Shadows on the Wall Chapter 81- Let Freedom Ring By Nancybe Voiceover (Christopher Pennock): Freedom is a precious commodity these days for the inhabitants of the Great Estate of Collinwood. And those who seek freedom will find that it comes at a greater cost than they ever thought possible. Sometimes, inebriation provides clarity of vision, stripping away all pretense. Such was the case for Roger Collins as he glanced up at the approach of a skipping and grinning Amy Jennings. Perhaps it was the too wide grin that gave her away. Or maybe it was just his natural instinct for self-preservation that alerted him. In any event, Roger had no doubt that this Minnie Mouse-voiced little imp had come to kill him. "No!" he shouted, holding out both hands as she advanced upon him. "You stay away from me!" But the alcohol that had alerted his senses to danger now robbed his body of its speed and coordination, and he stumbled backward to avoid the girl's assault, all the while feeling as if he was underwater. Feet and legs entangled, he fell back hard, wincing as he jarred his tailbone against the floor. But with the lurid grin of the hell child looming over him, he failed to notice his cut and bleeding hands, victims of the decanter he had shattered earlier. "You stay away from me!" he bellowed again, flailing his arms so violently that he pushed Amy into a chair and knocked the hypo from her hands, sending it skittering across the floor. "Damn it!" the girl-creature screeched as she struggled to regain her balance. "You'll be ssss-sorry you did that." Her voice was a hiss that sounded decidedly less than human. And in the next fraction of a second, there was nothing remotely human about Amy Jennings at all. She had simply ceased to be, and what replaced her shocked Roger into complete sobriety. A column of black. A column of black that swayed and undulated above the drawing floor where the girl had stood just a moment before. And within the column, a myriad of eyes, pairs of ruby red eyes, pairs of emerald green eyes. A multitude of glittering eyes that stared at him with hunger and malevolence. Roger Collins blinked and then blinked again. A column of eyes? It wasn't possible. The D.T.s? He shook his head; no, he was stone cold sober now. Sober enough to recognize that the eyes were attached to hundreds - or was it thousands? - of silvery bodies that twisted and twined inside the ebony cloud. And then the column floated closer to him, and .hissed, a long, loud sibilant hiss, and a host of gleaming gold tongues darted out in unison. Roger screamed and clutched his head as the voices in his mind answered the creatures. The pain was searing as Leviathan answered Leviathan, and through his agony, Collins realized that Amy Jennings had metamorphosed into not *one* Leviathan but rather into a *community* of Leviathans. His screaming continued as he felt those who had taken residence in his head so long ago begin to flee, like rats deserting a sinking ship. *Amy* was going to kill him, and it was finally time for his own personal demons to depart. The squirming, stinking column now hovered just inches above his face, and he closed his eyes, praying that his death would come quickly. *At least, I'll finally be free of them,* he thought as, in the foyer, the grandfather clock began to chime. ***** Victoria Winters rushed through the front door of Collinwood, letting it slam behind her. Something was happening here; she could *feel* it. And taking just a few steps toward the drawing room, she could see it as well. An amorphous cloud of black was poised over Roger Collins. Within the cloud, serpents with jewels for eyes slithered in anticipation, and Vicki was immediately reminded of her black garden, her own Garden of Eden in negative, which ran rampant with the dark snakes. She instinctively knew that the Leviathans had decided to kill Roger. And she knew that she couldn't let it happen. "STOP!" she screamed, but the hissing cloud hesitated only a moment before descending closer to the man's face. Saying no more, Vicki simply translated her command into a thought, and the being before her instantly exploded, sending a shower of scorched and squealing serpents raining down upon the prone Roger Collins. He screamed as the burning bodies fell upon him, some dead, others smoking as they slithered away to die under the antique furniture. Vicki surveyed the room for a moment, in shock that she had had to do no more than *think* the Leviathans dead. She hadn't even had to give the *push* that had vanquished Danielle Roget. Had Jeb's birth so heightened her powers? She glanced down to see that her polished high heel rested upon the writhing body of one of the loathsome creatures and had to stifle a mad cackle. Hadn't she seen sculptures of the Virgin Mother with her heel grinding down upon the head of the serpent in the garden? Was she now some kind of perverted Mary (although far from a virgin) slaying the snakes that threatened her son? Was she the mother of a god trying to free him from his enemies? Grief, exhaustion, and threatening madness pressed suddenly down upon her, and Victoria felt her legs give way as she slid gracefully to the floor in a dead faint. And when Roger Collins finally shook the last snake off of himself and stopped screaming, he crawled over to the unconscious woman - only to find that her eyebrows and lashes now matched her snowy white hair. **************************************************************************** Maggie Evans left the old rectory surreptitiously clutching the precious mask to her breast. It seemed to thrum with power, and she could hardly believe that the treasure was truly hers. She hurried down the path, anxious to remove herself from any prying eyes that might envy her prize. "Maggie," a soft voice called out to her, just a whisper on the wind. She ignored it, telling herself she had imagined it. "Maggie." The voice was stronger now, more commanding. The young woman stopped and gasped at the vision that blocked her escape. An auburn-haired figure in a diaphanous gown hovered slightly above the ground - and she looked all too familiar. "Mother?" Maggie called out in confusion. "What-" "Maggie, listen to me; my time here is short. You must not keep the mask! It will destroy you." "Nicholas, if this is some kind of trick-" "Maggie! This is no trick. I *am* your mother. You know it; you feel it. I've come to help you. I've come to keep you from making the same mistake I did." "Mistake?" "Yes, my darling. You never knew; I never wanted you to know. But I, like you, was also tempted by the dark arts when I walked the earth. I was attracted to the promise of power, the allure of becoming something more than a small-town girl." "You?" Maggie asked, flabbergasted by this information. "You were a-" "A witch, Maggie. Yes, and eventually, it was my undoing." "Did Pop know?" The woman nodded solemnly. "Yes, he knew. And that's why he tried so hard to stop you from choosing the same path." "And I . killed him." Maggie ached with the first spark of humanity she had felt in a long time. Mother and daughter were silent for a moment remembering the man they had both loved. "All of that is done, Maggie," the specter finally said, breaking the silence. "And there is nothing you can do to change it. But you can still save yourself, and that is what Sam would have wanted for you above all else. Give up the mask; otherwise, you will end up like me." Give up the mask? After she had fought so hard to destroy Nicholas, to win it for herself and her Master? "But.but I can't! It's mine! I .I need it. You don't understand-" "Oh, but I do understand, my dear. I understand all too well. I understand that if you keep it, your soul will be lost. You will be damned for all eternity! You must take the mask to Stokes. He will know what to do with it. And then you can be free! Now goodbye, my darling daughter. Do not fail me." And then she was gone, and Maggie was left standing alone on the path, staring down into the hypnotic gaze of the Mask of Ba'al. **************************************************************************** ".of Medusa. It is essential to our success. I was fortunate enough to have a colleague-" Stokes was saying to the Rumsons when the frantic ringing of his doorbell interrupted him. He opened the door only to have a dazed Maggie Evans tumble over the threshold. "Take it, take it, before I change my mind!" she babbled, thrusting a shining object at Stokes. "What in the name of God?" Angelique cried upon seeing the jeweled face in the older man's hands. "It's the Mask of Ba'al," Sky muttered hoarsely, backing away from where the professor stood examining the mask. "Stokes, get rid of it!" he screamed, covering his face with his hands. "Get rid of it!" "Sky! What is it? What's wrong?" Angelique quickly crossed the room to where her husband stood trembling with fear. "Sky, tell me!" she demanded. Reaching out to him, she gently pried his shaking fingers from his face and then let out a yelp - for where his eyes should have be were just two round disks that glowed like large, flat, black pennies. "Stokes. it .must.be.destroyed." Sky's voice sounded mechanical, almost robotic, and hearing it, his wife shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Taking one look at the man, the portly professor couldn't have agreed more with the assessment. "And it will be, Mr. Rumson. Tout de suite." **************************************************************************** "Barnabas," Julia had protested, "I'm tired, and I have no desire to go tromping around the East Wing inhaling dust and getting cobwebs in my hair. Just because you feel some sort of compulsion to go there, doesn't mean-" "Julia, I've tried to explain to you that I'm *drawn* to that strange room, and the feeling has been getting progressively stronger lately. Now, will you *please* come with me?" Was it his sensual voice or that handsome face? "I always lose with you, don't I, Barnabas?" she said softly, giving him a wry but rather sultry smile. "Come," was all he said, but she didn't miss the triumphant gleam in his dark eyes as he took her arm. Barnabas Collins had Julia Hoffman wrapped around his little finger - or perhaps around his ring-laden index finger - and they both knew it. That was how the redheaded doctor found herself standing before the very dirty, very deserted room that her friend insisted periodically became an ornate and very occupied bedroom in some other dimension of time. But right now, it was nothing more than a storeroom that smelled musty and was making her nose itch. "Barnabas," she finally said in exasperation, "We've been standing here for twenty minutes, and nothing has happened. Look, I'm sure there is someone in this house who needs me to give them a sedative or there is some monster that I need to help destroy, so if you don't mind-" "Julia, just a few more minutes. Please. The room has rather a mind of its own, I'm afraid, but it could change at any moment." He watched as she narrowed those exotic eyes of hers and crossed her arms and knew he was not winning her over. He decided to pull out all the stops. "Please, Julia. For me?" She briefly wondered if this was his idea of foreplay. "Oh, all right," she sighed. "But just a couple of minutes, Barnabas, and then I'm leaving." And just as he smiled and began to thank her, it happened. "Barnabas!" Julia had thought she was prepared for this, but the reality of it was overwhelming, and she raised her hand to her throat in a characteristic gesture. "Look!" The room was now ablaze with light, the behemoth of a chandelier doing its job admirably. A jeweled music box on a nearby table tinkled a soft tune, and the scent of lavender wafted through the air. Julia was astonished to see Roger Collins standing rapt in front of a mammoth painting of Angelique who was swathed in an azure dress that accented the color of her eyes. Julia reached out to grip Barnabas' arm. "It's Roger! But how.It looks exactly like *our* Roger. This makes no sense." "I know, Julia. I had the same reaction the first time I saw the room change. That is Roger, but it is not Roger. And how that can be, I do not know." The silent man in the room staggered back from the portrait and took a gulp from the sloppy glass he held in his hand. Apparently, some things remained the same from dimension to dimension, Julia mused. Roger whispered something, shaking his head violently, and then glanced up at Angelique again. "I am free of you forever, you bitch!" he said more loudly. "No, *bitch* is too good of a word for you," he amended. He cocked his arm, spilling scotch on his jacket and on the rug, and made to throw the glass at the smirking portrait. This time his voice came out as a scream, "The only name for you is cu-" "Roger!" Victoria Winters glided into the room and gracefully snatched the glass from his hand before it could become airborne. In a quick motion, she placed it on an end table while putting a soothing arm around the distraught man. "Roger, you know you shouldn't be in here," she cooed. "It only upsets you, you poor darling." Roger was shaking his head again, this time contritely, as she guided him slowly toward the door. "I know, I know, Vicki, dear. Sometimes, I just can't help myself. I just can't forget." "I know, dearest. But it isn't good for you. Now let me take you to your room. You need some rest, and when you wake up, I'll make sure Cook brings you up something to eat. How does that sound?" "Thank you, my dear. You really are too good to me." The two of them passed through the door which then abruptly slammed shut in front of the voyeurs from another time. "That's the damnedest thing I ever saw," Julia Hoffman remarked, in awe of the entire experience. "And that's saying a lot." **************************************************************************** "So, I understan' congratulations are in order," a sarcastic voice called out. "Huh? What? Who?" Quentin Collins stammered as he hastily sat up in his bed. "Who, what, where, why, how," the voice mocked him from the gloom. "How you not recognize your ole friend, Magda, you sot?" "Magda?" Quentin rubbed his eyes and tried to focus through an alcoholic haze. "What are you doing here?" "Why all da questions, Mr. Collins?" the gypsy asked, slowly emerging from the shadows, her heavy gold jewelry jingling and jangling as she sauntered further into the room. "Go away, woman," he growled, trying to wave her away. How could she *still* smell like garlic and pungent herbs? "You're not real anyway." "Dat's what you think. I may not be flesh and blood no longer, but I'm just as real as you are, *old* man. And I'm here because you need me." "I don't need anybody. And no one needs me. I'm no use to anyone anyway." "Bah," she spat, her hands now planted firmly on her velvet-clad hips. "You just feelin' sorry for yourself. Shouldn't you be celebratin' your new *son*?" "He is not my son!" Quentin roared, clambering out of his disheveled bed. "At least, I don't *want* him to be my son. I don't know *what* the hell he really is. "Except evil." "You got dat right, Mr. Quentin. Evil," she repeated, drawing the word out. "Evil of the purest kind." "And I'm responsible for him, Magda. And I don't even have the guts to destroy him." "Because of Victoria Winters." "Yes! Because of Vicki. She has this crazy notion that there is some good in him, that he's salvageable. But I just don't see it, Magda, and I don't know what to do about it!" "Sure you do. You know you haveta get tough, Quentin. You need to free your family from this evil. Free Vicki. Even free your *son*. They don't know it yet, but they are countin' on *you*." "I can't do it; I don't know how!" "'I can't do it; I don't know how,'" she parroted him. "Be a man, Quentin! You can do it, and you will. Otherwise." "But, Magda-" "Phhht! Enough with your whining and excuses. Now go clean yourself up - you stink, Quentin Collins." **************************************************************************** "Are you sure you are up to this?" "Yes, I'm sure," Vicki answered, leaning more heavily on her son than she would have liked. "I had to get out of that house." "I wanted both of us out of that house. I need to talk to you, Mother, and that house has ears." "And eyes." She couldn't help thinking of the many ruby and emerald eyes that had stared out from that Leviathan creature in the drawing room. "And eyes," Jeb agreed. "Come, let's sit over here for a moment." They had arrived at Widows' Hill, and he steered them over to sit on a large rock. The pale moonlight reflected off of both mother and son's stark white hair making them look like a pair of diamonds shining in the night. "I don't like what this is doing to you, Mother. My -our - involvement with the Leviathans, it's not good for either one of us. Every time you use your powers, it drains away some of your humanity. They're sucking you dry!" She had to agree with him. This latest episode with *Amy* had left her weak and exhausted, and well, the only word she could think of was "bleached". It was as if she was being *bleached* out of this world, being made less real *here* and more real *there* - there in her black garden. The whiter she became in this world, the blacker she seemed to become in that one. "What are you trying to say, Jeb?" He bounded off the rock, a bundle of nervous energy, and began to pace in front of her. She could tell that this was difficult for him; he was being torn in two directions. "I.I hear the voices, Mother, all of them, all the time in my head. My grandfather, the Leviathans - they want me to fulfill my destiny. It's the reason I was born to you, to re-establish their reign on the earth! But I also hear the others, my Collins ancestors, who urge me to follow my human legacy. It's been making me crazy!" Victoria wanted to go to him, comfort him, but she knew this was something he was working out for himself. He had to choose his own path. "I always thought it would be so easy. There was no question about my role, and I desired nothing else but to be the leader of the Leviathans." He fell on his knees in front of her and took both of her cool hands in his. "And then I met *you*." "Oh, Jeb, I know this is hard for you, sweetheart." "No, no, not anymore," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "That's what I brought you out here to tell you. I've made my choice." "Choice? What do you mean, Jeb?" Did she dare hope? "It's been hard enough to fight the war going on inside of my own head. But to see what they've done to you, and to know that you believe in me and want only the best for me - I've come to a decision. Mother, I want us both to be free of the Leviathans! I will no longer do what they want me to do." "Oh, Jeb!" Vicki cried as they fell into each other's arms. "You've made me so happy. This is all going to work out; I just know it will-" "Jebez!" Barnabas' strong baritone boomed out from behind them. The young man leaped to his feet and whirled to face Barnabas, but the vampire was too quick. By the time, Jeb had turned around, Collins had whipped out a small, black velvet box. Turning his own head away, he flicked the lock open to reveal the contents. "Jebez Hawkes! Behold.the Shard of Medusa!" "Barnabas, no-" Vicki screamed, but it was already too late. She had barely glanced at the object in the box, but that was enough to incapacitate her. She felt her muscles go rigid and freeze her where she sat, and she found that she could no longer move or speak. But she could still *see*, and what she saw happening to her son chilled the blood in her veins. For Jeb, the Leviathan prince, the leader of the Kraken, had looked directly into the box that Barnabas had thrust into his unsuspecting face. A box containing the shriveled tongue of one of the snakes that had adorned the hair of the infamous priestess of Aphrodite.the serpent woman, Medusa. Vicki's son had looked upon the head of Medusa -the only thing that could destroy the Kraken. And with that one glance, Jebez Hawkes had turned to stone. *No, Barnabas, no! You don't understand!* his mother's voice cried out, but only in her own head. She could only watch as Barnabas used the inhuman strength that had been restored to him by the Leviathans to lift the their leader above his head. "Jeb Hawkes, I return you to the sea from whence you came!" the vampire shouted, and Victoria watched as he did the unthinkable and threw her son from the cliff into the waiting and fathomless ocean depths below. And despite his having been turned to stone, she could still see the young man's terrified eyes as he fell from sight. In the distance, church bells solemnly rang the break of dawn. Barnabas had disappeared. Jeb was dead. And Victoria was left alone. Let freedom ring. To Be Continued ...