SCENE 5
[The door to the storage room opened, and he went inside. Everything he needed was here. But he had to move quickly. The images were jumbled in his mind, and he had to put them down. Not all of them, really. Just one. One image that crowded his mind more than any other.]
[Soon the canvas was before him. Now he began to mix colors: bright orange and brilliant yellow. And reds. He knew he would need a lot of red to complete his vision.]
[It was time. All was prepared. He lifted his brush, making the first stroke on the canvas. A red slash appeared on the plain white field. More would follow. It would take hours to complete; he knew that. But he must complete his vision. Something was compelling him to paint. Maybe it had something to do with that oddly sweet smell in the air. It didn't matter. He continued to paint.]
SCENE 6
Maggie turned away from the table she had just served, her chestnut curls swinging. It was a busy night at the Blue Whale, and she certainly was in no mood to be pleasant. She was trying, but her patience was wearing thin.
She went to the bar to get drinks for table 3. Her father was drawing a beer from the tap, and called to her, "Maggie, can you take these to table 6, please?" She placed a drink she was preparing on her tray. "I'll get it in a minute," Maggie said sharply.
Sam put a hand on her arm. "Are you okay, Maggie? You've been in a lousy mood all night. It's not like you."
"I'm fine, Pop. Just fine." She turned away quickly. Too quickly. The glasses on her tray slid off, crashing to the floor. Frustrated, she grabbed a towel from the bar and bent to clean up the mess.
Her father came over and took the towel from her. "Leave it, Maggie," he said soothingly. "Just leave it." He pulled her to her feet. "Now, what is going on? Talk to me, Maggie."
She sighed. "I never could keep anything from you, Pop. I don't know why I even try." She looked her father. "I had a fight with Roger."
He rolled his eyes. "And that's what has you so upset? Hell, it's the best news I've heard all day."
His daughter frowned at him. "Thanks for the support, Pop." She took the towel back from him. "What do you have against Roger Collins anyway? You've always been down on him ever since I can remember."
"You were only twelve when Roger and Laura moved to England. You have no idea what type of man he is."
"So why don't you tell me? What happened back then that makes Roger such a bad person in your eyes?"
Suddenly Sam seemed to get very nervous. "Nothing. I just don't like him. Hi, George."
Maggie turned around to see Sheriff Patterson standing at the bar. "Evening, Sheriff," she said to him.
He held up his hand. "George, if you please, Maggie," he said with thick Maine accent. "I'm off-duty, just tryin' to relax a bit. Can I get a beer, Sam?"
"Sure thing, George." He took a mug from the cooler and held it under the tap. "There's an empty table," Sam pointed out. "Why don't you have a seat. Maggie'll bring this over to you."
George smiled. "Don't mind if I do. Thanks, Sam." He went to the table and sat down.
Maggie watched as he went. She liked George Patterson. She had known him for years, and they were friends. More importantly, he had never laughed at her psychic powers. She had even helped him on a couple of cases, and he always listened to her. But she wasn't about to give up the conversation with her father so easily. "Pop…"
Sam handed her the beer. "George is waiting," was all he said.
Knowing him well enough to realize he wasn't going to talk any more, she took the beer and headed to George's table. "Here you go, George."
"Thank ya, Maggie. Much appreciated," he smiled at her. She set it on the table. George reached for the mug, then realized Maggie hadn't taken her hand away yet. Glancing up, he saw Maggie staring into space, her face slack. It was a look George was familiar with. His face grew serious as he slowly rose to his feet. He spoke calmly so as not to break the vision. "Maggie, what is it? What do you see?"
"Fire," she responded, trying to get a sense of what she was seeing. "I see fire. People are running, trying to get away." The images kept coming. She began to see more detail. "A building is on fire. It seems very white. Almost antiseptic, like a hospital. The flames are everywhere. People are screaming." She saw something odd in her vision. "Except for one. A woman. I can only see her from behind. She has long blond hair. She seems to be laughing. I can hear her laughter. It's getting louder, almost maniacal. It's starting to drown out the screams. The flames keep getting higher, surrounding her. She is being engulfed by the fire, but the laughter keeps getting louder…" Maggie put her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sound only she could hear.
She went limp as the vision ended, only George's grip on her arm keeping her from collapsing to the floor. "Maggie, are you all right?" He sat her down in his chair.
The psychic shook her head to clear it. "I'll be fine. The images were just so…overwhelming. Just need to rest for a minute."
"You take your time." He patted her shoulder. Taking an empty chair from a nearby table, George sat across from her. "Maggie, what do you think your vision was about? The images you described don't mean anything to me."
Maggie looked at him. "They don't mean anything to me either. But for some reason I get the feeling it does mean something. Something very important."
Sheriff Patterson got a puzzled look on his face. "Are you wearing perfume, Maggie?"
She looked at him, oddly puzzled by the seeming non-sequitur. "No, I'm not. Why?"
"There seems to be a strange scent in the air. Can't you smell it? Kind of a sweet flowery smell."
Maggie sniffed the air. "You're right. It seems familiar." She sniffed again. "It's the scent of jasmine."
SCENE 7
Victoria lay in her bed, restless. She wished she were back in her room at Collinwood. But she would be soon; she was just impatient. If only she had something to keep her occupied, it would make the time go faster. Just then, she saw her door start to open. "Jeff?" she asked, excited at the prospect.
"Victoria?" came the answer, but it wasn't Jeff's voice. But it was almost as good. It was Barnabas, and she hadn't seen him since the time of the accident. "Barnabas! Please come in," she called to him. "I'm glad to see you are up and about."
The dark gentleman came into the room. He seemed to be quite well. He looked brighter and more happy than she had ever seen him. "Victoria, are you feeling all right? I was worried about you."
"Please. I'm feeling fine. I just want to get out of here and go home," she snapped. Victoria shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm just going a little stir crazy."
Barnabas smiled at her. "That's quite all right. I understand completely. I, too, look forward to returning to Collinwood. I feel as if I should never have left." He sat at her bedside. "Actually, I came to give you something." Barnabas pulled a small box from the pocket of his robe. Lang had been kind enough to retrieve it for him. He felt the rich velvet between his fingers as he put it in Victoria's hand. "I had planned to give it to you last night. But other events prevented it."
The box felt heavy in her hand as Victoria lifted the small lid. Inside, on a cushion of more red velvet sat an antique ring. The workmanship was exquisite. A subtly ornate silver setting held a flawless, deep purple amethyst. Victoria was speechless as she looked at.
"I hope you like it. It has been in my family for generations." No need for her to know it was hidden in the Collins family mausoleum for almost 200 years, along with many of the other family jewels. "It was the ring presented by my ancestor to Josette DuPres in Martinique when he asked her to marry him."
"It's magnificent. I've never seen anything like it before." So taken was she with the beauty of the ring, it was a moment before she realized the implications of what Barnabas had said. She looked up at him. "This was Josette's engagement ring." He nodded. "Barnabas, are you asking me to marry you?"
He took her hand. "Yes, Victoria, I am. I have never been good at showing affection," he bowed his head. "But you must know how I feel about you. I love you, and I want you to be my wife."
Victoria was stunned. She hadn't expected this. So recently, it would have been so easy to give an answer. But now things were more complicated. She closed the lid on the ring box and turned to him. "Barnabas. I care for you deeply, you know that. I have enjoyed the time I spend with you. I'll always be fond of you." She put her hand on his cheek as she gave him back the box. "But I can't accept your proposal."
Barnabas was crushed. The hurt in his eyes was almost palpable. "But, why?" His fear that she might have some memory of what he was came boiling up in his mind. "Is it something I have done? Please, tell me."
Victoria calmed him, putting her hands on his face. "No, Barnabas, it has nothing to do with you. It wasn't so long ago I thought I was falling in love with you as well." She struggled for the words to explain how she felt. "I told you that while I was in the past I met someone I fell in love with. His name was Peter Bradford."
"But this Peter Bradford has been dead for over 200 years."
"He promised to come back to me." She looked away from him, aware how much she was hurting him. "I have to believe that, Barnabas. I have to believe he will find me. I love him too much to just give up on him."
Barnabas couldn't believe his ears. He stood, trying to understand what she was saying. "Victoria, it was certainly a romantic promise he made to you, but just how is he going to transcend two centuries to find you? What sign do you have that you will ever see him again?"
As if on cue, the door opened. Barnabas' eyes grew wide with shock as Jeff walked in. "I'm sorry, Vicki. I didn't realize you had company."
"It's okay." She saw Barnabas' reaction. "Oh, Barnabas, it's not who you think. It isn't Joe Haskell. His name is Jeff Clark; he's Doctor Lang's assistant. Jeff, this is Barnabas Collins."
Jeff extended his hand. "Mr. Collins, I'm glad to see you're doing so well. I was the one who brought you here after the accident. I thought you were in pretty bad shape, but I guess it wasn't as bad as I thought."
Slowly coming out of his shock, Barnabas took Jeff's hand and shook it. "I guess I owe you a debt of gratitude, Mr. Clark. Thank you." He turned to Victoria. "I suddenly feel very tired. I will talk to you later, I hope?"
"Of course, Barnabas. Any time. We are friends, after all."
He smiled weakly at her. "Friends. Of course." He stepped into the hallway. How is this possible? he thought as he headed back to his room. This Jeff Clark could not really be the man I knew as Peter Bradford, could he? Victoria must think so. That explains why she rejected my proposal. Fury welled up inside him. I will not lose her again. Without even realizing it, Barnabas was in his room.
His anger continued to grow. Without warning, Barnabas lashed out at his bedside table, sweeping the lamp to the floor across the room. I will not lose her again. Victoria will be mine, if I have to kill Jeff Clark to do it.
