|
1840 RE-WRITE: By Nancybe
|
 |
Setting: Ben and Julia have brought the dying Roxanne to the Old House, but Barnabas finds the young woman there. Before he can bite Roxanne again, Julia calls out his name to stop him. She tells him what he wants to do is wrong and to leave Roxanne alone. Enraged, Barnabas advances on her with fangs bared. "You will not interfere again!" he shouts as he goes for Julia's neck. (Episodes 1116 and 1117.)
*~*~*
She had once offered herself to him in this way. She had once wanted him to hold her like this, to pierce her neck and share her blood. But now - now this was not her Barnabas; this was a stranger to her, a stranger who held her in a vice, whose sharp fangs were brutalizing the flesh of her throat.
"Barnabas, no!" She tried to scream at him, to make him understand, but he was draining her of her strength, of her willpower. She had imagined that this act between them would be intimate, erotic, but it was as cold and ruthless as Tom Jennings's first attack on her. This was nothing but violence. Violence, rage - and murder.
She did not hear Barnabas's sudden moans or feel him release his hold on her as he sank to the floor. She did not know he had ceased his attack on her; she was too consumed by the vortex that sent her spiraling into her own darkness, cold and alone.
*~*~*
He slowly opened his eyes, dreading that he would find himself confined in a dark box that dripped with dank water and smelled like the grave. Relieved when he realized he was in a bedroom instead of a coffin, he was even more grateful when he recognized the room as one in his own house. But his relief soon turned to horror when he saw the woman who lay crumpled and still on the floor near him.
"Julia!"
His voice was full of anguish, her name issuing from his mouth like the howl of a wounded animal. He quickly turned her head to one side, willing his eyes not to see what he knew he would find.
"No! No, it can't be!"
The gash on her throat was ragged and raw. Bright streams of blood ran like a river down to the collar of her dress, soaking it and pooling there like a crimson scarf. This was not the bite of a vampire who had only sought the sustenance he needed to survive; this was the vicious attack of a maddened creature bent on death and revenge.
And he knew without a doubt that the maddened creature must have been Barnabas Collins. Him. He had done this to Julia.
She looked like nothing more than a rag doll thrown to the floor by a ill-tempered child. He laid a gentle hand against her pale cheek, desperately looking for signs of life.
"Julia, Julia can you hear me? You must. You must. I can't have killed you. I can't. Not you."
He put his head on her chest to listen for a heartbeat. Slow, but still there. A rhythm.a rhythm that made the blood grow warm and pulse in his veins. Julia's blood. For though it was his other self that had attacked her, he now had possession of that body. And Julia's blood flowed through him.
She was now a part of him; her blood was his blood. And with each beat of her heart, it was .singing. to him:
I love you. I love you, Barnabas. I have always loved you. No matter who or what you are. I love you
For the first time, he understood her love for him, a love so deep and committed that it seemed to flow through her very blood. So deep that she was the only one in his life who had ever totally accepted him. Even those who had loved him the most in his own time - his mother, Sarah, Josette - had rejected him or what he had become once he had been cursed. Only Julia had loved him - man, monster or something in-between - through it all.
Barnabas brought a shaking hand up to shield his face. He knew now that his existence since his release in the 20th century had been worthless, his "quest" for a replacement for his lost love a sham. But he could not dwell on that now; it no longer mattered. He could think of nothing but saving Julia. Gathering her in his arms, he sought to lay her on the bed before registering that another woman occupied it already.
Roxanne.
Not long ago, his heart would have ached seeing the young redhead lying there like the fabled Sleeping Beauty. But now he easily dismissed her from his mind, his thoughts only of Julia.
He turned toward the door to find another bedroom where he could begin to take care of her.
*~*~*
He had watched Julia tend to patients enough times to know what he had to do. He carefully tucked her into a bed, knowing it was important to keep her warm after having succeeded in staunching the flow of blood from her neck wound. He had done all he could for her, and there was nothing else that even a doctor in this time period could do to help her. He would have to wait and see what happened, whether Julia would live or die.
Kneeling by the side of the bed, Barnabas tenderly brushed her hair back from her face, noticing how cool her skin was to the touch. He pulled the covers tightly around her once again and took hold of her hand.
"You must live, Julia. You must fight. I could not bear it if I was responsible for your death. When I saw your grave in 1970.oh, why was I too late?"
The words caught in his throat. He stopped and fought for control, laying his heavy head against her hand before regaining his voice.
"Julia, I never truly understood before. Since I was released from my coffin, my life has been based on a dream, something that didn't really exist. I didn't know.Julia, please, I can't-"
He stumbled on the words, vaguely aware that someone had entered the room. He looked up at the large, shambling figure that could only be one person.
"Ben!"
"Mr. Barnabas, what happened? I told you not to hurt her! She's a friend!"
The vampire turned back to the woman in the bed. "I know that, Ben." His voice, quiet, tortured, sent a chill through his manservant. "I was too late. Too late."
"You're not the same," the old man commented, a little in awe. He'd heard the woman's incredible story, but he hadn't totally believed it until now. "She was tellin' the truth, wasn't she? You've come back from the future, ain'tcha?"
"Yes, Ben," he said, his eyes never leaving Julia's still face. "But not in time to stop .myself.. from hurting her. Oh Ben, she has to live!" A sob shook his stooped frame as he once more laid his dark head against Julia's hand.
With growing amazement, Ben Stokes watched the man who had been his master for so long. The only Barnabas Collins he had known had regarded this woman as an enemy and had wanted to kill her on sight. Now, this Barnabas Collins was petrified that he was going to lose her. The truth was plain on the man's grief-stricken face, evident in his tormented voice.
"Ya love her, dontcha, Mr. Barnabas?"
Barnabas slowly raised his head to gaze upon the face of the woman who had sacrificed everything for his sake. His lips curved into the slightest of smiles. How had he been fortunate enough to have had the most loyal of servants in all the centuries in which he had existed - Ben in the 1700s, Willie in the 1900s, and now Ben again in the 1800s? And why were they always so wise?
"Yes, Ben," he answered, his now calm voice surprising them both. "I do."