DESTINY
CHAPTER ONE
Angelique took a step backward on the sandy beach,
unsure of her footing, unsure suddenly of everything.
She stared in disbelief at the figure in front of her,
his features becoming more clear to her despite the
darkness.
Panic seized her as Judah moved closer. "Don't
come near me!" she told him, unable to keep the terror
that she felt out of her voice. But hearing the fear
seemed somehow to strengthen her and she slowly stopped
retreating and desperately tried to calm herself. She
stared at the visage in front of her and quietly focused
her mind and emotions.
It could not be Judah. She had seen him destroyed;
had watched as his severed head withered to a skull.
Somehow someone had summoned his spirit in order to throw
her off balance, for whatever reason. With
determination, she lifted her hands and pointed at the
advancing figure.
"Go back to your grave, spirit of Judah Zachary.
You have no power here. Go back to the pits of Hell from
whence you came!"
The form stopped and for the briefest of moments
stared at her in surprise. Then his malevolent laughter
echoed on the beach, drowning out even the roar of the
waves crashing on the rocks.
"Don't be a fool, Miranda," Judah glared as he
reached out and grabbed her harshly by the wrist. She
gasped in pain at the strength of his grip. "I am no
spirit. And as for power, as always, mine shall forever
dwarf your own."
She tried to pull away but his grip was
unmercifully strong, and the more she struggled his
fingers bit into the soft flesh of her wrist. Looking
up, she stared into his dark eyes, eyes which had once
corrupted and seduced her, and knew that it was he.
Hatred struggled with fear as she found her voice. "Let
go of me!"
He tightened his grasp for a moment, relishing the
brief sense of control, before he released her, surprised
to find that she did not flinch. Instead, she held his
gaze, her mouth tight with anger, her large eyes burning
bright with malice. It was a sight which pleased
him.
"Ever the defiant one," Judah said with a crooked
smile. "I have always admired that trait in you,
Miranda."
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice
showing no trace of the fear that was within her. "How
have you come back?" She focused only on her anger and
hatred for this man and was surprised to note how quickly
it pushed away anything else she felt.
"How I have come back is a rather naive question,
don't you think?" he said knowingly. "I have always been
a favorite of the Master. And as for why, I've already
told you -- to regain that which is mine."
A grumbling roll of thunder resounded over the
ocean, momentarily distracting Angelique. Judah turned
his attention to the sky as a bolt of lightening lit up
the night, the wind whipping his long thinning hair about
his face.
"But this is not the place for reunions, my dear,"
Judah told her sarcastically. "Let us continue this
discussion in the house from which you just came." He
turned away from her and took several steps toward the
rocky path that lead to the cliffs before looking back.
She had not moved from the beach. Judah looked at her,
his gaze harsh, his voice firm. "Come with me, Miranda,"
he commanded.
She hesitated, anxiously wondering if she dared
defy him. He seemed to read her thoughts and cautioned
her against any rash actions. "Do not think that you
have the power to defeat me, my dear. Even if you were
not weakened from your recent battle I still possess more
than enough power to best you." His face clouded with
irritation "Try my patience no further. Come."
So sure of himself, he did not even bother to look
back as he continued on toward the path. He knew she
would follow. And despite her best effort, a part of
herself responded to his voice, a part she thought she
had silenced long ago. She stared after him and felt the
hatred grow. Hatred at him for his commands -- and at
herself for listening and believing him.
Slowly she followed him up the path.
"Perhaps he'll be calmer when he wakes," Barnabas
offered hopefully as he removed his caped coat and hung
it on the stand. Julia shook her head doubtfully as
she closed the front door to the Old House. "I wouldn't
be too optimistic, Barnabas," she told him. "Joe was
severely traumatized, first at falling under the
influence of Petofi, which had to reawaken a lot of old
fears; and then at actually seeing Angelique again." She
seemed thoughtful for a moment, as if looking for some
glimmer of hope that they could cling to, but once again
shook her head. "I'm afraid it may have done him
irreparable harm."
"Well, we won't know anything until we go up and
see him," Barnabas told her as he reached out and placed
a hand on the banister. He looked up at the landing, a
worried expression on his weary face and began steadily
climbing the stairs.
Julia followed close behind, taking only a moment
to set her purse on the small side table by the stairs.
"He should still be asleep after the sedative I gave him.
It will be some time yet before it wears off."
Barnabas did not answer, ignoring the implication
in her words that it would be pointless to check on Joe
now. Julia recognized the determined look on his face
and knew it would be equally pointless to try and stop
him.
Barnabas hesitated a moment once he reached the
door to Josette's room, and waited for Julia to catch up
to him. "We must do something to help Haskell," he told
her.
"We will, Barnabas," Julia told him. "But first we
have to know exactly what we're dealing with -- and that
will take some time."
Barnabas nodded that he understood and turned the
key in the lock. As he stepped into the room he couldn't
help but be shocked at the sight which greeted them. His
barely audible gasp was enough to signal to Julia that
something had taken him by surprise. She moved past him
into the room, her heart sinking as she saw the very
thing that she feared.
Joe Haskell sat in the middle of the bed, knees
pulled up to his chin, a look of abject terror on his
face. As the two moved across the room to stand by the
side of the bed he gradually moved back to the furthest
corner by the headboard, a vain attempt to get as far
away as possible from them.
Barnabas looked helplessly to Julia, realizing that
he was out of his element. Julia nodded slightly and
motioned for Barnabas to step back a bit and then she
slowly and deliberately sat down on the edge of the bed
so as not to stand over Joe.
"Joe," she began calmly, her voice even and
pleasant. "Joe, it's Julia Hoffman. Do you recognize
me?"
He stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide and
full of panic, before cautiously nodding his head.
"Good," Julia said pleasantly. "And this is
Barnabas. You remember Barnabas, don't you?"
Joe's gaze shifted quickly to Barnabas and his eyes
seemed to grow even wider. "I know him," he managed
weakly.
"Good," Julia said, pleased at the verbal response.
At least he hadn't reverted to a catatonic state. "We
want to help you, Joe. Barnabas and I are your
friends."
He looked from one of them to the other and Julia
clearly saw the doubt in his eyes.
"Everything will be fine, Joe," Julia told him.
"We're going to get you the help you need."
"What are you going to do with me?" he asked
suspiciously. He backed away from Julia, his panic
growing more apparent. "Are you going to send me back to
Wyndecliffe? I won't go back there! I'll die before I
go back there!"
Julia shook her head reassuringly. "We're not
going to send you anywhere you don't want to go." With
practiced ease she had made the lie sound believable.
Somehow she had to convince him that Wyndecliffe was the
best place for him -- a task of which she wasn't sure she
was capable.
"I won't go back there!" he repeated, looking now
directly at Barnabas.
"We want to help you, Joe," Barnabas offered
uncomfortably. Joe smiled crazily and shook his head.
"You can't help me. No one can help me -- but especially
not you."
Barnabas' brow furrowed. "Why can't I help you?"
he asked curiously.
"You brought her here," Joe told him, his voice
changing to a whisper. "You're why she came back."
"Who do you mean, Joe?" Julia asked, knowing fully
well to whom he was referring. But it was a topic which
had to be addressed sooner or later. His response would
tell her a great deal about what to do next.
He looked at Julia shrewdly. "You know who."
"Why don't you tell me," she said in her best
professional tone.
"Angelique," he whispered. He looked past them
both, as if at some unseen spectre, a look of longing and
terror mixing in his eyes -- until finally the terror
won.
Julia watched as his panic increased and quickly
offered their explanation. "You mean Mrs. Rumson?"
Joe looked at her sharply, as if aware of some
trick. "Her name is Angelique...but she's not an angel."
He spat out the next words with hatred. "She's a devil.
A devil from Hell."
Barnabas stepped forward. "I think you're
confusing Mrs. Rumson with someone else," he offered.
Joe, not falling for the deception, quickly swung
his legs off the opposite side of the bed and stared at
the two of them tensely, as if ready for a fight.
"Where is she?" he asked angrily.
"Mrs. Rumson has gone," Julia offered quickly as
she stood up from the bed. "She's gone away."
"You're lying to me," Joe accused. "I know she's
still here."
"You're mistaken," Barnabas began, but Joe cut him
off.
"I am not mistaken!" he screamed. He closed his
eyes tight for a moment, trying to shut out some painful
memory. "Those eyes... I could never forget those
eyes."
"Joe, please..." Julia began, but before she could
finish he had come around the bed to stand before them,
the fear and panic he had felt now having been replaced
with fury.
"You're the reason she's here!" he blamed as he
pointed at Barnabas. "She'll always come back as long as
you're here!"
Julia realized the situation was quickly getting
out of hand and moved quietly to the vanity and her
medical bag while Joe focused his attention on
Barnabas.
"Joe, you don't understand," Barnabas began feebly
as he tried to distract the other man while Julia
prepared the hypodermic. "Mrs. Rumson was here visiting
but she's gone now. She won't be back. You've nothing
to fear from her or from any of us."
"Liar!" Joe yelled. "She's dead, just like you!
She's dead but she comes to life at night and feeds on
people! Just like you do!"
Joe lunged at Barnabas, his tortured mind no longer
able to contain his anger as he reached for Barnabas'
throat. "You're the one she wants! She doesn't care who
she destroys! I can't kill her but I'll kill you!"
Barnabas grasped the crazed man's hands and with an
effort pulled them away from his throat. Haskell was
obviously still weakened from the sedative Julia had
given him earlier, but even so his insanity fueled
strength still proved to be a close match to Barnabas'
own. With great difficulty he managed to twist one of
Joe's arms behind his back and hold him relatively
still.
Julia hurried across the room, holding the
hypodermic up to the light, as she made a final last
check that she was using the correct dosage. Joe saw her
coming and renewed his struggles, but Barnabas' grip was
too tight and he could only watch helplessly as Julia
rolled up his sleeve and jabbed the needle into his
vein.
"You can't make me forget!" he screamed. "I never
forgot what happened to me...or what you did to us!"
He felt the drug burning in his arm as it raced
through his body. His struggles grew less and his head
felt heavy and weak as it slumped to his chest, but still
he fought to remain conscious. With an effort he threw
his head back and screamed out for the one person who
could help him.
With Maggie's name echoing in their ears, Joe
slumped into unconsciousness in Barnabas' arms. He
placed the still form of the young man on the bed and
turned anxiously to Julia, a worried expression on his
face, and although he said nothing, Julia could see the
question in his eyes.
What were they going to do now?
Quentin walked into the drawing room intent on
having a nightcap and was surprised -- and pleased -- to
find Vicki staring out the window; so engrossed in her
thoughts that she hadn't heard him enter the room. He
watched her silently for a moment to see what exactly it
was that so held her interest. As he had suspected, she
was merely watching the ocean as the waves moved
rhythmically across the sands, the sound a steady,
comforting cadence.
He marvelled at her strength and resilience. She
had been through shock and revelations one after another,
and though troubled and confused, she remained accepting
and adaptable. Those were qualities that he had found
very attractive.
Vicki sensed that someone else was in the room and
tilted her head slightly to see that it was Quentin. She
looked back out at the ocean, not feeling the need to
hide her somber mood from him. They stood their quietly
for some time before she finally broke the silence.
"The sound of the ocean is always the same, no
matter what century," she said finally, acknowledging his
presence.
"Yes," he said softly, understanding her
completely. "It's one of the few constants in this
world."
She turned from the window now, drawn by the
compassion of his tone, and she saw that somehow he knew
exactly the sense of loss she was feeling. Loss and
comfort.
"If I were to close my eyes right now," she told
him, closing her eyes as she spoke. "Listening to the
sound of those waves, I could be anywhere...anytime."
"And where would you choose to be?" Quentin asked
her tenderly.
She hesitated for a moment, lost in the emotions
that flooded over her. She remembered all the years she
had stood at this window, as mistress of the house. It
was where she was always drawn to, in good times or bad.
Her mind filled with memories of that life, as wife and
mother. And then another time, hiding out in this room,
the wood and paint fresh and new. She had been
frightened and alone then...until she had met Peter. But
he was gone now too, washed away by even more years.
"Where I am today," she finally answered, opening
her eyes.
"You don't have to be brave with me," Quentin told
her as he moved closer, reaching out and placing a
comforting hand on her arm.
Vicki smiled softly. "I don't feel particularly
brave," she told him honestly. "And I know I don't have
to pretend anything with you." She looked about the
room and shook her head. "And you don't know what a nice
feeling that is...to not have to hide the truth."
"I can only imagine," Quentin told her
honestly.
She turned and looked at him, and thought she
detected a note of some double meaning in his words. She
knew very little about this man but somehow it didn't
seem to matter. She trusted him completely.
"It's just that it's so difficult..."
"Being around Elizabeth and Roger?" he
supplied.
"Yes," she admitted. "And no. It's wonderful to
be here with them, to see them, to talk to them. But I
feel like I'm living such a lie."
"It was your decision not to tell them the truth,"
Quentin reminded her.
"I know," she acknowledged. "I'm just not ready
for that yet. I need to sort out some things for myself
first."
"I can understand that," Quentin told her.
"You really can, can't you?" Vicki asked him. "You
do have some idea of how difficult it is for me to keep
up this pretense?"
Quentin didn't answer at first, not knowing what to
say without incriminating himself. Yes. He knew what it
was to live a lie. He had been doing it for
decades.
"I know," he finally managed, as he walked to the
liquor cabinet. "I was about to have a drink. Let me
get you one, too."
She wanted to question him further on the subject
but saw his evasiveness as answer enough. Obviously
there were some things Quentin didn't feel comfortable
discussing too deeply. Looking at him now she saw for
the first time how tired he looked.
"You look exhausted," she told him as they both sat
down on the sofa.
"It's been an...intense evening," Quentin offered
with a faint smile.
"Am I suppose to ask what that means?" Vicki said,
matching his expression. "Or is that something else
you'd rather not discuss."
He was surprised at her intuitiveness and saw no
reason not to tell her the truth. At least they could
share this honestly.
"It has to do with Petofi. I saw him tonight."
"Here?" Vicki asked, shocked. Quentin shook his
head in agreement. "But I thought he was...gone...after
you fought with him on the stairway."
"I did too," Quentin acknowledged. "But
unfortunately, Petofi proved rather difficult to deal
with then. Somehow he managed to find his way back to
the staircase and he came to this time."
Vicki grew tense and sat her drink down on the
coffee table. "What are we going to do?"
Quentin reached out and touched her shoulder.
"It's all right. We've already taken care of
Petofi."
Vicki relaxed somewhat but was still visibly upset
by this news. "Who is `we' and what do you mean you've
already taken care of him?"
"`We' is Barnabas, Julia and myself," Quentin told
her. He saw no need to mention Angelique. That would
only complicate matters at this point. He noted how easy
it was for him to edit the truth to fit his needs and,
not for the first time lately, it troubled him. "And I
mean that Petofi will not trouble anyone again. He's
dead."
"Dead," Vicki repeated, shocked. "How? What
happened?"
"It's a long story, one I'd really rather not get
into right now if you don't mind. Just know that you
don't have to fear anything from Petofi again."
Vicki settled back on the sofa and tried to
comprehend all that he'd told her. Then she remembered
something that she had wanted to ask him before.
"Quentin, when you found me in the past, you and Petofi
recognized one another. Had you met him before?"
Quentin grew uneasy, not knowing how to answer. He
hesitated a moment before finally answering. "Yes. Yes,
we had met before."
Vicki sat up again, fascinated by this bit of
information. "But how? When could you have met him?
And what did he mean when he said your portrait was still
intact?"
Quentin stood up abruptly and drained his glass.
"I'd really rather we didn't get into this tonight,
Vicki."
Surprised by his reaction she slowly stood up as
well, never taking her eyes off of him. "Alright," she
managed suspiciously. Obviously there was some
connection between he and Petofi that Quentin didn't want
revealed. "Another time."
Quentin tried to regain some of his composure.
"It's nothing, really," he lied. And what made it worse
was that he knew that she could see it was a lie.
They looked at one another knowingly, and at that
moment they both heard the clicking sound of footfalls.
Breaking from Vicki's questioning eyes, Quentin saw
Carolyn enter the drawing room, a stack of books in her
hands. He couldn't remember ever being so grateful to
see someone enter a room.
Carolyn looked from one to the other and
immediately sensed that she had interrupted something
between the two. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't
know anyone was in the room." She turned to start to
leave when Vicki called out to her.
"It's alright, Carolyn," Vicki explained. "I was
just going up to bed." She turned back to Quentin.
"Thank you for the nightcap. I think I'll be able to
sleep now."
Carolyn, who had taken the opportunity to deposit
the load of books on the desk, turned to her sister.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay up and talk for a
little while?"
"Tomorrow," Vicki promised. "I'm really very tired
right now."
Carolyn smiled awkwardly. "Tomorrow then." She
watched as Vicki left the room and quietly climbed the
stairs. When she heard the door close on the upstairs
landing she turned back to Quentin, a somewhat guilty
expression on her face. "I'm having a hard time getting
used to how Vicki has changed. Just a few weeks ago she
wasn't that much older than me, and now..."
"She's still the same woman," Quentin offered.
"No. No she isn't," Carolyn told him. "She's
different somehow. I suppose it's just that she's had
almost ten years of experiences since Nicholas did
whatever it was he did to her."
"That would be enough to change anyone," Quentin
pointed out. "But basically, I think she's the same.
Just older and wiser."
"The two of you seem to be getting rather close,"
Carolyn teased.
Quentin frowned at her. Had she sensed that from
him or Vicki? "Now don't go and make something out of
nothing," he cautioned.
Carolyn could see that the idea was not new to him.
"I approve," she assured her cousin.
Quentin ignored her attempts at luring him into a
discussion about Vicki and looked over her shoulder at
the books on the desk. "You look as if you're planning
on doing a little reading. Or a lot, actually."
"I've finished with these," Carolyn told him, all
hint of playfulness gone from her voice now. "They were
Professor Stokes. He'd loaned them to me before...before
he died. I was just going to take them to the study, but
they got a little heavy for me."
Quentin glanced at the titles as he thumbed through
one volume. "These are all books on the occult," he said
with a hint of a smile.
"It's a subject that I'm finding more and more
fascinating," she told him. "With everything that's
happened in this house lately, I think it makes sense to
educate yourself. You of all people should know the
value of that."
He nodded in agreement. "But not everyone will
think your studies are particularly valuable." It was an
odd contrast between his discussion now with Carolyn and
the one he'd just had with Vicki. Carolyn knew the truth
about him -- or at least part of it -- and it didn't seem
to phase her in the least. She still accepted him, if
anything, they were closer now than ever.
But then, she didn't know the whole truth. The
horrors he'd experienced -- or participated in. But
there was no reason for her to know everything.
So wasn't one lie just as bad as the other?
"Quentin, did I say something to offend you?"
Carolyn asked, looking up into his eyes with a worried
expression on her face. "I didn't mean to make light of
the situation."
"No, you didn't say anything to offend me,
Carolyn," he assured her as he walked to the cabinet and
poured himself another glass of scotch. "I was merely
contemplating the merit of truth, and the fine line
between omission and another lie."
Julia, medical bag in hand, hesitated on the stairs
for a moment and watched pensively as Barnabas slowly
paced in front of the fireplace. She had given Joe
enough of a sedative to keep him out well into the next
morning. She hoped to get a few hours sleep herself
tonight. Things had been moving too fast recently and
she was nearing exhaustion. But there was one more
matter to deal with before she could go back to
Collinwood and get the rest that her body was beginning
to demand she obtain.
"How is he?" Barnabas asked as she walked into the
room.
"You saw him," she said rather curtly. "You saw
the state he was in."
"Did your examination not reveal anything?"
Barnabas wondered anxiously.
"Only that he is very nearly as disturbed now as he
was when he first went to Wyndecliffe," Julia told him.
"He should never have been released."
"Then why was he?" Barnabas asked. "You said it
wasn't done with your knowledge. Who gave the authority
do let him out?"
"A young doctor with very different ideas from my
own."
"How could this happen?" he wondered.
"It happened, Barnabas, because I haven't been
spending enough time at my own hospital to supervise the
staff, much less my own patience," Julia snapped. Upon
seeing the shocked expression on his face she was
immediately apologetic. "I'm sorry. That was...uncalled
for. It certainly isn't your fault that my career is in
a shambles."
Now it was his turn to make amends. "In a way it
is," he admitted. "I turn to you for help so often. I'm
ashamed to say I haven't really thought about what you've
been giving up. All the time you spend here...it must
put a terrible strain on your career."
Julia shook her head, a little embarrassed at the
turn the conversation had taken. She must be more tired
than she realized. "It does. But the decision to be
here has always been my own. I take full responsibility
for them."
"Julia," Barnabas began, his concern for her
evident. "I'm sorry, I never...."
"It doesn't matter now," Julia said, cutting him
off. "We have a more pressing problem than what faces me
back at Wyndecliffe."
Barnabas looked toward the stairs. "I suppose you
are right." Obviously she didn't want to discuss her own
problems any further. He would allow her that privilege
for now, but it was a subject that he would not forget.
And somehow he felt it tied in with another talk which
they had put off for far too long.
"Haskell knows too much," he said finally.
Julia felt a slight chill pass over her with his
words. She had heard similar ones spoken by him before,
but as she looked at him now she saw none of the coldness
that had been there then. Her head throbbed painfully.
She was more tired than even she had realized if she was
allowing herself to think that far back.
"The question is, what do we do about it?" she
asked.
"What about your medallion?" Barnabas suggested.
"Could you use it on Haskell? Make him forget about
Angelique...and me."
Julia silently thought for a moment as she paced
back and forth, a tense look on her face. "I don't think
so."
"Why not?" Barnabas wanted to know. "You've used
it in the past with some success."
"Yes, but never in a situation quite like this,"
Julia explained. "Joe is terribly suspicious of us. In
order for the medallion to have any effect the subject
should feel some sense of trust in me. Joe would be too
on guard, I'm afraid."
"Still we must do something," Barnabas told her.
"We can't just let Haskell walk out of here in the state
of mind he's in."
"I've no intention of letting him walk anywhere,"
Julia told him testily.
"What about Wyndecliffe then?" Barnabas offered.
"Could you have him admitted again?"
"Of course," Julia told him. "But I'm not certain
that is in Joe's best interest."
Barnabas moved past her and toward the mantel.
"Right now I'm thinking more of my own best interest. If
Haskell starts talking, someone might listen."
"They would hear the ramblings of a madman,
Barnabas," Julia consoled. "You know that."
"Perhaps," Barnabas said. "But what if someone
started checking out his story."
"Joe's story is no longer accurate," Julia told him
wearily. "You are no longer what you were. And for that
matter, neither is Angelique. If anyone did listen to
him it would be simple to disprove."
"Angelique," Barnabas muttered angrily. "She is
partially to blame for this situation. If she hadn't
confronted Haskell when he came here we wouldn't be
having to decide now what to do with him."
"If it hadn't been for Angelique we wouldn't be
alive right now to be discussing what to do with Joe,"
Julia pointed out.
Barnabas seemed surprised by her attitude. "You're
defending her actions?"
"Not entirely, no," Julia conceded. "I'm just
trying not to loose sight of what she did for us. For
everyone at Collinwood, for that matter."
"She seemed to find some perverse pleasure in
encountering Haskell," Barnabas continued, unable to let
go of the topic. "She must have known what seeing her
again would do to him."
"Perhaps not," Julia offered. "Perhaps she didn't
know it would throw him back into insanity." She wanted
to believe that was the case. Despite all the things
they had suffered throughout the years at her hands,
Julia had developed a strange relationship with the other
woman. She had to admit that she held a certain respect
for her -- especially after learning of the sacrifice
that Angelique was willing to make to save their lives.
For whatever reason, Angelique had chosen not to tell
Barnabas of that choice, and Julia had every intention of
honoring that decision.
"Whether she knew or not is irrelevant to the
situation at hand," Barnabas said hotly. "What are we
going to do with him?"
"For the moment, nothing," Julia told him.
"Nothing?" Barnabas asked, incredulous.
"Not until morning," Julia continued. "I've given
him enough of a sedative to last until late tomorrow
morning at the very earliest. We can decide tomorrow
what the best course of action would be. Right now I'm
too tired to make any rational decisions."
Slightly mystified by her behavior, Barnabas
reluctantly agreed to her resolution. "Alright, Julia.
We'll postpone what to do with Haskell until the morning.
I'll walk with you back to Collinwood."
"There's no need," she told him. "My car is
outside, remember."
"Of course," he said. "Perhaps I'm more tired than
I realized, too."
"A good night's sleep won't hurt either one of us,"
she told him as she walked to the foyer and opened the
door.
"Julia. Don't let your gratitude for Angelique
cloud your judgement," he cautioned. "I, too, am
grateful to her for saving us from Petofi. But don't
forget that she has used the Mask of Baal in that
struggle. The temptation of such power opens her up to
the dark side of her nature once again. She may well
prove to be more of a threat than Petofi himself."
"I'm aware of that Barnabas," Julia told him
wearily, not wanting to think of the possibility. She
managed to muster a friendly `Goodnight' before stepping
outside and closing the door, leaving Barnabas to his own
feelings and fears.
It was well past 2:00 a.m. when the call came that
woke George Patterson out of a sound sleep. From the
frantic message of the dispatcher, he had pretty well
prepared himself for the sight that would greet him upon
arriving on the lonely stretch of road that lead to
Findley's Cove.
As he rounded the bend he saw the pulsating red and
blue lights from his deputy's car. Perhaps fifteen feet
away there was an old '63 Ford Galaxie parked at the edge
of the cliff. Teenagers and young lovers, he thought.
This had long been one of their favorite spots. Remote
and quiet, with beautiful scenery on a clear night, with
the hopes of a clear shot at making out in the back
seat.
His deputies patrolled the area on a semi-regular
basis. Shining flashlights into backseats and cautioning
the patrons of this lovers' lane to go home and take a
cold shower before they did anything foolish.
He saw the ashen-white face of his new deputy in
the headlights. Farrel Grigsby leaned against his squad
car as his partner, Bill Newsome walked toward the
Sheriff's car.
"Sorry to have to wake you, George," Bill
apologized. "But I knew you'd probably want to see this
for yourself."
George Patterson nodded his agreement and walked
over to the old car. "Farrel, let me see your
flashlight," Patterson ordered, leaning over the trunk to
take it from the other man. Grigsby numbly handed him
the light and tried to regain his composure.
"I've never seen nothing like that, Sheriff," the
young deputy said. "I've pulled dead people out of car
crashes, but I have never seen nothing like that."
Patterson took the light and flashed it into the
interior of the car. There, the torn and bloodied body
of what had once been a man lay sprawled across the front
and backseat, his throat ripped open so widely that it
appeared that the head was nearly decapitated.
"I've seen something like it," Patterson told his
deputies. "Although I'd hoped never to see anything like
it again." It had been nearly a year since the last
attack like this in the village and when the killings had
stopped he had hoped that the perpetrator had left the
county -- if not the state. But it appeared they were
back, if indeed they'd ever left.
"There's another one over that way about twenty
yards or so," Deputy Newsome told his boss. "A girl.
Looks like she was trying to get away and whoever...or
whatever...did this caught up to her."
George Patterson pushed his hat back and leaned
against the patrol car and made a silent vow.
This time he'd catch the person responsible for
this.