by Terry S. Bowers

Shaking off the pain, the nausea and dizziness, Barnabas forced his eyes to open. It was dark. Miraculously there was no fire to further endanger them. He didn't stop to wonder why. Commanding his limbs to work, he got to his hands and knees, crawling in the direction he'd heard Julia's moans. He ignored - or rather did not feel - the shattered glass and broken debris cutting his skin; was not aware of the blood trail he left as he slowly moved toward Julia. He only cared about reaching her, about helping her.

His vision blurry but adjusted to the dim light of the cellar, Barnabas groped around near where he thought he'd heard Julia's cry, finally spotting a flash of the blue and white dress she'd been wearing under her white lab coat.

"Julia!"

He moved closer, blood roaring in his ears, heart pounding in his throat. He continued his search, finally spotting her beneath the jagged remains of what had been her supply cabinet. The wood and glass had splintered, the debris resting on top of her.

"Julia! I'm coming!"

Wiping sweat and tears from his eyes, smearing blood across his face, Barnabas crawled to where she lay beneath the wreckage, meeting her eyes as they opened slowly.

"Julia, I'm here."

She smiled gently and reached up to take his hand, the blood from a cut on her arm trickling down to mingle with the blood on his fingers. He held her hand tightly.
"Let me go for help, Julia."

"No. It ... won't matter, Barnabas."

"Tell me what to do."

"There's ... too much damage."

"Julia, no, I shan't allow it to end like this. Not in this manner."

"Neither you - nor I - have any say in it now, Barnabas."

She gasped in deep pain and closed her eyes, her hand clutching his tightly. Slowly she opened her eyes again and met his gaze, smiling tenderly as the tears mingled with the smeared blood. She squeezed his hand as hard as her ebbing strength would allow, swallowed once, and gasped in pain again.

"Julia..."

Barnabas moved closer, removing some of the debris and easing an arm under her shoulders, lifting her so he could hold her to him. Julia looked up to meet his eyes and smiled, telling him with her gaze all she had never been able to voice.

"Barnabas..."

She took a deep breath then slowly closed her eyes, her head falling to rest on his chest.
"Julia!... no! Julia!"

He began to shake her by the shoulders but knew it to be a useless attempt. Julia was gone - taken from him just as... just as everyone else he had ever loved was so cruelly taken from him.

"No, Julia... no."

The tears streamed freely down his face, dripping from his chin to fall onto Julia's hair. He bent down carefully, holding her close, placing a kiss on her mouth.

Distantly he could hear loud voices, people calling to him, to Julia, and finally hurried footsteps on the cellar stairs. They were coming to search for them - for survivors. There were none.

Standing silently by himself at Julia Hoffman's grave side, Barnabas was only vaguely aware of what the minister was saying. He was only aware of the fact he had survived and Julia had not. His own injuries were nothing. A mild concussion, sore muscles, cuts and bruises. Once more he continued to exist while Julia... was dead. Had he been standing where Julia was, their places would be reversed. She would be standing here, beside his coffin, listening to a minister she did not know recite the traditional funeral rites and spout sentiments which had no relevance to his life nor to who he was - had been, just as he was doing now for Julia.

Glancing down at the single red rose he held, Barnabas stepped forward, and with a trembling hand, placed the flower on top of Julia's coffin. Around him, other mourners did the same with various types and colors of flowers. The minister said the final prayer, the mourners filed respectfully past, and Barnabas remained. Behind him he distantly heard someone ask if he had spoken, if he had said anything. He had not. There was nothing to say - not to them.

Stepping closer to the casket, Barnabas again reached out a trembling hand and placed it on the smooth, satin-like finish. He closed his eyes, picturing in his mind Julia, alive and well, smiling at him, laughing with him... loving him unconditionally. He pulled in a sob of sorrow and opened his eyes.

"I do not accept this fate for you, Julia. Nor for myself. This is not right. I shall find some way to correct this, to alter events and bring you back ... to me. You have my word."

He had always kept his word to Julia. He would not break it now.

"Barnabas,... it's time to go."

He felt Elizabeth's gentle hand on his arm and allowed her to turn him from the coffin, and lead him away. Had she heard his promise to Julia? It did not matter.

Elizabeth, Carolyn and Stokes looked up as Roger Collins entered the drawing room. He met each gaze silently then poured himself a stiff brandy. When it was half gone he turned to face the others in the room, knowing the question none would ask.

"He seems to be resting quietly. It's hard to tell."

"He lost someone very dear to him."

"That too would be hard to tell by the way he treated her at times, Liz. You'd think Julia was nothing more to him than a ... casual acquaintance he'd struck up a meaningless conversation with in order to pass the time of day."

"That's hardly fair, Uncle Roger! We don't know what kind of relationship they had when others weren't present!"

"Has he said anything at all?"

Elizabeth met Stokes' gaze, then sadly shook her head negatively.

"He... was speaking to Julia at the grave side today, Eliot, but otherwise, he's said nothing."

Stokes nodded, silently contemplating the possibilities of how this tragedy might affect his friend.

"Hmmmm, I see. Have the police determined the cause of the explosion?"

"A faulty connection on the generator Julia was using for light in that wretched cellar. What they were doing there has yet to be determined."

"Does it really matter now, Roger?"

"No, I suppose it doesn't, Liz."

"I only wish there were something more we could do for him. He seems so ... sad and alone."

"He will come to us and tell us what he wants - what he needs - when he is ready, Carolyn. We cannot force anything right now."

Carolyn nodded, remembering all too well how she had felt when Jeb died. She turned her gaze toward Professor Stokes when he spoke again.

"Has anyone been contacted about the dispersal of Julia's estate?"

"Julia once told me... Barnabas was to see to her affairs in the event of her death, Eliot."

"What nonsense. These matters should be left in the hands of professionals, of ... lawyers, not those... who may not be thinking clearly."

"I agree, Roger, but I also understand why Julia asked Barnabas to do this. They knew each other so very well."

Roger grunted in disapproval and poured himself another drink. Silence settled over the room as those gathered there each wondered - individually - about Barnabas Collins' emotional state, each re-affirming their own private belief that Julia had meant far more to Barnabas than he had ever admitted - to them, to her, and probably to himself.

Upstairs, Barnabas was not resting quietly. He stood by the window of his room at Collinwood - because Elizabeth insisted he not go home to the Old House - the site of Julia's death - just yet. He needed his family about him. Rather than argue, Barnabas allowed them to fuss over him, knowing the one thing he truly needed was Julia - alive and well - beside him again.

He closed his eyes and choked back a sob, unable to prevent himself from feeling - yet again - the wave of guilt which swept over him. Had they not been in the cellar using that generator, had he not been so .... stubborn about modernizing the house,... had he but asked someone to check the generator to be certain it was in proper working order.... the explosion would not have occurred; Julia would still be with him. And he could only swallow hard, re-affirming his determination to somehow correct this injustice, to return Julia to the life which had been so abruptly taken from her, to alter the succession of events.

Barnabas knew it was complete arrogance on his part - to decide on his own whether it had been Julia's time to die or not, but he knew it to be a mistake on every level of his being - intellectually, consciously, sub-consciously, emotionally, instinctively. Everything was telling him Julia's death was wrong. He had to - somehow - correct it.

Taking a deep breath he turned from the window and sat in the high-backed chair beside the table and lamp. Barnabas closed his eyes, thinking of what he could do.

That evening Barnabas used an upstairs telephone to call Eliot Stokes and arranged to meet him at the Old House. He then told Elizabeth he needed some air and was going for a walk. She gave him an indulgent smile and watched after him until the front door closed.

Stokes found Barnabas at the top of the cellar stairs, just standing there. He cleared his throat, not wanting to startle Barnabas, then spoke.

"Good evening, Barnabas."

Slowly Collins turned to face his guest, moving from the top of the stairs and closing the door behind him.

"I... was unable to go down there, Eliot, unable to face..."

"Perhaps it is too soon, Barnabas. You will know when the time is right."

Barnabas shook his head slowly as he walked toward the drawing room and mechanically lit the candles.

"I do not believe that time shall ever come.... Eliot, I asked you to meet me here because... I should like your assistance."

"In what, Barnabas?"

"The I-Ching. I intend to go back and prevent Julia's death."

"Barnabas..."

Collins held up his hand to stop the professor's protest and met Stokes' gaze firmly.

"I am determined to do this, Eliot. I should like your assistance, should like you to watch over my physical body, but if you cannot or will not, I shall understand. It will not, however, prevent me from attempting this."

"I hardly know what to say, Barnabas. Julia's death was a tragic accident, but... to attempt alterations of..."

"I know all the hazards and repercussions there may be, Eliot, but, as you said, Julia's death was an accident. One that should never have happened. One I can prevent if allowed to try."

"Have you given thought to your motives for attempting this, Barnabas?"

"I have."

Barnabas said no more, his expression revealing nothing but deep loss. Silence hung between the two men for several long moments, then Stokes nodded reluctantly.

"Very well, Barnabas. As it is safest to have someone here guarding the physical form while the astral body is travelling, I shall help you. When do you plan to make your attempt?"

"This evening."

Collins had moved to the desk in the corner, opened a drawer, and removed the I-Ching wands from it. He turned to Stokes, who said nothing, but began to clear off a table. Barnabas placed the wands on the table, brought a chair over and met Eliot's gaze.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Barnabas threw the wands, arranged them in the hexagram, and took a seat. He began to concentrate, picturing a door with the hexagram on it. The door opened and Barnabas moved through it, to find himself....

||reaching for the switch on the generator, which would provide ||

||Julia the intense light she'd asked for in order to be certain ||

||they overlooked nothing in their search for a missing journal ||

||of Joshua Collins. Barnabas silently screamed at himself to ||

||stop but it was too late. The switch was activated and as he ||

||turned away, the explosion began... ||

"NO!"

Barnabas was shocked back to himself as he stood from the table, startling Stokes. He hurried to Collins' side, eyes wide, expression concerned.

"Barnabas....?"

"No.... Julia,... no..."

"Barnabas."

Stokes spoke firmly and placed his hand on Collins' arm. Barnabas slowly looked up, meeting his friend's troubled gaze.

"I... arrived too late, Eliot. I could not stop... I saw her...."

Barnabas shook his head, tears on his cheeks, unable to continue, and Eliot glanced down, truly sorry.

"I am sorry, Barnabas. Perhaps... Julia's death was..."

"No. I will never believe that, Eliot, will never accept that. I must try again."

"Barnabas..."

"I will do this, with or without your help, Eliot."

"I have promised you my assistance, and you shall have it, but... perhaps you should wait until tomorrow to make your next journey. You are tired. A new start in the morning may grant you the success you were deprived of this night."

He was a long time in answering, then Barnabas nodded slowly.

"You may be right, Eliot. I shall wait until morning to try again."

"I think that is wise... May I give you a ride back to Collinwood?"

"No, thank you, I .... wish to remain here for a time."

Doubting the wisdom of that choice, but knowing he had pushed Barnabas as far as he could that evening, Eliot nodded and placed his hand gently on Barnabas' shoulder.

"Of course. I shall see you in the morning, Barnabas. Good night."

"Good night, Eliot... Thank you."

Stokes nodded and saw himself out, leaving Barnabas standing alone in the drawing room.

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