Best Man for the Job

by

Mary Elizabeth Overstreet

- 3 -

Willie saw the soft, pastel orange light of dawn through weary eyes. He had not been able to sleep at all. His stomach felt as though it was on a slow burn. Milk did not help and neither did food. Even when he had at last gotten warm in his bed, sleep eluded him. It was not that he believed Maggie would tell Barnabas what he had done—he was confident she would keep it to herself. Barnabas, however, was highly suspicious and might sense something had changed with Maggie.

He could not stop worrying about it and sat on the edge of his bed, facing the window and watching the sun come up. It was a spectacular sunrise, but he remained unmoved. Gentle warmth slowly touched his face as the sun's rays entered the cold room. Willie looked away from the window. Facing the northeast, his small room was cold most of the time, but mornings when the sky was clear, it gratefully took in the sunshine. Willie was usually asleep during this, but he sometimes awakened warmed.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was afraid to leave his room until after Barnabas had gone out. It was not long before he heard his door rattle as the air pressure in the house reacted to the opening and closing of the front door. Willie hoped Barnabas would be gone all day. He considered leaving permanently but thought Barnabas would hunt him down and really punish him. The thought of what was going to happen to him if Barnabas found out he'd gone to Maggie was driving him rapidly to distraction. He thought of a hundred lies to tell him but knew he would never believe a one of them.

Willie was so anxious he could barely work during the day. Every settling sound the house made startled him, causing his stomach to clench up with fear. His hands shook continually. Barnabas couldn't find out, he thought, he just couldn't.

Barnabas checked his watch and sighed. His business had gone very well today. But as much as he was looking forward to seeing Maggie this afternoon and evening, he was worried over what to tell her about the incident with Willie. He could go along with Willie's ridiculous lie, or make up one of his own that would completely discredit everything the young man said then and now. But it he did that, Maggie would be afraid of Willie, and it would be difficult to explain why he could not be let go. Barnabas did not trust Willie at all anymore. He knew he would have to reinforce his control over him if Willie did anything else foolish. As it was, Willie did not seem to accept his position anymore—that Barnabas was his superior, his lord and master—and that he was bound to obey without question. Out of the many adjustments he had made awakening in the twentieth century, treating a servant as something other than a servant Barnabas would not do. Certainly it had been easier, their relationship more clearly stated, when he had still been a vampire. That would not have made any difference in the eighteenth century—a servant was a servant, a slave was a slave no matter what the master was—he saw no reason why he should change. Barnabas thought he had even been lenient when Willie provoked him. He had been reluctant to give Willie a sound beating after the way he had reacted the other time. It seemed to have been enough. He hoped it was. Willie could ruin everything.

At Collinwood, he met with Maggie who was dressed in a sweater and a mini skirt, something he had gotten used to quickly, although he intended to put a stop to her wearing short skirts when they were married. Barnabas would not other men looking at his wife's legs.

He escorted her to the terrace, noticing how quiet she was. "Is there something troubling you, dear?"

She looked up at him, seeing the gentle concern in his expression. "Not really, Barnabas." Could Willie have been lying? she thought. They moved to sit on an elegantly carved gray marble bench. "I see you found your cane," she said hesitantly.

"Well, um, yes." He watched her expression closely. She did not believe the story, he thought. "I'd misplaced it, that was all." Barnabas was suddenly uncomfortable. "You see, I thought perhaps I'd dropped it on the path between here and the Old House. "I'm sorry if Willie disturbed you, Maggie. He should not have come this far to look for it."

"Oh, that's all right, Barnabas." She smiled at him. She understood now, she thought. He loved her so he gave Willie an excuse to come spy on her and Jeff—he was jealous. No wonder Willie was unhappy—he was caught in the middle, she decided. It finally made sense. "I was just afraid. . .for him." Maggie had almost said she was afraid Jeff would hurt him but thought that might anger Barnabas.

"But why?" Suspicions rose up in him.

She wondered how much she could say without telling Barnabas Willie had been to see her. "Well, he's. . .he didn't want you to be mad at him."

Barnabas hid quickly a scowl. "Did he tell you that?"

"Well. . . I could just tell." She hurriedly changed the subject. "Where are we going for dinner tonight?"

He was wondering darkly what all Willie had said to her and Jeff. "Hm? Oh, I was leaving that up to you."

"You were? I don't know; it's such a difficult decision. Collinsport has so many restaurants," she joked.

"It is a small village—or rather, town." He reached for her hand, holding it tenderly. "Have you thought about it any more?"

She surprised herself by blushing. "Of course I have."

"But you haven't decided."

"No, not yet."

"Is it Jeff Clark?"

Maggie smiled. "You're jealous!" she said.

"Well, what normal man wouldn't be? Maggie, I love you. I want you to be my wife. I promise I'll have the whole house completely renovated before you move in. It'll be perfect."

"Oh, Barnabas!" She sighed. "It's such a big step—I don't know."

"I do." God, she was beautiful, he thought.

Their eyes locked and drifted shut as he moved close and kissed her warmly. She looked at him. "I can't yet, Barnabas."

He smiled briefly. "All right, Maggie. But I'll never give up."

She just smiled. "Let's go for a walk, Barnabas. It's such a pretty day."

"Yes, it is," he agreed. He loved the daytime, and he loved Maggie. He could not figure out why she had not yet said she would marry him unless it was because of Jeff Clark. Or perhaps Willie. Well, he thought, he would be able to find out if it was the latter.

Within the Old House drawing room, Willie paced, rubbing his hands together. He knew he had several choices—he could run away even if Barnabas could feel his presence which he had begun to doubt; he could face him and whatever suspicions he might have and try to lie smoothly; or he could confess. If worse came to worse and Barnabas threatened him, Willie decided, he would not submit to it or allow himself to be humiliated. He didn't have to take that from another human being, not any more.

His fist smacked into the palm of his other hand with determination. He had always let everyone push him around but not any more. He had his own will now.

Willie realized he'd had the same feelings of resolution and defiance that night facing Roger Collins. He had a very unpleasant sensation in his stomach thinking of the dire results of that act. If something of like consequence were to happen this time. . .

"Nah, it couldn't," he reassured himself, going into the kitchen to get some water. He had been drunk then, and belligerent, now he wanted freedom to make something of himself. Something besides rich, he thought wryly.

He seated himself at the big, heavy, oblong table in the kitchen. It was well past dusk, and the candle and stove shed warm light into the room. Willie stared into his clear glass, noticing how the yellow lights seemed trapped inside the glass itself. He looked up at the sound of quiet footfalls.

Barnabas stood by the door, dressed in his usual dark suit and leaning on his cane. Willie felt much of his resolve flee suddenly as apprehension gripped him. He stood up quickly, forgetting his earlier confidence.

"I-I didn't see you come in, Barnabas."

"Obviously. What are you doing?" He wondered if fear always made Willie look so guilty.

"I-I was just havin' a glass of water." He wished the taller man would not stare at him so.

"Is that all?"

"Well, yeah."

Barnabas took a deep breath, sighing resignedly. "Willie, we have a problem." His eyes never left the young man's worried face.

"What do ya mean?"

He did not answer, watching the other shift about nervously.

"What problem, Barnabas? What's wrong?" Willie found it hard to be anything but afraid. But he just couldn't let himself be beaten again. "Why don't you say somethin'? What is it?"

Barnabas' dark eyes told him nothing, their intentness was intimidating and compelling. He could not hold his gaze, but then he could not look away for very long either.

"You. You are a problem, Willie," Barnabas said at last.

"B-But, Barnabas, I haven't done notbin'," he said, then forced himself to stand straighter. "B-Besides, I. . ." He began to lose his courage when the other narrowed his eyes and frowned. "I-I. . ." he faltered.

"You what, Willie?"

"I-I ain't even left the house." Damn, that was not what he wanted to say, he thought.

"That is part of the problem, Willie. You continually try to lie to me. Now I know you must have left the house, otherwise it would not have been on your mind."

"No, Barnabas, I—"

"Be quiet, and listen to me." He took a step toward the table. "This will not continue. If I cannot trust you, I'll have no more use for you, and you know I'm not about to let you go and have you tell Stokes or someone about me."

"Barnabas, I wouldn't tell him anything. I-I swear, I wouldn't."

"Why wouldn't you? You did so before when you could still feel my control over you." Willie looked down, hating feeling so beaten. "And that brings me to this: what have you said to Maggie about being afraid of me?"

"Huh?" She couldn't have told him—she had promised, he thought. "I-I don't know what—"

"Stop lying!" Barnabas roared. His hand closed around the shaft of his cane. "I won't have it! You are pushing me to the end of my patience." He lifted the cane to a threatening position. "If you don't answer me truthfully, Willie—"

"No, Barnabas!" Willie kept the table between them. "You—you can't! This ain't—this ain't your time. You can't do that to me." Reason with him, he thought frantically.

"You don't think so?" Barnabas said harshly, giving the table a violent shove.

Willie jumped back, but it still struck him in the hips. "No, Barnabas!" he said, trying to regain his balance, back-stepping awkwardly. He backed into the kitchen counter and grabbed it for support before turning to run from the room. "You can't!"

Barnabas rushed around the heavy wooden table as Willie was stumbling backwards. "Come here, Willie!" He struck at him with the heavy silver head of his cane as Willie ran from him.

The blow was more than glancing to Willie's back. He fell on his face with a cry of pain. His mind went red, and all he could think of was escape, but he felt too stunned to move. The fire between his shoulder blades claimed his attention so that he scarcely felt his hands and chest smarting from the fall.

"Now listen to me, Willie, I won't be driven this far again." He watched Willie push himself up on one side to turn his head and look up at him, cringing at the sight of the cane still poised to strike, this time with the black wooden shaft. "You'll either learn your place as servant of die."

"No, Barnabas. Please! You—you can't—" he uttered in a voice weak without any conviction, and tried to crawl away.

"Damnit, I will!"

Willie covered his head with his arms as he was struck. Pain in his left shoulder and side reached down into his mind, stirring up his old pains and terrors, amplifying itself unbearably. Anything to stop it, was his only thought, and it blazed through him. He didn't know if he spoke it or anything coherent. He just heard himself crying out, felt his body trying to crawl away from the agonizing blows of the cane.

He huddled on the floor, barely aware Barnabas had stopped.

"Have you had enough, Willie?" Barnabas panted. "I don't want to have to do this again," he added when he received no answer. "And you know that I won't stop at this if you don't start behaving as befits your position." Still no answer.

Willie heard him distantly at first but couldn't speak. He was stunned by the absence of hysteria, the explosions in his shoulder, back and side. He realized with shaming swiftness that he had failed miserably. A sob was stifled in self-contempt. No more, he thought. Like the burning pain that lingered in his battered body, anger slowly caught his mind in an unrelenting, consuming grasp.

He looked up as Barnabas was about to tap him with the cane to get his attention. The look of ravaged emotion on Willie's face caused Barnabas to feel a surge of pity. What would Maggie think of him if she saw what he had done to Willie? he wondered, his heart sinking in regret. No one cared about Willie's pain except Willie, he told himself, but he knew Maggie would.

Impulsively, Willie grabbed the cane as Barnabas stood over him poised in thought. He jerked it from the man's hand and flung it over his own head into the adjoining room. "Goddamn you, Barnabas," Willie rasped, rolling his eyes and clenching his teeth as the movement increased his discomfort.

Shocked, Barnabas stepped back. He did not have time to even get angry before Willie had painfully gotten to his feet. "What's the meaning of this?" he asked uncertainly, not liking the glaze in the other's eyes, his look of hatred.

"I'll tell ya," Willie said savagely, somehow ignoring his pain and grabbing Barnabas by his lapels. "You ain't doin' that to me again." His back was hunched slightly to the left side where it hurt the most, and it pulled Barnabas down to his eye level.

"Take your hands off me." Barnabas grabbed his wrists to free himself, but Willie would not let go. "Willie, I'm warning you. . ." He stared into the young man's bloodshot blue eyes which stared back unflinchingly intense. Willie's brow was knotted in concentration, and he seemed unaware of the tear stains on his face.

Willie snorted, drunken with pain and anger. "You ain't so tough without that damn cane, are ya? Or your curse."

"Let go of me!" Barnabas demanded, his larger hands crushing Willie's wrists till he let go and stumbled back.

Willie wanted to smash the other man's face. "You. . .you. . ."

Barnabas' own fury threatened to return, replacing his astonishment and perhaps grudging respect. "Go get my cane, and give it back to me." he said, testing him.

"No. I ain't that stupid." He grimaced at a stinging flare of pain in his side.

"I should punish you again for what you've done."

"No! I-I don't have to take this." He felt weak and dizzy and fell to his knees. "You should've let me go. I wouldn'ta told Stokes." His rage was slipping away, only the agony remained, torturing his mind. "You can't do this."

"But I have, haven't I?" Barnabas looked at him; Willie's face was breaking into emotion and shame. Regret filled him again.

Willie held his side with one hand, covered his face with the other. He could not speak without his voice cracking. He didn't look as Barnabas walked away, but sobbed when he thought he was gone.

Having retrieved his cane, Barnabas went back to the kitchen. He was embarrassed to see Willie crying and started to leave him to it in private.

Willie knew he was back and choked his sobs off, trembling in pain and humiliation. "You come back to gloat over me?" he blurted out. Intensely he hated himself, his life, even being alive.

"No, I. . . I came to help you to your room," he said softly.

"My, aren't you generous." Willie looked up at him, blue eyes flashing in the dim yellow light. He gritted his teeth. "I don't need your help!" He struggled to his feet, pushing past Barnabas and heading, stumbling, toward, then up the stairs. He collapsed on his bed after slamming the door. God, it hurt so much, he thought, letting go. He had failed himself again. It hurt—all of it.

* * *


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