Welcome to Part Three of "Cagney and Lacey: Restitution--- Dark Shadows in the Land of Dreams."
Lorraine A. Balint
Gleaming Eagle Productions
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PART TEN--- Tuesday, April 18, 2000 (A)

Hours of desperate surgery. Hours of consoling Hepsey Woodard, who'd brought all four of her children to await the possible end. Hours of questioning poor Willie, who swore up and down that he couldn't see the face of the woman--- Christine was POSITIVE it was a woman--- who had stabbed Job so hastily, yet had torn such a hole in his gut.

Jeremy Collins even showed up eventually, ostensibly to visit his fiancee, who had been properly bandaged and had her shot, and now sat with her mother and Willie, also waiting with dread. Meanwhile, Mary Beth rallied the entire police force and back-up from Ellsworth and Chartville; they were beating around the bushes at Collinwood. In spite of having been a friend and attorney to the Collinses, prior to Tony Peterson, Judge Garner had issued search warrants for the Great House as well--- such a large building had a plethora of half-forgotten doors and windows leading into the largely-deserted East Wing, possibly accessible to an intruder, in spite of the myriad of alarms. Christine would be joining her partner shortly. "Are you staying until--- until--" she whispered to Barnabas, who seemed distant and even rather angry.

"Until the end? No, I don't think so. I am weary, especially after our little visit." Barnabas's expression softened when he saw Christine blush. "In any case, there's nothing I can do. Neither of us saw the assailant clearly, I don't have Job's blood type to donate, and I don't know his family except by sight. YOU plan on going out with the Sheriff. I'm sure Jeremy will call with the latest news." He kissed her forehead--- his lips were once again cold.

Finally, the surgeon--- NOT Dr. Heard--- came out, stripped of the outer layer of his surgical greens, which had gotten soaked with blood. There were spots of it on the slip-covers over his shoes. He walked right up to Hepsey and announced, a little too dramatically for Christine's taste, "Deputy Woodard. . . SURVIVED the surgery, and I BELIEVE he WILL recover." Hepsey, red-eyed and still sniffling, jumped up and threw herself upon the doctor, weeping with relief. "However, Mrs. Woodard. . . He IS in a semi-comatose state. He WILL snap out of it, if he recovers, but for NOW, any thoughts of questioning him are moot. Allow the man to rest, Miss Cagney," he said unctuously. "He has almost 100 sutures in him."

"I wish it wasn't this Dr. Lang," Willie commented to Maggie and Vicki. "He's WAY too much like his late Uncle. I wish it WAS Dr. Heard. He's got a better bedside and everything-else manner. But I guess old Doc was tired." He glared at Jeremy, who looked ill, but had perked up somewhat after his Father had left the hospital. The younger man was holding his fiancee's hand in a fearful, tentative manner, as though she might slap it away. But the would-be-vampire's would-be-victim held it steadily. Vicki didn't look too happy, but she WAS devoted and loyal to a fault.

"So, Jeremy, how was your father when you went to take care of him?" Maggie asked, suspicion in her voice. "He must have recovered very fast to have a visit from Miss Cagney."

Jeremy looked confused. He almost told Maggie that he'd spent all night in the cave where his father's coffin was kept, crying his eyes out over what he'd been made to do. Instead, with a warning glance from Willie, he muttered about the medication taking effect, which was good because Christine had, earlier, arrived on a pre-arranged visit that it was too late to cancel.

Christine herself had nothing to add to his story. She watched Hepsey Woodard call the High School to request a leave of absence to care for her recuperating husband. Hepsey hung up, a puzzled look on her red-splotched face. "Funny, AMY called in sick this morning," she said. "She really hasn't been herself for about a week, and now, THIS.All the work's going to be on the shoulders of the Vice-Principal and one of the teacher's aides who used to be a secretary."

"What do you mean by Amy's not 'being herself', Mrs. Woodard?"

"I don't know, it started with problems with the Sheriff's daughter, begging your pardon, Ma'am, I know Mrs. Lacey is your friend. Then Amy came in late one morning, and she made a joke about how she was going to turn over a new leaf, you know, being nicer to the kids, giving up some bad habits--- she even tried to swear on a Bible I keep for my own use, for guidance when I'm stressed out. But she got a burning rash from touching the gold-leaf Cross on the cover. I didn't know you could get an allergy to gold! She said it was like some rash she had on her neck. Now, I wonder if it isn't that flesh-eating disease!" Hepsey shuddered.

"I doubt it--- those victims usually get sick enough to die in a day or so. In Amy's case, it may just be one of her eccentricities."

"If that's what you want to call them."

Then, Christine went up to Alice's room to check on her, Harvey, and the compact-but-sturdy, dark-haired, dark-eyed young man sitting with him--- Michael Lacey, newly arrived from New York City. Of the two boys, he most resembled Harvey as a young man, in size and general appearance, but with his mother's dark coloring.

Harvey was sleeping in the recliner, and holding his sleeping daughter's hand. Michael, however, was skimming through the book about the Fallen Angels. He looked up, and mouthed the words "How is Job?"

Christine whispered, "It's a fairly good bet, he's going to live."

Michael smiled, a guilelessly sincere expression also like his father's. It was a reflection of his open, honest
character. Christine hated to play favorites with the Lacey brood, but after Alice, Michael was her favorite, hands down. Harvey Jr., on the other hand, while taller, handsomer, and brilliant compared to his earnestly grubbing brother, was almost too complex, too moody, to be the son of such open-hearted people. There was something wrong, Christine reflected, when one son eagerly came to be at his family's side, and the other didn't make the effort, even if his blood wasn't the required type. Could be that cold-fish wife of his, that Krystal--- even her NAME sounded cold. She'd heard that the couple was having trouble making a baby, but she wondered if those two even WANTED one. She had gotten that impression at their wedding, a formal affair run by Krystal's parents, unlike Michael's and Iris's cheerful come-as-you-are block party reception last summer. Perhaps, it had to do with an incident years ago when Harvey Jr. was in the Marines, but he seldom talked about those days. In any case, he was reacting in extreme fashion against his upbringing by parents fanatical about the importance of family above all else.

Still, his absence had allowed his younger brother to shine. After years of drifting from job to job, Michael
parlayed an early interest in drawing into taking drafting and design courses, both manual and computerized, and after he'd finished, he took the job at a new designing firm. Much as he still loved to build and assemble things (one of his favorite hobbies was to build fanciful structures out of Alice's cast-off cache of Lego blocks, much to his bride's amusement), he wanted his future family to have more than his parents' paycheck-to-paycheck existence while putting tiny amounts by to fulfill dreams as well as necessities. On the weekends, if he wanted to flex his wiry muscles, there was always a Habitat project going on somewhere.

And he had always been closer to his baby sister, anyway--- Harvey Jr. was 3 years Michael's senior, and went into the Marines at 18, so the younger boy spent more time with Alice as the two grew up. After her father, her middle brother was Alice's knight in shining armor as well, always on hand to play with her, read to her, run after her tricycle, rock and comfort her when their parents were unavailable. And he proved a worthy son, once his older brother wasn't around to incite him to rebellion. Michael's history paved the way for his parents' acceptance of the equally virtuous Iris. Iris, who had been sick for a couple of weeks, but told him to go help his family anyway.

He rose now, with the book still in his hands, and stepped outside with his mother's friend. "Interesting literature they lend you in this hospital. My God, ALICE isn't reading this, is she?"

"Oh, no, I got that from a friend. I thought it would help with some of the darker aspects of the recent incidents around here," Christine explained. "We've been hearing every crazy explanation from werewolves to vampires to monsters, Chupacabras---"

Michael's eyebrows shot up. "Now THAT'S interesting. Iris has a grandmother who believes in THOSE."

"Well, she'll have to come up and consult with the Collinses' nanny, Marisol Cortez, who sees them around every corner. Your mother and I, however, believe that the perpetrator or PERPETRATORS, are of a more conventional variety. I'm on my way to the Collins estate right now. Any messages for your Mom before I go? Alice doing okay, and your Dad?"

"Well, yes and no," Michael said with a chuckle. "Alice felt just fine when I told her that I was thinking of giving her my Harley when she turns 18. My DAD, however--- well, you can imagine the rest. But don't tell Mom THAT, just yet."

After a hasty "see you later," Christine was Collinwood-bound within minutes. It was foggy on Weeping Meadow Road, and she could appreciate the dangers of the hairpin turns on the narrow road, which, at one point, ran near a steep gully. Finally, she located the correct entrance to Collinwood's driveway, and soon saw a gaggle of gold-and-turquoise police cars huddled near the Great House, and immediately saw Mary Beth in the thick of things, giving orders with a bullhorn.

"So, I take it you didn't catch the assailant?" Christine asked.

"No, but some of the guys are still in the empty wing. I wish them luck. Bad enough we had to plow through umpteen closets and wardrobes and under beds in the home area. I must say, searching Barnabas's place was a SNAP compared to this. When you were at the old house, I take it you saw and heard nothing specific? Or, maybe, you just were in a situation where you could do NEITHER?" There was disapproval in Mary Beth's tone.

Christine blushed--- she couldn't help it. Since she'd met Barnabas, she blushed more than she ever had since her FIRST experience. And last night, until the intruder walked in. . . She wanted to be away, to lie in her bed and re-live some of those sensations in a daydream. Then, she shook herself out of her fantasy. She'd had sexual relations with someone who was still a suspect, and had been threatened by a new suspect in the process, NOT a good reflection on her judgment. She knew it, too, but protested that she was a victim of circumstances. "The batteries died in the lantern in Josette's room, and we couldn't see or get out in a hurry without tripping on that fancy furniture. They would have broken like twigs. And DON'T give me, 'screw the furniture, look what happened to poor Job!' I had NO idea he was following Barnabas, and I don't know why, anyway. Okay, so the two of us were making love. Is THAT what Your Prudishness wants to hear me say? Did you send Big Daddy Job out to rescue me, or to protect my honor, which you seem to feel reflects on YOURS?"

Mary Beth looked stricken, like she was going to cry. A tear DID escape down her furrowed cheek. "We've been down this road a few times, Christine. I can't help criticizing your love life, since it ALWAYS seems to lead to a disaster. I can't deny 20 years of evidence in your case, and I can't deny 30 years of evidence in Barnabas's. That description in the old book, the fact that Jerusha Cane claims that it was a MAN in that 'fuzzy' cloak."

"But, Mary Beth, don't you see? Maybe we, Barnabas and I, were attacked by the REAL stalker, someone who might be trying to set him up because of an old grudge, someone who could pretend to be a man in a cloak like Barnabas's. It had to be SOMEONE who knew the Old House well enough to not trip Barnabas's alarm system, and the newer house as well.. But I can't imagine who, right now--- everyone at Collinwood seems to admire and trust him greatly with so many family secrets. So why would THEY want to hurt him?"

"Still waters run deep, Christine. That family didn't automatically trust him off the bat. And resentments ALSO run deep. Barnabas COULD have been getting even, and then deflecting the blame around so much that it eventually boomeranged back at him. There may be someone helping him that we don't know about--- if it's a woman as you say, maybe she had a good look at what you two were doing, and got crazy-mad-jealous."

"But he hasn't had a woman since his wife died," Christine asserted. "I know MOST men just say that to make the current lady feel special, but there's something about Barnabas--- you just KNOW he's telling the truth. He wouldn't have taken anyone BUT a special someone to Josette's room."

"TO? Not IN? It's just a couple of small words, but it makes a huge difference. Willie took ME TO the room. Barnabas took you IN the room. Hey, I'm no Ed and Lorraine Warren, but THEY would probably say that the spirit of Josette reached out to some unstable person, and made her want to KILL the man who looked like her old boyfriend from 200 years ago."

"Well, I only know one person who's given some signs of instability, though in HER case, it has to do with drink, the death of her brothers, and denied access to David Collins."

"Amy Jennings," Mary Beth said, "with her distaste for anyone connected to the Sheriff's office, which may include YOU. It makes a twisted kind of sense that she could get away with committing SOME crimes--- as a Collins and a respected Principal of the High school, she can fall back on her family ties and professional reputation as a shield. But to attack Candy, whom, I doubt she even knows? And what about the beast who chewed my Alice?"

"Part of what we might find out if we can catch her. Hepsey said she's called in sick for the day. We can check if her car is still here. I hope we find her before someone else who's hurt her gets in the way."
* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Well, someone who had hurt AMY had gotten to HER first. After leaving the hospital, Barnabas had zeroed in on Amy's location. She was huddled in the East Wing, after having broken in through a small window behind a bush that she'd discovered years ago, when she and David used to play hide-and-seek. The vampire flew through that window, materialized before her, and pulled her roughly to her feet.

"Oh, Amy," Barnabas sighed, feigning genteel exasperation, "you should know that when you cross ME, there's NOWHERE to RUN, and NOWHERE to HIDE!" He slapped her hard across the face. "How DARE you threaten mine and Christine's lives?"

Amy was sobbing, her knees were buckling, but Barnabas forced her to stand. She cried, "You said it was OVER with Christine Cagney! That I would be first in your life, first in your bed. . . Then what happens when I come into your house, but I hear MOANING and GRUNTING and how nobody else can
satisfy you as a MAN. . . And then, I go up to Josette's room, and I see YOU all over HER, like a nature show on the Discovery Channel, on the bed I'd hoped WE would share. What would YOU have done in my place?"

Barnabas slapped her again. "You presumptuous WHORE. Christine satisfies me as a man, NOT a vampire. I am going to re-write the rules for my kind, retaining Christine for when I feel human urges for union, and retaining YOU as my lover in my night-life."

"It will NEVER work--- neither of us will accept part-time love and attention from YOU. She'll BETRAY you, Barnabas! She's just like the Sheriff, maybe WORSE!"

"And YOU are better? An idiot like YOU, who stabbed Deputy Woodard and brought suspicion upon yourself which MAY reflect upon me!"

"But I thought you wanted to do something bad to Job. If I did the job right, and he dies without regaining
consciousness, that would absolve YOU of responsibility."

"If I had done it, I would have orchestrated it so that blame ISN'T on me. Like what I and Julia did to his father!"

"Still, Barnabas. . . I'm the only one who knows where the portrait of Quentin is, and as his descendant, I can get rid of both HIM and HIS curse in one fell swoop. Then, you will OWE me what I desire."

"So YOU want to be my bride," he laughed contemptuously. "Well, we can get one very important preliminary out of the way. I'm sorry if this isn't exactly ROMANTIC---"

He slammed Amy against the wall. Then, he tore at her collar and sank his fangs in as far as they could go.
She collapsed against him, knocked her into the wall every time she wobbled, clawed at him in agony, or sobbed. When he was finished, Barnabas said with a sneer, "Now, you ARE truly mine, and you WON'T give a damn whether I have relationships with one or one hundred other mortals OR vampire brides. Now, go finish what you were SUPPOSED to do--- and THEN, you will get the OTHER part of your reward. I still have strength left over from LOVING--- we shall see how it works when used for HATING."

"You mean," Amy croaked, "I am what YOU are? Right NOW?"

"You'll have to find that out for yourself, dearest 'bride'! I must go now, to prepare your, er, marriage bed." The bat hovered where Barnabas had been standing, and darted away.

Amy snuck back to her room for a few minutes to change her blouse and to rinse Job's blood from her knife. It was a curious piece from Quentin's own collection--- a peculiarly sinuous, curved affair of of Spanish steel.
He had told Amy that it was a legendary knife called the "Dancing Lady", and that a single stab could cause grave damage. "The Inquisitors' henchmen would take the blade of a new knife, red-hot from the forge, and cool it by plunging it into the body of a hapless prisoner! If he happened to survive, the knife was destroyed, and the poor prisoner was taken out to be burned in an auto-da-fe!" For some reason, Quentin had kept it oiled and well-sharpened. "I don't know WHY I kept this, but it was just lying around when its previous owner was killed, and it WAS beautiful, in spite of its true purpose."

She dried the knife carefully, to prevent rust. She needed to hurry up, before she was discovered, and with the knife still in her possession. Quentin might already be at home. He didn't check his collection all that often, hence the ease with which Amy had swiped the Dancing Lady. She now cursed herself for running over to the Old House, as though she still needed a pep talk and a kiss on her throat for luck before putting an end to her great-grandfather. And killing Job wasn't a good move. She wondered what Hepsey would say if she knew who'd done it.

She ran through the hallways, which seemed to be deserted, to the East Wing, and then, to the isolated closet with the big lock. She yanked out the key, always kept at the ready on a chain around her neck. The chain and key had needed to be cleaned, too. Fortunately, the key was stainless steel, unlike the Dancing Lady.
Amy opened the closet, uncovered the portrait. . . Took a moment to examine what she was about to kill.

The image, once that of a handsome young Victorian gentleman with jet-black hair and sky-blue eyes, looked like that same gentleman had passed through several major disasters, including boiling in lava and drying up in a desert. Half the flesh hung from the skull and long armbones like molten clocks in a Dali painting. The rest had dessicated from his face. And his once-fine clothes had rotted from his body. Amy never understood this decay. There WERE, after all, a few people who HAD lived to age 130, but they were normal, just very, very wrinkled, thin-skinned and frail. It occurred to Amy that, perhaps, Quentin had ruined the image by testing the limits, maybe even in hopes of ending his long and often pointless existence. Perhaps he HAD jumped into a volcano, and emerged unscathed, but the faithful portrait had borne it all.

"Let's just consider this a mercy killing, then, shall we?" Amy said aloud to the painting as she held the Dancing Lady over the heart area. She was about to plunge it in, when her hand was caught in mid-air--- she turned her head, and saw the shocked face of David Collins!

"AMY!! My God, what the HELL are you doing, and what the HELL are you doing it TO?" He gasped as he studied the horrific portrait. "Sweet Christ, who IS this poor wretch!"

"What are YOU doing here?" Amy demanded. "Only Quentin and I know of this place!"

"You KNOW I know almost every inch of this house! I saw you darting around the hallways. I didn't know if you had heard about poor Job Woodard. He was STABBED, and--- and---" Suddenly realization set in. David cried, "YOU did it! They said his guts were torn up, and that's JUST the knife to do it! You STOLE that from Quentin! Why, Amy, WHY--- QUENTIN didn't put you up to any of this, I just KNOW it!" He tried to wrestle the knife from her, but she cut his hand. "Amy, please DON'T kill me! You don't NEED to.
Job came through his surgery, and he WILL recover! Listen, the Sheriff's outside, and her men are combing through this wing. Surrender, and you'll probably be sent to WindCliff for a couple of years---"

"I have other plans for the next couple of years, never mind, HUNDREDS of years," Amy said, eyeing David's bloody hand. A strong pang of hunger assailed her now. Could it be? "David, you have to help me to get away, in memory of old times, you know. . ." She wound her arms around his neck, pressed her lips to his throat. He didn't push her away, perhaps hoping to subdue her in this position. "David, you know I still care for you, always will---" Opened her lips and touched her teeth to a throbbing vein. "If only we could do 'it' right now---" And pierced his flesh with new fangs.

David made a gagging sound, but didn't cry out. He pulled Amy CLOSER, feeling her body up and down as she drank. She made herself stop, as Barnabas did when he first bit HER. There WAS still a little love left for David--- how confusing! She released him, and said, "You must keep the police away from me for just a while longer. Do you know where Quentin is right now?"

"He was in his apartment, packing, just before I came after you," David whispered. "He's going to the Inn tonight, after he stops at GenScan to take some kind of blood test, and will be flying to Germany before the week is out. You don't want HIS blood, do you?" He sounded very jealous.

"Why would I want the blood of THAT disgusting creature?" Amy sneered, pointing at the portrait. "It's HIM, you know. Quentin. 130 years old and young. My great-grandfather." David looked faintly surprised, but then, he had a hard time feeling anything but what SHE wanted him to feel, right now.
"Never mind," she said, "I'll explain it to you when we have more time. But do me this extra favor--- send Quentin to me AT ONCE." Now, Amy simply kissed David on the lips. "And, love? Don't mention this to Hallie!"

"Like I would!" he muttered in reply. He snaked his way from the area, and went down to where the police were. "I heard a noise coming from the attic!" he announced. "Maybe the attacker is up there, already!" As soon as he showed them an old servant's shortcut stairway, he came back to the main house, and hied over to the West Wing. Quentin was sorting out some ties and socks for placement in his huge old valise that looked as though it had survived the Titanic sinking, the Hindenburg explosion, and a couple of aircraft crashes. In fact, it HAD, and only now, David was coming to realize this.

"Quentin, if you're not too busy, Amy asked me to bring you to see something. . . it's a parting gift of sorts."

"Well, I WOULD like to talk to Amy, and I WILL in a while, but the police interrupted me with all their questions and searching. Tell her, in a half-hour, David." Now Quentin picked up a bundle of shirts, and dropped them into the valise.

"Really, Quentin, she INSISTED. . . She's pretty upset over you leaving. I know you two have had some problems, but she wants to, you know, 'bury the hatchet'. Five minutes, tops, and you can pack till the sun comes up."

"Well. . ." Quentin sighed. "I guess I should mend fences with Amy right away. You never know---" He followed David down the long hallway. He thought they were going to stop at Amy's door, but David kept moving, beckoning to his cousin behind him. At first Quentin was pleasantly curious, but when the came to the door of the East Wing, a sickening suspicion came over him, and he rushed past David, who smiled blankly at him.

He hurried to the secret closet, obviously a secret no longer to David, at any rate. Amy stood before Quentin's portrait, a twisted smile on her small, girlish face. In her hands was the Dancing Lady, and as he approached, she took a vicious swipe at the portrait, cutting across the chest!

He felt a tremendous, stinging pain in his ribs, his lungs. She'd missed the heart, but would no doubt realize her mistake. Or WAS it a mistake? He gasped, "Amy. . . Amy, sweetheart. . . Why are you doing this? What have I done to you? Please, Amy, put the knife away, and I think I can repair the picture. . . Damn it, I TRUSTED you!" He sank to his knees.

"I trusted YOU, and I KNOW you let me down!" Amy wailed. "You---you told me not to have children, and you knocked up Pauline. . . You frightened me as a little girl, I thought you were evil, I can't really remember why. . . You set Chris up, by calling us back from Nebraska, and you told on him to Sheriff Patterson. . . The Sheriff killed HIM with the silver bullets, when he should have killed YOU! YOU! It's YOUR fault eveything happened! The curse, Chris killing those poor girls and Uncle Ned. . . You murdered YOUR wife, MY great-grandmother, and WE all had to pay! YOU deserve this!" She slashed at his shoulder in the portrait. "I'm not going to finish you off till you hear everything else, like how I sent Pauline out to Widow's Hill, and---"

"No, YOU listen, Amy. . . I didn't tell on Chris. . . YOU did!"

"You're LYING! I did NO such thing! I LOVED my brother, no matter WHAT he was. You LURED him into a trap!"

"Amy, Amy. . . I know you're going to do what you're going to do, and maybe you're right. . . But you MUST hear me out! YES, I called your family back. I missed you, and Julia said that some new medication was just developed in France to control Chris's condition, if he would only come wait it out in WindCliff. But there was a delay in the shipment, and Chris broke out one night. . . You know he killed Ned Stuart. Sabrina's own BROTHER! Still, Barnabas, Julia and I were willing to cover for him. In spite of her terrible grief, Sabrina wavered, because she STILL loved Chris. . . Out of the FIVE of us, only YOU had the courage to make the only rational choice, you who were only 15 years old, and had already lost one brother as well as your parents. . . YOU loved Sabrina enough to make the decision SHE could not, made the only choice that would bring your poor brother peace, and believe me, Amy, even while I had this portrait to swallow my sins, I NEVER had a moment's peace. . ."

"This is a BULL story!" But Amy was weeping, strange, bloody tears, Quentin noticed.

"NO bull, you poor kid. . . You snuck out to George Patterson's house, and convinced him you were telling the truth. You told him, 'try the silver bullets, what have you got to lose?' Of course, we didn't know about any of this, until he actually KILLED Chris, and you nearly killed yourself from the guilt. Julia and I found you lying beneath my portrait, a picture of Chris and yourself clutched in your hands, unconscious from an overdose of sleeping pills. When we got you awake enough to throw them up, and you confessed, we made a decision, just Julia and I. She HYPNOTIZED you to MAKE you forget what YOU had done. It was the only way you could live with what you--- what you HAD to do. And while I and Julia certainly forgave you, THIS way, we never had to worry about Sabrina's and Barnabas's reactions. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do--- Sabrina stayed on to raise you, Barnabas treated you like a younger sister, and you made all of us proud of your accomplishments. The only thing Julia couldn't erase was your resentment of Sheriffs, which, I think, puzzled old George to the end of his days. You know, I'm sure HE felt guilty too, since he'd known your family all his life."

Amy cried like she had when Chris had first died, before she got hold of some sedatives from Julia's medical bag. . . She remembered EVERYTHING now, the furtive trip to the Sheriff's house, his efforts to assure her that he wouldn't let Chris suffer, but, unfortunately, suffer he DID, and it wasn't REALLY Patterson's fault.
She remembered Julia and Quentin, who loved her so much, that they promised to wipe away her terrible betrayal "like chalk from a blackboard." And all her years of futile resentments, the blighted romance with David, her capitulation to Barnabas, and NOW look at what she was! It didn't matter, these revelations. . . It all led to the same thing, and Quentin would HAVE to pay! She raised the Dancing Lady to the canvas.

With a massive effort, Quentin hurled himself at Amy, and yanked at her ankles. She fell, and the Dancing Lady flew from her hand and skittered away under some old furniture. Quentin climbed onto his great-grand-daughter, pinning her, though she struggled. As he pulled on her shoulder, the collar of her fresh blouse pulled away enough to reveal fang marks!

"Amy, baby," he whispered. Now HE began to weep. "Amy, when DID Barnabas do this? I KNOW all about him. Amy, please. . . Maybe we can BOTH be saved. . ."

"I was the FIRST," she sighed. "It was Wednesday, the night of the dinner. He didn't MEAN it. But he said he would love me. . . I sent Pauline out so he could get her, but it didn't work out the way HE wanted it, just ME. Then I screwed up." The bloody tears made ruddy tracks down her cheeks. "I caught him with Christine Cagney, and I was gonna kill them BOTH. . . But I got Job instead. It's too late. Too late."

"But Amy, Job ISN'T dead."

"But I AM!" Now, Amy pushed Quentin aside, and leapt to her feet. "Barnabas wanted me to be his first vampire bride. I died an hour ago! And I have my first victim! David belongs to ME now!" She danced around. "Maybe I'll turn into a bat if I wish hard enough." She grimaced in concentration, but nothing happened. "Oh, well, maybe you can't do that the first night." She was back at the portrait. She raised her fist--- surely the aged canvas would give way when she smashed through the holes she'd already made. She was right.

Now, Quentin shrieked in agony. He was sure the police would come down, but it would be too late. After a few minutes, the pain went away, but he knew he was dying. It was getting darker and darker. All he could hear was Amy prattling about becoming a bat, about getting a new coffin with a full satin mattress. . . Why weren't the police down here yet? He was going down a long, long tunnel. He knew this tunnel, he'd been down it before, when his wife stabbed him, before he was brought back to life. . . There was someone at the end of the tunnel, standing in a nimbus of mist and strange colored lights. A slightly-built man, with honey-colored hair and blue eyes, in a rust-colored velvet suit. . . Quentin knew him, and was REALLY afraid. "Carl. . . You've come back to watch me die. How ironic that Barnabas should be the true author of YOUR revenge!"

Carl shook his head. There wasn't a trace of his anxious, jokey manner at this moment. "No, Quentin, I don't want to see you die. I HATED you for setting me up, and I HATED Barnabas for killing ME, who thought of HIM as a friend. I blamed him for what happened to Pansy, but since then, I've learned a few things. And one of them is, if you want to get out of the ether, you HAVE to start forgiving those who trespassed against you. I used to love you when we were children, though you probably don't remember it that way, and I know you were angry when some of my tricks frightened Jamison, but I loved him too. . . So I can't, and I WON'T let you die."

"Try telling THAT to Batgirl over there."

"I don't have to tell her anything. In a minute, she's going to get a real Carl Collins-style surprise. I just raided Miss Cortez's room." NOW Carl giggled, but it was conspiratorial--- Quentin smiled in return, though not in understanding.

Amy really seemed to have lost her mind--- she climbed on chairs, wondered aloud why she wasn't transforming or becoming invisible. Then, she got up on an old end table in front of an old bedframe with a small pot balanced precariously on top. She was spreading her "wings", when the pot fell on her. She cried in pain, though the pot seemed to only contain water!

"It's HOLY Water!" Carl squealed in delight. He clapped his hands inanely. "Vampires can't stand water anyway, but Holy Water is triple-threat!"

Quentin grabbed his brother's arm, saying , angrily, "Stop it, Carl! She's HURTING. . . She's my great-grand-daughter, and YOUR great-grand-niece, and I WON'T have her injured, no matter WHAT she's become!"

Carl calmed down, and said, "Like your great-grandson Christopher, Quentin? Like you wanted poor little Pauline to abort your child before she lost it anyway? But you're right, I shouldn't hurt Amy. It's not her fault who her IN-cestors are." Amy suddenly laid down as if exhausted, and fell asleep, or into a death-like state, Quentin couldn't tell. Carl continued, "If I save YOU this time, brother, it comes with a price. Your heart and your mind. They're still there, though Amy seems to have made a rather large hole in this picture. Terrible likeness, by the way, even when you were young. When Charles Tate arrived in the ether 30 years ago, I used to tell him that, until he was ready to smack me, but Amanda always stopped him."

"You've seen AMANDA? SHE'S in the ether, too?" Suddenly, Quentin DIDN'T want to be saved.

Carl sighed. "Yes, she WAS, brother, but you have to realize, we ARE aware of the passage of time in the ether, and old attachments die, new ones are forged, and some of us are sent out to seek new lives and paths to fulfillment. . . Their love was kind of old-new, since he DID create her. But then, she got sent out when a new life was created the old-fashioned way. Charles was angry for a while, but now he's escorting both Charity Trask AND my Pansy. He couldn't help it--- after Charity passed away and Pansy's soul separated from hers, their spirits became close as twins. I used to get tired of Charity tagging along, everywhere I went with Pansy, but it was sometimes fun. We laughed a lot, something poor Charity NEVER go to do until Pansy was with her. So when they both left, I was angry, too, but I have eternity to get over it. Maybe I'll find someone else here, maybe I'll get reincarnated and meet someone. As for YOU, Quentin, maybe you'll find Amanda. Maybe you already have."

"Carl. . . One more thing. . . Daisy Violet Meadow. You have to tell me. . . So I can tell Willie and Harvey."

"Oh yes, Daisy, Daisy. She was supposed to give me her answer true. . . Grandmother Edith sort of liked her, thought her dancing was a hoot. But Judith and Edward tried to buy her off. I was mad, and I ran away with her, but I wasn't any good to her without money, and I didn't want to obtrude on her womanly privacy. But when she said it was all over between us, I wanted her to stay SO badly, I hugged her and kissed and touched her on her bed like I never did with ANYONE before. I was like a real Don Juan Casanova Romeo, Quentin, you would have been proud! But after, she laughed at me, and she got mad because I didn't use what she called 'French Letters'. I TOLD her I knew how to speak French, Grandma Edith taught me, but she said that wasn't what she meant, stupid dumkopf---that was ME--- but not to worry, she'd take care of it herself, no harm done. She threw me out, auf wiedersehn!. I didn't know about baby Edith until I was DEAD, isn't that strange? It WAS sweet of Daisy to name her after Grandmother, don't you think? Daisy tried to contact Judith, but by then I was dead, and Judith couldn't believe Daisy had MY baby. So poor Daisy had to keep Edith in an orphanage until she got married.

"And as for me, I was kept busy watching over ALL my family, until SOMEONE in the ether started making trouble for the Collinses, and I was told that MY family could help, even though they didn't know they WERE my family. Willie was already here, THAT was NOT my doing, but Harvey--- he's more like ME than his brother Carl--- now isn't THAT name a coincidence, Edith never even TOLD Muriel about me! Harvey wouldn't have come up if I hadn't sent Hallie some dreams about picking Mary Beth for the Sheriff's position, even though David wasn't that enthusiastic. Now, I'd better hurry and fix your picture, you're getting more and more solid in the ether. I can't stay here too long anyway."

Carl gently ran his fingers up and down the portrait. The ragged rents in the canvas sealed, and the ugly image was once more intact, but with a difference--- Now the ancient man seemed to be a little bit YOUNGER.

"HOW did you do that?" Quentin said, amazed.

"I have a lady friend who helps me from behind the scenes, you might say. From now on, that picture's going to get younger and younger. You will age, gradually, in time with the picture, and die like anyone else. Don't worry, it's going to take years and years, but you have to use the time well. Mend your fences. Heal wounds. Or the portrait will pick up where it left off. That MIGHT be embarrassing, and not even FUNNY!"

"Carl!" Quentin called. His brother seemed to be fading. "The NAME of the ghost in the ether who caused all this trouble!

Carl said, "The last time I tried to tell anyone HIS name, I was sent 'below' to tend the Infernal sewers. Ask Willie about what happened to the old cabbage-rose carpet from the Old House. That's all I can say." He vanished.

Quentin sat up, all his aches and pains gone. He went over to check on Amy, as the police FINALLY showed up. He, the Sheriff and Christine checked Amy for vital signs---- the latter two were puzzled. She didn't seem quite dead, nor quite alive, either. Mary Beth called for an ambulance. "And keep her under guard at all times. As of now, Amy's considered the chief suspect in SEVERAL crimes, if she LIVES, that is."

Quentin looked at his watch and realized the dawn must have come some time ago. He told the ambulance workers to keep the patient in a dark environment, curtains closed. "Part of her illness seems to involve an intolerance to bright lights," he explained.

Then Christine noticed the portrait, which Quentin hadn't any chance to hide. She frowned. "I hope you don't mind my saying, but this painting of the Crypt-Keeper is the UGLIEST thing I've ever seen. And I should know, back in Paris, over 30 years ago, I used to paint the same kinds of pictures as an art student."

"Well, I'll stick it back in this closet," Quentin said amiably. "Say, what took you folks so long to get in here?"

"What are you talking about?" Christine asked, "You were screaming your lungs out just 5 minutes ago! We though you were getting cut into pieces!"

Mary Beth personally questioned Quentin. "What WERE you doing here, sir?"

"I heard a noise coming from area near the door to the East Wing. I admit I was rather heedless of the danger, running in to see who was here, but I heard Amy sobbing."

"If she ran into that painting in this gloomy place, I can see why that might be so," Christine offered.

Mary Beth looked angry. "Christine, PLEASE!" She might as well have been admonishing Alice.

Quentin, nonplussed, continued. "I knew this wing from when Amy and David were children, and I often had to look for them in here, so I had no trouble finding her. I knew at once, she had done something terrible. She had the knife in her hand, it was from MY collection, and---"

A deputy wearing a rubber glove managed to fish the Dancing Lady out from under the furniture. He gently placed the very-clean looking blade into a plastic bag. "Awfully clean and shiny," Mary Beth said. "She must have rinsed it before she came here--- thank God she didn't run into anybody, one of the kids, HALLIE---
Still, there must be SOME traces of blood on it. We'll have to test it, Mr. Collins. I promise it won't be lost or damaged."

"Take your time, it's considered a cursed weapon, and its uses tonight prove it. I doubt it will harm YOUR people, though. Anyway, Amy came at me, but I threw her off. Then I tripped and fell, and she was on me, holding that knife over my NOSE, when, luckily, she collapsed. THAT'S why I shrieked like a ghoul." He turned from the partners and proceeded to lock up the painting again.

"This time, put a BIG padlock on it," Christine advised. "No telling what such a demonic-looking picture can do!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The unfamiliar doctor, Lang, examined Quentin, though the latter insisted he was none the worse off for his ordeal, and pronounced him "in SPLENDID condition! I am amazed, sir--- for a man of 60 you have the physique of a man of 30! Have you ever thought of creating a fitness plan? Plenty of money still to be made there, and YOU would probably become a tycoon in your own right, after Jack LaLanne goes to that big Gym in the sky."

"You sound like you're obsessed with the subject, Doctor." Quentin studied the thin 40-ish physician, and wondered if he was related to the Dr. Lang who had created Adam.

"Those in my family who went into the medical profession felt that perfection was an attainable goal. My late uncle, Eric Lang, who worked here until shortly before his death, did much pioneering work in the transplant area, not hearts and livers, but limb and other organ transplants. He was in the midst of such a project when he had a fatal heart attack. It combined electro-chemical and magnetic impulses to bring a semblence of sentient life and independent movement to transplanted limbs. An advance on the Galvanic method, an improvement on the practice of trying to tie together as many nerve endings and blood vessels as possible,
all without the threat of rejection. At least, that's what the notes he left said."

This WAS enlightening. "Ever wish you could have continued those experiments, Doctor---"

"Call me Conrad. Of course, it used to be my dream, but I didn't want to re-live my uncle's life. He was an obsessed workaholic who never married, probably never even had a woman, period, to hear my late father tell of it. I myself married, quite happily, though my dear wife passed away a year ago, and we had a fine son and daughter who also intend to become doctors. I named them Eric and Erica in tribute. When they're done with Med School, our goal is to open a family practice, and then, when it's up and running, I'm going to retire and, perhaps, pick up where my uncle left off."

"Well, this is a subject that interests ME as well. Perhaps we can get together some time soon, and hash it out over a few drinks." Quentin KNEW the idea that was growing in his mind was, probably, not only impossible, but insane! Still, he meant to run over the ideas he had, with Jeremy. There had to be an answer somewhere in this mess--- it all ran together, somehow, the old Dr. Lang's attempt to re-animate and unify dead body parts, whose purpose was to absorb and dissipate the curse on another being and which experiments culminated in the creation of Timothy Adam Samwell, and the strange blood factor that ran through Carl's family line, at least. Quentin looked at his watch, and realized he had to leave for his appointment at GenScan.

Dr. Lang also had other business to attend to. He joined Dr. Heard when the older man examined Amy Jennings in Intensive care. Dr. Lang glanced at the pouch of blood which was being transfused into the pale woman, who was hooked up to a respirator, but who, save for the forced heaving of her chest, was otherwise quite still, as though in a state of suspended animation, than in a coma, where the patient might unconsciously make a noise or move an appendage. He studied her heart monitor, which, in spite of the oxygen pumping in, showed a feeble beat twice a minute. He looked at her brain scan; a flatline was punctuated with a wave at the same interval. "Amazing!" he exclaimed. "She's cold and rigid as death, but there's still some activity."

"I expect that brain scan to flatline permanently at any minute," Dr. Heard said bluntly, but quietly. No telling WHAT a patient could hear in his or her last hours. "I don't know WHY Mr. Collins insists on life support AND a transfusion, though it seems her blood vessels haven't completely collapsed yet. But, as far as legalities are concerned, he's her next of kin, and if he wants to pay for it, he's a Collins, he can afford it. Still, if the brain waves go, I WILL be having him in to make a very difficult decision."

"Interesting," Dr. Lang muttered. "I vaguely recall some notes my late uncle made, about a patient in similar condition, years ago. . . I'll have to get up into my attic, and root around for them. Maybe they won't SAVE this patient, but at least we'll have a better idea about what she has. It might help someone in the future."

"I DO know it's related to the cases of Jerusha Cane and Alice Lacey. You can see, the marks are right there, low on her throat." Dr. Heard pointed. Then for some reason, he began to rub his OWN neck in almost the same spot. "And the lab work is showing a LARGE number of the same necrotic cells, from such terribly small blood samples! If your late uncle had ANY extra information, of course we'd appreciate it. I remember Eric, from over 30 years ago. He was an eccentric fellow, if you don't mind my saying, but he WAS, without question, BRILLIANT when it came to these obscure, exotic ailments."

"He thought he had an answer for EVERYTHING, even cancer," the other man sighed. "I often think, what if he had lived to treat Julia Collins, and even my Beatrice. . . Not to mention a host of others! This ISN'T cancer, but from what you're telling me, there MAY be similarities. . . Cancer IS, apparently a communicable disease in a few instances, for example, cervical cancer, and the cancers that spring up as a result of AIDS. . .
If we can fix THIS, who knows the scope of application to OTHER such illnesses! Now I'm EAGER to get into that attic!" Dr. Lang's eyes held a gleam familiar to Dr. Heard--- it was the same look the late Eric Lang wore when obsessed.
* * * * * * * * * * * *

Quentin met Willie, Harvey, Vicki, and Jeremy at GenScan's surprisingly modest headquarters in Chartville.
Still, in spite of the lack of glamour about the facility itself, there was heavy security, as though the bland,
innocuous1960's-style factory-like building was Fort Knox, some CIA think-tank, or a development facility for high-tech defense devices. "We have to do this," the guard explained, as he examined driver's licences and ran the names through computer databanks, and made them all walk through the same kind of metal detectors and scanners airports used. "Our work is quite valuable to the government and law-enforcement, and if you watched the O.J. trial, you KNOW how easily such samples can become tainted. There's a lot of motivation for hostile and criminal elements to do just that."

He even took pictures of the insides of their eyes, in addition to the more conventional fingerprints. Thanks to 100 years of experience in covering his tracks, Quentin's credentials passed muster, and Harvey's as well--- the guard was a veteran from the same generation and branch of service, and caught himself before the amiable Harvey had him join in reminiscing about their military experiences. However, the guard WAS skeptical about allowing ex-con, ex-mental patient Willie in, but after talking to Jeremy and Vicki, decided he was unlikely to be able to penetrate the "inner sanctum".

Willie held Vicki's hand for both his tests, and hers. Jeremy waited outside the room--- perhaps to be away from the tempting sight of blood. Willie concerned for both of the young people--- he'd sat up with Jeremy when the latter fell into bed, after their return from the hospital, so he knew the young man had made no further attempts to bother his fiancee. Jeremy still looked terrible--- he had dark circles under his eyes, which stood out on his fair skin. And Vicki's eyes were full of sadness; her father knew she was seriously considering breaking off from her lover. If only the pair could hold out until something was done about Barnabas! Willie wished he could tell her that. Maybe there was some hint he could pass to Maggie, who had a vague memory of her own ordeals, where it didn't concern Barnabas, specifically.

After the round of tests, the quintet were told they had Priority status, which meant they would get a preliminary set of results within 72 hours, followed by a more detailed report in a couple of weeks. "But the preliminaries SHOULD be enough for our purposes, at present," Jeremy assured his companions. He walked Vicki to her car (loaned by the auto-body shop while hers was being repaired), ahead of the others. Before she got in, he whispered, "I'm sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me, nor can I explain what I did."

"You CAN'T explain, or you just don't WANT to?"

"There are reasons for both, but it doesn't matter. . . Still, I mean it---I AM sorry. I love you too much to take a chance of hurting you again, so this is good-bye. Forever." Jeremy turned from Vicki abruptly, and marched back to his car, where Willie was chatting quietly with Harvey and Quentin.

"YOU had a vision about Carl Collins?" Harvey asked Quentin incredulously. "So he was your grandfather's brother. but he never came to YOU before, did he?"

"Well, you could say I've always been AWARE of him," Quentin replied evasively. "Carl--- Great-Uncle Carl---and my grandfather parted on less-than-amicable terms. Carl Collins was murdered soon afterward, and my grandfather carried a LOT of guilt over the unresolved estrangement, almost as much as if HE had been the killer himself! So, when I had this near-death hysterical trauma caused by my poor cousin Amy, I guess Great-Uncle Carl's restless spirit saw fit to give ME a chance to make up for what Grandfather did---
in SPADES, since Grandfather had been quite an irresponsible rake in his youth, and, I admit, so have I, and without the excuse of youth." Quentin shot Willie a meaningful glance, and Willie nodded, a wordless exchange inscrutable to Harvey, though the latter HAD heard the scuttlebutt about Quentin's affair with his young cousin. Mary Beth and Christine had been absolutely lyrical about the subject. Collinsport WAS
starting to resemble the "X-Files" / "Sightings" version of Peyton Place!

"I wonder why he told YOU about our Grandmother Edith, instead of US, in that case?" Willie asked.

"Well, I WAS in a desperate situation. He made me promise to put right things that had gone wrong. It seems Carl WAS going to tell at least ONE of you more dirty details, about your grandmother, his lover who had been HER mother, and, most importantly, the evil spirit who set some of these events in motion.
But on the Other Side--- assuming you believe in it--- there are, apparently, strict rules about how much a ghost is allowed to rat on other ghosts, especially the bad ones. Maybe it's because humans have to have an opportunity to work out their own destinies, even when it means colliding with evil influences. We all have to prove our mettle, it seems. . . In other words, Carl's spilling about the truth of his being your ancestor cost nothing at that point, since we've pretty much figured out the details on our own. I consider his revelation as
merely a formality, for which these blood tests are a confirmation. However, he can only throw a hint about other details, or else he gets tapped immediately for some degrading Underworldly chore, for who knows HOW long. In short, gentlemen, the onus of the brain work is still on US."

Harvey spoke up. "So, who was the hint intended for? And what is it?"

Quentin said, "Actually, he mentioned Willie, but the reference was so obscure, it doesn't seem to matter.
Willie, what do you know about an old carpet with a cabbage-rose pattern?"

Willie thought for a moment, then, to his companions' dismay, turned absolutely white. He clutched his chest, he clapped a hand to his forehead. Harvey thought, for a minute, that his cousin was about to have a heart attack or a stroke. Why should this be so upsetting?

Quentin, with his own guilty past to look back on, was much wiser. Should have saved this until I was alone with Willie, he thought. Now, Harvey will be FULL of questions! "Willie, whatever it is, think long and hard about how you would like to answer."

Willie recovered rapidly, but he bit his lip as he considered. Then, he said, quietly and carefully, "Jason McGuire," he finally said.

"That's the man you worked with when he first came to Collinwood," Quentin said. He explained to Harvey, "Roger told me that this Jason was out to extort blackmail money from Elizabeth Stoddard, trying to make her believe that she'd killed her husband, when all she'd done was give the louse a well-deserved clout in the head. McGuire dragged the 'body' out of sight, pretended to bury it, but in reality, he sent Paul Stoddard packing the instant he came to, without even Paul's share of the fortune they'd been attempting to embezzle.
Well, Jason came back 20 years later, and even tried to marry poor Liz, who dreaded exposing her shame,
and almost gave in to save herself and Carolyn, not to mention the Collins fortune. But on the day of the wedding, Liz worked up the courage to tell the truth, and, to spare her further embarassment, Sheriff Patterson told Jason to take a long hike out of town before sundown. Nobody's seen or heard from him since that day. Since he was already around 50 when that happened, it's certainly possible he's dead now. But why should a rose carpet remind you of him, Willie?"

"Oh. . . well, he resented it a lot when I decided to work for Barnabas. We were like a father and son sometimes, sometimes we were like brothers, and sometimes. . . Well, we had a lot of water under the bridge, and that included working together on some of his bigger capers. We were always a step ahead of the law, and I had already done hard time in New York, so we both had a lot to worry about. So when I ditched him like that, he would come to the Old House when Barnabas wasn't around, and harass me about it. That old carpet was where he always stood, and once he even started beating on me there. On the last day, he--- he asked me to steal jewelry from Barnabas, so he'd have a stake to work with after he left town. All I could get him was a small ruby and diamond brooch. It was probably WORTH a thousand or so, that was a lot of money back then, but for Jason, it wasn't enough. He broke into the Old House to try to steal more, but I--I
stopped him. The last I saw of him, before he was gone for good, he was on that carpet. I don't know WHY I remember THAT, but you know how you notice really dumb things when you're-- you're scared."

"And you've never heard from Jason since then?" Harvey asked.

Willie shook a little. "No, he was really through with the lot of us. When Paul Stoddard showed up a couple of years later, he told Carolyn he hadn't heard from Jason since he'd left Collinwood in 1949. No telling where he is, and Mr. Stoddard died just after he got back, so unless Jason got in trouble with the law later, nobody knows. Or cares--- we were all relieved when he--he went away."

"And, just out of curiosity, Willie," Quentin inquired, "what ever became of that carpet?"

"It--It was really a really ratty old thing, probably there for 50 years before Barnabas showed up. He got rid of it before he held a fancy costume party there, a couple of months later."

Harvey seemed satisfied with the explanation--- it was full of all those armchair psychological angles he loved to read about. Mary Beth and Christine might both be interested, he thought. However, Quentin was NOT satisfied--- he knew WILLIE couldn't have driven out the domineering Jason, especially when he was already weakened by his "association" with the 1967 vampire Barnabas. No, Barnabas HAD to have been the one who got rid of Jason, probably the same way he'd gotten rid of Carl, and Quentin could very well imagine the use that conveniently ratty old carpet had been put to. The question WAS, where were the late, unlamented Jason McGuire AND that carpet?

Harvey got in his car and drove away, following Vicki's vehicle. But Quentin, Willie, and Jeremy stood in the parking lot a few minutes more. Quentin asked, "Okay, Willie, where IS Jason MacGuire?"

"He's buried under the tiles in Barnabas's old room in the Mausoleum, tied up in that rose rug. Barnabas killed him, because Jason had discovered his secret. I TRIED to warn Jason, but I couldn't stop HIM, any more than I could stop Barnabas. I had to tie up his body in that carpet. I had to close his eyes. They were popping out from the pressure of Barnabas strangling him. And I did most of the work of burying him." Willie shuddered. "It doesn't surprise me that his ghost would finally want to get even with both me and Barnabas. What's surprising is that it took SO LONG!"
* * * * * * * * * * * *

Harvey had dinner ready at home when his wife and Christine returned from the Hospital and the Sheriff's office. Michael was still sitting with Alice, and would come home as soon as she was done with her dinner and her parents were done with theirs; then the faithful brother would return home for his own supper, and a well-deserved rest.

"You know," Mary Beth said, "In all my years as a cop, and even in all the case histories I've ever read, I don't think I've ever HEARD of a SERIOUS criminal named 'Amy'. That's the kind of name attached to 12-year-olds busted for SHOPLIFTING!"

"Even fewer named 'Amelia'--- that's the name she was christened with," Christine said. "Well, now there IS one. How interesting, and IRONIC--- that your nemesis has fallen into your clutches. Assuming she recovers, of course."

"You think I LIKE the way things turned out, Christine? Look, you know we weren't getting along with Miss Jennings, but I never wished her ill--- certainly not THIS! There's nothing in HER history that would indicate a turn to THIS kind of sick behavior. It's not even like what her brother had--- he'd go off, half-cocked during a full moon, and literally TORE his victims apart! You SAW that picture of his brother-in-law, for God's sake, Chris--- I've seen some disgusting sights back in New York, but THAT one takes the cake! And how about those silver bullets we found in that envelope this afternoon!"

"SILVER bullets?" Harvey exclaimed. "Like the kind they used to kill werewolves in all those old movies?"

"As God is our witness," Christine said. "We stopped at the Police station to review files on the cases from years ago, and Mary Beth here, found this tiny coin envelope shoved in back of a file cabinet. We asked the secretary, Miss Twomey, if she'd ever noticed them, and she said no. . . They were tarnished, you know, the way pure silver turns if it isn't polished. It seems Sheriff Patterson didn't believe he could bring down Chris Jennings the old-fashioned way, so he had a dozen silver bullets made, of which he used 5, since there were 7 in the envelope. I have them in my purse." She ran to retrieve the old yellow envelope from her shoulder-bag, and shook out the contents into Harvey's hand.

"I read they can be used to kill vampires, too," he said, as he fingered the tiny, 38-caliber bullets. "Silver's like penicillin against dark creatures, it seems. Maybe this is what they mean by the 'magic bullet'." He put them carefully back into the envelope, handing it back to Christine. "Hang onto these," he said, "you never know when you might need them, around HERE, anyway."

"So, how did the testing go this morning?" Mary Beth asked her husband. "Did it HURT?"

"After all the tests I've had since this heart problem started, it was like nothing," Harvey said. "I think they got eight samples from one shot. The lab guy said the results would be out within 3 days."

"Well, it's nice, but I HOPE you don't intend to put in a claim on the Collins billions!" his spouse sputtered.
"It hasn't done THOSE people a whole lot of good. Not that we don't have our OWN problems, but ours are more garden-variety. We can afford to take care of them."

"Aw, Mary Beth, wouldn't YOU like our Alice to go to Smith someday? Or Yale? Or Harvard? ANY of those big-name Ivy-League places?" Harvey teased.

"Barnard?" Christine offered.

Mary Beth harrumphed, "I like the idea of Alice going to that University in Orono. It's only 30 miles away, and she can come home on weekends. And WE can run up there, if she needs anything!"

"Like her folks running interference on her dates, assuming that worthy young man Elliot Collins doesn't go there, also," Christine said. "He'll probably be a Harvard Man, if I know anything about it."

"So, did anything else happen while you were there, Harv?" Mary Beth persisted.

"Well, Quentin and Willie had an interesting chat, but it was about ghosts, I doubt you'd be interested."

"Listen, honey, I'm at my wit's end about what's been going on. I don't believe in that stuff, but you and Willie DID have those dreams. Seems more and more like, there IS something to them. Guess I'll have to call in those Warrens after all," Mary Beth joked uneasily.

"Well, it seems that Quentin had some kind of hallucination, vision, whatever, when Amy was about to stab him." Harvey explained. "Maybe it's a case of wishful thinking on Quentin's part, though WHY he would wish to be related to Willie and myself is a mystery. But it was the part about the bad ghost who seems to have a grudge against our families that gives ME the chills. I don't know how far back you went when reading those old files, Mary Beth, but did Patterson mention an extortionist named Jason McGuire?"

Now, CHRISTINE got excited. "Did you say the name I THINK you just said, Harvey? JASON McGUIRE was here in Collinsport?"

The Laceys looked at her in amazement. "Since when do YOU know about Jason McGuire?" Mary Beth demanded. "He WAS in these parts, just over 30 years ago. Isn't that a bit before your time on the Force?"

"Yes, it was, but not before my FATHER'S time!" Christine shouted. "Charlie worked on a big case involving Mr. McGuire about 35 years ago, with INTERPOL!. And he was 'slippery as an eel', as Pop put it. Oh, Jason McGuire had a finger in EVERY corrupt pie--- extortion, smuggling contraband everything, even what used to be politely referred to as the 'white slave trade'; actually, he WAS responsible for smuggling young, foolish ladies across state lines for immoral purposes, for which he was paid generously. Not to mention young girls from, say, the Philippines and other Third-World countries, whom he brought here under the pretext of finding them jobs as maids, or even mail-order brides. Most of them ended up in brothels, and more than a few of them went on drugs and even killed themselves in their despair. It was said he, himself, had committed a murder or two or three, but nobody could pin them on him.

"The last time my Pop dealt with McGuire, Jason, who certainly knew how to get fake passports and other false ID's, simply signed on as a hand on a ship headed for South America. He had with him, at the time, a newly-released felon who, depending on the rumors one heard, was either his enforcer, or his lover, or BOTH. The ship sailed in the middle of the night, and that was the last Charlie and the squad ever heard of McGuire. Even Interpol lost track of him."

Harvey said, slowly, "Well, he ended up HERE. Seems he had a score to settle with the late Mrs. Elizabeth Collins Stoddard, relating to the disappearance of her husband. And as for his so-called 'friend', it was Willie Loomis--- apparently Jason WAS mad as Hell when Willie defected to work for Barnabas." He held his head in his hands. "I KNEW he'd been a criminal, but this business with McGuire--- How could someone like
Willie--- you know how he is, he's scared of his own shadows these days!--- How COULD he have been so low as to hook up with someone like that!"

"I confess, I READ Willie's record, and some of Jason's," Mary Beth said, "but I never thought it would ever come up again. I guess Christine here didn't get to it. But McGuire came and went 33 years ago. Why, if he IS dead, and he IS a ghost, would he come back here to bother the Collinses and US? Why not bother the other people with whom he had a beef? Heck, why not bother Christine's father, when Charlie was alive--- or CHRISTINE!"

"Thank you, Mary Beth!" her friend barked. "But it's true. My father never stopped looking for some trace of what became of McGuire, even after he was retired, and the statute of limitations was up on most of his crimes. He'd go down to the library every month or so to check the international newspapers and magazines. He needed closure, I guess. He always believed that McGuire thought too highly of his many skills to just drop out of the picture, just like that. A 'swaggering, silky, smarmy version of Blackbeard', that's how Charlie described him. If McGuire had a bone to pick after death, I guess my Pop would have been high on his hit list. And myself, as the natural successor. That's how curses work, isn't it?"

"Did you ever stop to think, Christine, that your being here may just be a PART of his revenge after all?" Harvey said. "Because, for some reason I can't explain, something tells me Jason McGuire NEVER left Collinsport."
* * * * * * * * * * * * *

PART ELEVEN--- Tuesday, April 18, 2000 (B)

Quentin headed back to the hospital. He DID intended to check on poor Amy, but he WAS hoping to sneak in a visit to Pauline. He didn't know what he would say to her. "You are the reincarnation of the one woman I always loved, and I DO also love you for yourself, but we have to part because it would upset the balance of karmic justice, not to mention I'm your uncle 4 times removed!" Obviously the truth, but obviously, NOT what one could say aloud. He would have to be more subtle, though Pauline had never really gotten the hang of subtlety--- the first night she had "seduced" him, she simply strutted into his apartment clad only in a lacy satin teddy, and jumped into his lap. Never mind that it turned out to be the sweetest night he'd enjoyed in years. . .

Quentin enquired at the front desk for a visitor's pass to Amy's room. The receptionist on duty said, since the police were guarding the room, she would have to check. When she explained to the officer on duty who it was, the pass was granted. When Quentin arrived, the officer, Hallett, checked the pass, and his driver's license, even though he knew all the Collinses slightly. Today's my day to be a security risk, Quentin thought, thinking of the precautions at GenScan. I'll be getting FRISKED, next.

The solemn Hallett handed back the license. He said, "You can go in, Mr. Collins, but I have to tell you, she hasn't moved an inch, opened an eye, or breathed a word since she was brought in here this morning. Dr. Collins is in there with her now." Hallett looked at the floor, and muttered, "I'm sorry sir, but if it were up to me, I'd just leave my post right now, for what Amy did to poor Job."

Quentin would have made a sharp reply, but he had heard about how tight cops became when one of their own was injured or, God forbid, killed. A threat to one was a threat to all, even if the threat was a petite woman in the midst of a breakdown caused by guilt and a vampire, whose only weapon had been an old knife, and who was now in a coma, likely a preliminary to death anyway. "Well, if it's any consolation, Danny," Quentin said, "Job WILL probably recover. I doubt that Amy will."

"Hard to believe," Hallett whispered sorrowfully. "I went to school with Amy before--- before she found out she was a Collins. She was a nervous little thing, but gentle as a lamb. No offense, sir, but I think her luck changed for the worse the day Chris found out they were your cousins, even with all the benefits."

"You know what, Danny? I'm inclined to agree. . . The Collins legacy CAN be a burden. I just want you to know, SOME of us are working to make sure it doesn't become MORE of a burden." He went into the room, and was unhappily impressed by all the machinery hooked up to his great-grandaughter. He stood by Jeremy, who still looked like he hadn't slept for a week, but who was earnestly recording Amy's current vital signs, such as they were. Quentin whispered, without rancor, "You KNOW why she's like this---"

"Yes," Jeremy sighed. "I've mixed up a batch of the cure I was giving to Father, and I just gave Amy a dose. It didn't help him much, but HE'S always had the syndrome lying dormant in his system. Amy is a brand-new vampire, it might work on her. But it's true, I need to advance on the basic recipe, refine it. . . I don't know where to begin, and Father has been so--- er, demanding and unco-operative lately."

"Well, I have an idea that MIGHT help," Quentin said. "I had a fascinating chat with Dr. Lang today. It
seems he's the nephew of Eric Lang, who built Adam."

"I KNEW that, but I doubt he knows about Adam, and just as well. I don't want an outsider mixed up in this."

"Well, according to him, he's interested in some of the processes that obsessed his uncle, and he's promised to look through some notes his uncle left behind."

The young doctor shook his head. "My parents got ALL the relevant notes about the Adam project and the original cure to temporarily stave off vampirism. And even if this Lang HAS some information, what are we going to do? Go to the Cryogenics Society, thaw out Adam's poor mangled corpse, and revive him during the next big electrical storm?"

"No, no, but there was SOME reason Adam wanted to be frozen like that. Have you ever wondered just WHAT there was about Adam that dissipated your father's old curse, besides the fact that a transfer of life force had taken place?"

"The life force was transfered right BACK," Jeremy said. "To read mother's notes, it was like what happens when blood is put through a dialysis machine--- the patient's blood is literally pumped OUT of him, and flows back as it's purified. Only, in this case, it was a SPIRITUAL transfer, a MENTAL one---"
"Which possibly means that there was something about Adam's BRAIN that was the filter!" Quentin exclaimed. "Maybe we can get the brain, and dissect it!"

"Please don't indulge in fantasies, Quentin," Jeremy said sadly. "In the eyes of the Cryonics Society, Adam is, for all intents and purposes, a living, sentient being. Maybe Tony knows of a codicil of the will that deals with the ultimate dispostion of the body if it isn't revived by a certain time. I'll get on it as soon as I can."

Left alone, Quentin sat for a while with his great-grand-daughter. In her sleep, Amy's face took on a striking duality; from one angle, she resembled her great-aunt Nora, whom Quentin had seen as a child in 1897,
and then, not again for nearly 50 years, until he snuck back into town for the 1945 funeral of Jamison, his nephew and Nora's brother. Nora didn't age much, and neither would Amy, if she survived. From another angle, with her hair spread all over the pillow, she bore an unnerving resemblance to her great-grandmother, Quentin's sole wife, the insane Gypsy Jenny Rakoszi. Poor Jenny, Quentin thought, driven to psychosis by very justifiable jealousy, and her fate sealed by a severe post-partum depression which made her dangerous. The same blood flowed in Amy, the same jealousies. . .

And yet, also, a similar pathetic sweetness. Quentin remembered Amy's 11th birthday, the only one they celebrated together at Collinwood, just before Chris took his family to Nebraska. He asked Chris and Sabrina what they thought Amy would like, but none of their answers seemed special enough. So he watched her at play, at her lessons with Maggie. He took Amy to the Library when nobody else was available, though he knew she was still scared of him, from the time before his arrival when she feared him as a ghost. He let Amy loose in the Children's Corner, while he got a book for himself, then went back, again, to watch her. He noticed what books she selected, the lingering way she gazed at the illustrations, the way she read and re-read the text.

The next week, on her birthday, Amy received a full set of the "Little House on the Prairie" books. "You obviously need to brush up on your frontier skills, for when you move," Quentin had joked. Amy's reaction was mixed at first--- of course, she was grateful, she thanked Quentin, but she was still suspicious, perhaps thinking he was trying to buy her affection. . . Then, that night, she asked him to read a chapter to her. They sat on the sofa in the Drawing room, and as Quentin read, Amy leaned against him to look at the pictures, and fell asleep, her head on his shoulder. She had never even sat NEXT to him before, let alone, come into personal contact with him. But she let him carry her up to her room, and he covered her with the quilt. He didn't kiss her goodnight, that would have been TOO much too soon, but when he patted her cheek, she didn't turn away. On the day the Jenningses finally left, Amy cried and clung to Quentin. And the day they returned, 4 years later, nobody was happier to see him than his great-grand-daughter. . . Until that terrible afternoon after Chris's death. . .

Now, Quentin started to sniffle. . . He knew that he was feeling what Carl had intended him to feel. Not just guilt, a futile emotion unless accompanied by repentance. He felt. . . RESPONSIBLE. It was too late for so many others who had passed through his life, but he could build on this new sensation in regards to Amy, Pauline, and others.

Quentin heard the creaking wheels of food wagons, and the panting of the servers pushing them. Dinnertime for the patients already, though obviously, Amy wasn't going to be one of them. He wanted to see Pauline, but the new protective urge made him reluctant to leave Amy.

Christine Cagney poked her nose in the door. Marisol Cortez was at her side. "No change, I see," Christine commented.

"No, but I hate to leave her," Quentin said. He kissed Amy's wan cheek. "What are you doing back here, Ms. Cagney?"

"The Sheriff and her husband came to be with Alice, and I tagged along. We ran into Elliot, and Marisol here. Elliot brought her with him to visit Alice as well."

"I gave Senorita Lacey a blessed silver Cross to protect her from the Chupacabra, and Senorita Pauline, and I wanted to give Senorita Amy a special blessing, to save her soul," Marisol explained. "It still resides in her, I KNOW that."

"How can ANYONE refuse that offer?" Christine said, her voice gone husky with emotion that stabbed when she saw Quentin clutching Amy's flaccid hand.

"Nobody, I guess," Quentin whispered. He watched as Marisol draped a silver Cross (where did she get so many?) on the hook that held the blood pouch which fed into Amy's arm, since she couldn't get it on Amy's neck.

"This will make the blood pure and give her strength," Marisol said. She took out several tiny bags full of herbs, and a tiny saint's statue. Quentin shuddered--- it was Saint Sebastian, the poor fellow shot full of arrows, but who had recovered, only to be martyred in some more effective way. When in Rome on an informal "Grand Tour", Quentin was taken to see St. Sebastian's shrine, and his alleged tomb, among others;
St. Cecelia, her throat brutally slashed; St. Appolonia, her teeth all in her hands; St. Catherine on her wheel, and others. . . That, and a visit to the catacombs, and Quentin had such nightmares as he was not to know again, until almost 10 years later---1897.

"San Sebastiano, he removes the arrows of sin that sting the flesh and the soul," Marisol chanted. She recited some prayers in a Spanish/Aztec patois that Quentin couldn't follow. She scattered the herbs aound the bed, and anointed Amy's throat with Holy Water--- the same kind of water that had made her scream with pain before. Amy's body shuddered, but was soon still once more. "I wish I had more," Marisol said, "but someone or someTHING took half of what I had. I can only hope it wasn't the Chupa, or el brujo. . ."

"Oh, no, I'm SURE whoever took it, meant well," Quentin insisted. "Is everything finished?"

"Si. Senor Quentin, I can tell there is something on your mind. If you wish to leave, I will stay with Senorita Amy---"

"Marisol, didn't Elliot say he was heading back to Collinwood as soon as Alice finished dinner? He has some homework he needs to catch up on, it seems. I'll stay--- Officer Hallett's right out there, I DOUBT there'll be another incident like yesterday's." Christine sat on one of the vinyl chairs. "God, I HATE these things. I KNOW they're easy to clean, but it's hard to get comfortable when they make you feel so clammy. Well, at least I WON'T be sleeping on the job THIS time."

Quentin hurried out into the corridor, down toward the elevators. Pauline was on the Ob-Gyn floor--- when Quentin stepped out of the elevator and passed the nursery full of babies, he thought it tactless of the hospital to lodge Pauline anywhere near here. However, he was relieved to find her room at the end of a long corridor, quite out of earshot of the nursery and the chatter of new mothers--- and the nurse's station.

He saw a sight that made him stop in his tracks. In the doorway of the Women's Lavatory, he saw Tony and a woman--- NOT Carolyn--- and the pair was kissing deeply, apparently believing the recessed doorway gave adequate cover. "Thank you for visiting her, Maggie," Tony was saying quietly, but NOT quietly ENOUGH! "I know it sounds strange, but Carolyn will probably be happy to hear you stopped by---"

"Really, Tony," Quentin growled. "Wonder what the little woman would think of THIS."

Tony and Maggie sprang apart, guilty looks on both their faces. "Quentin, what are YOU doing here?" Tony gasped. "I thought you were going to be taking another red-eye flight to Germany."

"My flight will be postponed, until I take care of some unfinished business," the other replied. "I see YOU two have some unfinished business--- my God, Peterson---MAGGIE!--- HOW indiscreet. What IF Carolyn had happened to come by right now?"

Maggie explained, "She went home to get some sleep. It's been hard for her--- too many noises at night in a hospital, and she didn't want sleeping pills, in case Pauline was up in the middle of the night, needing her mother."

"And what if Pauline needed her FATHER at this moment, eh?" Quentin smirked. Well, at least he didn't have to imagine Maggie and WILLIE in an awkward situation--- THIS was absolutely rich! "And Maggie, shouldn't you be worried about YOUR daughter?"

Tony answered for Maggie. "Vicki was here, too, she's waiting in the car for her mother. We--we were only going to take a minute or so. . . Quentin, I hope you WON'T tell Carolyn. I intend to take some action at a future date, but right now, it's not--- it's not--- Wait a minute! Why am I kow-towing to YOU! YOU are persona non grata as far as MY daughter is concerned. I had given orders that you were not to visit Pauline."

"I'd say those orders are a MOOT point now, wouldn't you, Tony? So, you wanted a minute, eh? Well, you can have a FEW, while I pay my respects to your daughter. Enjoy yourselves. And, Tony? When you get back to Collinwood--- and I KNOW you'll be going home to Wifey with tail 'twixt legs like the dog you
are--- PLEASE do me a favor and check Adam Samwell's will to see if he meant to remain a human Popsicle forever. Or else . . . well, I'd sure hate to get MAGGIE here in dutch along with you, but I think we understand each other?"

Maggie gazed deep into Quentin's eyes. He turned from her hurt look--- a look that said nobody PRESENT
had a right to judge in this instance. And she was right. . . He remembered a time, over 30 years earlier, when they had been lovers. It had been a strange, heady, spell-like time, but the bond of empathy they'd shared was so intense, that she HAD saved his life. She somehow knew he had been buried alive, and he was unearthed just as he gasped a last breath he wasn't sure that even his PORTRAIT could restore to him--- not that he'd have wanted to spend Eternity down there, awake and aware, in ANY case. Though they'd parted as soon as Sebastian showed up in town, Quentin DID value THAT memory, and decided, on that basis, to keep his mouth shut after all. (I'm learning, Carl, he thought.) Still, it served his purpose, to keep TONY a LITTLE bit worried. (Sorry, Carl, Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither will a perfect Quentin.)

Quentin strode boldly into his lover's room. Pauline had just finished her light dinner, and was eating an apple. She put it down, and held out her arms. Quentin gently caught her up, and kissed her lips, sweet with apple juice. "My Paulie, my Paulie," he murmurred. "I missed you more in the last 24 hours, than I did when I was in Germany, I think."

"And soon, you'll be going back. That's what Daddy said." Pauline fell back from his embrace. "It's all right, Quentin. I knew we were doomed. I don't know why, but I just KNOW it. The baby--- a dream that grew wings and flew away. It was going to be a boy, did you know that? A perfect little boy. I know he would have been the eldest, and you were afraid of that, but maybe the eldest son you had years ago with your first wife would have been enough of a sacrifice." She started to cry. "Suddenly I feel so wise, and yet I'm no different than I was yesterday, am I?"

"Maybe what you went through made you more self-aware, more mature," Quentin said. "I've been feeling the same way since--since---" He stopped; he had no idea of how much they'd told Pauline about Amy.

"Since Amy tried to kill you, Job, and even Barnabas and Miss Cagney. Again, Quentin, I couldn't tell you how I know these things. Nobody told me. Amy DID tell me about your other family---"

"How much, besides what you just said?" Quentin demanded.

"Nothing. But she said you were in the marrying mood and you wanted to meet me on Widow's Hill. Where were you, Quentin?"

"Amy made up a story to trick you, Paulie. I had no idea you were there until too late."

"And then, Barnabas showed up---"

"Barnabas was there, before---!"

"Yes, he had a favor to ask me, about my baby. I don't remember, but I think he was going to do something bad. Why would I believe something like that? Then Hannah came around, and Mrs. Johnson, which is strange because she's dead. But somehow, I was up on the safety rail and afraid to come down. Then Barnabas came back with Miss Cagney, and I don't know why he helped me, after. Maybe it was Mrs. Johnson who made him do it." There was a faraway look in Pauline's eyes, and her voice became different--- hers yet NOT hers, softer, but every word spoken with precision, as if every syllable counted. "But I jumped, like I jumped before, in New York---"

"Pauline, you did NO such thing. But somebody I knew DID, and she was saved at the last minute. Maybe HER spirit saved you that night."

Pauline stared at him. "I saved MYSELF, Quentin. I'm sorry about the baby. . . I would have wanted your children. But look at me, my love, I'm in the body of your NIECE!"

"Amanda!" Quentin held Pauline once more. "Carl was right. . . You DID come back as Pauline, I always knew it!"

"And it was beautiful while it lasted Quentin, but again, it was WRONG. . . I will always be here, as long as Pauline lives, but you have to let her go on with her life. There WILL be a time for us in the NEXT life--- When all the wrongs are righted. Your present life will continue for a long time, and you won't lack for company, I'm sure." She smiled understandingly. "But don't leave Collinwood forever, or I'll have to look for you for another 72 years, like the last time." She pulled him close for a hungry, passionate kiss. "When Pauline has her first child--- I'm sorry, it WILL be with another man, but I'll see to it that it's someone you'll approve of--- You can be the Godfather." Another kiss. Her eyes shut tight, and she laid back on the pillows.

When Pauline opened her eyes, she gazed up at Quentin in her gentle, clueless way. "I guess this is it, huh, Quentin? But I did REALLY love you. A part of me always will, I guess." She fell asleep holding his hand.

He lifted her hand, and kissed it. "I'll always love you, baby." He was eager to be gone--- he now had a real score to settle with Barnabas! Tony would soon be back, so Quentin got up to leave.

He walked right into Christine, who, relieved of sitting with Amy, had come to visit Pauline, but stopped just in time to hear what was said about Barnabas. She was in such shock, she barely heard, much less understood, the balance of the conversation.

Quentin glared at her in surprised anger. "How long have you been out here?" he demanded.

Christine snapped out of her reverie instantly. "I only just arrived," she asserted, looking him right in the eye. "I wasn't eavesdropping. I'm certainly interested in Pauline's condition, given that I assisted in the effort to rescue her."

"But you were visiting Amy! You didn't stay all that long."

"And I intend to return. But another Collins arrived, and gave me an excuse to rush up here for a few minutes. I WAS a little surprised to see HIM, though."

Quentin's face got very dark. "It wasn't BARNABAS, was it?" He wouldn't be so bold!

"No, it was DAVID. Must have crossed signals with his son. They all could have come tog--- HEY! Wait a minute!" Christine felt a rush of wind as Quentin dashed past her to the elevator. She followed hard on his heels. When the elevator doors slid open, Tony stepped out, only to stare after the pair in amazement as they jumped in together.

"Now, what's THIS all about, Mr. Collins?" Christine demanded as the doors slid shut. "I know David and Amy had a little history together, but they ARE still friends, and Hallie as well."

"Yes. . . Poor dear guileless Hallie," Quentin muttered. "Well, maybe it's nothing, but a crow just landed on MY grave, and that's saying something." He prayed that Amy hadn't actually SUMMONED David. She had such a hard time willing up any kind of vampire powers, maybe this one wasn't fully developed yet, either.

"Yes, it appears that such twinges are to be respected in these parts. But still, Officer Hallett IS right there in case of trouble, though WHAT kind of trouble, at this point, I can't imagine! Good Lord, David is the owner of an international conglomerate. Having a cousin in that that predicament and that condition may be scandalous, but they DID grow up together. He said he and his wife wanted to show their support. It's no more than the Kennedys do, and even after all the crap that went down with so many of them, nobody can TOUCH them!"

"Yes, Collinses and Kennedys--- our families' Pride is made of Teflon, if not our individual bodies. Maybe I'm making too much of this, but I wanted to stop back to see Amy one last time before I left for the night, anyway. I have urgent business elsewhere." Quentin, released from the elevator, ran down the hall to Amy's room, Christine panting in his wake. My God, she thought, he's got the wind of a 20-year-old!

At first, she felt a stab of panic--- Officer Hallett was not in his chair, and she KNEW it wasn't because he'd gone to the Men's Room--- he'd done THAT while she was still sitting with Amy, not 20 minutes earlier. She gave a sigh of relief when she and Quentin entered the room, and saw Hallett chatting quietly with David Collins as they stood by Amy's bed. Amy looked much the same as before, though her round cheeks, formerly wilted and pale, seemed to have regained some color. Her monitors showed a little more action, too.

Quentin smiled faintly, with renewed hope. Maybe Jeremy's cure WAS working on her, or, perhaps, Marisol's prayers, though he shuddered at what lay ahead in the event that Amy recovered--- 4 counts of attempted murder, one definite assault with a deadly weapon on a police officer. . . If Pauline spilled about Amy's treachery, one count of conspiracy to--- to what? Murder a fetus? Incite a suicide? No doubt the ever-righteous Sheriff Lacey, spurred on by Pauline's anguished parents, would think of something.

Still, he was thankful for the moment. He touched his great-grand-daughter's shell-pink cheek--- it was warmer than before. And David did not appear to have that peculiar expression he'd worn earlier at
Collinwood--- the treatment would help HIM, too, indirectly. And Dan Hallett was obviously on top of things. "Well, it appears that everything's looking up here," Quentin said.

"Yes, she seemed to improve even as we were watching her in the last couple of minutes," Hallett said. He almost sounded HAPPY--- that was a bit strange, but Quentin figured that meant he'd be relieved to get Amy out of the hospital and into jail, the sooner the better.

"This will be good news to Hallie," David said. "She wanted so to come, but I promised I wouldn't be too long in getting back home. Ms. Cagney doesn't even have to stay--- a nurse will be coming by to take care of some of Amy's needs and another officer will soon be here to relieve Dan."

"Well, I'll say goodnight, then." Quentin kissed Amy's forehead. He and Christine left the room. Christine longed to be able to question her companion about his talk with Pauline, but decided he might mention it to Barnabas. In those 20 minutes, a painful realization had torn at her, and at the same time, she knew this was the only way to handle it. I can't make Barnabas's relatives suspicious, or go storming back at him like I did when Candy Cane was hurt--- he'll only become defensive and banish me for GOOD, without my getting any answers. But I can't let him talk me back into bed, either. I can't tell Mary Beth anything yet, since I'm not sure what there is to tell--- why would Barnabas have wanted to hurt Pauline and her baby in the first place? Then, almost get himself killed trying to help her, just to impress ME? It's too much. Pop-- Charlie--- if only you were here! Hell, I'd even settle for NEWMAN!

Jonah was dead and buried, 14 years already, but she remembered that, young as he had been, he had a talent for weaseling his way into the confidence of con men, and softening the hard-bitten. Not to mention, making her nervous--- when dealing with Jonah Newman, almost a dozen years her junior, Christine sometimes thought she could hear the faint strains of an old Simon and Garfunkle song; NOT her favorite, either. "Mrs. Robinson"!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Back in Amy's room, David asked Dan Hallett, "Are they REALLY gone now?"

Dan was standing at the door, gazing toward the elevators. "Yes, the elevator just closed, and the light went off. There's not a nurse in sight, either. I think we're safe for a while." He returned to Amy's bedside.

As the two men watched, she opened her eyes, and sat up in the bed, tubes hanging from her arms. "Well, gentlemen," she whispered huskily, "I've thought of a plan. But first---" She slowly rose from the bed. Her thin hospital gown was nearly invisible in the dim light over the bed. She embraced, first, David, pulling at his collar and taking a brief draught, as he pressed her to him. Then, she turned to Dan Hallett, who loosened his tie. She found the wounds she had made less than a half-hour ago, when she got David to bring the officer into the room for "a little talk." She took a longer swig from Hallett, to ensure his fullest co-operation. He was clumsier in his attentions, though--- he pawed at her, brushed his pelvis against hers.
"That is so RUDE, Danny--- you're just the same as you were in Fourth Grade, when you used to yank girls into the bushes to 'kiss them and make them cry', like Georgie-Porgie in the nursery rhyme. Are YOU going to cry, Danny?"

"No, Amy. I never knew I felt this way about you. I should have pulled YOU into the bushes, we would have had a SWELL time." He flashed a dopey, lustful grin.

"Stop it, Danny! When we get Amy out of here, she's MINE!" David snarled.

"Boys, Boys! PLEASE behave," Amy teased in her sternest Principal's tones. "We'll have PLENTY of time for each other, an ETERNITY, after I bust out of here. David, I'm afraid YOU won't be present. You'll just have to go home to Mrs. Preggers. I'll summon you when I'm settled." She sidled up to Hallet, and blew in his ear. "Now, when the next cop arrives for duty, Danny. . ."

David departed, resentfully. The next officer, Riggs, arrived 15 minutes later. He greeted Hallett, and asked how Amy was. "Go in and have a look, Kenny," Hallett said. "She's been like the dead since we brought her in."

Amy was waiting behind the huge hospital room door, the metal rack for all her feeding and blood pouches tripped of its contents, in her hands. As Ken Riggs stepped in, he barely got a look at the bed, empty of its occupant but covered with the discarded equipment, before the rack crashed onto his head. He fell heavily, blood forming a pool on the floor. Amy gazed at it longingly, but knew what she had to do next.

Hallett walked in, and, as soon as he glimpsed the scene inside, seemed to snap out of a trance. "Oh my God, Amy," he said fearfully, "You killed Kenny! You BITCH!"

"No, I didn't, darling," Amy cooed. "Can't you see him breathing?" Indeed, Riggs was vibrating a little, his shoulders shook ever so slightly, and then the others heard him moan in pain. "Now, dear, you have to let me make a little bump on your noggin, so the other police don't suspect that you helped me."

Hallett was reluctant--- and contrite. "Amy. . . I'm sorry I called you a bad name. . .You PROMISE you won't kill me, and that we'll have some fun in the bushes when you're safe?"

"Oh, Danny!" Amy kissed him passionately on the lips. "I can't wait!" Hallett moved into position, and she hit him just as hard as she'd clobbered Riggs. The two men groaned and writhed in unison on the now-slippery floor. Amy shook her head at the wasteful flow of blood, but froze as she heard the purposeful footsteps of the nurse who was coming to take care of her and her equipment. But as the nurse rounded the doorway, a wonderful miracle happened!

The nurse, upon seeing the carnage, dropped the tray she'd been carrying, and ran back down to the nurses'station. "GET THE SHERIFF!" she screamed, not caring about disturbing the other patients.
"SOMEBODY KILLED THE COPS, AND AMY IS MISSING!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Amy had a hard time getting to the Old House from the hospital--- flying as a bat wasn't the same as driving a car, after all. A bat operated more from sonar-like vibrations against hard surfaces than sight, and everything looked different when she soared above the treetops anyway. Soon, however, she made out the large whitish shape of the small mansion, and swooped in through an open window, but knocked over an end table. Willie heard the racket, and rushed into the room he'd been airing out, but Amy found she was better at making herself invisible now. Flying would take more practice!

She hurried past Willie, down the cellar steps, through a series of dark, dank passages, to the hollowed-out space where escaping slaves were sheltered during the period when a Collins named Abijah ran a stop on the Underground Railroad. There was the back door, which led down to the cave on the ocean walk where Christine had first met Barnabas, and through which Willie had led his Master that evening. In the claustrophobically-small space, was the catafalque which bore Barnabas's coffin, and a candelabrum at its head. Barnabas was sitting up in the coffin. He had risen at the same time Amy had, but it was apparent that he had been waiting here for her. Now, he eyed her body, still clad in its ridiculously revealing hospital gown, and said with annoyance, "Amy, PLEASE find something decent to cover yourself with. What if someone sees you?"

"If someone SEES me, they'll be out to KILL me! I DOUBT they'll care what I'm wearing." Amy leaned over Barnabas and kissed his lips, brushing herself against him seductively. "Besides, this should be MORE than enough for our honeymoon night, shouldn't it?"

"There will be NO honeymoon for US," Barnabas replied, shoving her away in disgust. "You have failed in EVERY way. You failed to destroy Quentin, you committed yet ANOTHER atrocity--- yes, Willie heard ALL about what just happened to Hallett and Riggs on this handy little machine he bought as an amusement some years back, and set up again recently to keep track of emergencies. It's called a 'police band scanner'."

"But Barnabas, I had to get out of the hospital! Jeremy was giving me that awful medicine, Marisol was exorcising my 'demons', and YOUR Miss Cagney was ready to sit with me all night! Of COURSE I summoned David to help me out, and I thought my plan with Danny Hallett would be fool-proof, until he called ME a BITCH, and I could see that he would betray me as well. Isn't that what you used to do to Willie, beat him when he disobeyed?"

"No matter HOW much Willie irked me and tried to foil my plans, I NEVER came close to beating him to DEATH!" Barnabas roared. "Now we have THREE policemen near death, Woodard's recovery not being a mathematical certainty just yet. To make matters WORSE, it seems that DAVID was the last person seen leaving your hospital room just prior to the attacks. The Sheriff is on her way to Collinwood to question, and most likely, ARREST him, even as we speak! The ONLY other person I've ever been connected with, who EVER committed so many blunders, was ADAM! However, UNLIKE Adam, Amy, YOU haven't a Nicholas Blair, Professor Stokes, or even CAROLYN to protect you now! You've lost EVERYTHING inside of 24 hours! There is only ONE person who can destroy you RIGHT NOW, and that is the man who made you as you are. MYSELF!"

Amy was quick to dart away, but Barnabas was quicker. He seized her by the throat, and applied enough pressure to render her unconscious. Then he picked up his silver-handled cane, and held it above her head. But he was tackled from behind, and engaged in a mad wrestling match for the cane, for a full minute before he realized who stopped him.

"WILLIE!" Barnabas shouted.

"I TOLD you I'd try to keep you from killing anybody, even if I got MYSELF killed," the former thrall said. Willie fell back, himself gasping, but he knew he'd won this fight. Barnabas lowered the cane.

"Willie, this isn't one of your helpless, stupid little friends. Do you know what Amy IS?"

"I know! But I ALSO know she wouldn't be so messed up if YOU hadn't screwed her over! She's doing the SAME shit YOU did when YOU first became a vampire, what you end up doing EVERY GOD-DAMN TIME you first become a vampire! She needs vampire LESSONS!"

Barnabas shook his head. "For once, my old friend, your compassion is TRULY misplaced. Amy is NOT the kind of vampire MAGGIE would have become. There is a dark strain of madness in her veins, from her Gypsy ancestress. Now that Amy has discovered killing, I'm afraid she LIKES it--- which is bad enough for HER, but may prove dangerous to US!"

"I don't care for myself, anymore," Willie said. "I'm too old and tired for this to go on. If Amy has to be put out of the picture, we could chain her up in a casket like you were, until Jeremy gets a cure going. Since you seem to want to impress Miss Cagney again, I'll try not to worry about YOUR doings as much, but---"

"So you're not worried about ME, and you don't care about YOURSELF, anymore," Barnabas said. "How about your DAUGHTER?"

Willie turned from Barnabas so the latter wouldn't see his face blanch. "I DON'T have any children, or even a WIFE, thanks to YOU!"

"Really? Then Jeremy must have been mistaken. . . Well, I guess that means his ex-fiancee IS fair game for ME, especially since SHE has the same kind of blood as Alice---" Willie jumped Barnabas again, but this time, the vampire threw him off. "Your reaction proves the truth of my accusation, " Barnabas said.

"Okay, I ADMIT it," Willie replied. "I suppose you know then, that Harvey is my cousin, and all that great blood comes from US."

"Of course," Barnabas smirked. "Imagine--- fruit of the loins of CARL COLLINS, of all people! If I had known back then what a treasure lay in HIS veins, perhaps I WOULD have settled for making him my thrall.
Perhaps that's why I throve so well, while living solely on YOUR blood!" He bent over Willie, baring his fangs, but changed his mind, and shut his mouth.

"What, you don't WANT my blood anymore?" Willie taunted. "Is it because I'm OLD like YOU, and you're afraid it won't fix all your aches and pains like some young girl's? I know Julia once turned you old with her medicine by accident when I was stuck in WindCliff, and you nearly drained poor Carolyn dry to get the color back in your hair and the spring back in your step! Any young kid should do the trick in that case. But I'd rather you drain ME ahead of someone else. You're not going to get any OLDER, if that's what you're worried about!"

"I'll keep your offer under consideration, BELIEVE me. Perhaps it's not the AGING effects of your blood that I would prefer to avoid. It's the influence it might have on my ability to make SENSIBLE decisions," Barnabas said with a sneer. "Oh, and by the way, I DO want you to know, Jeremy NEVER said a word about your family history--- I read his mind, so DON'T try to avenge yourself on HIM."

"I would NEVER hurt that kid, and you KNOW it. Whatever he might have spilled to you, I already knew it was YOUR fault. But, Barnabas, please. . . Don't hurt Vicki, or Alice. . . Let Jeremy finish making the cure, for both you and Amy. I KNOW a part of you still cares for us. I know a part of you loves Miss Cagney, same as you loved Julia. . . If you lose everything, it won't be MY doing, I WILL promise you that, but I can't promise to stop it, either. But I know that you WILL lose, and lose big, because Sheriff Lacey is one stubborn woman, and she's shrewd, and she already suspects you. She's like this cop Jason ran into years ago, in New York. He arrested some other crook who resembled Jason, and was able to hold him until Jason thought the coast was clear, and slipped up. Then the cop was after him again, with a vengeance, and he called in Interpol, who were also looking for him. Jason got a hold of me, and we made it onto a ship bound for South America, under faked passports, in record time. That was a year before we came up here. If Jason had lived, they'd have caught him, all right."

"Your point, Willie?"

"I'm saying that maybe, Sheriff Lacey might just pull the same tactic. She'll keep David in the slammer until you, or Amy, do something ELSE you shouldn't, and then she'll be here in a heartbeat, every cop armed with a Cross, maybe with stakes and hammers, maybe even guns loaded with silver bullets, like what happened to poor Chris Jennings. Maybe Miss Cagney will still be here. Maybe SHE'LL be the one to plug you. At any rate, NEITHER you OR Amy will stand a chance." Willie looked right into Barnabas's eyes. "Is THAT what you want to happen, Barnabas? Is THAT what you want for AMY, or any other poor girl you drag in here for a Bride? Is that what you want to happen to your OWN SON?"

For a moment, Barnabas felt a stab of--- shame? Humility? Because, even though Willie knew there WAS a real danger of being bitten again, or at least of being hypnotized into doing his former Master's bidding, he STILL dared to gaze into that Master's eyes? A minute passed. Barnabas finally turned his head. "I will make plans to leave Collinwood, that would be the BEST thing. I would hate to miss the opportunity presented by the magical blood of Alice and Vicki, but you are ALWAYS right when it comes to my safety AND my son's, Willie. As for Amy, I shall keep her confined until such time as my son finds the cure, and then I'll have to leave her to her fate. I will trust you to see that no harm comes to her from the Sheriff's zeal, because I won't be able to take you with me. My son will still need you. . . to console him, I suppose. And there is your daughter, whether or not she and Jeremy wed."

"And Miss Cagney? What about HER?"

"She will go back to New York, and go on with her life. By her own account, she's weathered romantic disappointments before, and she's certainly no virgin. A strong-minded woman still so capable of passion will not stay alone for long. It will be a wrench for me, but I, too, will turn to other 'resources'." Barnabas lifted Amy, and gently laid her in his casket. "That will be better than lying on the cold floor. Now, let us leave her for a while. I have to talk to my son, and we three have a lot of planning to do." He checked the lock on the back door of the chamber. When he and Willie exited, Barnabas bolted the door.

Amy stirred a few minutes later. She opened her eyes, and soon remembered where she was. Sitting upright in the casket, she was dismayed to find that she was alone. She became angry when she got out of the casket, and tried both of the doors, finding them throughly secured. She willed herself into invisibility, but that, she soon discovered painfully, did NOT mean permeability. In her invisible state, she was just as solid as she was when visible, and just as easily bruised. Perhaps, there was a way to get in and out of enclosed spaces, but, like the flying, she would have to practice. She climbed back into the casket, and huddled with her knees drawn up and clasped in her arms, like a frightened and very cold child. She felt both scared and stupid, and began to cry, those odd, bloody tears.

"I think I can help ye, lass." A calm, confident baritone, with a light Irish brogue.

Amy whirled around in the casket, nearly upsetting it from the catafalque. She knew nobody with such a voice, which, furthermore, seemed to come from Nowhere and Nothing. "It's my imagination," she declared to the empty, musty-smelling air.

"I could say the same, my dear. I've certainly imagined spending time with such a lovely colleen as yourself,
and one in such a state of undress, for well over 30 years already. But here we are, and YOU are QUITE real." Amy felt a cold stroke down her back, where the hospital gown had fallen open.

"WHO are you? WHERE are you?" she cried. "HOW did you get in here, and can you get ME out?"

"Ah, so many questions, and I thought ye didn't believe in me!" There was a sound of contemptuous laughter. A human form began to materialize next to the casket, in the dim light of the candles. A man, tall and ruggedly handsome, with polished black hair and an engaging grin. . . He wore a pea-coat and a boat captain's cap, but also sported expensive-looking trousers and shiny wing-tipped shoes.

He reached out with both hands, and seized Amy by the shoulders. She struggled to get away, but he WAS solid enough to hold her. He pressed her to him, and gave her an icy but intense kiss on the mouth, and kissed her neck and shoulders. She could feel his cold hands working their way under the flimsy gown, and she clung to him, though his dark coat was a scratchy, cheap wool. "Now do ye believe I'm real?" he muttered.

"Yes," she whispered. "Please. . . continue. . . Or else. . ." She bared her fangs, but when they touched HIS throat, she jumped back as if her mouth was on fire.

"Heh-heh, lass, you've found out one thing the hard way--- two dead things such as WE, can only do so much to each other. Ye CAN'T take me over, and I can't take YOU over, though we CAN have a bit of fun, but only IF we help each other out." He released her, both still panting with infernal lust.

"Who--who are you?"

"Ah, so you WERE willing to put out first, and ask questions later! You ARE my kind of woman, Amelia--- yes, I DO know that's your real name, and a lovely one it is. I know a great deal about EVERYBODY here, especially about Mr. Barnabas Collins and his longtime companion, Willie. Have ye ever heard mention of the name 'Jason McGuire'? For that fine name is MINE."

"I think they were just talking about you, but I was out like a light. Did they--they KILL you?"

"You ARE clever, my dear. No wonder you were such a great schoolmarm. Well, in point of fact, Barnabas killed me, and Willie was stuck doing the obsequies, such as they were. My mortal remains now repose in the formerly secret room in Joshua Collins's great mausoleum at Eagle Hill Cemetery, wrapped in an old, stinking carpet Barnabas was ready to burn anyway, the BASTARD!" Jason smashed his hand into the side of the casket in his rage. "I bided and bided my time, hoping to get even with the vampire and his catamite."

"I think you have THAT all wrong. Barnabas was happily married for almost 15 years, and I just recently caught him with--with---some fat, overaged HAG, going at it like muskrats in Josette's bed! And he's been biting GIRLS!"

"He bit his own SON as well, don't ye think THAT a wee bit perverse? No, lassie, Barnabas and Willie are a pair. Imagine a man who can't make a girl love him, but lets a doctor take his manly goods to the girl in a cup to knock her up, so her HUSBAND can take the credit! If THAT doesn't show you that Willie's a prize girly-man, I don't know what else will, short of telling ye a few rather graphic stories unfit for such lovely ears as your own!" Jason shook his head.

"Thanks, but NO thanks. I can live without the mental pictures. So now you want to get revenge on the Odd Couple. Why now? Why not years ago?"

"Because, only now, do I have a chance to get Willie's whole family, and Barnabas's, and even the daughter of that drunken turncoat-Irish sot of a cop who almost handed me to Interpol on a platter! Revenge hurts WORSE if ye go after the children of your enemies! But then ye know that--- I applauded how you sent Pauline into the lion's den, so to speak, even if Barnabas was the weapon of your vengeance. She began spurting out her un-natural spawn the minute she hit the ground! What a blow for her estimable mother,
sweet little Carolyn, who tried to kill ME 33 years ago, as well! And that's another reason I want to help ye. We obviously think alike, and quite frankly, my dear, I heard some of Barnabas's and Willie's plans for you.
If the Sheriff doesn't kill you outright, you'll be pumped full of some loathsome dope, not even good honest Guinness or whiskey, and spend the rest of your days in--- what was it called--- WindBreath or
CloudBrain---"

"WINDCLIFF!"

"Same difference, Amelia. You'll be a Cloud Brain for sure, after they get their hooks into ye. So, are ye with me on whatever I have planned?" Jason embraced Amy again, and opened a couple of snaps on her hospital gown.

"YES! Please! Tell me NOW!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mary Beth and Christine had left the hospital, and, with two deputies following them in another car, were now headed to Collinwood. "I don't BELIEVE it!" Christine said. "Who'd have thought DAVID would be involved with this mess?"

"Well, Christine, he WAS pretty angry about my investigating Barnabas and any members of the Collins family in general," the Sheriff replied. "In fact, he was downright INSULTING. I guess I was supposed to be his 'trophy Sheriff', chosen to PRETEND that Collinsport was out of the Victorian Age, but in reality, I was just supposed to confine myself to writing traffic tickets, and all that stuff YOU teased me about when you first came here. Maybe you're both right, if for different reasons."

"That's BULL, Mary Beth. He had the hots for the former Principal, and he made an awful mistake when he got her out of the hospital. That's HIS doing."

"His ALLEGED doing! It makes NO sense--- I mean, there was only ONE cop on duty when he arrived. Why hang around after clobbering the first cop, and then clobber another? David could have gotten Amy out of that room with a lot less work. And WHERE would he take her? She was in a COMA, she NEEDED all those machines and I.V.'s."

"Perhaps she DIDN'T. I'm not saying that she wasn't sick, but it's possible she wasn't as sick as everyone thought, and David discovered this accidentally, and they hatched a plot on the spot."

"Well, it was LOUSY plan. Though I wonder about those marks on Dan Hallett's throat? Just like Amy's, Candy's and Alice's!"

"Maybe a coincidence in this instance. Whoever wanted to kill these guys wanted to do a thorough job of it, not a half-assed attempt to make Hallet bleed to death!"

Mary Beth and her convoy parked right near the front step for easier access for when she and her deputies dragged David Collins out in handcuffs.

She, Christine, and the deputies all stood together on the granite step. Marisol answered Mary Beth's insistent ringing. She seemed to know what was up, and protested, "Senora Sheriff, NO! Nobody in this house helped Senorita Amy! It was CHUPACABRA, I TELL you!"

Christine held up a small plastic Zip-Lock bag which contained Marisol's silver Cross and its broken chain. "Why, Marisol, I thought THIS was supposed to keep the Chupacabra away! If THAT'S the case, only a HUMAN could have broken this, and tossed it into a corner of Amy's room!"

"Marisol, you HAVE to let us in, this ISN'T a choice!" Mary Beth said. "I have a warrant to arrest David Collins. And my people will comb this house again to find where Amy's being kept. I'm sorry for EVERYBODY here, but until this matter has been thoroughly investigated, I'll have to hold Mr. Collins. Now, please tell me where he is, if you can."

"There's no need, Marisol." David himself stood behind the nanny. "What on earth is the meaning of this, Sheriff Lacey?"

"You. sir, are under arrest for the attempted murders of two Collinsport policemen, assault with---"

"Yes, yes, I just heard about the attacks. Why would you think I was involved? Just because I visited Amy? Just because you' like to get EVEN with me, for my unfortunate remarks to you the other day? My GOD, Sheriff Lacey, I am a happily-married husband and father, and I own a huge business,or rather, it owns ME. I had nothing to gain by committing these acts, and if you search this house from top to bottom again, you're not going to find a half-dead woman here. I came home directly from Amy's room, and I've been watching the WBAM Night Time News with my WIFE, who's due to give birth any minute! Think of what this would do to HER!"

"It GRIEVES me to NO end, sir! But you were the last person seen leaving Ms. Jennings's room. There
were no other visitors, only Hallett and Riggs. The room was not close to the nurse's station, and there IS a service elevator nearby, for people being brought up or talken out on gurneys, so it IS quite possible that Ms. Jennings could have gotten out on her own power, to meet you later. . . We're checking security videotapes from the hospital right now, but they don't have cameras EVERYWHERE!"

"Well, I suppose they had one hidden in Amy's room, given that she was an object of police scrutiny. That will show I am NOT a monster!"

"Well, in order to clear your name, sir, we'll have to bring you downtown."

Hallie shuffled into the foyer, only to see her husband being handcuffed and read his rights. "DAVID!" she bleated like a frightened lamb. She threw her heavily-laden body at her husband, nearly upsetting the entire group, like a bowling ball hitting dominoes.

David yanked his arms free, and kept his wife from hitting the ground. In the process, his collar button broke, and exposed his throat. Marisol glanced at it, and cried "CHUPA! I keep TELLING you, Senora Cagney, Senora Sheriff!"

Mary Beth examined the twin fang marks. "My God. . . just like Kenny and Amy and Candy and Alice--"

"You do not believe yet," Marisol said. "I tried to show Senorita Cagney when I blessed Amy at the hospital. The Holy water hurt her marks like iodine medicine stings an open wound. Watch Senor David!" Marisol took the silver Cross away from Christine, and laid it across the marks. David yelped with pain.

"David!" Hallie repeated, only in a shocked tone. "It's--It's like what my Uncle Elliot wrote about. . . What MY Elliot keeps telling me. . . Sheriff Lacey--- Mary Beth--- I changed my mind. I WANT you to take David away--- for his OWN safety!"

"Hallie, don't let them, please. It's just--- just spider bites---" David sat up, rubbing the wounds. "This old house is chock-full of them. . ."

"Looks more like the Kiss of the Spider WOMAN to me," Christine said. "Mary Beth, I say--- let's do as Mrs. Collins here wants."

Mary Beth looked confused. "Well, of course I'm going to take him in, Christine, but I DON'T understand all this eagerness to get him out of here, all of a sudden."

"Tell the deputies to cuff him and watch him for a few minutes. You and Hallie, please come outside for a minute." On the granite steps, with the great doors shut, Christine said, "You believe in what Marisol says, don't you Hallie?"

"In a way--- YES. I may not hold with the reality of an actual vampire, but there are evil, sick people who DO, and who emulate it. For some reason, poor Amy seems to be seized with this delusion. I wish I knew WHY. I wish I knew WHY NOW! We've gotten along quite well over the years, whether you care to believe it or not, Christine, Mary Beth. . . I haven't told you before, but Amy was my Bethany's Godmother. When she was a student teacher, she also acted as part-time tutor to my Emily, and, over the years, to my other children. It's only in the last year or so, she's been really unhappy. I don't like to think I've been flaunting all this childbearing in her face when she really shouldn't have any of her own, but David and I were only children, and HE insisted on a big family. This LAST one, though, was REALLY a surprise. . ." Hallie affectionately rubbed her huge middle, which wasn't even a middle anymore. Mary Beth unconsciously mimicked her gesture. "Anyway, I KNOW that Amy, if she really believes she's a vampire, WILL come looking for David FIRST. I'd rather he be in a holding cell, with so many Crosses around him that HE won't be able to get rid of ALL of them, and MORE than one or two clueless guards. Then you must set up a trap for Amy."

"And then, say we catch her alive," Mary Beth said. "We're not going to STAKE her, even if that what she WANTS--- "

"Whatever the law decides to do with her, I would only ask that she NOT be sent to the State Mental Hospital," Hallie said. "From what I understand, they're no better NOW, than when Willie was sent there initially over 30 years ago. WindCliff now has a section that's just as secure, and they'll TREAT Amy properly, as they did Willie, even if she can't EVER be released--- and it will be at Collinses' expense, NOT the state's."

"And we're to keep it quiet as we can, AFTER the fact," Mary Beth grumbled. "Well, as long as we can make some noise BEFOREHAND--- I wouldn't want some poor soul to run into her out there. Too many fine people have been hurt already. Maybe more,