“Enough already!” an agitated Willie Loomis yelled as he brought one grimy arm up to wipe away the sweat that stung his eyes. He stepped back from the antique chair that Barnabas had made him move for oh, about the twentieth time in the last hour, and glared at his employer.

“Really, Willie, it is only a chair. It cannot be that difficult to reposition it,” Barnabas said with impatience. In contrast to the younger man, Collins, as always, looked cool and collected with nary a hair out of place. Willie wondered how he did it.

“I ain’t just talkin’ about the chair, Barnabas.”

“Oh, to what else could you possibly be referring?”

“You really don’t know?”

“No, Willie, and I am tiring of your obtuseness.” Barnabas’ tone was becoming icier by the moment.

“By my what? Oh hell, never mind. I’m referring to your attitude, Barnabas,” the handyman said in exasperation.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Willie. There is nothing wrong with my attitude. Your attitude, on the other hand, has grown increasingly uncooperative.”

“Uncooperative? You gotta be kiddin’ me! You’ve had me draggin’ this sh-, uh, stuff, around this room for hours now. And have I complained? Have I said ‘boo’? No. I’ve done what you want, and what do you do? Do you say, ‘Thank you, Willie’ or ‘Good job, Willie’? Nah, you just keep barkin’ orders at me - just like you used to.”

The young man stopped his tirade and ran a shaky hand through his already mussed hair. He was afraid he had gone too far, but he was trying to make a point. He watched with more than a little trepidation as Barnabas visibly bristled at his words.

“You are approaching insubordination, Willie.” There were times when Willie could have sworn that he could smell anger emanating from Barnabas Collins. It reminded him of the smell of flint before it is used to light a fire. He supposed he had an overactive imagination, but Willie thought he detected that smell now.

“Aw, Barnabas, why don’t you just admit what is really botherin’ you? Why do I always have to play Jiminy Cricket to your Pinocchio?”

“Play what to my what?”

“Be your conscience, Barnabas, your conscience! Sheesh, haven’t you ever heard of Walt Disney? Never mind, don’t answer that.”

“My conscience? Why would I need you as my conscience?” Collins sneered.

“Because you have this bad habit of not always knowin’ your own mind, of not knowin’ what’s best for you-”

“Willie-” Barnabas growled.

Willie shrank back a little at the tone and was infinitely grateful that the wolf’s head cane was not readily available. Still, he refused to back down.

“Barnabas, why doncha just admit that you miss Julia?” he challenged.

“Julia?” Collins tried to make her name sound casual on his tongue, but Willie was not fooled; he had seen his friend flinch when he had mentioned the doctor’s name.

“Yeah, Julia, you know, your friend? The gutsy lady who’s saved your bacon more times than either of us can count? When’s the last time you saw her, huh?”

The older man lowered his gaze, turning slightly away. “Really, Willie-”

“You didn’t answer my question, Barnabas,” Willie persisted, knowing he had found his mark. “When’s the last time you saw Julia?”

“It’s been…several weeks.”

Barnabas had begun to worry his hands, a sure sign that he was troubled, and his actions were not lost on Willie. Now they were getting somewhere.

“Yeah, several weeks, and it shows, Barnabas, it shows.” Loomis let his words hang in the air.

Collins turned back toward him, once again making eye contact. “What do you mean?”

There was a time when that ominous tone would have sent Willie Loomis heading for the hills, but no longer. He’d had enough of his friend’s moodiness and depression. He’d scratched Barnabas’ wound, and now he was going to tear it wide open.

Willie crossed to the doorway to where Barnabas stood and looked up into the dark face. Collins was a bigger man than Willie - taller and stronger - and Willie was also painfully aware that Barnabas exuded an aura of power especially when he was angry. The young man could feel that power envelop him now; it was like being caught in the electric charge of a thunderstorm.

“I mean, Barnabas, that you’re actin’ like you did when I first knew you.” He had almost said when I first let you out but felt it prudent not to remind either of them of that. “Before Julia came and tried to cure you. Before the two of you became friends, and she helped you, well, feel human again - even when you weren’t.”

There, he’d said it. It had taken every ounce of courage his scrawny body possessed, but he had lit the flame. Now he took a step backward and waited for the explosion.

To his surprise, it never came. Barnabas Collins walked past him, stopping to stare out of the window he had made Willie clean three times before he was satisfied with its clarity.

Loomis exhaled the breath he did not know he had been holding. “Barnabas?” he asked softly. “Ain’t ya gonna say anything?”

The 18^th century gentleman bowed his head and contemplated his steepled fingers. “You’re right, Willie. I do miss Julia.”

Willie was amazed at the change in his friend. He had gone from a tyrant to a sad, pathetic figure in just a few moments. It was not the first time that the tragedy of Barnabas Collins’ life had tugged at Willie’s heart, and he was filled with the need to help his friend.

“Then why doncha go to Collinwood to see her? Make things like they used to be between ya?”

“Julia seems to have abandoned me for other pursuits, Willie. Ever since we returned to the present, she has been busy at Wyndcliffe. I’m sure you’ve noticed that she hasn’t stopped by the Old House in some time.”

There it was again, the old Barnabas Collins’ persecution complex! You’ve betrayed me! How many times had Willie heard this litany? A measure of his empathy dissolved into anger. How self-centered could this guy be anyway?

“You gotta be kiddin’ me, Barnabas!”

The outburst caused the older man to turn around and stare at him.

“Have you forgotten how you’ve been actin’ since you came back from 1840? You spent the first few weeks mopin’ around because Angelique died-” Willie continued in spite of Barnabas’ dangerous glower - “And when Julia did come by, that’s all you could talk about. And since then, you’ve spent all your time takin’ walks and,” he stopped to wave a hand around the room, “workin’ with me on more restoration of the Old House. You wouldn’t exactly win the Miss Congeniality Award at the Miss America Contest, Barnabas.”

Barnabas’ expression was an almost comical mixture of anger, thoughtfulness and confusion (Willie was sure this last emotion was the result of his Miss Congeniality crack; modern references like that annoyed Collins to no end which only served to delight Willie Loomis), and the younger man decided it was time to leave Barnabas alone with his thoughts.

“I need a break,” he said diplomatically, wiping his dusty hands on his pants. “I’m goin’ downstairs for a glass of lemonade.”

Left alone, Barnabas surveyed the bedroom he and Willie had spent the last few days renovating. Chairs and a vanity were still placed at odd angles around the room, draperies waiting to be hung spilled from an open box on the floor, and several of Willie’s tools lay helter skelter on various surfaces. The air in the room retained a stale quality despite their efforts at opening the windows for fresh air.

Willie had been right about one thing: Barnabas had thrown himself headlong into further changes throughout his home. He had returned from 1840 with additional ideas on restoring the mansion and had pursued the oversight of the endeavor with a fervor that had exhausted Willie. As he looked around this room, he realized for the first time that although this had kept him busy, he had derived very little real pleasure from the project.

Had Willie been right in the rest of his accusations? Had he spent the balance of the year “moping” around, cutting himself off from everyone? Had he, in fact, driven Julia away?

He had indeed been miserable following Angelique’s death. Julia had tried to console him, but he could tell it had been difficult for her. And why shouldn’t it have been? In addition to their sordid history, Angelique had tried to turn Julia into one of the Living Dead just weeks before she herself had died. Julia had every reason in the world to despise his late wife.

It was on the long walks that Willie had mentioned that Barnabas had finally come to terms with his feelings surrounding Angelique’s death. After his initial period of mourning, it had not taken him long to realize that his admission of love for her had been a mistake. He had developed several theories on why his emotions had become so confused, theories that he needed to discuss with Julia, but the two of them had become estranged by then. He had never shared his change of heart with her. For all she knew, he was still grieving over the loss of his wife, a woman (witch) who had been Julia’s greatest enemy.

No wonder she never came to the Old House anymore.

And yet Barnabas knew that in spite of her hurt, if he needed her to help again to protect his family, Julia would be there for him. But Elizabeth’s “warm and cozy winter” had melted into a serene spring. Julia did not need to be at his side to fight all those who had seemed to threaten Collinwood in times past. This looked to be the calm for which he had yearned for so many years.

So why was there such turbulence in his soul?

Willie had said that Barnabas was missing Julia, that he had been acting as he had before Julia had come into his life. And Willie had implied that without Julia, he had reverted back, at least emotionally, to the creature that had first emerged into this century. That thought made him shudder.

But it had been Willie who had made him first admit so long ago how much Julia really meant to him:

Perhaps he really did need Willie to be his conscience. The thought made him shake his head in amazement.

“Go to Collinwood, Barnabas.”

He started at the sound of Willie’s voice in the quiet bedroom; so deep had he been in thought that he had not heard him re-enter the room.

“Go see Julia.”

The path between Collinwood and the Old House was dappled with the cool spring sunshine. His heart felt lighter than it had since his first foray into the daylight in 1840. He and Julia had been through more together than most people had experienced in their nightmares. They had a bond that could withstand more than this argument. Willie was right; Barnabas needed her friendship, and he was sure she needed his as well.

He shook his head again at the thought of Willie functioning as his conscience. He’d have to make sure to ask Julia about this Cricket person Willie had mentioned.

As he strode with renewed confidence into the sunlit foyer of his cousins’ home, a rich voice called to him from the drawing room.

“Barnabas! How good to see you.”

“Lovely to see you, Elizabeth, Roger.” He glanced quickly around the room, disappointed that the face he sought was not there.

“Barnabas, where have you been keeping yourself? We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“I’m sorry about that, Roger. I’ve been quite occupied with the renovations at the Old House.”

“Well, we’ve been a little worried about you, haven’t we, Roger?”

“I must admit that we have been concerned, Barnabas. I hope that you are going to take a break from your restoration plans and rejoin the land of the living?”

The former vampire smiled at his cousin’s remark; it was more correct that Roger could ever know.

“Oh yes, I think you’ll be seeing much more of me from now on. May I ask if Julia is at home?”

The look brother and sister exchanged did not go unnoticed by their guest who tried to suppress the unease that suddenly blossomed in his chest.

“Why no, Barnabas, she isn’t.”

“Do you know if she will be home soon? She is tied up with her responsibilities at Wyndcliffe, I assume.”

The matron of Collinwood stole another uncomfortable glance at her brother before replying. “I thought she would have told you, Barnabas. Julia is in San Francisco.”

Part Four