't sound it. If you were very fond of Willie, anymore, that would be a major part of your argument against beginning something with me. Not just the fact that you're still married to him!"

"We have our spats, but we always make up. . ."

"Cellie, I don't want to be the co-respondent in a divorce. But there's something about you that tells me that a divorce isn't far off. Have you accomplished whatever it was you were so intent on, a couple of months ago, that you couldn't consider separating from your husband?"

"No---I sort of stalled out. But I'm committed---"

"Commit yourself to me, and I'll see to it that you can do whatever your heart desires. I love you, Cellie. I can give you and Sarah Teresa a good life, as happy, secure and respectable, as I can make it. I don't even mind that we won't have children of our own. Maybe, if you really want more, we can adopt, someday." Lester took Cellie's hand, and kissed it. He rubbed it against his cheek. He said, in a voice so low, he sounded as though he was talking to himself, "I never felt like this in my life, not with the local girls, not with my girlfriend in college. . . "

"Oh, Lester," Cellie sighed, "You come from a nice family, you have a degree, and a good future ahead of you, as long as you don't consider the Sheriff's office a final stop on your career track. You must have met other interesting women along the way, including, for example, Anissa. I mean, she's not right for anybody, but she's certainly got a more fascinating resume than I do. What's so special about me? I'm not even twenty, and it'll be a while before I can get into the college groove, and I never really had a chance to learn much about men, before I met Will. . . Not that being with him hasn't been a kind of education---"

"Things just haven't been the same for me, since you pranced into the police station, and browbeat Fred Beardsley," Lester replied. "I used to notice you, working at the Superette, but I would never have bothered an underage girl, like Willie apparently did."

"We didn't get together because he bothered me!" Cellie answered, indignantly. "I don't think I'd have wanted to even say 'hello' to him, but it turned out, he worked for Barnabas. It was a twist of fate that we met, you might say. He never pressured me. I just---I just felt sorry for him, at first. He appreciated me, and I thought he understood me, and I thought I understood him. We fell in love,

just like anyone else."

"I'm sorry, then, I didn't make some such gesture, you know, showing up at your door to collect for the P.A.L., or the Old Sheriff's Home, in the rain, or snow, preferably. Then you would've felt sorry for me!" Lester tried to smile. "Sorry, Cellie. That was mean. I admit, I kind of put you out of my mind, when you weren't working at the Superette anymore. I'm not exactly an antiques buff, and I believed I was just having idle fantasies, anyway. Then, we arrested your husband, and, out of the blue, you came in and made that stand for him. I was impressed, in a friendly way. But, the more contact I had with you, even when you were so hurt, in the hospital. . . God, how could anyone do that to you! I relived your visit to Fred's office. I'd never thought of a pregnant woman as being pretty, let alone sexy. And you were so loyal. . . I wished someone would feel like that about me."

"Well, this little visit speaks volumes about my capacity for loyalty," Cellie commented sadly.

"No, Cellie, it doesn't. It could be, you were just being loyal to the wrong person. Or, maybe, if you break off from Willie now, you won't be quite as disloyal as if you forced yourself to stay when you really didn't want to."

"I don't know if I want to, but he's been the biggest part of my life for a year-and-a-half, and we're crazy about our baby. He always used to tell me I'm the greatest thing in his life, and he would support all my plans, and he'd stay with me forever, in spite of our not being able to have another child. I loved him for what he was, and I admired him for what he was able to overcome. Sometimes, in spite of everything, I still don't think anyone else could do for me, or to me, what he did. You're sweet, Lester, and I do like you a lot, but I'm

not sure I can give Will up."

"I don't want to pressure you, Cellie, but I have this love for you, that's growing like a big vine. It'll choke me, if I can't do anything about it! I know you have some of the same feelings for me, or you would have tried to leave already. I want you, and I believe you want me. I haven't been around much, and I guess, compared to someone who's been all over the map like Willie, I'm not as experienced, but I can please you. You wouldn't be sorry, in the end. Please,

Cellie. . ." Lester held her face in his hands, and kissed her firmly.

Cellie's mind was a kaleidoscope of oranges and reds, colors she hadn't seen in a long time. She had held on to Willie, and back from Lester, long enough. She was certainly tired of the frustrating, humiliating nights with her husband, and she had a great need that went beyond the desire for sex. She could read Lester as easily as she read her husband (at least, she had, before her recent troubles), and his words were winning her over.

She thought of her "blockage." Perhaps it didn't really matter who helped her regain her empathic abilities. It wouldn't even be as if she and Lester were starting a sleazy affair. She knew already that he was sincere about loving her, and wanting to marry her, even if he was radiating a kind of desperate frenzy at the moment, much like Willie once had, and Jack--- Still, at least, Lester had the ability to maintain his self-control, most of the time. Not like Willie, with

his pathetic pulling and pawing, or Jack with his brutality.

Of course, she would never feel as free to discuss certain matters with Lester, but he had so much to offer, and he might be made to understand about the empathism. Surely, someone as intelligent and competent as he appeared to be, could help her protect Sarah Teresa. Lester, like Willie, had a strong eagerness to placate her, to do what she wanted. She didn't know if that was a good quality or a bad quality in a man, but, at this point, she figured she might as well take advantage, and see where it led. She kissed the Sheriff back, her

lips opening under his, her body, still aching from her fall, straining for a closer embrace.

She took off her leather jacket, and allowed him to fondle her. His hands shook a little. That reminded her of Willie--- she forced herself not to think about him, anymore. When Lester had pulled her sweater up, and then, reached down to her jeans, she was so lost in the the sensation, she barely wondered what would happen if he suddenly got a call on his radio. His face disappeared from her view, beneath the bunched-up hem of her heavy sweater. She felt his lips, and his hands on her skin. Her own hands traveled.

Once or twice she giggled a little when he brushed his heavy family ring against her. It first, it felt icy cold, but in a few minutes, it stung her with intense heat. She tried to remember something she had been thinking about someone else's ring, but a greenish mist formed in her mind. She gazed, blankly, out the window, as she grew warmer and warmer. The surrounding trees and bushes were such pretty colors, she thought. A hint of green, and red and white

and blue, flashing and blinking---

"Lester," she whispered, "You left the light on, up top."

"That's okay," he muttered against her breast. "Nobody'll see, and we won't be here that long. Long enough, though." He ran his fingers up and down her scar.

"Does that bother you?" she asked.

"Only that something similar can't happen to Jack Knowlton."

Lester straightened up, and whispered in her ear. "Cellie, I'm

ready. . ." He kissed her ear softly. "I know you are. . ."

Cellie's heart pounded. This was the last chance she would have to make up her mind. . . She murmurred, "Lester. . ."

All at once, there was a noisy spray of pebbles pelting the Sheriff's car. Cellie and Lester both shot up, and saw the scandalized expression on Sarah Johnson's face as she turned her Chevrolet around in the dirt lane, and headed back toward the main road.

"Oh--oh, my God," Cellie cried, pulling her sweater and everything underneath it, back into place. "That's Mrs. Johnson from Collinwood! She's kind of a gossip, and she's really fond of Will. She'll be sure to tell him---"

"Maybe she won't," Lester said, calmly, stroking her hair. "If she does, so what? You'll get a separation, then a divorce."

"What dreamworld are you living in, Lester?" Cellie gasped, horrified at his lack of concern. "He'll kill me, and, at least TRY to kill you! He's always been jealous of me, even--even when he had no reason. And now--" she began to cry "--he DOES!"

"I'll protect you, Cellie," Lester reassured her. "And I doubt that, even in his maddest moments, Willie would seriously consider killing any police officer, at least, not the way he's been the last couple of years."

"This is different. He never had anything of his own before, worth killing over! Even if he doesn't, he'll try to get my baby, and run away, and he--he just can't do that! Not right now! The baby would be in terrible danger, and not just from being with a hurt and angry father!"

"Don't you think I wouldn't protect your child, too? Willie won't be able to keep the baby, even if he goes about it the legal way. He has a criminal record, so there's no danger he'll get custody of Sarah Teresa."

"You're kidding," she snapped. "He's buddy-buddy with my Dad now. When my Dad hears about this, he'll probably pull out all the stops to help Will, just to teach me a lesson. That is, if something far worse doesn't happen before that!"

"It'll pass, Cellie. We'll be together, with the baby. We'll be together, before that. We'll just go to motels for a while, and later, you can come to my place. I want you to, Cellie, please?" Lester pleaded, as he tried to kiss her again.

She pushed him away, roughly. "What the Hell's wrong with you, Les? I have to go now, to intercept Mrs. J., to make peace with my husband if it isn't already too late--- Just give me my damn tickets, and pretend you don't see me jumping back on my Hog. If you do that much, I promise I'll think over our situation, but in a rational,

practical manner. As I would suggest that you do. We've been irrational for an hour, and look where it got us!"

Lester tried to block her. "Cellie, I'll take you. I have to---it's the law--"

"Isn't there also some old law on the books against adultery, Les? Let me go now, and you can slap me with another ticket, after, but I have to go!" She head-butted Lester, twisted her arms from his grasp, and kicked his shins in the struggle to emerge from the Sheriff's car. Finally, she got clear, and fell out. With a sob, she evaded his grasp, got up, and stumbled to her motorcycle. She jammed her helmet on, and managed to get the Harley started by the time Lester had buttoned his shirt, adjusted his pants, and jumped from his car. He stood in the road, choking on the flying dirt the speeding Harley left in its wake.

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Willie sat sullenly in the Hupmobile as David sped downtown. "I don't know why I have to see Pavlos," the older man complained. "What's he gonna do? Give me some stupid excuse about how Cecily needs to screw around so she can do her little head tricks?"

"Christ, Willie, you know how Pavlos feels about you and Cellie staying together. He's gotten ticked off at Cellie before. He will again, if she really did, um, 'do it' with Lester. Which we don't know for sure."

"You went out parking with girls, David. You know damn well they weren't just having a friendly talk! You really think she's gonna march right in the door, and tell the truth about something like that? You're as stupid as I used to be! My Dad warned me about what would happen with a hot young thing like that. 'Whores and bitches,' he said. Just like Melinda. Just like--- just like my Mom. . ." Willie began to cry. "She kept telling me, right up to last night, I was the only one! SHE LIED! She's been putting out for Lester every time she was out of my sight! I KNOW IT!"

David almost ran over the curb in front of the Koffeehaus. He got out of the Buick, and opened the passenger door. When Willie hesitated to get out, David yanked on his arm, and led him, weeping as he was, through the front door, past the band that was setting up, past Dimitrios at the bar, and directly into Pavlos's office.

Pavlos sat at his desk, perusing the contents of a box labeled, "LOST AND FOUND." He was intently examining a delicately-embossed silver compact. He wore a slightly sickened expression, but looked up at the visitors with a forced smile, as David shoved Willie into a chair near the desk. "What seems to be the problem here?" Pavlos said, in the most cheerful voice he could muster.

"Sorry to bother you when you're so busy, Pavlos," David began.

"You know I was not busy, David. I was just wondering what to do about this rather expensive-looking little accessory I've discovered in my Lost-and-Found box. You know I always make an effort to see that these items are returned to their proper owners. Why anyone should have let go of this particular item, and not come back to find it, is a mystery to me!" He shrugged, and dropped the compact into his desk drawer. "Willie. . . you are upset. It is about Cellie. I can tell, you know."

"She--she's--she's cheating on me! With Lester Arliss! Mrs. Johnson saw them, near Eagle Hill Cemetery. She had to tell me. What the Hell am I going to do, Pavlos?"

Pavlos came around the desk, and placed his hands on Willie's shoulders. "What do you want to do, Willie? Tell me!"

"Not with David here," Willie sobbed. David stepped outside the door, and closed it.

"What do you want to do, Willie?" Pavlos repeated.

"I WANT TO KILL THEM!" Willie shouted. "I want BLOOD, and PAIN, and I think I want to get HIM first, with HER watching, before I do the SAME thing to HER! THAT'S what I want! I want them to SUFFER. . ."

"You are suffering, I know," Pavlos said soothingly.

"You DON'T know! You cheated on your wives. You must've sensed how they felt when they found out!"

"I hurt them dreadfully. I didn't enjoy hurting them, so I tried to stop, but by then, it was too late."

"Did they ever cheat on YOU?"

"Not as far as I ever knew, Willie. I doubt it."

"Then you DON'T really know what it's like! Cecily said she loved only ME, from the first day! She was MY GIRL, and I was HER MAN. I told her she wasn't dirty when we were together before we got married. Now we're married, and she's DIRTY! Dirty as Melinda! And even my

Mom. . . Good thing Cecily can't have more kids! I have to get my daughter away from that BITCH!"

"Willie, Willie. Cellie isn't dirty, and she is a good mother. The baby would miss her. You must calm down. I can help you, but only a little, you know. . ." Pavlos's face had turned red, and he clutched at his chest.

Willie looked afraid. "You're gonna die, and it's gonna be my fault," he mourned. "If you're dead, I won't have anyone. . . Nobody really cares about me, but you and my little girl, and she's just a baby. I'm sorry, Pavlos, I'll try to be good. Don't get sick," he pleaded.

Pavlos took a deep breath, and his face resumed its normal color. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Willie," he admonished. "Have you noticed that, in all the time you've been complaining to me, I haven't spoken a word of in denial of your allegations, or in defense of your wife's activities?"

"You believe she's screwing around, too? But you said she isn't dirty!"

"I have had my own suspicions confirmed, Willie. Suspicions of her intent, but I have good reason to believe she has not acted on them."

"How could you know that?"

"This compact," Pavlos said, opening his desk drawer again. "It's no ordinary cosmetic container. The mirror within acted as a 'hidden camera' on what should have been a very private interlude. Now--" Pavlos opened the compact--- "It only shows me my face."

"So, you're saying, Cecily was with Lester, but they didn't---she didn't--"

"Mrs. Johnson interrupted them at a crucial moment. it seems."

"Oh." Willie's head drooped onto his chest. "That doesn't make me feel any better, then. They'll just end up sneaking off, maybe to the Bide-A-Wee, or further away. Why shouldn't Cecily want Lester more than me, anyway? He's kind of good-looking, he's got a good job, and he likes the baby. He can probably make her happy, in other ways, more than me. . . If I don't get him FIRST!"

"Willie, you must stop talking about 'getting' either of them," Pavlos warned. "You know what lies ahead for you. Too much depends on Cellie, and you won't be able to help protect those that need it, from a prison cell. Lester wouldn't make her happy, in any case, sex or no sex. He could not share the sort of bond you have with your wife, could not discuss the matters essential to the way of life she must follow.

"What's more," the Greek continued, "he would not hold her interest for long, as a man. I have drawn him out, talking with him when he's come in here alone, and learned much from what little he's told me. He has spent his life walling himself off from needing a woman, the way you need Cellie, the way she requires you to need her. Perhaps it is a Patterson family trait. I understand his late uncle never even looked at another woman, from the time his wife died, until his own death, over twenty-five years later. Lester's own mother never re-married after her husband left her, when Lester was a boy, though the husband did. Lester wants Cellie, and I've no doubt he feels love for her, but his concept of love, even in the married state, is rather shallow and conventional, again, as a kind of shield. He cannot do anything for her empathism, of that I'm convinced. His heart can never open up enough.

"There may even be something about him that renders her gift toxic. If what Barnabas and Professor Stokes have said about a spell is true, it's possible Lester is being incited to pursue Cellie in order to block her abilities, and make you lose control. YOU MUST RESIST! As for your current impediment, it's likely part of the same spell, which has acted on your natural fears and anxieties about your perceived inadequacies. Cellie just told you she loved you yesterday, did she not?"

"Last night, when I couldn't--- I couldn't do anything. . ." Willie replied sadly. "But I was still sore about it today, and I ragged her about every guy in town! She just wanted to get away from me. I guess it's my fault."

"No, she is guilty, too, but you and she have to work together, not to push each other away any farther than you both have. You and she had a narrow escape today, Willie. You both must forgive, and then perhaps, that which you think is lost, will return to you."

Willie sighed. "I guess you're right. I almost got hit on myself, today. If I'd heard from Mrs. Johnson just before that, I might've taken the girl up on it, just to get even."

"Who propositioned you?"

"Anissa Sheridan. She used to go with Lester, but he bugged her too much, talking about Cecily. She didn't really come on to me, in so many words, but I got around a lot, in my younger days. I know what she meant."

"Anissa. . . Hmmm. Willie, whatever you decide to do, try to avoid any contact with her."

"She lives right next door to Collinwood now. It's gonna be hard to keep her away, if she sees me working around the place."

"Still, even if it means breaking and running like a scared puppy when she shows up, just do it. Avoid her, as I'm sure you'll want to avoid Lester Arliss."

"I thought he was my friend. Pavlos, does any guy with a pretty wife really have friends he can trust?"

"Of course he does, Willie. You can trust myself, and David, and

Barnabas, and Buzz, and many others."

"That's 'cause you all have someone else to keep you busy. Lester

doesn't. I just hope I don't run into him at all, for a while, anyway." Willie got up. "I guess I better get home, now, and hash it out with my wife. I promise, I won't hit her or anything like that. Maybe I'll even buy her flowers, you know, to make the first move."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Nicholas Blair sat before the large mirror with the fancifully-carved Baroque frame, which hung on the wall, across from his similarly-styled bed in the Henderson place. He studied the uncharacteristically glum expression reflected back at him.

It had been a perfect set-up, from first to last! he groused. Willie, stinging from his latest bout of impotence, driving his wife to go off on her own, to the isolated spot Nicholas and Desiree had prepared so carefully. Desiree, causing Louise Dougherty to have her little accident, and ensuring her failure to warn Cellie, by arranging for Buzz, Jr. to have a bout of gastritis. (Since she'd been posing as a doctor, Desiree had become extremely precise about the nature of the ills she inflicted on her favorite targets, the offspring of her enemies. Nicholas had warned her against doing lasting harm to any but their main adversaries.)

Desiree had completed the puzzle, by calling Lester Arliss, and pretending to be an offended property owner who had witnessed Cellie Loomis cruising across her yard. Nicholas monitored the resulting rendezvous via his large, life-sized mirror. ("Who needs that puny invention called Television?" he laughed to himself.) He recited a spell that would ensure the appearance of the image in strategically-placed mirrors around Collinsport, and one to compell his victims to view them.

As he checked his mirror, though, he experienced crushing disappointment. Something, or someone, had interfered with his plans. At one time, he would not have thought it possible. But with several consecutive failures on his record, his powers must have been curtailed, as he himself had once diminished, and finally eradicated, Angelique's. He would have to learn to make do with less. In the meantime, Nicholas viewed each of his primary targets with dismay.

Willie, it turned out, was outdoors, not even near a glass window.

Desiree had visited him, to gauge his reactions, and had come away, to report to Nicholas her own chagrin at the fact that the dose of jealous rage she'd administered would apparently go to waste.

David Collins, another would-be witness, had been in the pizza parlor, an establishment oddly devoid of reflective surfaces, save for the front window, and a small mirror in the Men's room. The boy hadn't so much as gone near it, during the hour he spent there. He had been speaking, intently, to some blonde girl, and so, wasn't even facing the shiny plate-glass window.

As for Barnabas Collins, he sat in a chair, at Julia's bedside, clutching his reposing wife's hand, himself dozing off. From the look of his unshaven face, it was obvious that he hadn't had much involvement with any mirrors, lately.

Just then, Nicholas felt a glimmer of hope. He saw Mrs. Johnson surprise the would-be lovers, and delighted in the expression on her face. "I wouldn't be surprised if sweet Mrs. Loomis is made to wear a Scarlet 'A' on her lovely bosom, after Mrs. Johnson is through with her," he thought. "It would only add to the enjoyment, if poor, betrayed Willie despatched the not-so-honorable Sheriff!" Viewing that atrocity would be a treat.

Alas, after their discovery by the worthy housekeeper of Collinwood, Cellie and Lester did not complete their intimacy, though the Sheriff begged and pleaded. Cellie had come to her senses, and was apparently going home, no doubt to beg Willie's forgiveness. It was too late for that, Loomis having already been informed by the indignant Mrs. Johnson. David Collins had taken him off to see that obnoxious Greek tavern-owner, but, the last Nicholas checked, Willie was in a most unforgiving mood. "He'll probably knock that Pavlos over, if he defends that little slut," Nicholas thought with satisfaction. After Willie was

safely locked up, or, better yet, killed by the Sheriff, and Cellie was thoroughly ostracized (Nicholas's plans called for an ultimate fate more interesting than mere death at the hands of her enraged spouse), it would be easier for Desiree to strike the necessary blow to the spirit of Sarah Collins.

Desiree entered the room, and sat on the bed next to Nicholas. She wound her arms around him. He kissed her forehead in an absent-minded way. "Things are going our way, after all," he commented. "Our plans had a little setback, but Mrs. Johnson seems to have bridged the gap. Nothing like an eyewitness to a scandal, if you can't have anything else."

"You didn't even have to put a spell on her, Nicholas. She's a self-starter."

"I like it when I don't have to work too hard, to achieve my goals. Letting people hang themselves can be a relaxing spectacle, as well as an entertaining one. I'd rather save the 'big guns' for the final engagement."

"How prudent. At least, you don't go around losing your weapons."

Nicholas drew away from Desiree, an irritated look on his face. "You haven't found your compact yet, I take it?"

Desiree hung her head. "No, Nicholas. It's no big deal, anyway. I don't know why it upsets you so that I haven't found it. It's a minor tool, at best."

"Aside from the fact that it was a costly antique, you have endowed it with some of your powers. If someone else had seen the images in the mirror--"

"Well, Lester's career would be ruined, for sure. It would have served him right for preferring that child to me, anyway," Desiree sniffed. "Would you believe, we were rolling on his bed, and I almost had him where I wanted him, when he sat up, and declared he couldn't sleep with a woman he didn't really love? How pathetic some of these mortals are. Even though we both planned to get him with Cellie in the end, I don't see why I should have been made to forgo my usual perks." She sighed. "Especially once I got a good look at his physique. There's more to that man than his silly balding head."

"I condole with you on your loss of the chance for a vigorous romp, my dear," Nicholas snapped, "though I'm afraid it would have put Lester out of commission for his real purpose. You have a way of draining the vitality out of your lovers, myself included. Lasha is fortunate to have this respite."

"You know I wouldn't be this eager, if I should gain my reward," she replied. "I would be a good deal more tractable. Easier to manage, for both Lasha and yourself."

"I rather doubt that! Still, you wouldn't be able to deny any request, or demand, I may make on you in the future. That's good enough for me. Back to the compact. You know, if it fell into the wrong hands, and the finder did happen to catch a glimpse of any image in that mirror, other than his or her own face, he or she would know immediately that it was enchanted. It would be in Barnabas Collins's hands, or that Professor Stokes's, in no time. And they would have no problem figuring out who it belonged to."

"So what? They are mortals. Do away with them, and be done with it, mirror or no mirror."

"Oh, Desiree. You are so simple-minded. Half my pleasure in this mission comes from the fact that I shall have to deal with Barnabas in my own inimitable fashion. Killing him outright would spoil the plans I have for him. And, as for Professor Stokes. . . there's something about that man. He has knowledge far beyond even Barnabas's, if that's possible. He proved stubbornly resistant to some of your late sister's spells, and nimbly avoided my influence. He would, likely, conjure up some strategy to deflect any attempts against himself. So, I must get a little mean, and attack him in his most vulnerable area."

"All right, if you want to waste the time. . ."

"Just concentrate on where you left that compact."

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking. I lost it just after I said farewell to Lester. I went to the clothing store they have here, but I remember using the powder in their Ladies' room, after I had already tried on, and paid for a few things. . . I bought gas for the Ferrari. . . I went to the Koffeehaus. . ."

"Maybe you lost it, there. You'd better check! That Pavlos is as annoying as Cellie, or Angelique when she's in her 'Sainthood' mode. I almost can't wait for Sarah Teresa to mature to the point where we can begin to do away with some of these self-righteous types. In the meantime, it's high time I paid a visit to Collinwood. I'd like an opportunity to see some of the melee that is about to unfold, at first hand."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cellie arrived back at Collinwood in record time. She parked the Harley in such a hurry, that it crashed onto its side in the small parking area near the main entrance. She heard it fall, but didn't even cast a backward glance. She had to talk to Willie, try to make him understand, a difficult thing to do when she, herself, didn't even understand what she'd done, or why. She had lusted after another man, and got caught. If Mrs. Johnson hadn't shown up, Cellie and Lester would have made love in the back seat of the car, like two horny teenagers. (Though, technically, Cellie was still a teenager, she'd hardly considered herself one for the better part of a year-and-a-half, and neither did anyone else.)

It didn't matter, anymore, about the empathism. In those last moments, before she'd broken free from the Sheriff's insistent embrace, Cellie was able to catch a glimpse of Lester's emotional terrain, exposed by his seeming recklessness. She filled in the many gaps with insight that had managed to develop independently of her gift.

What she thought she saw resembled nothing so much as a desert. In spite of Lester's declared dedication, there was nothing there to support the sort of carefully-constructed structure she had built with her husband, with room to accommodate all the bizarre facts of their lives, and a foundation cemented with their attempts at mutual understanding. A strong wind would blow Cellie's and Lester's building down, the same icy-cold, lonely wind that seared the adulterers in Dante's "Inferno", which her English tutor had made her read. She felt that cold wind in her heart, now. Her only desires, aside from having the strength to face her husband, was to have a private talk with her mother, to check on Julia and Barnabas, and to have a few peaceful moments with her child, before Willie came home to kill her.

Such a quiet interlude was not to be. Cellie had just reached the top step, when she heard Mrs. Johnson, below her, exclaim, "Just where do you think you're going, young woman? Get down here right now!"

Cellie meekly obeyed, to the housekeeper's amazement. The red-haired girl stood before her, straight and almost dignified, and gazed directly into the older woman's eyes. "I know what you're going to say, and you'll be right," Cellie said, in a dead-calm voice.

"Don't take that tone of humility with me, Cellie!" Mrs. Johnson

admonished. "You certainly weren't humble with Lester Arliss, with half your clothes off, and letting him put his hands in places only your husband should touch! How could you do that, Cellie?" she demanded, her angry voice breaking into a sob. "How could you do that to Willie, who loves you so much, he thought, when I was so upset before, that it was because you'd had an accident! How could you do that to Lester Arliss? He was a fine man, like his late uncle! He went to school with my Phyllis, and Maggie. I recall, he was one of the top students, and voted 'most likely to succeed' and 'best-liked' in his yearbook! Did you want to ruin his career? And how could you even think of doing such a thing, with your poor aunt so ill, and your poor uncle so sad, and your poor mother taking care of your baby when she should be planning her wedding?"

"I won't say something stupid like, 'I'm sorry', because I know that doesn't even begin to cover what I did. But, for the record, I am, whether you believe me, or not. Look, Mrs. Johnson, I just want to go upstairs, and see everyone for the last time, as my old self, before I confess all, and the spit hits the fan. Unless you've taken that much away from me."

"No, I didn't tell anyone other than Willie--"

"Sweet Jesus!" Cellie wept now. "He must have been devastated--"

"How kind of you to think of that, now. I'll just never understand what made him think he could stay married to a hot-blooded young woman, and not expect such a thing to happen, sooner or later! It's not even as though he ever did anything to you first! I'll tell you, Cellie, my own late husband was a run-around, and didn't I know it, every time he came back from a run on the ship, or just an evening at the Blue Whale! Still, even though I was miserable, and I was already working for Mr. Malloy--- I was VERY fond of Mr. Malloy---I managed to stay faithful to Phil both before and after he died. It was for the children, mostly, though it ended up doing my son Harry no good. But, at least, I haven't anything to reproach myself for, when I meet my Maker!"

"I guess I have a lot to answer for, now. Thank you for not telling anyone else but Will--"

"Well, I had to tell David, too, so he could stop Willie from going off, half-cocked, to catch you and Lester. He took Willie to see your mother's fiance, though what that could possibly accomplish, I have no idea. You are safe for a while, anyway."

"Okay, then. I'm going up now, if you don't mind," Cellie replied, calm again. "When my husband gets here, come up and get me, and I'll go out to talk with him, away from the house."

Mrs. Johnson was surprised by this attitude of resignation. She recalled Willie's fury, just barely contained by David's tackling skills. She wondered, who can one call on for help, when the Sheriff is part of the problem? The housekeeper put her hand on Cellie's arm. "Are you sure you want to be alone with Willie?" she asked, concern slipping into her voice. "He was very wild, before. I certainly don't want him to kill you over this!"

" 'How kind of you to think of that, now '," Cellie answered with the slightest hint of sarcasm. "Sorry for being flip, Mrs. Johnson," she sighed. "Listen, if Will feels he has to do something drastic to me, I just want you to know, I accept it as my due, and you shouldn't blame yourself for doing what you thought was your duty as his friend." She patted Mrs. Johnson's hand, and turned, to go back up the stairs. As she entered the hallway passage, she brushed by Carolyn, who greeted her, only to be answered, "Better pull out those Scarlet Letters, Carolyn. Here comes Hester Prynne."

Carolyn stood on the landing, listening to Cellie's eerie, bitter laughter, as the younger woman disappeared around the corner that led to Julia's room. Seeing Mrs. Johnson standing below with a sorrowful look on her face, Carolyn asked, "Do you know what that was all about?"

"You'll find out, soon enough," the housekeeper sighed. "Carolyn, I have to go check on dinner. When Willie and David return, it's very important that you send them to see me first. Don't you and David let Willie go up to see Cellie alone. I'll go get her. Like I said, it's very important." Mrs. Johnson went through the kitchen passage.

Roger came downstairs, followed by Cellie with Sarah Teresa in her

arms. Carolyn said, "I thought you were supposed to stay upstairs, until Willie came back. Mrs. J. just said so."

"I need to get Sarah's cereal, and a fresh bottle," Cellie replied. "I hope to get her fed, clean, and sleeping before--before her Daddy comes home." There was an odd note in Cellie's voice, full of both anticipation and dread. Carolyn wanted to ask her friend what the problem was, but Cellie emanated a deadly-still, attitude, like a coiled snake ready to strike. It was clear, she wasn't exactly looking forward to her husband's return. Little did Carolyn know, Cellie wasn't looking beyond it, either.

There was a knock at the door. Cellie froze. Her eyes quickly became black with fear. Roger put his arm around her shoulder, asking, "Whatever is wrong, Cellie dear?"

She didn't reply. Carolyn opened the door. She gasped, herself.

Nicholas Blair stood on the thresh-hold, instantly recognizable to all this time, despite the lack of hair on his oddly cat-shaped face. "Well, isn't someone going to invite me in?"

"As if Carolyn, or I, or anyone in my family would!" Roger replied sharply. "Well, Cellie, no wonder you were so upset a moment ago. Doubtless, you sensed this weasel, my former brother-in-law, was coming to the house. I suppose introductions are unnecessary, since Carolyn told us he was harassing you at the Antique Shoppe, months ago."

" 'Harassing' is too strong a word, Roger," Nicholas said, evenly. "I was only offering Cellie a most unusual opportunity to 'get in on the ground floor', so to speak, on the deal of a lifetime." He peeked around, to where Roger tried to shield Cellie and the baby from his view. "So, there's your little former passenger, Mrs. Loomis. My congratulations on a job well done. She's a fine child."

"That's all you'll ever get to find out about her," Cellie sneered, defiantly.

"I want you to leave right now, Nicholas," Roger insisted.

"Ah, well. Perhaps there'll be a better day for a visit. I know it must be hard, what with poor Julia so grievously ill, and other troubles in your house. . . I hope this little outpouring of hostility doesn't presage more disasters. Give my regards to your sister, Roger, and Barnabas, and everyone else. I'm residing at the Henderson Homestead, just a stone's throw away."

"Keziah Henderson meant that house to be turned into a museum, because she had no living relatives!" Roger protested in dismay.

"As it happened, one turned up. And he was most eager to derive some income from that white elephant his great-great aunt had left him. So, I, and a traveling companion of mine, relieved the fellow's financial worries in a big way. We gained the privilege of residing in a much more opulent setting than the simple beachfront cottage that Carolyn may have told you I occupied on my last visit to town."

"I also recall your hasty exit from that cottage," Carolyn said.

"Oh, yes. I had urgent business to attend to, and it couldn't wait on our little rendezvous. I've come to believe in leaving with a 'bang'."

"May your departure from the Henderson Homestead be as hasty,"

Roger intoned fervently, "and final."

"I daresay, I'll be around a while yet. Good night, Roger. Carolyn. And you, most of all, Cellie." Nicholas turned, and was gone in an instant.

Carolyn shut the door firmly. "Cellie, don't worry about Nicholas. We'll take care of you."

"I'm not afraid. I have other things on my mind right now." Cellie remembered the white anemones she'd seen in the woods, the flowers Ock-Wen-Uck had spoken of. It was definitely time to bring forth the Indian necklace. She'd left it at the cottage. She wondered if she dared to risk a quick trip, to find it and wear it. Even if Willie killed her, at least her soul would be protected from Nicholas, and, after she was gone, the same necklace would surely protect the baby. Even Willie wasn't likely to object to that. She mentioned her desire to Roger.

Though he'd never really completely understood the extent of his

family's nearly congenital entanglement with the occult, Roger had witnessed enough strange events to convince him of the possibility. If getting an old shell necklace made Cellie and her baby feel safer, then, by all means, she should have it. "Wait a minute, Cellie. I'll accompany you, for your mother's sake. Leave the baby here."

"Oh, no, it'll only take us a few minutes. You can catch up, if you want."

"We'll both come with you," Carolyn said. "Nicholas may be waiting out there, to scare you. I just need my sweater. I left it in my room."

"I should get my jacket and Sarah's sweater," Cellie declared. She ran upstairs, with the baby, to the room she and Willie had shared just after she got out of the hospital. She and Sarah Teresa napped there while Julia slept through the afternoons. Cellie sat her daughter in her crib, and searched for the baby's heaviest sweater in the big basket full of clean laundry she'd brought upstairs that morning.

Downstairs, Roger stood in the foyer, waiting. There was a loud knock on the heavy oak door. He opened it, to admit Sheriff Arliss. "Lester, what are you doing here?" Roger asked, puzzled and a bit unnerved by the younger man's appearance. Lester's face was ashen, except around his glazed-looking, red-rimmed eyes, and his reddened nostrils. "Has there been some kind of accident?" Roger gasped, thinking of Elizabeth, who'd gone to the office to catch up with some paperwork, and whom he expected home around this time. "Or is there some criminal on the loose, that we should be apprised of? Is it Jack Knowlton?"

"No, no," Lester muttered. "Jack's still safely locked up at the County Jail, and, I understand, is quite docile these days. You needn't worry about him. And no, there hasn't been any accident."

"Are you feeling alright, Les?"

"Just a spring cold coming on, or maybe my allergies are getting an early start. I see that Cellie's made it home. I need to talk to her."

"On what business?" Roger had relaxed.

"I take it, that you haven't heard, yet." Lester held up a sheaf of traffic tickets. "She zoomed away before I could give these to her. She's wracked up quite a few violations. Since I consider myself her friend, I thought I'd come by to serve these citations, and settle matters without causing a great fuss, while your family is going through this troubled time."

"Well, that's extremely considerate of you, Lester. I must say, I never approved of her little motorcycle hobby, any more than I approved when Carolyn was going through a similar phase. But, alas, Cellie is not my responsibility, as far as that goes. You may go up to see her. She's in the same room she occupied when she was recuperating here."

Lester made it up the stairs, and down the hall without running into anyone. He walked right into the room where Cellie, her back turned to him, was bent over a pile of clothes she'd emptied onto the bed from a laundry basket. He quietly closed the door behind him, slid his arms around her, and kissed her on the back of her neck.

"Will?" she asked, in a hopeful, beseeching tone. Suddenly, she

noticed the tan sleeves on the arms circling her waist. She jerked around to face the Sheriff. "Les! How did you get up here? Mrs. Johnson wouldn't have let you in!"

"I found out you didn't confess to Roger Collins, just yet. He not only let me in, but when I showed him your scandalous collection of traffic tickets, he directed me to your room without any hesitation." Lester tried to kiss her lips, but she twisted from his grasp. "Cellie, how could you leave me like that? It wasn't necessary for you to come back here at all! You know I'll take care of you."

"Lester, I want you to leave, right now. You're in danger, as I am. Mrs. Johnson did tell Will. David took him somewhere to calm him down, but he'll be back soon. I must face him, alone. If we both survive the confrontation, and he forgives me, I've made up my mind that I'm staying with him. What's more, I did confess, to my Mom, and Barnabas, and Aunt Jule. If they find you here, it will only be slightly less unpleasant than if Will does. Please, Les, just leave me the tickets, and go!" She started to cry, as did the baby, who was watching from her crib, pleading, "Jeh-jeh. Meh-meh, Teess 'awn'

Jeh-jeh."

Lester took Cellie gently into his arms. "I don't ever want you and Sarah Teresa to be unhappy," he whispered. "I just can't---just can't stop this craving. It hurts, Cellie. I never felt so empty inside. I never even would have had such thoughts, about emptiness, and need, and all that other emotional stuff, before I got to know you."

"That proves I can't be right for you," she replied. "Would it help you get over it any faster if I told you that it's all part of a spell? Anissa--- she put these thoughts and feelings in your head.

You were just a normal, earnest, shy young guy, with no great emotional baggage attached, waiting for the right girl to come along. Anissa played with your mind, Lester. She's--"

"She only helped me see the light," Lester said urgently, almost angrily. He pulled Cellie tighter. She tried to wriggle away, but he must have had some knowledge of the self-defense moves she was trying to use, because he appeared to anticipate them, holding her so close that she hadn't a chance of breaking free. "There's no 'spell'. That's just an excuse you learned from living in this mausoleum." He kissed her, forcing her lips open. She began to respond, as she had in the back seat of the Sheriff's car. He pushed her down onto the bed.

The baby wailed louder. Cellie came to her senses, slapping the Sheriff's face away, and struggling to sit up on the bed. Lester kept pulling her back down. "No, Les," she said, firmly. "Please, get out of here. I don't want to yell about it. But Will's going to be home, any minute. . . Mrs. J.'s supposed to come up for me. . . If either one of them catches you here---"

Too late. The door swung open. Willie stood on the thresh-hold, bearing a small bouquet of roses, wearing a sad-but-hopeful expression, which twisted into outrage, as he got a good look at the scene.

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

David and Willie had made the rounds of three different flower shops before the older man made his selection. David suspected his friend was just putting off the inevitable with all this delay, but he was tolerant. "You're lucky to find such fresh-looking flowers this late on a Saturday afternoon," he said, when Willie finally paid for the roses.

"I just want everything to be perfect," Willie replied. "If I mess this up, Cecily'll be out the door, running off to Lester, and taking my little girl from me."

"You make it sound like what she did was YOUR fault. It's not. If what Pavlos said about that mirror is true, it's probably not HERS, either. Or even Lester's!"

Willie responded, "Cecily always told me, what she does can't work unless there's some of the feelings going on in the first place. Whatever kind of spell is going around must work from that. Remember, a long time ago, when half the town was having those crazy dreams, and the whole thing was supposed to lead back to Barnabas?"

"A little. Every one's dream was just slightly different, showing each person the thing they feared most. Mine was SPIDERS, of all things, after I'd spent so many hours in the parts of Collinwood most likely to have them! I got over it since then, thank God."

"Right. This is the same idea, I guess. Everyone knows I'm scared Cecily's going to dump me someday. By now, everyone must've seen how Lester makes goo-goo eyes at her, and the way she acts around him. It's like when that'Alison' girl got you and Adele to eat those cookies, and make out after. She knew you both had the hots for each other, even though Addie's still just a little kid. Whoever's doing this, Nicholas or that Desiree, knows how afraid Julia and Barnabas are that their kid's going to be messed up. They're working with the bad stuff that's already there. I'm trying real hard to be sensible about this whole thing. What do you call it, pulling back to see the whole picture?"

"Perspective. You're trying to look at the situation in perspective. That must be a stretch for you, Willie." David pulled into the driveway at Collinwood.

"Gotta grow up sometime, David. It's my time to grow up. It has to be. I have to get up pretty early in the morning, to even catch up to my Cecily." Willie looked almost happy, again, when he got out of David's beige Buick.

"Hey, buddy," David called through the car window, "I'm just

going to put the Hupmobile in the garage. I have to change the oil in the A.M."

"I'll help you," Willie offered. "You helped me, today."

"It's a date, then. Get along inside, you lady-killer, you. I'll be in to referree, soon."

Willie walked up the shaded path from the driveway to the Great House. He thought he heard a noise in the bushes. He told himself it was probably raccoons, already queueing up for when Mrs. Johnson put out the garbage resulting from her dinner preparations. He went up to the granite step, and went through the door. What he didn't hear was Nicholas, hiding behind a tree, chuckling, "Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Loomis."

There was nobody hanging around the foyer or the drawing room, though Willie heard Mrs. Johnson making noise in the kitchen, taking the

dishes from a cabinet, to set on the dining room table. Nobody stopped him, as he made his way up the stairs, with his bouquet.

A few minutes later, David came in. This time, Mrs. Johnson and Carolyn were milling around the foyer. "David, where's Willie?" Mrs. Johnson asked, anxiously. "He came back with you, didn't he?"

"He sure did. He wanted to talk to Cellie so bad, he just ran right in."

"Oh, dear Lord," Carolyn said. I'm sorry I got so tied up, looking for my sweater, then for better walking shoes. . . I was supposed to send Willie to see Mrs. Johnson before he went upstairs."

"It'll be okay," David assured them. "He was hardly even upset, after Pavlos got through with him. He'll make it up with Cellie, don't worry."

Roger came into the foyer, from the study. "High time you got back, David. Say, you didn't run into Lester Arliss on your way in, did you? I was beginning to wonder when he'd finish lecturing Cellie about her tickets, and leave. I wanted to get her and the baby down to the cottage and back quickly, since Nicholas Blair came here tonight, and made the poor girl quite upset."

David, Mrs. Johnson, and Carolyn stared at Roger, mouths agape with dismay. "You said---you said Lester Arliss is here? He's with Cellie?" David asked hesitantly.

"Yes, for at least twenty minutes already, unless he stopped by Julia's room to pay his respects."

"Oh, my God," David gasped, and began to run up the steps. He heard the shouting, and the crash of crockery and overturning furniture, even as he rounded the corner to Cellie's room.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"WHAT'S GOING ON HERE!" Willie demanded. He dropped the roses on the floor and clenched his fists, as he glowered at the couple on the bed.

"Will," Cellie pleaded, "I was just making Lester leave! I don't WANT him here!"

"Oh, SURE you don't," Willie taunted, "now that he's finishing the job he didn't get a chance to, at the cemetery. DAMN YOU, CECILY, screwing around like that, in front of a kid, yet! Even my mother never did that, and poor Melinda didn't mean to, either! YOU WHORE!"

Lester stood up. "Willie, Cellie was telling the truth! We didn't do anything here!" He reached for his gun. Cellie grabbed his arm.

Willie grasped the Sheriff's shoulders. "That's just 'cause you didn't get enough time, Lester! I know you just HAD to follow her, like a dog, crawling after a bitch in heat!"

Lester reached up, and, in a flash, knocked Willie's hands off his shoulders, and pinned him to the wall. "DON'T YOU EVER TALK ABOUT CELLIE THAT WAY, AGAIN, YOU BASTARD!"

"Who's the bastard here?" Willie gasped. "You got MY WIFE in the

back of YOUR police car, rubbed YOUR hands all over MY WIFE'S BODY---MINE!" he cried. "SHE'S MINE!" He looked toward Cellie. "I was your first! I guess I'm not going to be your last---"

"Will, you are---"

"LIAR! I did my best for you, and you had to put out for this JERK!"

"Oh, you did your best, did you, Willie?" Lester sneered. "If it wasn't for your wife, people would still be running to the other side of the street when they see you coming, but not before spitting in your path! Cellie almost died for you! Are you even worth it? The way she was jumping all over me, I got the idea she was long overdue for a tumble! I'd say you haven't been doing your best in the sack,

have you---"

Willie somehow flung himself from the wall, and rolled around with Lester on the floor. His rage made him quicker than the Sheriff. He rained blows on Lester's head. Lester did rock around until he was on top, and tried to pin Willie while reaching for his gun again. Willie tore it from his grasp.

At this point Cellie, unable to bring the situation under control with her empathism, jumped into the fray, banging on her husband's hand, until he released the gun, which she grabbed. She intended to threaten both men with it, in order to halt the fight. One of their heads bumped into her hand, and the gun skittered far under the trundle bed (a space so low to the floor that one would have to shove the entire, heavy bed around to find it.) Realizing she could do no more to stop the fight, Cellie jumped up, and snatched her screaming baby from the crib, edging toward the door. At that moment, the two men, their hands locked around each other's throats, bumped against it, and blocked her escape.

Cellie could hear rushing steps, and shouts outside the door. She heard Barnabas first, then David, and Roger, as he came up last. The three outside battered at the heavy door, shoving the combatants back into the room, almost knocking Cellie over.

David forced his way in, just as Willie knocked Lester out. The younger man pulled on Willie's arm, just as he was about to deliver another blow to the prostrate Sheriff. "ENOUGH!" David shouted. "I didn't think it would come to this," he continued, shaking his head sadly.

"It's HER damn fault!" Willie said, pointing at his wife. "That SLUT--- SHE'S lucky I don't kill HER!"

"WILLIE!" Barnabas said. "You don't mean that! I was angered,

too, when Cellie confessed, but I had a call from from Pavlos, and I believed their explanation."

"You just see what you want to see, Barnabas," Willie muttered. "It doesn't matter to you, what Cecily does to ME, as long as you can use her to help Julia. Well, she can't do it without me, and I don't have anything left to give her. She took it away, the minute she started giving Lester the eye." He rose slowly, and approached his wife, who still held the weeping baby. "Give me my daughter!" Willie demanded.

"No, Will. . . You can't have her, the way you are. We're all in trouble, right now. When we can get Lester up, and try to settle this somehow, you can--"

"GIVE ME MY BABY, YOU TRAMP!" Willie yanked Sarah Teresa from Cellie's arms, and ran to the door. The others tried to block him, until he almost dropped the baby, who was shrieking. He wriggled his way onto the landing, and ran downstairs, Cellie in close pursuit.

He was stopped at the door by the timely arrival of Elizabeth Stoddard, who came in with Pavlos. "Willie, where are you going with Sarah?" Elizabeth asked calmly, trying to catch Willie's eye. He turned from her, and from the equally determined gaze of Pavlos.

"Her name AIN'T Sarah! It was supposed to be just Teresa! Now I don't even want THAT name any more!" Willie sobbed, as he clutched his daughter to his breast. "Please, Mrs. Stoddard, let me go! I have to take her---take her to the doctor---I think---"

Cellie came down the steps. "Don't let him take my baby!" She rushed to Willie's side. "Will, Will, please--- Look, we can work this out. I didn't want Lester---"

"You know what I'm gonna do, soon as I get my baby outta here, Cecily?" Willie hissed. "I'm takin' her to South America, that's what! They got good countries there, where if a man catches his wife just lookin' at some other guy, he can kill the both of 'em! And he doesn't get arrested. He gets cheered by all the other husbands!"

"You mean, by all the other pathetic losers who can't hang onto their wives," Carolyn jeered as she stepped up to the couple. "And I doubt they cheer, when the man that gets killed is a cop."

"Shut up, Carolyn!" Willie snarled. "I didn't kill Lester. I just taught him a lesson about messing with my woman!"

"Willie," Pavlos began. "I won't tell you not to be angry. I can't take care of this for you. But I can ask you to think about what you are saying, and what caused this incident. Come with me, and Cellie, and David, if you want. We can settle this."

"Will, please," Cellie pleaded. "Leave Sarah Teresa here, and we'll go talk. I want to talk with you."

"You--you really want to talk to me? Would you talk to me alone?" Willie appeared to calm down. He looked at his baby. Sarah regarded him with a glazed expression of terror. "I'm scaring my own little girl," he mourned.

"Will," his wife urged, "I'll go outside with you, alone. I'm not afraid now. Give the baby to someone, and we'll go out to the garden."

Willie looked around at the small crowd now gathered around. Pavlos, Elizabeth, Barnabas, Carolyn, Mrs. Johnson, Roger, Janice, even poor Julia, who'd risen from her bed, and hobbled to the landing above. Only David was absent, having stayed behind to attend to Lester Arliss.

"I don't know," he whimpered. "You're all Her friends. Even Pavlos. I can't leave my baby with someone who likes Her more than me."

Roger declared firmly, "Leave Sarah Teresa with me, Loomis. I'm

neither Cellie's partisan, or yours."

"You'll just hand her over to someone else, the second I'm out the

door," Willie protested.

"I give you my word, that if you leave Sarah Teresa in my care, you will return to find her, still in my custody. I may require a little assistance to tend some of her needs, but otherwise, she will be in my room, for as long as it takes."

"I'll be the one to help him," Elizabeth offered. "You trust me to be objective, don't you, Willie?"

"I guess so," he sniffled. He laid Sarah Teresa in Roger's arms, and touched his wife's hand. "Cecily," he whispered.

"Are you sure you want to be alone with him, Cellie?" Barnabas asked.

"It'll be okay, I think--"

There was a noise at the top of the stairs. David was shouting, "Lester, Lester, wait!"

Lester Arliss brushed by Julia, who clutched at the railing to avoid being knocked over. He had found his gun, which he waved in Willie's direction.

Willie's eyes grew black with fear. He ran out the door, with Cellie following him, down the hill, to where the station wagon was parked near Abijah's Cottage. She jumped in beside him, as he gunned the motor. "Youhave to get out now, Cecily," he urged. "Lester's not after you, not anymore."

"I have to--- e can still talk, when we're safe--- They'll stop him---"

"I doubt it. I'm a marked man."

"I'm staying."

Willie jammed the car into gear, and sped out of the driveway.

He headed out toward the Old Chartville Road. He went off the road, not onto the same dirt track where Lester and Cellie had met, but another, about a half-mile beyond Eagle Hill Cemetery. He drove in, until he pulled to a spot almost behind the hill itself. Cellie could see the dim outline of the mausoleum in the rapidly-gathering dusk.

"Will, why did you stop here? It's too near Collinwood. Lester will surely find us here."

"Why would Lester look for me right near the spot where he had you just this afternoon?" Willie's expression, barely visible in the gloom, became sly. "Anyway, I told you, I'm a marked man. I didn't come here to escape. I came here, 'cause there was one more thing the two of us had to take care of, before it was all over."

Cellie became frightened, but fought not to show it. "Will, it's not over. Between us, I mean. I don't want Lester. I only want you. I love you. Let's go on. As soon as you're safe someplace, I'll come back, get Sarah Teresa, and we'll go on the run."

"For once, Cecily, you sound dopier than I ever did. There's no escape for either of us, now. We're fugitives. We'll never see our kid again. And it's all your fault. Yours and Lester's." Willie edged closer. "How did it feel, when he touched you, Cecily? When he touched all the parts that belong to me? You were MY GIRL! Not his!" He pulled at her roughly.

"Will, I'm not afraid to die, but if you kill me now, you never will see Sarah Teresa again." Cellie jerked away from her husband.

"I don't want to kill you, Cecily. I love you. But you have to be taught a lesson. Barnabas was always teaching me a lesson. You tried to teach me a lesson. Now, it's my turn, to teach lessons, to Lester, and you." Willie grabbed her, and yanked up her sweater. "Take it off!" he demanded.

"The Hell I will!" Cellie opened the door, and was about to jump out, when she saw something in the bright moonlight that made her jump back. "Poison Ivy!" she wailed. "You drove into a huge patch of Poison Ivy! You know I'm deathly allergic to Poison Ivy, Will! How could there be Poison Ivy in March?"

"Something told me this would be a good place to go parking with my girl." Willie's eyes glittered. "Now, take off that sweater, and whatever else I tell you to! I'm your husband! Do it, and no fancy footwork from the Karate place, or else I'll toss you out head-first, and you'll blow up like a damn balloon and die!"

"Will," she pled one last time. "Don't do this. You never forced me, before. I don't want this--"

"Cecily," he replied, almost regretfully, "This isn't about what YOU want, anymore."

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

She came to, sobbing, she didn't know how much later. She was lying on a hard, cold surface. "I'm on a slab in a morgue, and I'm not dead!" Cellie shouted. Her own voice came back to her in a dull echo.

She sat up, and looked around. There was a couple of lit candles on an old candlelabrum. She studied the heavy blocks that formed the room. In a minute, she realized where she was. "I'm in the 'secret room'," she thought. Willie had laid her on the marble catafalque where Barnabas's casket had once rested. Suddenly, Cellie wasn't afraid anymore. She knew David had been trapped in here once, and had escaped, as had Maggie, and her father, also. All she had to do was find the hidden switch that would open the marble door.

If she recalled correctly (very difficult to do with her head throbbing the way it did), the switch was under the brick steps, the place marked by David. She held a candle over the bricks, but discerned no marks or writing of any kind. She began to pull, and pry at each one, in every direction (very difficult to do, with her whole body aching as it did), but with no result, until---

One brick at the end of a lower step moved, and Cellie was overjoyed to see the switch. Then she cried out in dismay. The small, ancient handle had been snapped right out of the toggle, and lay next to the mechanism. Cellie tried to fit it back in, but the break was too clean. She couldn't understand why her husband had done this to her. Willie had said he didn't want to kill her, but here she was, hopelessly trapped in a tomb, like Aida and her lover from that opera. . . Cellie

shuddered, at first, until she realized Willie probably intended to release her as soon as he decided she'd learned her "lesson."

At least, she hoped he would return. Her mind raced past the possibilities. If he did come back, he might be tempted to think of some other "punishment." Then again, he might just leave her, out of spite. Of course, he could run into Lester, or one of his deputies, who might have orders to shoot him on sight before he had a chance to explain anything, as they had years before, when he'd been blamed for Maggie's first kidnapping. Cellie remembered how sorry she'd felt for her husband when he first told her that story. How she'd cried, at the seeming injustice. She cried for it, now. If he hadn't been so hurt then, if she hadn't hurt him now. . .

What was she thinking about? Why should she feel sorry for Willie? He'd raped her, and dumped her in the place he'd once feared she was buried. This place had brought him so much grief that he had come back, last summer, and almost killed himself here. David had found him, and saved him then. Maybe David would figure out where she was. Or Barnabas. Sick with his own sorrow as he was these days, she remembered the note in his voice when he'd bellowed at Willie, earlier. The sound took her back to the events of a year ago, when he'd caught her and Willie, on the upstairs landing at the Antique Shoppe. . . Cellie feared Barnabas's anger at her husband only slightly less than she feared Lester's.

Cellie didn't know why she should be so concerned with anyone who had used and humiliated her as Willie did in the station wagon. Even the car itself was tainted now. If she ever got out of here, and Willie was imprisoned or killed, she would make a point of sending it to the nearest junkyard.

If she ever got out. She wondered, for a moment, if there wasn't, perhaps, some other way to get that door open. She searched around for any more loose bricks, in the steps or the wall surrounding the door, and came to the dismal conclusion there wasn't any. She sat back on the catafalque, and wiped away one tear, then another, and another, as she waited for. . .whatever. She glanced at her watch, but all the abuse it had undergone in the past few hours (it had to be hours, not days!) had made it stop at 7:52. Cellie guessed that was about the time when Willie had been bouncing her around so hard on the front seat, she tried to shield her head from the door handle, and ended up getting knocked out, anyway.

She wished she could call on Sarah Collins to get her out of this predicament, as she'd done for David and Walter. But Cellie feared the effect on her baby. Sarah Teresa might be suffering right now, Cellie realized, for both her "Meh" and her beloved "Jeh". Cellie began to regret all the hours she should have spent with her daughter. Some of her activities could be justified on the basis that it was necessary to prepare, mentally and physically, for the challenge from Nicholas, who had, indeed, returned on schedule. But the motorcycle. . . If she got out of here, she would sell it. It had brought her worse luck than the Ouija board Siobhan had burned, would have.

Cellie wondered why she felt so lively, after the horrible thing that had just happened to her. Willie hadn't been able to muster his energies for acts of love, but he had no trouble making a comeback in the name of hatred. Cellie almost wished Lester would shoot him. That would serve the bastard right, she thought. But instead of grim satisfaction at the mental picture that presented itself, the tears

spilled from her eyes in a steady stream. The memories of Willie's former kindness filled her mind. Everything he'd ever done, up until tonight, was intended for her best interests. The capacity for this latest action may have existed inside of him all along, but it had taken extreme provocation to bring it out.

Cellie thought of her aunt Julia, who had suffered greatly at Barnabas's hands, and yet, had loved him and stayed beside him. Even now, Julia was paying the ultimate price of the reward for her long devotion, and still counted it all worthwhile. Perhaps there was something sick and wrong with this kind of love, but there was little either Julia or her niece, who bore the same love for her own unworthy spouse, could do about it.

No, she didn't want her miserable husband killed by Lester or Barnabas. She could never kill him herself, either.

Cellie had to get out, and find Willie. She knew that, wherever he was, he was in danger, probably afraid, and she was the only one who could protect him. She searched, frantically, for another means of egress from the tomb. She tried to manipulate the broken switch toggle. She broke down, sitting on the floor, weeping over the exposed switch.

"Ye'll just rust the damn thing out, and then we'll both be stuck till doomsday!" The voice snapped at Cellie in a crisp baritone, with an Irish accent.

Cellie felt a sharp cold draft brush her neck. She looked around, in the sputtering candle-light. The room was empty, and she had noticed, when she'd first awakened, that the brickwork on the floor around Jason McGuire's former grave had been repaired. Still, she felt someone's eyes trained on her disheveled hair and torn clothing. She could sense contempt, and lust, with a vivid clarity that she hadn't been experiencing since she had returned from Boston.

"Say," the voice said, "Ye're a pretty colleen, like some of the girls I knew in the Old Sod, way back when. . . What a shame ye're all at sixes and sevens right now. I always used to tell Willie, 'Treat 'em like ladies, even if they are ladies of the evening, they'll stay around longer, and charge ye less.' After all this time, he STILL hasn't learned that much. At least, he never left 'em crying, for sure. . . Now don't pull that face. I know just by the looks of ye, that ye're

no street-walker, unless Collinsport has changed that much in the nearly six years I've sojourned here."

Even without a visible manifestation, Cellie could almost see the slick, ingratiating grin in the snapshot Willie had shown her, months ago. "You're Jason McGuire, aren't you? How can you still be here, spiritually, I mean? Barnabas moved your remains," she said, in consternation.

"Ah, lass, even though the old bones have moved to another address, my spirit is bound to this place, as a bit of a chastisement. I gather, ye know of Barnabas, and Willie too. Just whose little girl are ye, to be tangled with two such rapscallions?"

"You wouldn't know my father, I don't think. . ."

"That wouldn't happen to be the fellow who got himself wedged in here, let me think. . . Last October? He had red hair, like yours, and was the right age, too. I have a good memory, and the dark doesn't impede my sight. I'll bet I even know your name. Cecily. That's the name Willie was whimpering in here last summer, and that older chap seemed to know it, also. Ye do get around, my dear. Now, how is it that you know Barnabas and Willie?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because, Cecily, I cannot leave this place, and I crave news of the outside world, especially of those I once knew, for all the good it does me. Truly, unless there's a state secret attached, no harm will come if ye tell me."

Cellie decided it might be worthwhile to cultivate McGuire's spirit for a while. Maybe he knew of some alternative way to open the door, even if he couldn't leave, himself. At any rate, it would pass the time.

"Barnabas Collins is my uncle by marriage."

"Oh, so did he wed that miserable Evans girl after all, or did Willie? Willie was quite taken with her. And here's where he took her!" McGuire laughed at his joke. "Oh, I forget. The dear girl was an only child, and couldn't be anyone's aunt---"

"No, actually, she's my stepmother now. Barnabas is married to someone I don't think you ever met. She was Maggie's doctor, once Maggie got away from Barnabas. My father's sister."

"Ah, they've been busy as the birds and bees at dear old Collinwood. Did Liz ever remarry, after my untimely departure?"

"Well. . . I heard her ex-husband came back, and tried to make peace with her and Carolyn, but he's really dead now. I take it, he didn't come looking for you, even after he died!"

"No, Paul and myself didn't exactly part the best of friends. We weren't pen-pals, either. What of dear Carolyn, and David?"

"Carolyn's a widow."

"Ah, so she wed that hoodlum Buzz, and he took a spill off the old motorcycle, eh? Good riddance, I say."

"No, Buzz is alive and well. Carolyn married someone else who got killed. But she might remarry, soon. And David's all grown up.

If you're wondering about Vicky Winters, she's dead, and so's that Burke Devlin. Separate incidents, though. That's life, I guess."

"I notice ye left out someone very important, to you, I should think. Good Old Willie."

Cellie's voice became sad, as she replied, "Oh. He's my husband."

McGuire's voice was full of amazement. "What, Willie married to a child like yourself, and not Maggie Evans? I can't believe Willie's married at all, the way he dropped you off here. Or, is this the way ye spice up your wedded life?"

"We're really married. It's almost a year. We have a seven-month-old daughter."

"Married twelve months and parents for seven? Now, that DOES

sound like the Willie I knew." If McGuire had a face, Cellie was certain it would be wearing a smirk. "And, wed to the Boss's niece, at that! Willie did well for himself, after all. I wonder how that all came off. I recall Mr. Barnabas Collins as being mighty possessive of anything and anyone he considered his own, including Willie. I would imagine, he must also have had a hard time parting from a lovely niece to whom he confided such secrets."

"I don't want to talk about that. I don't go around announcing his secrets to everyone I meet. I kind of found out by accident, myself. I must say though, without be overly judgmental, that after listening to you, I can see why you ended up dead, and why you're not considered reformed enough to leave this room."

"Well, ye may have done nothing to deserve this yerself, but here ye are, and here ye're likely to remain. Without our mutual co-operation, that is. Which brings me to my main point. There is a way for ye to get out of here, but only I know it, and can help ye operate it. But there's a string, a very little string, attached."

"And, what would that be?"

"Only that ye allow me the priviledge of riding out of here, tucked safely in your soul, as a jerry kangaroo is carried in his mother's pouch."

"Oh, no. This is the same crap you pulled on my Dad. He told me Sarah Collins stopped him from making the same deal, just in time."

"Very well, then, Mrs. Willie Loomis."

"My first name isn't 'Mrs. Willie'," Cellie protested indignantly.

"When you talk like a fool, it might as well be."

"I don't know what you mean. I'll just wait. Either my husband will come back for me, or one of my friends will figure out where I am."

"Cecily, I know your watch is dead. Have ye any idea how long ye've really been in here?"

"No, but it can't be too long. An hour or two, maybe. I don't even feel like I have to, you know, find a ladies' room or anything,

not yet."

"Think again. I'm allowed to know the passing of the days and the hours. Ye've been in here since around eight P.M.---last night! Ye've been sleeping off

your husband's rough loving for over twelve hours, already!"

"That can't be! I don't feel hungry, or thirsty, or anything!"

"Ye slept like a rock till near Nine A.M., I swear! Of course ye're a bit numb in your body functions! Maybe Willie slipped ye a Mickey, and that's why you don't feel anything yet."

"No, he didn't give me anything. . . Everything was brown-orange at first, then yellow-blue-white-white-white, and there was green fog, and I saw the eyes. . . It hurt, but there were times I didn't feel the pain. . ."

"He must have given ye something, and ye just don't remember, if ye're talking like that!"

Suddenly, Cellie was uncertain. Maybe she had been in the mausoleum a longer time than she'd believed, though it seemed unlikely that she'd been sleeping there for twelve hours. How could she be missing all night, with none of her friends, even David, suspecting she might be here? "I don't believe you!" she shouted into the gloom. "Someone would have come!"

Jason sneered, "Maybe Willie's been killed, with nobody suspecting he'd want to come near here ever again, especially after the way he acted when he helped Barnabas move my sad remains. What a damned crybaby, after all these years! I don't envy ye having two of 'em under your roof. Your friends may be looking in the swamp, or below Widow's Hill, and never even give this place a second thought."

"No, Will can't be dead! I would know it, if he was. . . He's scared, now. Scared of what he's done. Scared of Barnabas, of the Sheriff. . . scared to come back for me, that I might be dead, or that I won't forgive him. . . And my baby! I know something's wrong with my Sarah Teresa!" Cellie jumped up, and ran to the door, screaming, "I HAVE TO GET OUT! PLEASE!"

"There's only one way, lass. I vow and swear, I'll leave ye be, as soon as I see the light." There was a wheedling tone in his voice, but Cellie began to feel a queasy sympathy coming from the direction of the sound. Maybe McGuire was sincere, and he was telling the truth about how long she'd been in here. She couldn't wait any longer to find out.

"Okay, Jason. You've got your ticket out of here. Now, hurry," she hissed.

"Ye're a smart lass. It makes me wonder why ye took up with Willie in the first place," Jason laughed derisively.

All at once, Cellie had a rush of a pins-and-needles sensation through her whole body. She felt McGuire's presence enter her through every pore. She shared his momentary contempt for the necessity of using a female body as a vehicle for his escape. Then, she experienced his pleased surprise, and his long-unexercised lust in her heart. For a few minutes, she felt even more violated than when her husband attacked her. Realizing her mistake, she tried to push his spirit out, but her own was held in a cage in the corner of her mind. He wasn't about to leave her body after his release from his prison.

But he did get her out. Somehow, he caused her index finger to become as hard and tough as a metal rod. He guided the finger to the heart of the broken toggle, and caught at the point where the switch connected to the hinge mechanism. The door began to creak and moan. Within moments, it swung open.

Jason felt the evening breeze on his face---his brand-new face!---for the first time since that fateful night, six years ago. He laughed aloud, at how easy it had been to con Willie's silly young bride into believing she'd been in the mausoleum overnight. Why, it was barely ten o'clock, a scant two hours since his former associate had carefully laid this body out on Barnabas's old marble bed, sniffled over it for a few minutes, broken the switch, and left, cringing.

This new body was aching from its recent abuse, but otherwise, Jason liked the vitality and health that was reasserting itself, the youthful energy he'd begun to miss, even before Barnabas finished him off six years ago. Ah, how grand it was, to be young again, but with all the knowledge of his first fifty years intact!

At first, Jason realized he'd forgotten the layout of the the dark, misty terrain of the cemetery, until he discovered that he could force his host to guide him out toward the road. Cellie trotted along obediently, until they both heard a distinctive sound, instantly familiar to both of them. Willie was somewhere nearby, crying his heart out. At that, the body turned on its heel, and walked back, behind Eagle Hill, to where Willie was sitting in an old station wagon. He looked up, at her approach. He was momentarily grateful that he'd long since moved his car out of the Poison Ivy patch, when he decided to carry his wife to the mausoleum.

"Cecily!" he exclaimed. "You're okay! How did you---how did you get out?" He sounded fearful now. "You couldn't have got out the regular way," he whispered. "I must have killed you, and now you're a ghost! I'm sorry--- I'm so sorry--"

"Aye, Willie, there is a ghost hereabouts, but it isn't your delightful bride."

Willie recognized the brogue, and the manner of speech. He shrank back into the station wagon. "Jason!" he gasped. "How did you get Cecily to let you possess her?"

"It wasn't all that easy, but, considering the young lady's brain power and mettle, easier than it should have been. It seems she put her pride on hold, out of her affectionate anxiety over ye! I must congratulate ye on your choice of a wife, Willie! Her loyalty to ye, though sorely tested, I'm sure, made it possible for me to escape that Hell-hole. Her mind, which seems to have some special features that I'm just discovering, will make it possible for me to gain new heights of wealth and power I could scarcely have imagined in my previous lifetime. Her body, and a lovely one it is, will surely help ease my path, when dealing with certain individuals." Cellie laughed in a dirty way.

"You can't have my Cecily's body! How could you even stand living that way? You're a man!"

"Compared to my former situation, it's an improvement, all right. Any port in a storm, ye know? I'll adjust. I'll even develop some method of putting myself 'on hold', so to speak, while she's carrying out some of my plans."

Willie pleaded, "NO! She's my wife, and we have a baby--"

"Ye should have thought of that, before ye chucked her into that tomb, Willie! But it won't be so bad. We two used to room together, when we traveled about. Consider this a similar arrangement. Forget about hugs and kisses, though, and whatever else ye were doing tonight! If ye stay on as my faithful hubby, I'll be glad to cut ye in when we hit our mark. As for the dear little one, ye can look after her, and once we're rich, we'll just hire nannies and such. Later on, we can send the brat to boarding school. If she's more like her mother, brain-wise, than yourself, that is."

Willie tugged on his "wife's" arm. "No, Jason. You have to let Cecily go! I'll bring you where you can find someone else to take over! I love her! She must be in there, somewhere. She must still love me and our little girl, if that's the price she was willing to pay to get out of the mausoleum. Jason, she got you out of that room! Let me have her back, now. PLEASE!"

"Sorry, Willie, I couldn't get out of her, even if I wanted to. And I don't. Now, I'd like ye to take me home, wherever that is. I feel the need for a good, hot shower coming on. I just can't wait to get a good look at what I've gotten myself into!" Cellie wore Jason's smarmy, leering grin.

"I can't take you home. I'm on the lam---" Before he had a chance to explain, Willie heard sirens in the distance. "They're coming for me!" he cried. "Jason, let her get in here with me! We have to go!"

"Not on your life, Willie, if ye're not going to play my game. I'm the victim of your anger, remember? They'll just take me back to Collinwood, or wherever ye were living, and they'll get ye out of my hair! I think I'll call them over---WHAT!" Cellie's body jerked around, facing the path to the mausoleum. "NO! DON'T TAKE ME BACK! I WON'T LET YOU!" Cellie rolled on the ground, twitching, as though two people were duking it out in her gut. Then she rose, firmly. "Wrench," she whispered, in her own voice. Willie pulled his wrench from the back seat of the station wagon. "Stay," Cellie said, as she marched herself to the mausoleum.

When she had gone, Willie sat, sniffling again, awaiting the Sheriff's arrival. He didn't believe, for a minute, that Jason would give Cecily's body up that easily. He might just kill her spirit outright, and take over, and there wouldn't be anything anyone could do about it. It would serve Willie right, for the way he'd treated her, worse than any hooker he'd ever picked up in his wild youth. It would serve him right, when either Lester, or Barnabas killed him for what he'd done. He was resigned to the inevitable. He just hoped this didn't mean that this would make it easier for Nicholas to do his dirty work.

He heard a rustling in the bushes. He heard David say, "Thank God I found you first, man. I got here just ahead of Lester. We have to get you out of here. Where's Cellie?"

Willie pointed toward the marble tomb gleaming in the moonlight.

"I hurt her, and I put her in there," he muttered, ashamed.

"Oh, Willie you didn't kill her, did you? I thought, before you two ran out, you might still be able to square this Lester thing away."

"She's alive." Willie became afraid again. He didn't know how to tell David about Jason being inside of Cecily. Maybe, he thought, David would just think he was making that up to take the heat off what he, Willie, had done to his wife. He wondered what was happening in the secret room right now.

"Well, if you know that for sure, come get her out. We have to hurry."

"No. I'm going to stay," Willie replied, meekly. "Lester will get me, sooner or later. Might as well be sooner. After what I did to Cecily, I should be locked up, like Jack. You go and get her. Only, get your own wrench. Mine is gone."

David ran back to his car, and found his wrench. He dashed to the mausoleum, screamed Cellie's name. He heard her calling for help to get out. "The switch in here is broken!" she cried. David fixed his wrench to the tiny chain in the brass lion's mouth, and gave it a hard tug. The door swung inward, and Cellie came up the steps, and fell into her friend's arms. "Muffinhead, thank God!" she sighed. "Is Will still out there?"

"Yes. He's waiting for the hammer to fall. Lester's. Cellie, what did Willie do to you, that he should act like he deserves the death pena