by
Mary E. Overstreet
Willie shoved the last perishable item from the groceries into the refrigerator and went to answer the door.
"Professor," he said, surprised to see him. He noted the satchel that the big man carried under one arm.
"Hello, Willie. May I come in?" Timothy Eliot Stokes gave him a warm smile and held his hand out.
Willie shook his hand, smiling back. "Oh, sure." He held the door for him and shut it behind him. Willie was feeling better now after keeping busy all morning and finishing out all the household chores that Barnabas had listed for him. He could easily find more work to do, but was simply enjoying the feeling he had accomplished something. "You know, Barnabas is gone for the day." He considered telling the professor that Barnabas was also in a mood.
"I was aware of that, thank you. I really came by to talk to you, Willie."
Oh, no, not again, he thought, alarms going off in his head. "What about?"
"Well, if we may be seated I would like to explain it to you. Provided you have time of course."
"W— Well, I—" He did not want to be rude to one of the few people who always treated him respectfully.
"I spoke with Barnabas this morning. He said that you had the afternoon off if you wanted it. But if you have plans of your own. . ."
Perhaps Barnabas was over his temper, or felt badly about scaring him. He immediately felt more relaxed. "Nah." He shook his head, waving toward the chairs. "Have a seat." They each took one of the wing chairs. "What is it?"
Stokes set his worn leather satchel on his lap. "I am a researcher, Willie. It is a passion of mine to keep records of everything that I do or that interests me. You have knowledge I would like to add to my notes. What I would like is for you to help me fill in some large gaps in my records. I promise you that I will use no names, only general events. Besides, by the time anyone ever reads these notes we'll all be long dead," he gave a little laugh.
Willie didn't respond in kind. "What is it you want to know?" he asked tightly.
"I would like to know about the events occurring here between the time Barnabas came and I became involved."
"That's a long time." Willie was uncertain what Stokes knew or did not know.
"Well, more specifically about Barnabas."
"You should ask him." Willie turned away. Barnabas was a sensitive subject with Willie right then.
"Oh, I am sure he would not wish to tell me. But there are certain laws that govern our world, Willie. I am trying to learn as much of them as I can. By finding out about these events here, I will understand more about the nature of all things. Vampirism is something I know little about, and I would like to compare Barnabas' case with the few others I've read about to develop some more comprehensive theories. That is why I don't need the names."
Willie wanted to tell him he was crazy. "What makes you think Barnabas was a 'vampire'?" He looked at him, hoping he could find a way to get out of this.
"I'm surprised you'd ask that, Willie. I thought you knew I knew."
If Stokes already knew, he guessed he could be trusted with the knowledge. "They don't tell me everything, which is the way I like it. I don't want to know some of the things that've gone on around here. So I probably wouldn't be much help to you."
"I can understand your reluctance, Willie. But you know I am a friend. I would not do anything to endanger you or Barnabas—or Julia for that matter." Stokes looked steadily at Willie, noticing for the first time how haunted his eyes seemed.
"I know. But it wouldn't be fair." He stood up, running a hand through his hair.
"But, Willie, there is valuable information here. If—"
"No, there's not." Willie looked down at him. "Nothin' that happened then could be important."
"Well, then can't you tell me your experiences. Surely they're yours to tell. Again, I would not use yours or anyone's name." Stokes stood up as well. "I would very much like to know from someone who's had firsthand experience with being in a vampire's power what the physical and mental effects are. I have never read accounts of it."
Willie frowned at him in disbelief. "It's nothin'." A lie, he knew the professor would know. But he did not want to talk about that. Those experiences were better left buried. "Nothin'. Not worth writing down."
The man returned to his chair finally seeing that he had touched on a tender subject. That in itself was interesting. "I am sorry, Willie. I tend to let my curiosity get the better of me. Please sit back down."
Sighing, Willie complied, deciding the less he said, the better.
"Perhaps you could tell me how Julia was trying to cure him?"
"You should ask Julia." He looked at him again. "I really don't know. I'm sorry I can't help ya, professor, it'd just be wrong." Willie was spared Stokes' reply by the sound of someone coming in through the front door. Both men stood upon seeing Julia Hoffman step into view.
She greeted them both, immediately noting that Willie was nervous or, if not, more troubled than when she had last seen him—the day after Thanksgiving night when Barnabas had lost his temper completely. "I missed you at dinner last night," she told him.
He blushed in embarrassment, not meeting her penetrating eyes. "Well, I was kinda tired."
"That's what Barnabas said, so I thought I'd pay you a visit." She wondered what Stokes was doing there.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Julia," the professor said. "You look well."
"Thank you. I hope I'm not interrupting anything." She watched Willie shake his head and murmur a negative response.
"No, not really. I was just giving up on getting any information from Willie. Perhaps you would consider filling me in on some of the events that occurred when Barnabas first. . .came on the scene here."
She looked up at him with surprise. "You were asking Willie about that?"
The man in question decided now was as good a time as he would find to get out of the room.
"Don't go, Willie, please," she said. "We can all discuss this. I don't see that it could hurt to tell Eliot about it. Provided you guard your notes," she smiled at him and took the chair Willie had occupied.
"Barnabas wouldn't like it," Willie said, standing in the middle of the room, ready to leave it.
"No, he wouldn't, but as I am familiar with Eliot's type of research, I think it wouldn't hurt to go over general events. Besides, Willie, it might help you to talk about it."
His face reddened with anger and embarrassment. He swallowed and turned, walking toward the stairs.
"Willie!" she said in a voice that suggested he could not disobey, that she could still order him.
He stopped in mid-stride before the stairs, hating himself for it. That he was still subject to her ability to intimidate him, made him ashamed. But he could not go any further.
"Willie," her tone softened, and she went to him. "I know you don't like to talk about the past, but that's because you won't let it go."
Willie turned around and stared hard at her for one brief, intense moment, fighting the urge to say something. He brushed past her abruptly, passing Stokes' chair and exiting through the door beside the hearth. He felt humiliated that she had approached him about that kind of thing in front of Stokes. He stopped himself in the hall, angry and frustrated enough to want to hear what Julia would tell him.
"Well, that was a mistake," she said, sighing and going back to sit down. "He's so sensitive I can't seem to get through to him."
"I think perhaps it was my presence that bothered him, Julia."
"Yes, but he won't talk anyway. And he does like you."
Stokes found that discomfiting and refrained from telling her that he thought she should not have put Willie on the spot like that. "Seeing that Willie is unwilling to help me, would you care to? I've promised not to use any names."
Willie listened to her sketching a brief outline of Barnabas' release and the kidnapping of Maggie Evans, of which she had been surprised to find he already knew, and some other things that had happened. She neglected to mention the failure of her experiment, something Willie knew almost nothing about. Stokes began asking more specific questions, not about events but about Barnabas himself.
Willie thought he had heard enough, it just brought back unpleasant memories, and he started to go upstairs the back way. But the mention of his name compelled him to return to his eavesdropping.
"I don't know exactly, Eliot. Only Willie or Barnabas could tell you that. While he still suffered from the effects of sensory deprivation when I first started trying to help him, he was under better control."
"But wouldn't such a long time without blood, have weakened him to the point of near death?"
"I don't know. He had the strength to subdue Willie, who was a very different person then. Both of them were."
"What do you know of the effects of being put under a vampire's power? Is it more than just the attack and subsequent invasion of the cells?"
"I think in some cases it is." She neglected to mention that she'd had her own first-hand experience with it from being the victim of Tom Jennings. "Though neither has ever talked about it, Barnabas did not just attack Willie. He systematically weakened him by not letting him eat or rest to the point of complete exhaustion probably because Willie resisted him. That is, I was told that he neither ate or slept much when he came back after being missing. And the days he was missing can only be guessed about."
Willie squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he could forget those days, but sometimes it seemed like yesterday.
"What kind of relationship did they have? Was Barnabas commanding, and did Willie still resist? Or did he go along with everything willingly?"
"Willie was reluctant about anything that presented a danger to anyone else. He really was very good, you know. It was just that, in fact, that got him into trouble at the Evans' cottage."
"The shooting?"
"Yes. He has never been the same."
Willie's face burned. These mortifying personal revelations were turning into a betrayal.
"How did Barnabas react to Willie's resistance?"
Julia thought of the all too recent violence. "He didn't like it. He was violent then and tended to panic. He's not like that now, you know."
"Of course. I'm only interested in the vampire nature. He was physically violent?"
Willie got the impression from the brief pauses after some of Julia's answers that Stokes was writing down what she said.
"I think so."
"In what way?"
"Well," she sounded embarrassed, "he was fond of choking people."
"Not fatally, you mean?"
"No, more as a threat."
"Now you say he was susceptible to panic. Do you think that was because he was a vampire or because of the strain he had suffered?"
"Both. He panicked whenever he thought he was in danger."
"Now, do you think that being in his power affected Willie's recovery from the shooting?"
"Possibly, but as Willie is a patient of mine, I'm not really at liberty to discuss his recovery and mental problems."
Mental problems, Willie thought bitterly, furious. He forced himself to back away from the doorway before he burst through it to rage at her and ended up making a fool of himself. He didn't hear any more they said, only the roaring in his ears from the blood that had rushed to his head with anger.
He went up the back stairs and to his bedroom. He sat on the bed, head in his hands. He felt like giving up on everything and leaving. No matter how hard he tried to shake the past, someone kept throwing it back at him. Even his own subconscious wouldn't let him forget; so often in his dreams things came to him that reminded him or made him relive the past. It did not even have to be something unpleasant, but it took so little to bring back the bad. . .
If nothing else, he had to get out of the Old House now. He grabbed his suede jacket from the back of his desk chair. It would not be warm enough, but his heavier coat was downstairs on the rack by the door where Julia and Stokes would see him if he tried to get it.
He left the house through the back door, skirting the front by staying in the edge of the wood. There was still snow on the ground, and it was wet and had melted in a few sunny spots. A lot of it was dirty and trampled. Willie didn't care too much; it wouldn't matter since he had to walk anyway—the keys to his car were in his heavy coat. He just wished the sun was not already casting the long shadows of a winter afternoon. The light was orange and dimming gradually. He thought he would barely make it into town before the sun actually set.
The cold, still air was refreshing, and Willie wasn't too uncomfortable walking down the road toward Collinsport. By the time he reached the Blue Whale, it was dark and he was cold and shivering. He went inside and stood by the short railing, basking in the warmth. It was a few minutes before he looked around to see a mostly empty tavern. The barmaid who sat idly polishing glasses smiled at him, and a young couple stood over by the juke box. Willie couldn't bring himself to smile at the woman when she looked at him. He couldn't bring himself to smile at all. He was just thinking about how embarrassed he would be the next time he saw Professor Stokes.
He found a small table in one corner of the back of the room and sat down. His face and hands were still numb from the cold he noticed when he put a hand to his brow. He didn't take his jacket off, just sat and waited for his extremities to warm up, looking furtively around the room.
It wasn't long before the barmaid had come over. "What'll you have, Willie?"
"Beer, I guess," he said, barely glancing up.
"Okay. Haven't seen much of you lately," she commented, still standing by the table. "Kinda early, isn't it?"
"I've been busy, and I've got the afternoon off," his tone was impatient. He wanted to be alone.
She shrugged and left him. Willie thought that this was probably not the best place he could pick to be by himself. Soon the place would pretty much fill up when people got off work and later when the fishing fleets came in. But since it was a week night, it would not get too crowded. Willie had actually spent very little time there. Enough to know a few townspeople and have a couple of drinks now and then. He had never been able to rid himself of the feeling that the majority of people in town didn't like him because they still thought he had been the mysterious kidnapper of Maggie Evans. What irony, he thought bitterly, that he actually had kidnapped Maggie, but no one knew about it. And Maggie had hated him for it even though his intentions had been good. But she never remembered he had done it, and she had even liked him as a friend by the time she had left Collinsport altogether. What hopes he'd had for Maggie. . .
The arrival of the beer interrupted his thoughts. He paid without saying anything but thanks and took a generous swallow. Willie thought Barnabas wouldn't like it if he knew he was planning on spending the evening here getting drunk. And with the dangerous mood the other had been in that morning, he knew it was a bad idea.
But it hurt inside. He felt all tangled up emotionally and could think of no way to escape. Intoxication would numb him or make him care less, at least put some distance between his thoughts and his feelings and the answers to all the questions he'd been asked. Why all of a sudden was everyone so interested in what he had to say, he wondered? He did not want the attention now. If it wasn't business, he didn't quite know how to respond. He just kept thinking that the people who wanted him to talk about what was extremely personal to him only did it because they were looking for something for themselves. Perhaps they meant well and did care about him, but not enough. Carolyn was lonely, so she wanted to be close to him, even if she did want to help him, she wanted someone for herself—Julia felt guilty now, getting inside his head would make her feel like she was doing her job—Stokes wanted information about vampires, his questions were not meant to lay Willie's heart bare. There was no one, he thought, who only wanted him to open up on the past so that he would feel better. Maybe Julia did, but she wasn't doing it just for him. He sadly thought there was no one now and never would be—he wasn't talking, even if he could have explained.
He looked down into his empty mug, then ordered another beer. He sank further into his thoughts. Julia had a lot of nerve telling Stokes he had mental problems. Just because he had been terribly upset after Barnabas had beaten him, did not mean he had "mental problems". Willie knew he was perfectly sane. He had a hard time controlling his fear and sometimes other emotions—that didn't mean he was crazy. Stokes would patronize him, humor him now, he thought, extremely bitter.
He finished his second beer, feeling angry, and ordered a double bourbon. He drank it slowly, mulling over everything that had happened since he'd come back from this last trip. Maybe he should just stay away next time. He certainly felt no affection for Collinsport. A little perhaps for the Old House since he had done so much in fixing it up. But that was hardly enough to make him want to stay. These terrible moods Barnabas had been having were enough to drive him over the edge, and he knew it.
Everything was so awkward now. He had inadvertently made it impossible for the people he knew fairly well to talk to him without both parties being uncomfortable. He hung his head over his drink, feeling every bit the "Nowhere Man" in the Beatles song which the young couple played on the juke box. Except he couldn't make plans about his life because they always failed. How did people ever find happiness? he wondered. Willie didn't know how to look any more, but he felt it couldn't be found in chained coffins in secret rooms, or from within either.
*