Summer 1971     
 

I've been offered a position..

And I am seriously considering accepting it.

He almost had to ask her to stop the car so that he could be sick; it was only by sheer force of will that he was able to fight down his gorge. That silly old fool Stokes had given him food poisoning.

Several long minutes passed before he was able to speak, but Julia kept her eyes focused on her driving and did not look at him.

"Julia.why?" His voice was thick, whether with emotion or illness she could not tell.

"Why what, Barnabas?" she asked, irritated. "Why am I thinking of taking a job in San Francisco or why didn't I tell you about it?"

"Both," he half-whispered, swallowing loudly and painfully enough to make her look at him sharply. His color in the glow of the dashboard lights was a ghastly green.

Her sigh of resignation told him that she had already imagined this conversation, perhaps several times. It also told him that she had been dreading it.

"I guess it's time I told you the whole story, Barnabas." Another pause. "I haven't just been attending medical conferences all over the country."

He knew it; there had been more to her travels than she had let on, at least to him. His stomach somersaulted, and he gripped his abdomen tighter. Damn that Eliot.

It came pouring out of her then as if she had rehearsed this speech a thousand times. "Oh, I haven't lied to you; I have been to
conferences all this spring. But I have also been investigating career opportunities while I was catching up on my medical education. I have friends in many places, Barnabas (not that you would know that about me, her tone implied), and in some cases, I asked about jobs, and in other cases, they approached me. I have had more than one offer, but I feel that the one in California is the most interesting."

"Because your friend Dr. Stephens is there." It was not a question.

"That is certainly a bonus to going to San Francisco, yes." He had expected her response to be tinged with anger, but instead, she sounded as if she were laughing at him. He frowned, perplexed by her reaction.

"Julia, why do want to leave.Collinwood?" Is that what he had meant to ask? Or had he meant to say Why do you want to leave me?

She did not answer him at first, and the only sound as they sped along the darkened road was the quiet purr of his car's expensive engine. He finally made the supreme effort of turning his spinning head to study her still profile.

This time, it was her swallow that was audible in the silent automobile. "Why do I want to leave Collinwood? You may not want to hear this, Barnabas, but you asked so I am going to tell you. When we were in 1840 and Angelique lifted your curse, I could tell that your
attitude toward her was changing. I hoped that it was only because you were so excited about being human again. I hoped that you would eventually .regain your perspective about her, that you would remember all that she had done to you and your family. That you would remember her cruelty and all the times that we had been forced to fight her.

"But then she died, and you declared that she had been.your only love." Her voice faltered on the last three words, and she had to bite her lower lip hard to regain control.

"And then we came home, and I hoped that you would realize that you had been mistaken about your feelings. When you continued to believe that you loved her, I hoped that you would at least overcome your grief and move forward with your new life as a mortal man."

She paused as the words she had once spoken to Cassandra rang in her ears: If it weren't for you, there would be a man in the Old House who could finally savor the life you denied him all these years! Who could finally perhaps find the love you were determined he would never see.

"But none of that happened. I tried to be a good friend, to listen to you, to help you deal with your grief. But you didn't even know I was there. You never stopped mourning Angelique; you spoke of her incessantly and refused to move on."

She stopped speaking as she turned onto the gravel drive that led to the Old House. The car lurched over the stony road causing Barnabas' roiling stomach to lurch as well.

Julia pulled the car close to the house and shifted into park with a vengeance. She stared straight ahead, and in the faint light, he could see how she clung to the steering wheel with both hands as if clinging to an anchor in a stormy sea.

"Do you have any idea how that made me feel, Barnabas? I had spent four years of my life helping you fight this wi.woman that you now decide you loved all along. I felt betrayed, Barnabas." She barked out a small, ugly laugh. "You certainly should be able to understand
that.

"But did you for one moment stop to think about what she had tried to do to me? She tried to take my soul from me, Barnabas! She tried to make me one of the Living Dead. You, off all people, should have understood what that meant to me.

"But you never thought about my feelings. Not once."

She was shaking now, her voice, her hands, and he could hear her knuckles crack as she gripped the wheel even more tightly.

Deeply moved and concerned, he reached out to her. "Julia-"

"No!" Her voice was as sharp as a pistol shot in the quiet night air. She shrank back against the driver's side door to escape his touch, and Barnabas snatched back his hand in surprise.

She took several deep breaths and managed to calm herself before continuing. Her voice became that of Doctor Julia Hoffman, a woman fighting to practice medicine in a male domain. "I decided you weren't going to change. And I decided that it was time to do something for me."

She turned to look at him for a moment. "Do you know how long it has been since I did something for myself, Barnabas?"

Her question was rhetorical, but he answered her anyway. "Too long, Julia," he murmured.

"Damn straight, Barnabas. Too long. I decided it was time to get back to medicine - conventional medicine - and that I might be better off making a fresh start in a new place."

The summer night was unusually cool, and their breath had blanketed the windows of the car in a thick fog. They sat in the silent cocoon, each bound in a web of painful memories. Time seemed suspended for a brief moment with neither of them willing to bridge the deep gap that had opened between them.

She then voiced the question that he had not yet asked. "Why didn't I tell you my intentions? Because you wouldn't have heard me, Barnabas. You wouldn't have listened."

He wanted to protest, to angrily defend himself and declare that she was wrong, but he could not. Because he knew she was right. He had been completely focused on himself. He had driven her away, perhaps even farther than he could have imagined - all the way to the opposite end of the country.

"Well, that's all of it, Barnabas. Now you know the whole story."

"Eliot.he knew.everything?"

He sounded so hurt, so lost, but she didn't care. Or did she? "Yes," she said flatly. "Eliot knew everything."

She looked at him defiantly, waiting for the challenge, but he only seemed to sink further back into his seat.

"Julia, there are so many things I would like to say to you, but I fear that this is not the time-"

"You're right, Barnabas," she said brusquely. "It isn't the time. It's late, I'm tired, and I have a plane to catch tomorrow."

A plane to catch. Panic swelled in his throat at the thought of her leaving again.

"Julia, I would like to drive you to the airport tomorrow."

She looked shocked at his offer. "Barnabas, you can barely walk. You won't be able to drive me all the way to-"

This time he succeeded in placing a hand on her arm. "I want to do this, Julia. I assure you I will be fine. Please allow me to take you to the airport."

His voice was stronger, more confident, and full of the persuasiveness he had always seemed to possess in abundance. Before she knew it, Barnabas was slowly but steadily walking up the steps to the Old House, she was driving home in his car, and she had an escort to the airport the next day.

*****

An awkward silence prevailed in Barnabas' car the following day. Neither Barnabas nor Julia knew what to say to the other after the conversation they had had the previous evening.

He was desperate to find a way to keep her from accepting the job, but he could not think of an effective way of keeping her in Collinsport. Anything he said would sound self-serving and would probably only result in convincing her to leave.

Julia sat beside him nervously playing with the taupe gloves that she wore. She had taken them on and off a dozen times, and he was unsure whether she was anxious about the trip, her upcoming decision or whether it was just being with him.

It was Julia who finally breeched the silence. She asked him to tell her more about his college plans, and they chatted for a little while about the courses he needed to take. It was neutral territory, and they both seemed relieved to have something that they could amiably discuss.

He insisted on accompanying her inside the airport and waiting with her until she boarded. He could not, however, hide his unease as he glanced outside at the few planes that were parked at their gates.

Julia touched his arm lightly as he stared out the large window. "Barnabas, what is it?"

He turned to her with a sheepish smile. "I hate to admit it, Julia, and I know it is terribly old-fashioned of me, but airplanes terrify me. In my day, we kept our feet firmly on the ground."

"Oh come now, Barnabas, you were a sailor! Your feet weren't always on land."

"That is true, but there was always something solid beneath us. I cannot imagine getting into a machine that flies through the air." He shuddered visibly at the thought.

"They say that flying is safer than driving, Barnabas. But you certainly are not the only person who is afraid to fly. There are many, many people, most born in this century, who refuse to get on a plane.

"Oh, they're calling my flight. I have to go."

"Have a safe trip." They looked at each other for a moment, but there was both too much to say and nothing to say. "I will miss you, Julia." It was the only safe thing he could think of to tell her.


"Goodbye, Barnabas."

He watched her go and wondered what exactly she had meant by that.

*****

As Barnabas slid behind the wheel and started the engine, he noticed the taupe glove on the seat beside him. Just the one glove. Julia must have forgotten it; no wonder with the number of times she had taken her gloves on and off.

He reached over and picked it up. "Julia.." he sighed as its silky texture slid through his fingers. The scent of her perfume on the glove seemed to fill the car as if she was still there beside him. How he wished that she were.

He laid the glove back down on the seat and turned on the radio. It was a long drive back to Collinwood, and he needed some company even if it was only the disembodied voice of one of those ridiculous disc jockeys.

Trying to shut out his thoughts, he attempted to concentrate on his driving. It wasn't long, however, before he heard a familiar tune emanating from the radio. It had been a long time since he had heard Julia singing this song, but certain phrases still resonated in his head:

Peace and quiet and open air wait for us somewhere.

Time together with time to spare..

We'll find a way of forgiving.

He listened transfixed until the song ended, and the DJ's overly cheerful voice boomed forth. "This is your host, Sammy the Spinner, and that was Somewhere by Andy Williams. And now Sammy's gonna spin another one for you-"

Barnabas clicked off the radio, but the words continued to play in his head. How that song reminded him of Julia and all the times and places they had been to, all they had been through together. She had faced the very Powers of Hell to save him and had done so more than once. And then there had been the times when she had been missing - when she had been taken by Tom Jennings, when she had been hidden in the bowels of Collinwood by Angelique in parallel time, when she had disappeared in 1840, and he had felt so lost without her..

He had felt so lost without her.

Without her.

My God, I am in love with her.

The thought, the voice in his head, seemed to come from nowhere. At first, he wasn't even sure that it had been his own voice that he had heard. He began to shake so violently that he had to pull the car off to the side of the road. Burying his head in his hands, he sat for several minutes until the shaking began to subside. Once it did, the truth of his epiphany shone as brightly as a beacon in the night. He must have been blind to have not seen it before. 

He was in love with Julia.

After all the places they had been to, after all the times they had gone to, he was just now realizing that there had always been a time and place for them. Any place where they had been together could have been their time - if he had been wise enough to see it. Which he had not been.

And now he wanted this to be their time and place. But now that he was ready, she might not be.

He looked over at her glove once more. It mocked him as it lay there exuding Julia's style, her grace, her scent. Was this all he would ever have of her?

The creature that had made itself at home inside of him for the past few months began to twist and writhe once more. He clutched his belly with a groan and realized for the first time that his body had been trying to tell him what his heart and mind had refused to accept. He smiled grimly; there had been nothing wrong with Eliot's cooking after all.

He was in love with Julia, but she was now on her way across the country to decide whether she wanted to accept a new job in a new place. A place where a Dr. S. Stephens also happened to live.

His understanding of the cause of his stomach trouble did not make it any less painful. And he couldn't just sit in his car in the middle of nowhere all night. He longed to be home where he could sort all of this out. Pulling the car back onto the road, he turned on the
radio once again.

What kind of fool am I, who never fell in love?
It seems that I'm the only one that I have been thinking of.

Why can't I fall in love like any other man?
And maybe then I'll know what kind of fool I am! *

As he reached out and quickly stilled the music, Barnabas Collins thought that he could cheerfully murder Sammy the Spinner without a second thought.



*What Kind of Fool Am I? Music by Leslie Bricusse and lyrics by Anthony
Newley.

Part Eight