Part Three

by Doreen Grégoire

For a moment Julia was speechless. Her strange visitor waited patiently while she found her voice.

"Vampirism? It's something you see on old movies on television, or read about in fiction. There are no vampires." Julia was gradually becoming convinced that perhaps Collins' sanity was in question, as well as his peculiar blood.

"And yet the proof stands before you." He held his arms out from his sides, then let them drop. "How can you deny what your own senses and indeed, your training, tell you? It is not possible for a normal human to have blood like mine and survive. But, here I am." He saw her struggling with his revelation. "I assure you, I am not mad. I am here for your services as a physician. I do not need a psychiatrist."

Julia's intensely practical nature would not let her give in this easily. "But there must be some logical, scientific explanation for what you've shown me -- a new virus, perhaps or maybe --"

"No, doctor. Please do not try to fabricate something out of the realms of science. I am a vampire." The last four words were said with a quiet, definite emphasis on each syllable.

"All right. Suppose you really are a vampire. Why the ruse? Why masquerade as someone with a rare blood disease?"

He smiled sadly. "If I had told the truth immediately, would you have believed me?"

She shook her head. "No, I suppose not. But, why are you here?"

Collins' expression became bleak, and his voice was so quiet she almost had to strain to hear what he said. "I need your help."

She stooped to pick up the stethoscope she had dropped earlier and crossed her arms in front of her. "Why? Aren't vampires supposed to be immortal? What could you possibly need a human doctor for?"

"Dr. Hoffman, do you have any idea what it's like, not to be able to walk in the sunlight or watch a sunset? To know that I will outlive all those I hold dear?" His face took on an expression of distaste. "To crave, to thirst for a sustenance others find abhorrent? And to take it in a manner that is totally repugnant to me? To know that if others knew my true nature, they would flee from me in terror?" He turned away from her and stared out the window. "I was a man once, many years ago. Through my foolishness and pride I was cursed by a jealous witch and condemned to the non-life that is my existence." He paused for a moment. "I want to live again, doctor, not merely survive. I want to live, knowing that I will grow old and die as other men." He was silent again, staring out at the dark storm raging outside the window. At last he turned back to her. "And you are my only hope."

His despair moved her as nothing else could. She walked over to him and put a comforting hand on his arm. "All right, Mr. Collins. I'll accept your case. But first, I'll need a little more information."

The relief in his smile was intense. "Thank you, doctor. And please, call me Barnabas."

* * * * *

The soul in the void watched their efforts over the following months with great interest. Her Julia could list being a gifted researcher along with her many other talents. For obvious reasons Julia undertook this project herself, not daring to trust something so bizarre to one of her staff. She spent more and more of her time in the lab late at night, long after the technicians had left. Sometimes Barnabas would join her to check on her progress, or simply to keep her company during the long, lonely night hours.

Out of this association a fragile friendship began to grow. Barnabas began to see Julia as someone with whom he could be himself, and not have to invent stories to hide his true nature. He began to perceive that under her professional exterior, there was a woman with a sharp wit and a sense of humour that, when she chose to let it free, could have them both laughing helplessly. However, she very rarely let this side of herself be seen. More often than not, if she sensed him getting too close to the invisible barrier she erected around herself, she would retreat behind a solid wall of cool professionalism.

A time came, several months after she first undertook the project, when Julia's efforts came to a standstill. It happened that Barnabas chose that night to visit, and he came upon her in the lab, her copious notes strewn about her on the counter and stacked untidily on the floor. She looked up when she heard him with eyes that were red with fatigue. She tossed the sheaf of papers she held in her hand onto one of the piles on the floor and massaged her neck wearily.

"I've gone over these notes ten times, and I still feel like I'm missing something," she complained. "Yet I've covered every possibility. I just don't know what else I can do."

"Perhaps you have been working too hard on the problem." He noted her fatigue and raised an eyebrow in question. "When was the last time you allowed yourself to relax?"

She was momentarily nonplussed by this sudden change in topic. "Relax? I don't know." She considered for a moment. "I sleep a few hours each night. What else do I need?"

"Dr. Hoffman -- Julia, there is more to life than work. My desire to become human again is not so great that I would push you to exhaustion. Come for a walk with me."

She looked up sharply at his first use of her given name. "A walk? Now?" As if alerted to the possible change in activity, her neck and back muscles started to ache in earnest. She stood and stretched. "All right. A walk would probably do me good."

They exited the building into the warm spring night and strolled down a path towards the cliff the hospital had been named for. A gentle breeze drifted in off the ocean, bringing with it the tangy scents of salt, sea, and burgeoning life. Somewhere an owl hooted high in one of the many spruce trees that dotted the grounds of the hospital and its mate answered from another tree nearby.

They walked in silence for several minutes until they reached the cliff. The builders of the sanitarium had erected a high stone wall with an iron gate. It was ostensibly to prevent inmates from gaining access to the sea in inclement weather, especially if they were judged unfit to brave the icy waters of the Atlantic, but also to prevent them from flinging themselves off the high cliff to the rocky beach below. When Julia acquired the property she chained the gate so it was permanently open and installed a less imposing chain-link gate, purely for safety reasons. Now the iron gate was partially obscured by the ivy that clambered over and through it onto the wall beyond.

The path continued on through the gate and down a stairway that had been cut into the rock, down to the beach. There it turned so it went alongside the cliff face for the length of the property, a good quarter mile. At the end of the path a bench faced the sea, where Julia and Barnabas decided to sit for a while before returning up the cliff path to the hospital again.

Julia put her hands in the pockets of her sweater, leaned back and stretched her legs out in front of her with a sigh. It really did feel good to get away for a while. She closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the feel of the breeze caressing her face.

"The night has so many beautiful things in it. It has a peace, a mystery, yet it also surrounds and protects." His voice was soft, thoughtful. "How many people fear the night for the terrors they imagine it hides? Yet they forget it also enfolds and hides them as well."

She opened her eyes and gazed at the reflected moonlight on the water. "True, but it also brings out things in people that they would never admit to in broad daylight." Unbidden, an image of Stan came to mind and she shivered involuntarily.

Barnabas noticed her discomfort and turned to her. "Are you cold?" He started to remove his jacket to loan her, but she shook her head.

"No. Just an unwanted thought." For her the peaceful mood had been spoiled and she started to rise to begin the walk back.

"Julia, wait." He put out his hand to stop her. "There is still time yet. Can you not sit for a while and talk?"

She sat back and again gazed out at the sea. "About what?"

"I have told you a great deal about myself -- how I was cursed, about my family, about my travels. Yet I know nothing about you."

She shrugged. "I don't like to talk about myself to my patients." She almost immediately regretted her words, especially when she saw the hurt look on his handsome face.

"I had hoped that I was more than a mere patient by now," he said softly.

She turned to him. "I apologize, Barnabas. That was uncalled for. It's just that there are too many things that I would just as soon forget."

He reached out and tucked a stray lock of flame-red hair behind her ear, then let his hand rest on her shoulder. "You have been hurt," he said gently.

She moved away to the other end of the bench; whether it was from his touch, or from his perceptive comment, she was unsure. "It was a long time ago. I'd rather not talk about it."

If he was offended by her sudden retreat he made no mention of it. Instead he was immediately contrite. "Now it is my turn to apologize. I did not mean to pry. Forgive me."

She lifted her gaze from the pebbles at her feet and offered him a wan smile. "There's nothing to forgive. You couldn't have known."

They sat for several more minutes in silence before starting back up the cliff to the hospital. The companionable mood had been, if not shattered, at least chipped, and neither knew how to bring it back. Julia was not entirely sure she wanted it back. She had seen a side of Barnabas Collins tonight that she hadn't seen before, and it disturbed her on a deep inner level. He had always been the perfect gentleman. Tonight, however, he had shown her that he was also a man, and the thought frightened her. Again her brain conjured up an image of Stan, his fist raised in a drunken rage, and she recoiled mentally. After the divorce she had resolved never to allow anyone to come close enough to do that to her again. Tonight had only reminded her of her resolution.

They bid each other a somewhat strained good night, after which Julia went to bed. But her sleep was far from restful. She tossed and turned, still going over her notes for the formula, searching, even in her sleep, for the one thing she seemed to be missing.

* * * * *

TO BE CONTINUED.

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