You treated me kind,
sweet destiny,
carried me through desperation
to the one that was waiting for me,
You took so long
still I believed
somehow the one that I needed
would find me eventually,
I had a vision of love
and it was all that you've given to me.
(Mariah Carey, Ben Marguilles, Chris Toland)

The winter sun spilled its cheer through the one window in the shack, spreading its column of light across the bodies lying together beneath the canvas on the floor. Julia Hoffman's mind rose out of the murky depths of deep sleep, clutching weakly to a life-line of hazey semi-consciousness, hovering in a golden half-dream state. Her head still hurt terribly from striking the car window, and little bursts of light, like sky rockets on the inside of her eyelids, made her vaguely certain that she had suffered a concussion, but the rest of her body felt unattached to her head, floating comfortably connected to a generous warmth that she was drawing into her very being.

For some time she had been aware of a voice speaking to her through a fog, a full, rich resonant voice making love to her with words, a not-quite-unfamiliar cultured voice that spoke her name in tones which sent tremors through the depths of all that made her a woman. Through the haze, she knew that she must be dreaming, even though she felt that she had never dreamed of anyone this romantically articulate before, and certainly not in such an intimate way -- yet she was doing so now -- and it caused her pulse to throb sensually throughout her body.

For all of her young adult life, her career had demanded her full attention, and she had complied by denying herself the frivolous luxury of even day-dreaming about the love of a man. She thought there would be time for that later, when her career was established, when the men she met in social situations were more -- mature. Yet here was that primordial portion of her brain sneaking out of the straight-jacket she had laced it in, taking advantage of her at an unguarded moment, creeping into her dreams. But not dreams about the type of man she was accustomed to meeting everyday, this was a romantic lover whose very voice made his words of love sound poetic and arousing. When she fully awoke, she would try to analyze this romantic anomaly, but for now she wasn't disturbed or offended by the illusion, rather it made her feel oddly contented -- fulfilled.

She tried to open her heavy eyelids to see this man in her dream, but the effort only rewarded her with an indistinct impression of a man with dark hair and dark eyes seen through the veil of her lashes. The sun light coming through the window she faced stung her sensitive eyes, making them water heavily.

"Julia, my beloved. Don't cry." She heard an emotional appeal, followed by the feel of gentle fingertips touching the tears on her cheek. She struggled to raise her hand to his, to reassure him that she was not crying, but her bruised, aching muscles made her effort clumsy, and she fumbled against him, and only the word "no --" came out in a broken whisper while the rest of her words seemed to hang up somewhere enroute from her brain.

"Do not fear me, my dearest one," he said with concern and gently stroked her hair to calm her. "I will not harm you -- I would never allow anything to harm you -- I would die first. Don't you know that I have transcended time to keep you safe. You are the core of my being. Without you, there would be no future worth living for, it would not be worth the effort."

She felt herself being cradled within strong, protective arms, and the warmth of a soft, lover's kiss made her lips tingle. As her mind began to drift, she heard his poetry breathing love into her ear. "Julia, I bask in the love from your luminous eyes. Your strength nourishes my heart and my soul. Without you I dwell in darkness." Julia allowed herself to sink back into the darkness of unconsciousness, confident that she was safe -- and thoroughly loved.

_________________________

Barnabas threw more wood into the fireplace before leaving the shack to check on the car he had driven off the road during the night. Wyndcliffe was only a few miles away, perhaps he could get the car back on the road and take Julia there for medical assistance. A brisk hike up the main road brought him to the vehicle that he had left buried up to the fenders in snow the night before, but no amount of key turning would make the engine start nor would pushing make the contraption budge. Just as Barnabas was thinking that a good team of horses would never have gotten him into this untenable situation, he heard the sound of a motor vehicle making its way around the curves in the road, and soon a pickup truck slowly approached where Barnabas was standing, waving his arms. When Barnabas explained that there had been an accident, and a young woman was injured, the farmer offered to drive them to County General Hospital.

"Just come from there, but I don't mind going back. I'll keep this old buggy running if you bring the girl out to the road," he said agreeably.

Barnabas returned to Julia and quickly dressed her in her now dry clothes before taking off his Inverness and wrapping her in the enveloping warmth that lingered from his own body. He picked her up in his strong arms and carried her through the snow.

The farmer was standing at the edge of the road looking off into the distance at the trunk of Julia's car, which stuck out of the water at an impossibly sharp angle. "Rocks must have it hung up," he said. "She's lucky she got out alive. When we get to the hospital, I'll call the Highway Patrol. They'll take care of it."

Barnabas slid Julia across the seat and climbed in beside her, before putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him. The truck proceeded toward town, to their rescue and to their future.

__________________________

Barnabas hovered outside of the County General emergency room, answering the admissions nurse's questions until Julia's injuries were tended to and she was taken to a room. He followed and waited in the hallway until her doctor approached him with the news of her prognosis.

"Your daughter will be all right, Mr. Hoffman. She's sustained a concussion and a couple of broken bones in her hand, but she's young and strong, she'll recouperate quickly. You say she's a doctor at Wyndcliffe? We'll call for you and let them know she'll be here for a few days."

"Thank you, doctor. May I see her now?"

"She's been sedated, but you can go in and sit with her if you like."

Barnabas sat on the bed beside Julia, quietly holding her hand, and for a while he just looked at the profile of her face, which was turned from him. Caressing her cheek, he whispered for her ears only, "You are beautiful. There are too many young men who would want you for that alone, who would not fully appreciate the extraordinary woman that you are. That frightens me more than you might imagine, knowing the passionate woman you are, and how many years will separate us before we meet again. I know you could fall in love with one of them and --" his head bowed, the words coming with difficulty from his downturned mouth. "The thought of you in anyone else's arms fills me with jealousy and fear. This is no longer your past to me, but the threshold of our future, a future you could now rewrite with any number of choices made simply because I have changed history by coming back to save your life." His fingertips lightly touched her tousled red hair. "Will you wait for me, Julia? I am afraid to leave. If I leave you now, will you be there to greet me when I return to OUR time? I could not bear returning to find you no longer a part of my life. Yet I must return to the future believing that all is back to normal, and you are there waiting for me with our son." He closed his eyes to the sting of tears before kissing her hand, which was nestled within the confines of his own. "Julia, remember that I love you more than life itself. Don't give up on me, my beloved." He tried to swallow the massive lump in his throat. "My love for you was strong enough to bring me back here to you, let it be strong enough to sustain your faith until our lives are one again."

A little smile of hope softened Barnabas' features, and he slid his fingers into the watch pocket of his vest to pull out the flat cardboard game piece. "Dream of me Julia, whenever you look out upon a snow covered wood at night, dream of my dark eyes full of desire for you, dream of me warming you with my passion, dream of my voice whispering love into your ear." He pressed the 'dream man' into her curled fingers. "Look at this image of me and dream of nights with me by candlelight, the feel of my lips upon your body, the warm caress of my hands exciting you, sharing our most intimate moments." He kissed her fingers wrapped around the cardboard image of the dark-haired man. "Dream of me, Julia, and know that I love you with an intensity that will last for eternity. Allow your dreams of me to carry you to the destiny of our meeting, and carry you through until we unite." He kissed her closed fingers one last time and gently laid her hand upon her chest as he stood. "When you awaken, open your hand and look upon my face, and know that I am not a dream -- but your future."

A nurse entered the room then and said, "We got hold of Wyndcliffe, and let them know Dr. Hoffman has been in an accident. Is there anyone else you'd like for us to call for you, a ride or a tow truck?"

"No, thank you, I've already made my arrangements." He pulled on his Inverness and felt the weight of the red glass skull swing against his leg. With one last look at Julia's youthful face, Barnabas left the hospital room and searched for a quiet, private place for what he had to do, and he found it at the end of the hall in a laundry closet. Holding the glass skull in his bandaged left hand, he took a deep breath, hoping the awakened spirit within would obey him again. He chanted the words told to him by David, and concentrated on the image of Collinwood and of his Julia's face -- Collinwood -- Ben in his arms -- THEIR time -- Julia -- The power of the skull awoke, and the red glass began to glow molten orange in his hand, and as he cried out through gritted teeth, "So mote it be!" the bandages on his hand burst into flames -- and he staggered through the membrane separating time.

______________________

Barnabas took a deep, panicked breath to scream out in pain -- and found he was standing in the foyer of Collinwood with his infant son clutched to his chest. The baby was peacefully asleep against his wildly pounding heart, warm -- and dry. Barnabas looked at his hand, and there was no bandage, no burns, no glass skull, only his wide wedding band and onyx ring. He stood momentarily stunned, until the sound of voices from the drawing room sounded an alarm in his mind.

"Please!" Amy was entreating Julia to play the Dream Man game, and Barnabas heard her ask if Julia ever dreamed about the handsome doctor she used to know.

"No, ACTUALLY, I didn't."

Barnabas strode to the drawing room just as Julia was reaching for the game piece that Amy offered, and he quickly did the only thing he knew would stop her from touching the trigger that initiated Angelique's rift in time. Begging, "Forgive me, Ben!" he pinched the baby's bottom.

The baby suddenly let out an uncharacteristic wail and instantly began whimpering as if brokenhearted. Julia immediately twisted around to locate her baby, the game forgotten, the baby the most important thing to his protective mother.

"Julia!" Barnabas walked up behind her as she rose from the sofa to take her tiny son into her arms. "I believe that Ben is hungry." She failed to notice the blush of guilt that put a spot of color on each of Barnabas' cheeks, as she cuddled the sweet smelling baby's head into the curve of her throat and crooned softly to soothe him. Barnabas accompanied her to the privacy of the study, where he watched her offer nourishment and comfort to his grateful son.

"Julia," Barnabas asked in a gently teasing tone, "Did you ever have a dream man?"

She smiled, and her luminous eyes rose from the suckling baby's sweet face to his father's enraptured gaze. "Yes," she whispered.

"Should I be jealous?" he continued softly, his expression tender.

"I believe it was a premonition of you."

"Oh?"

"When we first met, I felt as if I had known you before, but couldn't quite place where or how. You were almost the twin to someone I had dreamed about for a very long time."

"Really? Almost?"

_______________________

epilogue

She yawned and stretched her aching body after a deliciously refreshing daydream of seduction. She pulled her hood up to cover her face and proceeded along to her destination of the great passageway, where mirrors lined the rock walls, edge to edge. She carried with her the tools of her menial new task, and she carried them close within the folds of her volumous skirts, hiding them as much as possible from the curious eyes of all she passed. Only the muted sloshing sound and occasional drips on the floor gave away her hidden purpose. She would have chosen to turn down a little traveled corridor, but her agenda was planned out, leaving her no choices of her own. And besides -- one of the lesser spirits was assigned to keep her at her task, with orders to use its prickly spines should she balk. She set down her bucket and rubbed her hip where a fit of pouting got her a spiny prodding earlier.

She dipped her hand into the deep bucket to fish out the heavy squeegee and began cleaning one of the large mirrors set in the rock wall of the main passageway. As she stretched up, her sleeve fell back to reveal the age spots on her hands, and her hood fell back uncovering the image she had traded her soul centuries ago to change for beauty and power. Looking back at her from the dark mirror were small, drab gray eyes set much too closely together over a prominent nose, thin lips and sharp chin, a pinched mean face sheltered under a ledge of deep, vertical creases between her colorless eyebrows that spoke of a mean spirit. She looked into that angry reflected image and growled a growl full of indignation, offended ego, and plans to get even -- then she yelped as the prickle of spines on her other hip urged her to her chore.

She shot a look of pure vengence at the gloating imp, before the squeak of the squeegee on glass once again punctuated the silence. A glance down Hell's endless passageways at the work ahead of her brought another growl and petulant whisper from Angelique's tight lips, "What a bore!"

The end

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