September 1967 - Page 3

We've been faced with another crisis. They seem to be pursuing us now, tiny brushfires that flare up all around us in every direction so that it's impossible to put them all out at once. Burke Devlin's curiosity has escalated into intrusiveness--he has been asking too many very pointed questions. Apparently my attempts to put him off his suspicions of Barnabas the other day weren't effective. He may be jealous of Barnabas' attentions to Vicki or maybe he's just distrustful by nature, but he could become quite dangerous very soon. Barnabas has refused to let me handle it. He says he can take care of it without violence--with "finesse", something he says we know little about in this century. I don't know what he intends to do, but I hope he's telling me the truth.

What a contradiction he is! He can be cruel, even brutal, at times, and very capable of violence, yet he speaks of finesse and of the grace and elegance of his own time so sincerely. Somehow I can't help feeling that the gentility that he shows to the world and his family is genuine, not just a clever deception--that it comes from a part of him that hasn't been destroyed by his condition--some remaining essence of the gentleman he must once have been. Is this really his "true" self? In spite of his harshness, I've come to believe that the cruel and violent behavior are aberrations caused by his condition. I've seen the love he has for his little sister, Sarah--surely a man who's capable of that kind of love for a child is something much more than a monster. If the experiments are successful, will that man reemerge? It's an exciting prospect.

At first I didn't know whether he became what he is by his own choice, but now I'm almost certain that he never chose to exist this way. I may never know what happened in his past to turn him into this inhuman creature, but I'm sure of one thing: he isn't the madman that Sam Evans and Joe Haskell and the sheriff think they're looking for. In unguarded moments, when the coldness and anger leave his eyes, they seem to reflect depths of terrible suffering. He seems to me to be more haunted than evil, possessed by a fury that isn't in his own nature--obsessed in some ways, possibly badly used, but not mad. I've worked with psychotics and sociopaths, and he is neither. His thought processes are for the most part rational, and in spite of his attempts to recreate the past, he is very well aware of the reality around him. He has adjusted amazingly well to a time almost 200 years beyond his own. He obviously has unusual intelligence and a strong will and spirit, things that will be very helpful as the experiment progresses. If in fact he allows it to progress... if he doesn't become too impatient and call it off, or sabotage it through his own impulsiveness.... That impulsiveness worries me as much as anything else.

How I wish I could persuade him to trust me. I know it can't be easy for him to feel that again. Trust is one of hardest things to regain once it's lost, and I suspect it's been a very long time since he's been able to trust anyone--at least anyone he doesn't control. And he knows I'm not like Willie. He can't control me so easily. I think that frightens him, although he'd never show it. Today he called me a "meddlesome and domineering woman." It isn't the first time anyone's had that opinion of me and it won't be the last; I thought I'd gotten used to it, but it stung when he said it--maybe because I want so much for him to trust me, for the sake of the experiment. Without that trust it could all dissolve at any time. I must keep trying. I have to make him understand that I won't betray him and that the experiment is vital to both of us. I know it is vital to him, in spite of his skepticism and threats of breaking it off. I've seen how desperately he longs to be human again. And I know that I hold more in my hands now than I had imagined. Not just a scientific theory waiting to be proved--and not just a patient to be healed--but perhaps a chance to redeem a life.... [Episode 306]

Sarah. Her name rings over this day like a church bell in the distance--a far-off, beautiful sound, a sensation that no one can reach or touch. This unearthly little girl has suddenly become a flame that attracts everyone to its light. Sam Evans and Joe Haskell were here today, looking for Barnabas, looking for answers from him to their questions about her. They spoke to David Collins, too. They think Sarah can tell them what happened to Maggie. Perhaps she can... but will she?

What does it mean--her appearances and disappearances--the fact that she's here at all? He thinks it means she's turned against him, that she wants to destroy him for "letting her down". Even though he attacked me again, angry that I hadn't told him about Sam and Joe's visit, I still couldn't help feeling hurt for him, at the look of pain on his face when he thought of her appearing to those he considers his enemies. He has called her the only person who loved him completely. If that's true, then could she possibly betray him? If she does--then everything will be lost, for both of us. Can a child's love be strong enough to overcome her disappointment and disillusionment? If she does know everything, is it possible she could understand and forgive?

Why hasn't she appeared to him? I wonder if her absence might not be meant as a warning to him. She saved Maggie--maybe she wants him to know that she'll try to stop him from hurting anyone else. Even if she doesn't betray his secret, what will it do to him if she continues to avoid seeing him? Every day she stays away increases the danger to us and makes him more hurt and bitter. We're at such a precarious stage now. The treatments are beginning to work, but if anything happens to discourage him more, he may just refuse to go any further. That mustn't happen--what we're doing is much too important to both of us--and to science.

* * * * * * *

She was at the Old House tonight! Barnabas was at Collinwood, and I was sitting reading the family history when I felt something--a presence. I thought at first Barnabas had returned, but I realized that this was something beyond mortality, a presence not of this world--just a sensation, but an odd one, both delicate and compelling. I called to her but she didn't respond or appear. Was she looking for him? I could feel her absence when she slipped away from the house. I followed her--I think I followed her--into the woods, but although I wandered around for quite a while, calling her name, she didn't appear again. Yet when I came back to the house, the book--I had closed it before I left--was open to her picture.

I had no idea how he would react when I told him she had been here. I half expected him to attack me again, accusing me of lying--or furious that she had come when I was here and he wasn't. I suppose I took a chance telling him, but I didn't dare try to hide it; he would have known. But when I showed him the book opened to her picture, I saw something in his face I haven't seen before--I saw hope. Now he believes that she will come to him. I hope he's right--for both our sakes.

* * * * * * * *

At least the problem of Burke Devlin seems to have been solved--for now, at any rate. Barnabas went directly to Vicki and appealed openly to her, telling her he'd found out Devlin was having him investigated. He knew, of course, that she would be outraged; her own nature is so open and honest that she had to be appalled at what she would consider to be such an insult. It was a clever ploy--divide and conquer--and it worked. Vicki confronted Burke and he backed down--she even persuaded him to apologize to Barnabas! He continues to surprise me. I was afraid he would resort to violence, but he used ingenuity instead, and used it perfectly. He even offered to answer any of Devlin's questions, including about his daytime activities. I told him he might have been taking too great a chance, but he smiled slyly and said even Devlin must know certain "social proprieties"--like accepting a conciliatory gesture gracefully. So even if Devlin remains suspicious, he very likely won't do anything more now. Very nicely played, I must admit--check and mate. He does indeed know something about "finesse"--and about being an intuitive psychologist. I'm finding out that there are things to admire about Barnabas Collins, things well worth the effort to save. [Episode 309]

This has been a very upsetting day. David Collins is missing. He went out alone late the other night and hasn't returned. Vicki and Carolyn are sure he went looking for Sarah--and so is Barnabas. Worse, he's sure that David found her--and that she told him everything. I've been fearing the same thing myself. Willie came to see me earlier today because he'd met Sarah in the woods. She said she'd told David "the biggest secret she knows." I warned Willie that he mustn't tell Barnabas about it, yet somehow he seems to sense it in that instinctive way he has of knowing. It makes me very frightened for David.

When he rose tonight, he was edgy and nervous. He accused Willie of being afraid to face him. He refused to wait even long enough for me to finish preparing his injection, even though I told him how vital the timing is. He insisted on going out immediately to find David himself. When I tried to stop him, he only reminded me that I have as much to lose as he does--as though I don't know that very well. The risks of loss are growing every day, like snow piling so high that only an avalanche can result. The experiment, his existence, my career and reputation and perhaps my life, as well as Maggie's, and now David's. He claimed to be "fond" of David but that if necessary he would have to choose survival over "sentiment". And he accused me of being "squeamish" because I don't want to see a little boy die. But I've told him several times that I won't see a human life sacrificed. I tried to convince him he'd be signing his own death warrant if he kills David, but he turned my warning back on me as a threat--to me and to Willie.

I suddenly feel exasperated, helpless, and very frightened. It's as though all the progress I believed we were making is slipping back like sand under the receding tide. I've seen the experiment I believe in so much actually beginning to work, yet I'm afraid the dangers that surround us will break loose and engulf us before I or anyone can stop them. Even more, I've begun to see glimpses of a man who I feel was once and can be again a good man--yet one who seems to be driven as much toward his own destruction as he is toward survival. I fear for that man almost as much as I fear for David or Maggie or even myself. There's only one hope now--he said that he would try to be sure of how much David really does know before he decides to do anything. I told him I hoped someone else found David before he did, but that won't make David any safer--unless Sarah has kept her brother's secret. I can only pray that she has. [Episodes 314/315]

I learned more about Barnabas Collins' past today, and what I learned broke my heart. I can understand so much more now.

It's horrifying and unimaginable to me--chained up inside a coffin, locked in a room that no one knows exists, away from all light, all life, all of humanity, for what he must have believed was eternity! Was he aware all those years, lying there, helpless, unable to move or communicate, in absolute isolation, total darkness and silence--aware only of his own thoughts and the endless passing of time? I couldn't ask him that, and I don't think I could bear to know. I'm not sure I could have controlled my reactions as well as I think I did, and I know a sign of anything he might take to be pity would only have made him angrier--he is still a proud man.

But to be confined like that, like a deadly animal, without even being allowed the dignity of death! And by his own father! It makes me shake even now when I think of it. It's barbaric--even worse than what was once done to the mentally ill--chained to walls inside tiny rooms or in cellars--until Pinel and the other reformers discovered more humane "treatments". But for a man who has so much vitality and pride--and sensitivity--whatever he might have become--Who could blame him if it shattered his soul?

Over the years I've seen many people so hurt and crippled by life that they had nothing left except the need to strike back at others, to get revenge for their own sufferings. And not one of them had endured anything like what he has. Now I'm more sure than ever that he isn't evil by nature. If he were, surely he would be driven to destroy everyone and anyone just for being part of the human world. I have to wonder, again, at the kind of inner strength he must have. He only wants a chance to regain the life he lost, to live and love as a normal man again. But his fear--and, I'm beginning to believe, his own horror at what he is--make it impossible for him to really believe he can have that again, and he finds it hard to fight the basest instincts to destroy when he feels threatened.

I realize now that my work is even more important than I believed it was. He deserves to have that life back that was so cruelly taken from him--by whoever--or whatever--is responsible for the curse of this horrible condition. And now I'm determined to do everything in my power to help give that life back to him--and until that happens I must do everything I have to do to protect him --especially from himself. And to protect others from him.

That's becoming a more difficult task every day. He knows that David was in that room--the secret room in the mausoleum. He found a pocket knife on the floor. Of course it can only belong to David. He was determined to go after David right away, to kill him; I was able to stop him by persuading him that Sarah might come to him if she knew how vulnerable he felt. I made him promise me that he'd try again to find her and learn how much she really told David. But it wasn't enough.

Dave Woodard came to Collinwood to talk to David--to interrogate him, actually. I heard enough to feel sure that David didn't tell him anything. But Dave had another purpose in coming--he's removed Maggie from my care. This will make it much more difficult, if not impossible, for me to continue to control her. I shouldn't have let him do it, but I couldn't concentrate on that problem at the time--I heard the dogs howling. When I got to the Old House Barnabas was just about to leave. I honestly don't believe I could have stopped him this time. But I found an unexpected ally: Sarah. She was there, and he knew it, and she stopped him. Without force or threat--just with her gentle presence. It was the only power necessary--and the only one that could have worked.

She seems to be his conscience and his guilt. All the good that's still in him, the love and humanity and remorse, spirals around her, magnetized by her spirit and her memory. I understand those feelings better now--after having been betrayed by his father, he must feel that she's all he has left of his family, all the good that remains of the life he once knew. The tender way he touched her name on the plaque at the mausoleum--the heartache in his voice when he wondered again why she wouldn't come to him...it makes my heart ache too, but also makes me hope that there might be a way to reach that gentle part of him that he's buried so deeply under his terrible pain. And to do it before he hurts anyone else and destroys himself....[Episodes 317/318]

We're playing dangerous games with each other again, Barnabas and I. Thrust and counterthrust, and whichever of us proves to be the best bluffer takes the side. I already know he's a master at it, but I can play just as well. If we're going to continue to fight a battle of wits and wills, he has to know that I'm as strong as he is. Lives are at stake, and I can't afford to lose.

He heard the rumors about Maggie's memory returning, and he believed them. He sent for me to go to Maggie and find out if they were true. I had to tell him she was no longer my patient, which of course infuriated him again. But I assured him repeatedly that I've obliterated her memory for good, and I thought--naively, I suppose--that I finally got through to him. He agreed to spare her, at least for the moment, and to trust me. But I should have known better--I should have understood that the terror that drives him is just too strong. Willie came to me later to tell me Barnabas had no intention of sparing Maggie and that he was planning to go through with murdering her tonight. The only thing I could do was present him with something that he would fear more than he does Maggie's memory.

I told him I'd written a letter, given to a "trusted friend", that revealed everything about him, and that would be opened in the event of Maggie's death--or my own. I know he was skeptical, but as I hoped, he wasn't willing to take the chance. Willie thinks he must know I was lying, but as long as he can't be sure that there is no letter, I don't think he'll carry out his threats.

So it seems I have at least a temporary victory. I don't feel any triumph about it, though--in fact, I feel disappointed and disheartened. I actually believed--I wanted so much to believe--that he had finally decided he would trust me, that he might be beginning to free himself from the hold of that terrible fear, but I know now that it's far too powerful. I felt its power myself when he shoved me up against that open coffin in the secret room of the mausoleum. When he weighs the implications of trust against the memory of that tormented nonexistence, why should he willingly relinquish control of his own fate to anyone else? We still have a very long way to go. I know--I feel in my heart--that he doesn't want to kill anyone, but I can't make him see that there are other ways of keeping his secret safe. I'm growing more and more discouraged, and I'm afraid time is very close to running out on us. [Episodes 320-322]

Willie has been caught--caught in a trap that was set for Barnabas, that he would have walked into if he hadn't been stopped earlier tonight. Willie was right--he knew that I was lying about the letter. He was on his way out the door to kill Maggie--but Sarah stopped him again, and saved his life as well as Maggie's.

Poor Willie--he must have been trying to warn her that her life was in danger. It was a brave thing for him to do in any event, but he had no idea he'd be facing the sheriff's men, not just Barnabas' wrath. Now he's in a coma and isn't expected to live through the night. I feel very sorry for him and for what happened. But--and maybe I can only admit this now because it's dawn and I've been up all night--I feel relieved, too--like a great weight of danger has been removed from us. There isn't anything I or anyone can do for Willie now, and the sheriff believes he has his kidnapper. Maggie's memory is gone for good, and if Willie dies, she will be safe again. There'll be no need for Barnabas to harm her now. And he will be safe, too. Now if I can only convince him that David isn't a danger to him, we'll be able to continue the experiment--and I hope complete it--without being threatened any further.

********

Willie has survived the night, and today as well, far beyond anyone's expectations. But Dave tells me the prognosis is still very poor; they're sure he won't last much longer. I think I managed to convince Dave that Willie was my suspect all along and that there was nothing "supernatural" involved. At least he seemed to believe me.

I'm surprised at how easily the story came out. In fact, it's all been coming much easier lately--the lies, the deception--and now I've deliberately implicated an innocent person in a crime, a person I know has never harmed anyone. I've found myself doing things I never thought I would do--violated my own and my professional standards.... And I've told myself all along that it was for the sake of science. I can no longer believe that. I've lied to others, but I can't lie to myself any longer--or hide from the truth. The truth that it's no longer the experiment that matters most. The truth that, although Barnabas' danger has lessened, my own has only grown deeper.

When I came here a few months ago I was setting out to find a scientific breakthrough--the justification of my life's work and dream. And I did. But I found something else completely unexpected. I found a strange man--sad, frightened, angry, haunted--but with remarkable intelligence and strength, spirit and pride, and with a sensitive heart that's been twisted and corrupted beyond its ability to save itself--a man I've seen constantly struggling with the darkness that threatens to overpower his soul--an extraordinary man who has somehow crept into every part of me in a way no one ever has before--no patient, no friend, no lover. Who is he, what is he? I'm not sure I know even now. My ambition, my obsession, my...what? My nemesis, surely, in more ways than one--perhaps my downfall, if I'm not very careful. Maybe even my fate. But in the end, of course, not my anything at all--only himself, this complex man driven by an impossible conflict of good and evil impulses beyond anyone's understanding--and his singular power to draw in and capture others, as he did Willie--and, in a completely different way, as he's captured me as well.

Dave Woodard saw it happening. He called me on it today, in a teasing tone and with an indulgent chuckle, as if he were talking to a teenager with a crush. I didn't know what to say; I felt uncovered and exposed--especially to myself. Yet as I look back on what I've written here over the past weeks, I see it there between the words, as if everything I carefully kept from writing has come together in those empty spaces, forming its own pattern and revealing its own truth.

I don't know what to do with this knowledge. I thought I was prepared for anything when I came here, but I wasn't prepared for this. It makes me feel helpless and afraid--I'm not used to feeling that way, to losing control. But it also makes my blood rush and stops my breath in my throat; it runs under my skin and along all my nerves and turns me hot and cold at the same time. "Romantic interest never hurt anyone," Dave said. I wish that were true. But I've never felt more vulnerable, more able to be hurt, in my life.

I haven't any idea what will happen now. I must be very careful not to let him guess it, with that uncanny intuition he has. I know he could never accept it; it would only turn him against me and the experiment. The experiment must continue--and succeed--for both our sakes. So nothing will change between us. He will continue to challenge and threaten me, as I will him, because I must. Because the stakes are far higher than just my feelings, or even the interests of science. There are the lives of innocent people, as well as his--and mine. And the possibility--I hope the likelihood--of redemption. Those are things worth fighting for with all the strength I have. That's something I've always taken pride in. I have the feeling that I'm going to find out exactly how strong I am. I think I'm going to find out a lot about myself from now on. You will give me that at least, Barnabas Collins--whatever else may happen. [Episodes 323/324]