The Good Son
By Nicole Pruitt

Rating: M | Status: Completed | Genre: Supernatural/Angst | Series: None
Summary: Original Series. A back story on the Jennings family through the eyes of Tom.

Go to: Part 1 | Part 2

1968

Tom would make a quick stop at his house before heading off to his last job. Although he had one more job for the day, he thought it best to make sure that everything was going well he left for what could be most of the night. He almost relished this last little trinket of the day because Tom was convinced that it would be his last job for the Collins family. He had handed Roger Collins his resignation the day before, who had begrudgingly accepted it. He told Tom that he was a wonderful employee and that He would find him a hard worker to replace. Although he felt flattered, he made sure that Mr. Collins realized that he would not cave in and stick around town. He told him of his plans to leave Maine for the West Coast. "That’s very nice, Tom," he had said in his dignified manner. "You should live out your dreams while you’re still young. But tell me, do you have enough money saved to start your life over?"

"I believe so, sir."

"I’m afraid that’s not a good enough answer." Roger left him for a moment to go into the study. When she returned, she carried with her a leather clad book. Tom knew it was one of those large checkbooks. Was she going to give him money? Tom began to speak up but Mr. Collins silenced him immediately. "I know what you’re thinking, Tom, and I can assure you that I am not just giving you this money. Tomorrow, you will perform you last duty for this family. My estranged wife’s brother is moving into one of the family properties that have been left unoccupied for many years. I want you to check it out and make sure everything is as it should be. Is that fair?"

Tom had not been willing to argue with him, especially not after taking a peak at the amount she was going to pay him.

When he pulled into the driveway, Tom was greeted by Amy’s joyous smile. She nearly tackled him as he stepped out of the car, rapping her arms around his legs and hugging her body close to his as she pushed him into the door. "You’ve got to see the house," she squealed. "It looks so strange."

"I bet it does." Tom swept Amy from the ground and carried her inside. Just as she had said, the house did look strange. Tom could not remember a time when the walls had been as bare as they were now. Every picture and drawing had been stripped away and packed into the boxes that sat in the living room floor. All of the good furniture would follow them across the county; the refuse would be either sent to Goodwill or given away to anyone who happened to want it. In a few days, the Jennings’ home would be officially sold off and the last of the family would have left Collinsport for good. Even Chris had been notified of this event, and he seemed as thrilled as anyone did. They would all be starting over now. Tom couldn’t be more thrilled.

Genevieve wandered out of one of the back rooms. Her hair was tied into a natty ponytail and her clothes were stained by the dust the lined the old walls. To Tom, she seemed radiant nonetheless. She began to wrap her arms around his shoulders, but suddenly pulled away. "You don’t mind the dust, do you?"

"Not from you." Tom accepted Genevieve’s arms, and, in turn, her mouth as she reached up to kiss him. When they released, he pulled her close, and, together, they surveyed the work they had done over the last few days. "I can’t believe that we will be out of this house by the end of the week," he mused.

"I know," agreed Genevieve. "Soon, we’ll be starting over again. We’ll be married and together, we’ll raise Amy and . . . "

"Whatever else we can make in the next few years?"

"Bingo." Genevieve’s lips wandered up his neck and gently tugged at his earlobe. "Why don’t we start on that tonight?"

"After work."

Genevieve cringed and pulled out his arms. "I don’t think you should do that job," she said quietly. "We don’t need the money. I’m sure Mr. Collins would understand."

"But I promised him that I would do this . . . and we do need the money."

"I still don’t like it."

"Well, you’ve never liked this job," snapped Tom.

"It’s not that you’re working for the Collins family," insisted Genevieve. "I’ve just got a bad feeling about this one. I want you to stay home with Amy and me. I want to know that you’re safe."

Tom stared at Genevieve from across the room, amazed by how afraid she was of something so simple as THIS job. He groaned before moving to her, taking her into his arms and holding her tight. "It’ll be alright, I swear. I’ll finish as quickly as I can and come straight home. Do you know that it’ll be a clear night tonight? We’ll get a blanket and some wine. We’ll make love beneath the heavens and watch the stars twinkle as we bask in each other’s glory. Would you like that?" Genevieve nodded. "Great. Then we’ll do that after I get back. Okay?"

"Okay." Genevieve kissed him hard, harder than she had in quite awhile. She called for Amy the moment they released. "I’ll see you when you get back."

Tom kissed her again and made his way toward the door. Amy intercepted him only feet from his destination, holding her arms up to him with a gleefully expression on her face. He took her into his arms and let her press her small body against his. "How long are you going to be, Tom? Not too long I hope."

"It’ll all depends on what Mr. Blair wants from me." He sat Amy back down and rose to leave. For some odd reason, he picked Amy back up and kissed her again. He ran a finger down her nose and asked, "You’re going to be good while I’m gone, aren’t you." Amy nodded. Tom watched as his sister ran up to his girlfriend and, for the first time, realized that the three of them would be rid of this house in a few days. Soon, the Jennings clan would be kissing Collinsport goodbye. He knew that he shouldn’t be so happy about it, but he was. He had so many conflicting emotions centered on his hometown. By the end of the week, Tom would be free of creaky old town. The thought was enough to make his upcoming job seem pleasant.

Tom smiled and walked toward the front door. Before going out to his car, he turned back into the house and said, "Goodbye for now. I’ll see you both tonight."

Nothing bothered Tom more than the incessant howling of dogs. Lately, everywhere he went, he was followed by the lonesome sound of a dog either in need or in pain. When had this begun? Ah yes . . . it had been the night that the blonde entered his life and ripped it to shreds.

Genevieve had been right: he shouldn’t have taken the job. If he had stayed home, he would have never seen the coffin hidden in Nicholas Blair’s cellar. He had been willing to turn away from it and forget what he had seen, but Blair had insisted on giving some glib explanation as to why it was there. Tom accepted that explanation and left. But the more his mind dwelled on it, the stranger the coffin became. He believed that no one in the family would keep a coffin hidden away on one of their old properties. Tom knew that he had to tell the authorities.

Quite suddenly, he noticed the sound crumbling of leaves approaching him, and, in the distance, the fearful shrieking of hounds began to resonate. Tom looked up to see a blonde woman, ethereal in her gown but silent as the Sphinx. He asked her for her name, but she did not respond. He continued to demand for her answer; the woman refused to give one as she moved toward him. Tom tried to flee the scene, but he discovered that he was unable to move. The best he had been able to do was scream as she drained him, hoping that his cries would bring help. Unfortunately, his only reprieve came with his loss of consciousness.

Tom didn’t remember most of his hospital stay. He could not recall any of his visitors until the last day, although occasionally he saw snapshot like images of a few close friends’ faces hovering over his bed. But his only true memories were of those few hours before her return. He could still see the look on Joe’s face as he told him about what he had seen; that look had been a mixture of terror and sympathy, a good sign that he understood what he was being told. Tom had not always gotten along with his cousin, but he had believed that he could trust Joe when times were tough. How much tougher could times get! When he asked Joe to go to the police, he immediately said that he would. Tom thought that this awful mess would finally be over; but then he watched his cousin open the window. He called Joe on it and was be fed some line about the room being too stuffy. ‘This is a hospital,’ Tom had thought. ‘It’s always cold!’ But he decided to let it slide. He could trust Joe, couldn’t he? Besides, the air would do him some good. And surprisingly enough, he had been able to steal a few moments of rest before he heard the fluttering wings outside his window. He looked up to see the blonde standing before him. What use was there in protesting? His struggles would lead to the same end that they had before: being emptied and left for dead by the beautiful mute.

How was he ever going to escape her and her dogs! Surely the blonde and her posse were again on his trail…or were they? Tom looked around to see a twilight kissed forest shading him from the sky. Forest? He couldn’t remember leaving the hospital. How had he gotten to the woods if he had never left his bed? Tom wandered throughout the forest in the hopes of finding some clue as to how he ended up there. He eventually came to a sort of clearing. Tom stared for a moment out into the sea of stone, unwilling to believe that his search had brought him to a graveyard. Calmly, he glanced over the headstones and, on occasion, he would notice a name, be it from direct knowledge or hearsay. He thought nothing of them. One marker, however, made him stop. "’Thomas Jennings: 1944-1968.’ But it can’t be. I’m alive! I’m breathing, I’m walking, I’m . . . oh God." Suddenly, it made sense. Tom knew why he wasn’t in the hospital. He knew where his day had gone. The dogs weren’t howling for the blonde; they were howling for him.

Tom heard rustling in the distance. He couldn’t be seen by anyone, at least not yet. He ran to the thickest grouping of trees and watched as Joe Haskell approached the tombstone. Tom could see that his cousin was thoroughly glass-eyed. "I can’t believe I’m here," whispered Joe. Tom noticed how his voice had cracked, showing that his old adversary had wept for quite a while. "I . . . um . . . well, I hate that all this had to happen. I tried . . . I tried to stop her, but she . . . she stopped me! She had her way . . . she always does. I’m so sorry. I’ve betrayed you!"

‘You’re damn straight,’ thought Tom angrily. He couldn’t believe that old reliable Joe was involved with the blonde devil. That fool knew what she had done and now all he could do was apologize! Tom’s life, a life that would have finally moved in a positive direction, had been destroyed. He knew of his own damnation, but what about Genevieve or Amy, who wasn’t even old enough to take care of herself? People had been ruined; Cousin Joe would have to pay.

Tom started to creep out of the woods, but stopped at the sound of approaching footsteps. He fled back to his tree and watched as three forms moved closer. Tom was shocked to see the eccentric Collins surrounded by his manservant and the doctor who lived in the Great House. Tom remembered seeing her wander around during the days and had heard rumors of how she gave sedatives out like Halloween candy. Although he had a sinking feeling about this trio, they didn’t immediately strike him to be grave groupies. He watched in silence as the woman went up to Joe and led him away from the grave. Once they were out of sight, Collins and his manservant took their places. This was the first time that Tom noticed their shovels. ‘So they’re going to dig it up!’ He could just imagine their shock when they discovered the empty coffin. He snickered softly at them until hunger burst in his stomach and spread throughout his body. The pain sent Tom to his knees. Out of habit, he bit down on his bottom lip to find that fangs had already descended into his mouth. No doubt about it: he needed to hunt.

Tom had two options: he could attack the grave robbers or search elsewhere for a victim. He didn’t believe that he would be able to take on both men by himself. Although he knew that he would have to leave the forest, he didn’t know where he would go. Besides, how would he leave without them hearing him? He crouched lower to the ground and concentrated on leaving the area. Slowly, he felt his body rise from the ground, buffered by the air as he ascended above the trees. Although Tom was pleasantly surprised by his new ability, he didn’t see it as a solution. Wouldn’t the men see him zooming through the sky and become suspicious? He glanced down at them to see that they were thoroughly consumed with their task. He could leave undetected, and he took ample advantage to do so.

Tom found enchantment in flying. Part of him could still remember the whispers of his decrepit grandfather as he warned his mother before she flew to Santa Fe to meet an old friend from school: "If God had meant for you to fly, he woulda gave you wings. There ain’t no need to do it, and there ain’t no reason to want to." Well, Tom had always thought his grandfather mad. Now was the perfect time to believe it. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could find fault with flying. He had never felt freer than he did right then with his arms extended out and his body gleefully being battered by the cold night sky. Maybe death wasn’t going to be so bad after all?

After much hesitation, Tom fell back to earth. He scanned the grounds to find himself in a familiar place. One rarely forgets what home looks like. Of course, it looked a little shabbier than when he last saw it but that was to be expected. No one was around now to mow the lawn or sweep the porch. If something broke, it was liable to remain that way until someone bought the place and fixed it up. Genevieve was probably at the house, but she would be in no condition to keep it livable. The week before she had packed all their things away so that they could leave the state. Tom was pretty sure that she hadn’t touched it in all that time.

A light burned dimly from the kitchen. Tom crept up to the house to inspect, although he knew well whom he would find. He peaked through the window to see Genevieve scrounging through her purse. She had dragged the old black telephone in from the living room, letting the cable stretch tight like a trip cord for any unexpected visitors. Tom noticed that she was still wearing the customary black dress. He remembered that Genevieve hated wearing black; she must have borrowed that atrocity from a friend because she didn’t own a stitch of black clothes.

After a few minutes of searching, Genevieve pulled a crumbled piece of paper from her purse. Tom wouldn’t have realized what she was about to do had he not recognized the handwriting. Her fingers trembled as they searched out the necessary slots, but she eventually dialed the number. "Hello," she whispered unsurely, "can I speak with Chris Jennings. This is most urgent." There was a minute or two of strained silence, a time in which Tom noticed his lover’s tired face morph into a vision of frustration. "Listen! This is not THAT kind of call. So why don’t you get off your lazy ass and tell Chris that his could’ve been sister in law has called to tell him about his brother’s funeral! Uh-huh, that’s right. Now go tell him before I hurt you, okay?"

Genevieve withdrew the receiver from her mouth and mumbled, "Stupid twit. I don’t have time for her bruised ego." In an instant, she rammed the phone back to her ear and sighed. "God Chris, it’s so good to hear your voice. Please tell me you’re just living with this girl because you have no other choices. The jealous child wouldn’t let me talk to you until I mentioned the funeral. What do you mean you didn’t know about the funeral? You do know that Tom’s dead? Did you know he was attacked? ARGH! Joe was supposed to handle all of this, he told me so. Then again, Joe has not been himself for quite awhile.

"Everything is screwed up down here. Tom was attacked on a Collins property leased to a Mr. Nicholas Blair. He was in a coma for a little less than a week, but he started to recover a few days ago. I was with him yesterday and he was doing fine. He kept saying that he needed to tell Joe something. No, he didn’t tell me what that something was. He said that he didn’t want to worry me. Anyway, I wake up to hear he died last night. Joe told me he had it all covered, though. We had the funeral a few hours later and now it’s all done." Genevieve hesitated a beat before screaming, "Of course the pieces don’t fit! That’s why I’m calling you. I’d like it if you came back to Collinsport to help me get some answers. No, the police aren’t helping. Their idea of helping was taking Amy out of my care and putting her in Windcliff. No, I don’t want to talk about it. Listen, I’ve just had the worst day of my life. I’ll fill you in on the particulars when you get here, okay . . . "

Tom eased away from the window and moved back into the overgrown lawn. As much as he wanted to go to her, he knew that it was out of the question. Genevieve Reeves was a part of another life, a life that had ended much too suddenly. She would never be his again, be it as a lover or as a victim. Tom knew it was best to steal this one last glimpse of his love as she attempted to sort out the events of the last few days. "Do me proud, Gene. Make him pay." Tom looked back to the sky and rose, convinced that he would never see this house again.

Of course this realization hadn’t eased his hunger. If anything, it worsened it, making his physical pain almost unbearable. Without thinking of where he went, he landed back on the ground. A quick look around told him that he was on Collins property. What luck? He had gotten in trouble here; why not cause a little of his own? He began to walk toward the Great House, but stopped short of doing so. He couldn’t take a bite out of any of them, at least not yet. No one had knowingly sent him into danger. They wouldn’t suffer for this . . . that is, for the time being. He turned around and headed toward the Old House.

The lights from the Old House shown brightly, seeming especially bright when one factored in the fact that it didn’t have electricity. Tom wasn’t really worried about that, though. If the house was illuminated, then there had to be someone there. He snuck up to the window and peaked inside. No one seemed to be home. Yet a moment later, a man walked out the door. Tom looked over to see that it was Jeff Clark, and he seemed irritated. Every time he had seen him, he seemed to be piqued over something. For a moment, he thought about attacking Clark, but he quickly decided against it. There was no need for Tom’s first feeding to be on bitter blood.

Tom walked up to the door and checked the knob. Just as he had suspected, it was unlocked. He had been around the Collinses long enough to know that they never locked their doors. When he had worked for them, he had done his best to curb this habit. In his present state, Tom found it to be a blessing that these people never seemed to learn. The moment he stepped inside, Tom could sense that a living being was somewhere within the house. He would search the premises if he had to; the pain was becoming too much to bear. Fortunately, he noticed the odd metal door in the drawing room. As he walked toward it, the smell of warm blood greeted him with open arms. Cautiously, he opened the door and slipped down the dank steps, ready to take on whatever he happened to meet at the bottom.

Tom was almost surprised to see the good doctor in the basement. Tom sat at the steps a moment, attempting to assess if someone was with her. He neither saw nor felt anyone else in the room. So he made his move and walked into the light. She turned around with a start and asked who he was. All Tom could do was offer a smile. The doctor caught the hint very fast, be it because her friend had told her all about his finding or because the fangs were already on their marks. She begged Tom to stay back; he didn’t see what was stopping him. He made his way to her and took her into his arms. Her protests strengthened as he held her. Maybe she knew exactly what was coming. Tom knew her fear and he knew the pain that would come with the first drink. He didn’t bother to warn her as he plunged his fangs into her pale neck. His attack was met by her screams, but Tom didn’t care. This was his first taste of blood as one of the living dead. He couldn’t believe it was this unbelievable.

In hindsight, he should have known better than to take the Dr. Julia Hoffman as his slave. That didn’t mean that Tom regretted his choice. Julia was more than willing to offer up her neck to him, be it for his or her own pleasure. Through her blood, he had seen her thwarted affections for the eccentric, hollow cheeked Barnabas who (surprise, surprise) is a recovering vamp. It seemed that Julia had done her damndest to cure the poor bastard of his "horrible" affliction. Was she going to attempt to cure Tom? He couldn’t see it in her thoughts. She seemed to like Tom just the way he was.

Not that Tom would agree to treatment anyway. In only the few nights since he had risen from the grave, he had become completely engrossed by his new life. For the first time, he was free of distractions and responsibility. He needed only to worry about himself. It had been ages since had had this kind of independence.

But life hadn’t been all fun and games. Tom’s first problem had been trying to find a place to sleep out the day. After a few moments of careful searching, he found an empty crypt. As he had suspected, it had Collins origin. Extra crypt? Were they just planning on death? But it didn’t really matter to Tom why they had built it. It was large enough to serve his purpose. Since Barnabas and his servant had already turned the soil, acquiring his coffin was a cinch. He soon had his daylight safe house ready for business.

Sleeping in the coffin was another matter. Tom had always been slightly claustrophobic, a condition not very well suited to casket quarters. And to think that he had thought his old dorm room too small! Each evening, he would wake up and not realize where he was. Panic would instantly set in and he would thrash about in his small space, rocking the coffin until it teetered precariously on its stand. This activity, violent as it looked, brought Tom back to reality. With a quick movement, he would force it open and zoom into a sitting position, panting to recover any lost air. As much as he loved his new life, Tom had trouble grasping that he was dead. It was little things like this that made him remember and left him slightly bitter about his situation.

But any hesitation was swept away by the smell of the air. SHE was awake and was thinking of nothing but him. Tom would be able to reflect on nothing but Julia until he had the taste of her in his mouth. Just the thought of her was often enough to send his body reeling. He could savor her longing in the back of his throat. It was almost as intoxicating as her blood. He had to go to her side at once; nothing was going to keep them apart.

Tom had almost made his mind about the fate of Dr. Julia Hoffman. As much as he wanted to maintain their current "relationship," he realized that it was not an option for the long term. There were, therefore, only two real alternatives: free her and find another victim or do to her as was done to him. Although he liked the idea of having her with him forever, the remaining vestiges of Tom’s conscience held him back. He had never been a man prone to violence; could he kill anyone? Could he take her against her will? The first problem was something he’d have to overcome; the second was something that would soon be out of the way. In just a few more nights, his will would permanently supplement hers. He wouldn’t have to force her into anything because she would willingly do as he told her. That didn’t mean he had to make a decision on it now. There would be plenty of time to come to some understanding that didn’t feel rushed.

After of few minutes of rest, Tom slipped out of his coffin and flowed out into the world. Ever since his transformation, he had begun to view the world around him as different. The night air that had once seemed to be one mangled flavor now held a cacophony of aromas, each on distinct from the ones around it. Every color seemed brighter than it had before. It was as if the life that had once filled his body had been partitioned out to the earth. Tom wondered if others saw this change or if he was the only one allowed to view this glory.

He knew that he had changed drastically. Although he was unable to see the changes with his own eyes, his invasion of Julia’s mind had allowed him to see his new self. He looked like the man he had been days before, but something seemed amiss. Something in his eyes . . . or his stance . . . or maybe his smile . . . had mutated into something quite different. It all lent him a lethal edge that he had not possessed when he was alive. Was it a good thing? It got the job done; why question what works?

Tom leisurely walked to his mark in the woods. It was THEIR spot. In just a few minutes, Julia would walk up to him and remove her scarf. They would then join together, merging in a union that was sensual and violent. It was the hi-light of his night. He took a deep, cleansing breath and called out. "Julia . . . Julia, come to me." He took another breath and leaned up against a tree. All he needed to do was wait.

Five minutes turned into ten; then turned into twenty. Soon, Tom found that he was still standing by the tree, forty-five minutes after he had sent out the call. He could send out another one, but, for some reason, it seemed pointless. He sniffed the air to find it the same as it was before. She was alive and she still longed to be with him. There had to be something holding her back . . . but what?

Tom thought on it for only a moment. The answer was painfully obvious. It had to be Barnabas. But why? He didn’t want Julia . . . at least not the way Tom did. He was being difficult for no reason. Did Tom pose a serious threat to him? Not likely. The man was just being territorial. "Old bastard," muttered Tom. "He only wants her now that someone’s in the way." Well, Tom had much to say about that. He was not willing to give up his only companion to assuage someone else’s guilt. Barnabas would be dreadfully sorry that he picked this fight!

"Rescuing" Julia proved harder than he had first believed. Tom knew that Barnabas had his love locked away in that cold ancestral fortress. What did Barnabas care for her? He was using her for some stupid little science experiment. He couldn’t need her the way that Tom did.

And Tom was literally starving for her body. He wouldn’t lower himself to take from the women who walked Collinsport’s docks. He could smell the disease rising ripe from the nubile bodies and taste their desperation in the air around their eyes. Tom would not pollute his body with their blood. He couldn’t drink from the sewer when he knew that the pristine reservoir was within his reach. Although ravenous for nourishment, he could wait until his Julia returned.

Tom realized that Julia thought of him constantly. He wouldn’t let her forget. He would pry into her mind and ask her why she wasn’t with him. He would beg her to give her reasoning for resisting his call. He could hear her mental pleading for forgiveness, pleading for him to understand that there were others who needed her as badly as he did. Each time she gave this paltry excuse, he would ask her whose needs were more important: his or Barnabas’. She could never answer. Tom knew that any minute her answer might come and she would flee her romantic prison to run to his embrace.

Unfortunately, it was taking days to break her resolve. Tom knew she longed for him; Julia’s desire was all that kept him going. Occasionally, he could hear her thoughts of escape. In even rarer instances, he could literally feel her body rise from its bed and move toward the door. But every time she inched forward, she would almost instantly run back to the bed and lie down. She was more afraid of Barnabas than enamored with Tom. If they had been allowed more time to get acquainted, this kind of thing wouldn’t have happened.

Julia didn’t have the strength to escape her captor. That was fine. Since she was unable to come to him, Tom would just have to go to her.

It was only fair to give her fair warning. "Julia," he whispered internally, "I’m coming to you, dear." He could feel her excitement mixing with equal trepidation. Barnabas had to be with her. What would that confrontation hold? If it were a physical battle . . . well, Tom could waste Mr. Collins in a moment. Not only was he the much younger man, but he now had the increased strength that went along with his change. Barnabas had given that up with his cure. Hand to hand combat would be a cinch. But Tom didn’t know what would happen with any other kind of fight. Sometimes, it felt as if his mind needed more time to adapt to its new surroundings. He felt slower to the point of apathy because of it. Tom hoped this was a temporary condition. He couldn’t stand an eternity of stupidity.

As he walked to the Old House, he could hear Julia’s warnings going off inside his head. "He’s still with me," she said silently. "He has a gun!" Gun? It seemed that Barnabas was becoming desperate. Silver bullet was a solid bet if he were fighting a werewolf; with a vampire, silver was a gamble. Tom wondered about Barnabas’ aim. Would he be able to hit his heart? He was willing to bet that he couldn’t.

Tom paced around the house once he arrived, looking desperately for the room Julia was being sequestered. Even from this distance, he could pick up the distinctive scent of her blood. He knew that it might have been a better idea to wait outside a while longer in the hopes that Barnabas would leave the room. Yet it didn’t seem worth the wait. He knew that the feeding would not happen in the house. He had to lure her outside; he would have to take her somewhere else. Without further wavering, Tom let his body crumble to dust and rise into Julia’s room.

The look on Julia’s face when he appeared in her room was priceless. Her eyes were filled with fear. Fear of whom? How was he to know? But why was he to care? He only had to ask his question and leave. "Julia, why didn’t you come when I called?"

"I . . . I wanted to go," she said, "but I . . . I . . . "

Tom twisted around to see the source of the sound. Just as he had expected, Barnabas stood a few feet away, gun in hand and a triumphant gleam in his eyes. But that spark disappeared as Julia sprung from her seat and stood between the barrel of the gun and her vampire lover. Barnabas begged her to get out of his way numerous times; each time, Julia refused to budge. Barnabas would just glance between Julia and Tom, anger filling his expression as he tried to think of a way out of the situation.

It would have been the perfect moment for Tom to gloat. Barnabas Collins, a man who normally oozed arrogance and control, was unable to command his closest confidante. If there was ever a moment to laugh, it was now. But it would just be a waste of time, not to mention that it would just enrage Barnabas further. The man was teetering on the breaking point. Anyone pushed to the brink would do anything to relieve his tension. His relief would probably come by emptying a gun into Tom’s body. If that was going to be the case, he wouldn’t be waiting around to see if Barnabas would reach the edge. Tom dematerialized and fled the building.

Tom reappeared a few feet away from the Old House. "Okay, that didn’t go well," he snapped. He had known what he would walk into; why did the tension affect him? Had he actually felt sorry for Barnabas Collins? That couldn’t be good. He felt so unsure of things now. He had to be losing his mind. He needed to feed and fast.

Tom knew what he needed, but he didn’t know where to search for it. He didn’t know if anyone else in the Collins family knew that he had returned. If they did, he couldn’t hunt on their ground because they would catch him. Could he go into the village? His connections inside the community had been flimsy at best. To most people, he had been either the nice, "good ole boy" handyman or the younger brother of that boy who went away. They probably wouldn’t recognize his face from anyone else’s. He could go inside a bar or restaurant, pick some poor soul up, and end that life in a nearby alley. It was as good a plan as any.

But Tom didn’t want to do it. He had never picked a person up in such a way. He knew 15-year-olds that were more experienced at such a rouse than he was. He didn’t want to go, but he felt he had no choice. There were two voices speaking inside his head: the voice of the conscience and the voice of the blood. Although the former had been more powerful in life, the latter had taken over his spirit in death. It gave him no peace. Tom hated this compulsion and, for that, hated himself. He had become a slave to his thirst; he couldn’t take it anymore.

Instead of walking into town, Tom wandered back toward the cemetery. It was quiet and, to Tom’s delight, absent of even the façade of life. He fought the hunger as he walked back to his crypt. He only wanted sleep and if possible, to do so forever. This life was too much for him to take. He probably wouldn’t gain the person he wanted; he more than likely would have to live off the lives of the lowest society had to offer; and he would not have felt that he had no chance for rest. Although mortals feared death, in the end, most go gratefully into its embrace. One can only live so long before the energy leaves and the need for silence takes over. What did Tom have to look forward to? The next kill? It had only taken a week, but he was now ready to die and start down the road he had been originally scheduled to walk.

As he moved toward his home, he heard rustling from the distance. After a small delay, he caught the smell of blood drifting in the air. Someone had decided to enter the fold. Tom couldn’t notice this person’s thoughts so he had no clue as to why this idiot had resolved to enter a cemetery. Yet how dare this person enter his world? As much as he wanted to turn away from it, Tom began to walk toward the smell. This person wouldn’t be Julia, but this person was alive and ready to bleed. This person would end his pain. Yet, as ready as he was to feed, he was taken aback the moment he saw who was before him.

Elizabeth Stoddard walked among the graves mumbling to her self in a soft, unintelligible voice. Tom knew he couldn’t bite Mrs. Stoddard. She had been so kind to him during his life. He couldn’t take her life away, especially not when she was in such a low position. "Had I not worked for her, I wouldn’t be here," he suddenly realized. If it hadn’t been for Elizabeth Stoddard and her misplaced act of kindness, he wouldn’t be where he was on this night. If only indirectly, she was the cause of his unending damnation. Tom knew that he had to show her the fruits of her actions, and with that, he stepped out of the shadows and into her line of sight.

It took no time for Elizabeth to realize that he was there. "Who are you?" she asked in a newly crazed voice. "What are you doing here?"

Tom didn’t answer. He just stared down on his intended prey, delighting in the sight of the quickening pulse in her neck. Oh, if he could only inspire a little more fear, just enough to send her blood pounding through her body. He could just barely nip her, then, and the blood would flow easily into his needing mouth. But it really didn’t matter; her blood would find home in his stomach one way or another.

Tom cracked the thinnest of smiles at Elizabeth Stoddard. When her bemused expression showed that she didn’t understand, he extended the smile, allowing his razor like fangs to peak through and slip over his lips. This message she read easily and let out a mind-blowing howl to prove it. Tom should have pounced her at that moment, but he didn’t. He first tried to quiet her, but when that didn’t work, he fled in a puff of smoke. There was no telling who else was in the cemetery. If he hadn’t left, any member of the Collins family who had followed their matriarch into no man’s land would have discovered him. It was all so stressful! Tom was more than happy to return to his crypt. The darkness would do him good.

And for a few moments, he found his tranquility in the cool abyss. But just as soon as he felt comfortable, he began to sense someone approaching his crypt. He slipped further into the shadows and watched as a form emerged from the door. Tom could barely contain his delight: it was Julia! So she had been able to escape Barnabas Collins! He almost crept out of the darkness; all that stopped him was the sound of more footsteps. A few moments later, Elizabeth Stoddard entered the room. She looked over at the coffin and seemed to tense up instantly. She turned to Julia and asked, "Is it for me?"

Julia’s anger was apparent. "Elizabeth," she said forcefully, "go home! This has nothing to do with you." Mrs. Stoddard didn’t hesitate as she followed her houseguest’s orders. Tom couldn’t deny that he was impressed; it seemed his love wanted him more than he had bargained. He waited until the intruder was completely out of earshot before emerging from his hiding place. Julia removed her scarf immediately, revealing to him the scars of their last encounter. The sight of those red welts was enough to send him over the edge. He moved up to Julia and, taking her into his arms, sank his fangs into her neck.

It was so much better than he had remembered! Tom couldn’t get close enough to her as he quietly drained her body. As he drank, Julia moaned and rubbed up against his body as he drank. She was trying to arouse him; she didn’t have to do much to get him there. His body hardened against hers, begging for sweet release. But he couldn’t find it the old fashioned way. Death had left his cock as limp as a cold wet noodle. Then again, the blood was all he really needed. He took from her body what he needed and, when rapture gripped his body, dropped her to the floor without warning.

It took a moment for Tom to realize what he had done. He bent down and checked Julia’s pulse, breathing an uncertain sigh of relief as he rose to his feet. She had not died although she was almost dead. If he had taken a few more draughts of her blood, she would have been set to rise by tomorrow’s nightfall. Technically, this was what he wanted. At the same time, he wasn’t able to deal with it. He couldn’t stay with her, not now. Tom fled the crypt quickly. He didn’t have to worry about Julia; she wasn’t going anywhere.

He walked around for an hour or so, staring up at the moonlit sky as he carefully dodged the oncoming trees. What was he doing with his life? In a few hours, he was going to return to the crypt and, for the first time, take someone’s life. He had never purposefully killed an animal, much less a human. Tom felt that he couldn’t go through with Julia’s murder. And yet part of him was very aware of the fact that he was no longer human. He didn’t react to the world in the way he had before. He was no longer playing by human rules. And living by these new rules left him incredibly isolated and lonely. If killing Julia would end that seclusion, it had to be done.

When Tom finally decided to wander back to his crypt, it was verging on daybreak. He knew that he didn’t have much time to kill Julia, but he knew just as well that he didn’t really need a great deal to finish his mission. He had left her near death; she was almost his.

As he moved closer to the crypt he sensed that something was amiss. The sound of quickly approaching footsteps sent him scurrying behind a tree. He looked back to see Barnabas Collins’ manservant frantically running away from the crypt. "Oh God," mumbled Tom. "That idiot has found me out." Taking Julia was now out of the question. His only goal for the rest of the quickly fading night was to stay alive.

Tom slipped quietly into the crypt and saw Barnabas Collins standing by with hammer and stake in hand. Hypocritical bastard! Barnabas had probably taken extra care to stop anyone from ending his own "horrid" experience, but when another vampire enters into his town, he’s the first to pick up the pike.

For some odd reason, Barnabas seemed surprised to see Tom standing before him. Didn’t he realize that a vampire would return to its hiding place before sunrise? Was Tom the only other vampire he had ever seen with his own eyes? That really wasn’t the question at the moment. Tom, who had been able to successfully knock the hammer from Barnabas’ hands, fought with his enemy over the stake. Barnabas kept trying to remind him of the coming dawn. Tom wasn’t that stupid. He wasn’t about to go to sleep and leave the man who would kill him free to do so. He knocked the stake from Barnabas’ hands and pushed him into the coffin. For the shortest moment, he stared into this man’s eyes and he saw a fear there that he had never seen before. How many times had this one looked into the eyes of his victims and saw the same look of mortal dread, the knowing that there would be no more sunrises or spring days once this night ended. More than anyone, Barnabas deserved to meet this kind of end. Tom would enjoy this task.

Just as he leaned in for the kill, a rooster crowed and broke Tom’s trance. ‘Dammit,’ he thought, ‘It’s coming quicker than I had expected.’ Tom could feel the air begin to heat up around him. The sun was rising and he needed to get into the coffin. Barnabas, thinking that he was clever, said, "It’s too late. The sun has come." Tom could feel the sneer smearing across his face as he pushed the smug prude to the floor, watching as his head bounced off the stone surface and fell unconscious. Someone needed to teach that man not to speak out of turn. Tom was glad that had been given the chance. As much as he wanted to remove Barnabas from the crypt, he couldn’t chance walking outside. The sun was rising quicker, sapping away his strength as it searched its place out in the sky. With much trepidation, Tom climbed into the coffin and shut himself away for the day.

Tom usually waited until the he felt that the sun had completely risen before sleeping, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than close his eyes. That man remained alive and he would do anything in his power to snuff out the life that lay in the coffin. He knew that he hadn’t knocked Barnabas out for the day. Soon enough, he would come to, pick up his instruments, and pound the stake into Tom’s heart. Although Tom was tired of this life, he wasn’t ready to die, especially not by Barnabas Collins’ hand.

A few minutes after sunrise, Tom heard the coffin lid creep open. Barnabas had come around after all! Had he opened the lid a few minutes earlier, Tom still might have had the strength to reach out and grab his attacker, forcing lengthened nails into the skin before sinking his fangs into the nearest vein. But the sun had sapped all of his strength and Tom was forced to lay back and allow this to happen.

"How many times has another stood over my coffin, stake in hand with the intention to end my life?" mused Barnabas.

‘Hundreds of times! Now feel sorry for me and leave!’ thought Tom angrily. Barnabas didn’t seem to be receiving the message. He placed the stake over Tom’s heart.

Even before the hammer sent it into his body, Tom could feel the tip of the stake sinking into his day-weakened skin. It created a small amount of pressure in his chest and seemed to ready the rest of his body for pain that was to come. Tom knew that he wouldn’t be ready. His past didn’t pass through his mind as much as his future did. Every missed moment, be it from his mortal life or from his immortal one, flew past his eyes, bringing with it unmistakable joy and undeniable grief. He was 24. Although his life had never been pleasant, it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Tom faintly heard the hammer swing above him, a silent swish before he felt his heart burst in his chest. Pressure built in side, pushing against skin, muscle and bone in a futile attempt to escape. Tom thought he would explode if he didn’t do something fast. The only thing he knew to do was scream, releasing the tension in his chest and the blood that had flown into his mouth after the impact. Although he was dying, he could still feel the fear rising in Barnabas Collins; he wanted him to be afraid. He wanted Barnabas to remember what it looked and sounded like to take the life of someone when they were at their most vulnerable. This was meant to be an experience that would stick.

After the air was gone, Tom fell into permanent silence. The blood that remained in his body pooled in his lungs, constricting further breathing and sapping away the remaining oxygen. Since blood flow had ceased, his limbs began to go numb and quickly die away. His vision had begun to fade and his world soon turned to black. For a few moments more, Tom could hear the ragged beating of Barnabas’ still exasperated heart taunting him. If he had only been stronger . . .

And then there was nothing. The body had totally given out and the soul was looking for a way out. He felt so deeply relaxed as the life trickled away from him. He wasn’t fighting it anymore, allowing his body to release and fall into place.

And it was all over. There was no more anger, no more frustration. His life was over and Tom Jennings was truly at peace.

Who gave Nicholas Blair the right to revive the dead? Tom knew that he had not been a ward to Hell’s estate. Death had not been some trip into fire, brimstone, and eternal torture. Then again, death had not brought him back to his long lost loved ones; there had been no angels or sparkling dreamscapes in his afterlife. Still, it had been pure bliss for Tom. He found solace in the void that death had brought him. There were no responsibilities, no family drudgery, no Collins job, no Julia Hoffman, and, gratefully, no need for blood. Frustration no longer a chased him down. In truth, he felt little at all. His main emotion had been pure and unadulterated relief. He was finally where he wanted to be.

However, sometime during his calm, he began to feel pain. It seemed to pull on him, tugging him out of his heaven and dragging him somewhere else. Since he had no way to stop it, he allowed the pain to take him from his home and lead him to an unknown destination.

When he came to, he felt heavy, drugged. He looked up into his dulled surroundings and saw Nicholas Blair standing before him, stake in hand and a sneer on his face. Tom glanced to his side and recognized his nighttime home. Why was he in the coffin? What was happening?

Tom was most shocked to hear Blair command him to rise. Who did he think he was? He knew very well that he was dead and that, at this point in his existence, no one could tell him what and what not to do. But against his will, Tom’s body crudely rose from its wooden sheath and stepped in front of its commander. Tom tried to talk, but he found he couldn’t utter more than a squeak. Carefully, he touched the space over his heart, searching for the puncture wound that had ended his life. To his surprise, he couldn’t find it. The skin over the injury had healed and even the rip in his shirt had been repaired. Somehow, he was alive again; he couldn’t have felt sicker.

Tom listened weakly as Blair gave his order: kill Victoria Winters. He didn’t offer a reason for this orchestrated murder. It didn’t matter; Tom couldn’t take the order seriously. Ms Winters was a bigger threat to herself than she ever could be to anyone else. He wouldn’t kill her because he saw no need for it.

But once again, Tom’s body fled the building when Blair told it to, taking flight quickly and touching down moments later outside Victoria’s window at Collinwood. Tom didn’t understand what was going on. Had he lost complete control of his own body? If he lived out this night, would he be damned into being Nicholas Blair’s private lackey? This was worse than his first try at vampirism. At least then, he had been in control of his actions. Now, he was nothing more than a glorified puppet. Tom sensed that even if he fought his master’s commands, he would eventually find himself following them to fruition.

As carefully as was now possible, Tom opened her window and slipped inside. For a moment, he stared at Ms Winters and marvel at her porcelain beauty. She possessed such thick hair and a slim, gentle frame. If he was being forced to kill a person, it might as well be her. To top it off, she would rise the next day as a vampire if he succeeded. Maybe Nicholas would let him keep her? If he was going to be an eternal slave, he might as well have someone around to keep him company. He would have to put in the request.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Tom crept into Victoria’s room, sliding up to her bed with fangs extended. She looked lovelier with every step he took toward her. He watched as she stirred and, quite accidentally, looked up into his face. It only took a moment for her to realize that something was wrong and she screamed. She leapt out of bed and tried to escape the room. But she wasn’t quick enough to escape Tom. He caught her not far from the door, causing Ms Winters to pass out. ‘This is going to be so easy,’ he thought as he wrapped her into his arms. He bent down and grazed his mouth against her neck, choosing to savor the taste and smell of her skin before he went for her blood. It had been months since he had last tasted another’s flesh. He would enjoy this a good deal.

As he opened his mouth wider over her neck, Tom heard the door creek open. He looked up to see Barnabas Collins standing in the doorway, his eyes glazed over in fury as he looked at the scene before him. Blood would just have to wait. Tom let Victoria fall to the ground and turned to leave. He didn’t bother to look behind him as he jumped out the opened window and took to flight. Unless things had drastically changed since he had died, no one would be able to follow him in the air.

Tom landed outside the House-by-the-Sea, panting and barely able to hold himself erect. Barnabas Collins knew that he was alive. If he wasn’t able to get out of Collinsport, he probably wouldn’t be so for much longer. He had to tell Nicholas that he had failed; he would take his punishment if he must, but he had to make him understand that he had been interrupted. He had to understand!

As he slowly approached the house, Tom could hear an argument going on. He attempted to run up to the house so that he could see what was going on, but his legs would not do as he told them to do. He could only walk with stiff, unwilling legs. Tom took a deep breath and slowly walked to the house, moving one leg at a time until he found some degree of comfort.

Tom slithered up to the window and peaked inside the window. He couldn’t believe what he saw. He watched on as Blair argued with, of all people, Chris Jennings. "You were his last employer," insisted Chris. "He was attacked after leaving your house. You have to have some idea as to what happened to my brother."

"Not necessarily," countered Blair. "Just because he worked for me doesn’t mean that I know, nor am I responsible, for what happened to your brother once he left this house."

Tom bit the inside of his mouth as he listened to Blair deny any knowledge of what had happened. He looked as smug as ever, but his minion was able to detect a few chinks in his demonic armor. Life amongst the mortals had weakened his natural instincts. If Chris were good, he could ask the question that would cause Blair to show his true colors. Unfortunately, Chris seemed unable to do this and each of his inquiries lead to a blatant denial. Even after he caught a glimpse of Tom in the window, Blair continued to remain mum about his involvement.

Yet Nicholas Blair seemed to be unable to take his eyes away from the window. His stare remained steady as Chris continued to talk, railing on about how he ought to have some clue as to what happened. It took a few minutes for Tom’s brother to realize that Blair was no longer listening to him. Chris followed the man’s eyes and cast an awkward glance toward the window. For the briefest of moments, Tom believed that his brother had seen him. He would not wait around to find out. Tom took to flight, desperately trying to escape all that was around him.

Tom fell back to earth miles away from the House-by-the-Sea; he knew that he had fled Collins property entirely. But that would do him no good because he would have to return to Blair’s house before sunrise. The time away gave Nicholas plenty of opportunity to find out that he had botched the Winters murder. It also gave Barnabas Collins the chance to find his hiding place. The way events were moving, Tom felt that he wouldn’t live through the night.

"But he cared to check up on me," he whispered softly as he rose to his feet. His older brother had come back to a town he obviously hated in order to find out what had happened to him. Maybe Chris had loved him all those years ago; maybe he had been unable to say so. Either way, he would be an excellent ally to have. But drafting Chris to his side would mean that Tom would have to show himself to his brother and reveal that he had become, of all things, a vampire. It would seem too improbable. Would his brother believe it? A confrontation between them would be painful, but it had to be done.

Now, if only he could find his brother. Although returning to Blair’s house would be the most likely place to go, Tom had a spot he wanted to check first. The only reason Chris had known about Tom’s death was Genevieve’s telephone call. She had also been the one to ask him to return to Collinsport. It was highly probable that Chris would be checking in with her so that they could discuss his meeting with Blair. Catching them both would be the perfect occasion for him to tell them both that he was alive . . . in a sense. Tom took off for his former home, hoping upon hopes that he had guessed correctly.

Tom drifted over to the house and scanned the grounds to see if Chris’ car sitting in the front yard. The only one there was Genevieve’s rusting relic. "Well, at least she’s here," he mumbled as he floated to the earth. It had been months since he had seen his former lover and he felt as ready as ever to see her again. Yet, he didn’t know if he’d feel comfortable in her presence. Although he had never been the smooth charmer, he realized that his current state would seem horrible to Genevieve. So before he attempted to enter the house, Tom tried to calm his body, attempting to normalize body movements and push his growing thirst away. He couldn’t reunite with Genevieve just to harm her.

Once he believed that he looked "normal" enough for Genevieve, Tom wandered around to the back door and tried to open it. To his surprise, the knob gave to pressure and the door swung open. He immediately felt that something was amiss; neither he nor Genevieve would ever leave the doors unlocked after dark. ‘But that was only done to make sure no one came for Amy,’ he remembered. With the young girl gone, he figured that Genevieve might not be as worried about the safety of either their things or her life.

"Of course she could be hurt," whispered Tom. He had spent so much time away for her protection; he didn’t think he’d be able to stand it if their reunion was over her wounded body. If she were in danger, he had to help her.

Tom walked into the house, quietly slipping through the back hallway until he found himself facing the kitchen. He was shocked by its cleared, deserted condition. The last time he had seen it, the room had still been filled with the boxes that held most of their worldly possessions. It was bare now, clean of dust, dirt, and appliances. He checked many of the other rooms and each one was stripped down.

Yet, as he moved closer to the living area, he began to sense that a living thing was in the house. He leaned back against the wall and sniffed at the air. ‘It’s Gene!’ he thought. How could he have not realized that the moment he walked inside? The more he recognized it, the more he realized that he was surrounded by her smell. He should have recognized her scent sooner.

Tom walked further, glancing into each room before stopping in the living room doorway. Genevieve sat on a weathered leather suitcase in the middle of the floor. She was completely oblivious to Tom as he stared at her. Her eyes were focused solely on her watch, letting her brows crease her forehead while occasionally letting out a wayward sigh. "It’s been two hours," she groaned. "What’s taking him so long?"

Genevieve shot up from her seat, causing Tom to slip further into the hallway, hiding in the shadows as he watched her pace the floor. "It can’t take two hours for Chris to question Blair. God, I hope I didn’t send another Jennings boy to his death. I should’ve just met him at the Collinsport Inn. It would’ve been easier than sitting around in the house of memories. I’m so glad I’m leaving!

"Even with everything gone, I can’t help but see Tom everywhere I look. He’s in the doorway, he’s in the kitchen, and he’s in the fucking bedroom! I can’t deal with it. I can’t . . . who’s there?" she asked cautiously. Genevieve moved closer to the doorway, constantly asking, "Who are you? What are you doing here? This is private property! Leave now!"

Tom could barely stand feeling Genevieve approach him. The smell of both her skin and blood inched toward him, warming the air around him and raising the blood thirst back into his mind. She would find him in a few moments; why should he hide any further? Tom took a deep breath and slipped into the light. Genevieve gawked at first, staring intensely on the man who had just revealed himself. But after a few minutes, she released an uneasy breath and began to laugh. "Jesus, Chris! You scared me to death. I was worried sick for you and then you go and do something like this. You probably heard everything I said." She paused for a moment, seemingly in wait for his response. "Well, aren’t you going to say something?"

Tom tried to find the words to say, but nothing initially came out. "Cat got your tongue?" asked Genevieve.

"You could say that," Tom finally murmured.

Genevieve paused again, staring at Tom with new eyes. "You okay, Chris?" He shook his head. Genevieve smiled and began to walk up to him. However, she stopped once they were within a foot of one another. She looked more intently at his face, and, upon putting the images together in her head, started to back away. Tom moved to follow her, only to be stopped by Genevieve’s up turned palm. "Stay back," she warned, "please stay where you are!"

Tom did as he was asked, watching on while Genevieve retreated. She slowly slid to the floor upon hitting it wall. She pulled her knees to chest and looked ahead, eyes going glassy as she stared at Tom. "It can’t be," she spoke tearfully. "You can’t be alive. I . . . I saw them bury you."

"I’m sure you did."

"But you’re dead! You can’t be here if you’re dead."

Tom shook his head. Cautiously, he walked up to Genevieve and stood in front of her. Tom extended his hand to her and said, "Take it. Feel it and believe."

She looked at the hand idly for a few seconds before she decided to touch it. At first, she would only run a finger up and down the contours of his fingers. Soon, the look of disgust evaporated from her face and she took his hand into both of hers, caressing at first with her fingers and then with her lips. Tom cupped the side of her face with his free hand as he knelt down to her level. "Do you believe?"

"I do, I do!" she wept. She wrapped her hands around his face. She cringed slightly when his frigid hands slipped onto her thighs, but she soon calmed into a steady panic. "You’re so cold, darling. What’s happened to you? Tom, what’s going on?"

"I understand it as well as you do, Gene. It’s beyond anything I’ve ever dealt with."

"Okay . . . but do you know who did this to you?" Genevieve paused, crunching her lips into a painful purse before snarling, "Was it Nicholas Blair?"

"Yes . . . and this woman that he kept in his basement. I know that it sounds silly, but when I was working at his house, I found a coffin there. When I left the house, a blonde woman in a flimsy nightgown attacked me. She attacked me again in the hospital; I come to the next day to find out that . . . well, you know."

Genevieve nodded. "Have you been at his house for all these months?"

"No. Listen, there’s a story to go along with all of this. I’m not proud of any of the things I’ve done or attempted to do and I really don’t want to go into the details right now. I don’t think I have much time."

"Are you in trouble," she asked.

"I’m in deep trouble. I was supposed to kill someone for Blair tonight."

"Were you going to do it?" Tom nodded. "You didn’t have a choice did you?"

"No, but . . . it’s more than what you think it is, Gene. I’m a much different person than the one you knew."

"I don’t doubt it," said Genevieve through a strained chuckle. She shuddered but continued to hold Tom’s face. "He’s going to kill you for not killing whomever you were supposed to do away with, right?"

"I believe so."

"Do you know that your brother went to see Blair tonight?"

"I saw him in the house. Chris was trying to find out what Blair knew."

"Do you think he’d hurt Chris to get to you?" asked Genevieve.

Tom shook his head quickly. "I don’t think he’d go that route. Then again, I don’t understand why he did what he did to me. I saw a coffin. Big deal! I thought it was strange and I might have told the police about it. But I would have talk to you before hand, and you would have told me to forget about it. You’d say that he was Collins related and that you’d heard a trillion stories about how eccentric they were. (Might I add that you’re absolutely right!) I wasn’t a threat. Nothing would have happened to him."

"Shh . . . you can’t worry about that now," insisted Genevieve. "What’s done has been done. What we have to focus on now is making sure Blair gets his and that he doesn’t hurt you."

"We don’t have anything to hold over Blair! Whose going to believe that I came to you and told you that Blair is responsible for my murder?"

"We’ll go to the station tomorrow morning with both you and Chris just so they can see that you’re two different people. They’ll check your fingerprints or your blood type or something so that they’ll know that you are Tom Jennings. Believe me, tomorrow morning will be the beginning of the end of Mr. Nicholas Blair."

Tom hated to tell her that her plan wouldn’t work, but he knew that it had to be done. She had no way of knowing that her boyfriend would fry in the morning sun. She didn’t know what he was. "Forget about Blair for now," said Tom. "We need to leave town. By we, I mean all of us . . . you, Chris, Amy, and me. None of us needs to be here tomorrow morning; we can’t leave anyone behind."

"Okay, we’ll leave once Chris returns. But what about Amy?" she asked.

"I’ll break her out of Windcliff."

"But they’ll catch you. It’s too dangerous!"

"Honey, I might not like what’s been done to me, but I have to admit it’s given me a few advantages. I’ll be able to sneak in and out of that building without anyone catching me."

Genevieve nodded unsurely. She really didn’t understand what was going on, but Tom could tell that she was too afraid to ask questions. "Okay," she whispered. "I’m not quite sure if I like this plan, but I can go along with it. My only fear is that we won’t be able to flee very quickly. Tomorrow, they’ll know that either Chris or I took Amy. If we’re gone, they’ll be looking throughout Maine for us."

"It’s fine, Gene. We won’t stop being on the move and it’s not that hard to obtain false identification. Both you and Chris used to party with a guy in Portland who made fake ID’s for college kids. I remember both of you using his name before. I know that it’ll take us a while to actually get to Portland, but we’ll be traveling nonstop. It’ll be sometime during the day before they even realize that Amy’s gone. We’ll be far from Collinsport by then."

"That’s all well and good, but what are we going to do about you? You’re not like the rest of us anymore. You probably don’t need many of the things that we have to offer. Do you have any special needs stuff that we need to pick up before we head off?" inquired Genevieve.

"Ugh. Let me put it this way: both of those things aren’t going to be too hard to get hold of, but one of them I’m not really eager to go after," said Tom.

"Explain."

"Well, hold up a moment: we might not need one of those! You’ve got a pretty big trunk don’t you?" Genevieve mumbled an awkward affirmative. "YES! We’re not going to have to steal a coffin for awhile. Of course, we’re going to have to put a little dirt in but not much. Hell, we can find a way to put it into my clothes, maybe my socks or shoes. Great, it’s not going to be a big deal."

"Uh-huh." Genevieve took her hands from his face and laced them into her lap. She looked up into his eyes and asked, "Tom, what are you?"

"I don’t know if you’re ready for that."

"Of course I am! If I’m ready to leave town with you and break your sister out of Windcliff, I’m ready to hear it. Hell, I think I have the right to know what I’m getting into before I start breaking the law."

"You sure?" The piqued look on Genevieve’s face showed that she did. "Okay . . . I’m a vampire."

"Vampire?" she asked, although Tom could tell that she didn’t want an answer. She went silent with closed eyes, thinking as she twirled her thumbs inanely. She looked up quickly and said, "Prove it to me. Open up."

"Huh?"

"Open up." She opened her mouth wide to reveal "normal" teeth. Tom groaned but did as she asked. Genevieve moved closer to him and stared into his mouth, occasionally emitting an "oh my" as she examined his lengthened canines. She carefully slipped her finger into his mouth and stroked a fang, only removing the finger after it accidentally poked the tip of a tooth. A couple of drops of blood manage to slip onto his tongue before she could remove the injured digit. "Oh shit! You’re telling the truth. You really are a vampire."

"Yes," Tom managed to mumble. Those few beads of blood had been enough to awaken his thirst. He could barely stand to watch her grip the wounded finger, knowing that bits of precious plasma were being wasted in the palm of her hand. "Gene, go clean the wound now. I can’t deal with the smell."

"Really? When was the last time you fed?"

"It’s been months."

"But you’ve been dead for months. How many people have you bitten?" asked Genevieve.

"I’ve bitten one person and she continues to live."

"Have you just been feeding off of her for the last few months?"

"You don’t understand," insisted Tom. "I ‘lived’ for about a week before someone was able to hunt me down. He laid me to rest for what was supposed to be an eternity. Of course, Nicholas Blair had something else in mind for me and that’s why I’m here now."

"Bastard. Then you must be starving?"

"Yes but we can deal with that later. Right now, we have to wait for Chris and run the plan by him."

"But you have to be so weak. You’re probably not working at full potential."

"So?"

"So take of me," offered Genevieve. She uncupped her hands, allowing him to see the pool of dried blood in the center of her palm. "You want it; I can see the lust dancing in your eyes. Take my hand . . . no," she said before rolling back her collar, "take from here."

"You don’t want me to." Tom knew he did, though. He couldn’t pry his eyes away from her neck, mesmerized by the pulsing vein hidden just beneath the surface. There was nothing he wanted more than to feed from her, but he believed that Genevieve Reeves was the last person he needed to mark. Although he had changed, Tom still loved her; she was intrinsically above anyone he’d have to kill. "You don’t know what you’re asking of me."

"I’m asking you to sink those fangs of yours into my neck and drink my blood. I know that’s what I proposed to you. Why won’t you take it?"

"Because I love you and I don’t want to hurt you!" exclaimed Tom.

"And I’m offering you this because I love you and I don’t want you to hurt," explained Genevieve calmly. She inched closer to Tom, wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her against his chest. "I want you to have what you need. What’s the worst that could happen?"

"I could take too much. You could die."

"What would happen to me if I died?"

"You’d become a vampire."

"Then I don’t see the problem." Genevieve glanced back into Tom’s eyes, showing him that her own was filmed over in a thin sheet of tears. "My blood his all I have to give to you. If it ends up making me like you, then I’m fine with it. We’ve been apart for so long that I don’t see what a little togetherness could harm. Do it, Tom."

"Don’t make me do this!"

"I don’t have to make you do anything! You want to do it."

Genevieve was right. He couldn’t look at her without seeing the trace work of her circulatory system. He hadn’t wanted her this bad since they first met.

Tom leaned in and pressed his lips against Genevieve’s. Their kiss began chastely but soon intensified as both of them probed the other with tongues and hands. As Genevieve’s nails dug into his back, Tom picked her up and propped her body up against the wall. She braced her foot against it and hiked up her skirt, allowing Tom to slip his hand inside her panties and stroke the soft flesh underneath. Genevieve moaned and pushed herself forward, plunging his finger deep inside her body. She let out a surprised gasp but a smile soon spread across her face. "Harder," she demanded breathless. "Go deep."

Their playing seemed to stretch out forever. Tom thrust a finger inside Genevieve’s slickness while the rest of his hand did it’s best to tickle the surrounding area. She writhed in response to his touch, grinding her body against his and begging him through impassioned groans to go move harder, faster. Although it was something they had rarely done during life, Tom was pleased to be so near her again. He loved the feel of the heat rising from Genevieve, which seem to intensify by the second. His eyes continually scanned her body, relishing her lust flushed face and swollen breasts. If he were brazen, he would bleed her from her hardened nipples, suckling from her body like a hungry child. Of course, that would probably freak her out, so Tom decided to go for the traditional bite.

At the moment where she seemed closest to orgasm, she screamed, "Take me now, Tom! Now!" Tom fell onto her neck and bit, slicing into her vein and unleashing a torrent of blood into his mouth. Genevieve’s moans failed to subside; in fact, they increased as she continued to move against his stagnant form. "Oh God, more . . . more, please!" He didn’t need her urging to continue. Her blood tasted a million times sweeter than Julia’s, sweeter than anything he had had before. He didn’t know if he could stop. His nourishment deprived body ached for what she could give him.

He didn’t know how long they stood like that, their limbs entangled as Tom bled his lover. On occasion, she would give off an encouraging squeak or caress the top of his head. He could feel her weakening in his arms. Yet as much as he wanted to spare her, he knew that it was now out of his hands. Even if he stopped drinking from her, he had taken too much blood for her to recover. Genevieve would to die and Tom would be her killer.

The moment came sooner than he had expected. Genevieve sighed softly and her arms went limp. Tom removed his fangs from her neck and looked at her. Her naturally pale skin was bleached white with lips that had begun to turn an unsettling shade of blue. Tom lifted the lid of one of her closed eyes and saw the upturned iris. "What have I done?" he whispered as he lowered her to the floor. As a final precaution, he checked her pulse. There was no way to deny it: Genevieve was dead.

Tom arranged her body neatly on the ground, making sure that her skirt was straight and that her long blonde hair covered the faint wounds on her neck. He paced around her body mindlessly. Chris would be back any minute. How was he going to explain to his brother that he had just killed Genevieve, but that it would be okay because she would wake up tomorrow night? Chris would think it insane. But he would have to believe. After all, his once dead brother walked the earth again. Who could say that his dead girlfriend wouldn’t do the same?

Tom finally lay down beside Genevieve’s lifeless body. As he wrapped his arms around her, he could feel the heat that was quickly evaporating from her. He loved this last bit of her mortality. It would be the last time that he held her in human form. He would miss this side of her, but there would be a better side of that would arise tomorrow. They would no longer have a reason to be apart. Never again would Tom have to leave Genevieve behind. They would finally have their happily ever after.

But just as Tom began to feel comfortable with his actions, he began to feel an alien presence feel the room. Tom looked up to see a black clad figure looming over him, glaring down with red rimmed eyes on the scene before him. "Who are you?" demanded Tom. "What are you doing here?"

"You’ve been a bad boy, Mr. Jennings," reprimanded the form in a gravel-laden voice. "You didn’t do as your master asked you."

"I tried to do what Nicholas asked of me," insisted Tom, "but I was interrupted. If I had been left alone, Victoria Winters would be dead."

"But she’s not. Now Barnabas Collins is onto the scheme."

"That’s not my fault! How was I to know that he was nearby?" Tom curled closer to Genevieve as he asked, "What does this mistake mean to me?"

"So you have to be punished," answered the man calmly.

Tom groaned and fell back into Genevieve. But he suddenly felt as if he were leaning against the air. He opened his eyes to see that he was being pulled away from her body. He tried in vain to hold on, grasping at her limbs in the hopes of being anchored to the ground. However, the force acting against him was too much, and Tom soon found himself staring at Genevieve from across the room.

He watched as the man withdrew something from his cloak. The closer the stranger moved to Genevieve, the clearer the objects appeared to Tom. The man carried a stake and hammer. "No! You can’t do this to her!" screamed Tom. "Punish me. Hurt me!"

The man didn’t listen. He leaned over Genevieve’s unresisting body and placed the stake above her heart. He let skeletal fingers embrace the curve of her jaw before he ran the stake through her chest with one quick swing. Tom tried to run to her body but the force that had torn them apart held him in place, allowing him to writhe in its grip but not letting him leave. Genevieve leapt up once struck, releasing a scream like none other as the last bits of blood that had been in her body crept out of her nose and mouth.

Tom stared on in shock as the man rose from his post and walked toward him. He waved a hand in front of his prisoner’s face and said, "This is what happens when one fails to complete Hell’s orders. See that it doesn’t happen again."

In a flash, he was gone.

Tom, finding that he could again move, scurried to Genevieve’s body and cradled her, wailing like a child as he rocked. He had been so close to finding happiness and now it was gone.

"But Nicholas removed the stake from my heart and I lived. Maybe I can try this with her," thought Tom aloud. He placed Genevieve back on the floor and straddled her body. He took a breath and pulled the stake from her heart, bringing with it a few meager drops of blood and miniscule pieces of her heart. Her body bucked with the removal and the pressure release forced a sigh from her lips. At least it looked hopeful. Tom stared at her waiting for some sign of life; none appeared.

"She doesn’t have any blood," he began to reason. "When I had died, I had been full of it." Tom pulled back his sleeve and bit into his wrist. He lowered the bleeding limb over Genevieve’s mouth, begging her to drink. She didn’t. Instead, the blood pooled in her mouth and slid down the sides of her face to collect on the floor. Soon, the wound healed by itself. Tom was left sitting over a bloodied Genevieve, her blonde hair matted red and her dead lips and teeth stained its cruel color. Tom had to face the truth. She was gone.

As awkward as the first situation would have been to explain to his brother, Tom knew that this scene was a million times much worse. He had to get her body out of the house and bury it, preferably somewhere far from this place.

Tom searched through her suitcase and found what he knew he would. Genevieve had probably planned to stay at the Collinsport Inn for the night. She had had a quirk about not sleeping on hotel linens. In her bag, Tom found a set of cream-colored bed sheets. He spread one out across the floor. He ran back to Genevieve’s body to place it in the sheets but he didn’t do so instantly. Her face had taken on sleep’s sublimity; she was as lovely as ever in death. Tom took a seat next to Genevieve and stroked her blood soaked hair. Cautiously, he leaned down and kissed her, hoping to taste the lasts bits of his lover that remained before he buried her. All he could taste was the drying blood. Tom licked those remnants from her mouth, cringing a bit at the bitterness that remained. When it was gone, he kissed her again and found what he wanted. Underneath the death, the person she had been in life remained. Tom took what was left before placing his lover in the sheets and tightly wrapping her body inside.

He placed her suitcase on top of her body, grabbed her purse, and left the house for Genevieve’s car. Tom carefully positioned her body in the backseat and chunked the suitcase in the passenger’s side. He searched through the purse until he found her heavy key chain before tossing it with the luggage and stepping into the car. Much to his chagrin, it took a minute to remember how to use the car once he started it. "This isn’t getting me anywhere!" he hissed before pulling out onto the road.

Tom drove like a madman toward the cemetery, swerving on both sides of the line and dodging many an irate driver in his rush. He thought little of it until he sideswiped a familiar car. He looked behind him and attempted to repress his anger. "Shit…it’s Chris!" His brother didn’t realize who was driving but he did recognize the car. Chris turned around in nearby driveway and took off after Genevieve’s car. Tom floored the accelerator and took back paths to the cemetery, hoping to get Chris off his trail. Of course his brother had cruised every back road in Collinsport and could follow the car easily.

Quite suddenly, Tom looked in his mirror to see that Chris’ car was gone. Had he given up? Had he gotten the message? More than likely. Chris was probably going to go home and see if Genevieve knew that someone had swiped her car. Tom knew that all he would find would be a few spots of blood. This was getting worse by the minute. He might have been better off waiting on Chris and telling him the truth; but it was too late to change things now. Tom turned into the cemetery, ready to do what he knew must be done.

Tom took out her body, suitcase, and purse and carried them to the spot that held his headstone. Quickly, he searched the nearby grounds to find a wayward shovel lying beside a newly dug grave. Tom returned to his spot and dug out the hole, letting the dirt rise high before he found the pit deep enough. Once done, he climbed out and retrieved Genevieve’s body, placing it lovingly into what had been his grave. He went back to the surface to get her suitcase and purse and placed both beside their owner. Before rising up to fill in the hole, Tom searched through her purse until he came across her billfold. He scanned through the pictures there in until he found one of he and Genevieve. He took it out and slipped it into his pocket. Although he knew that he probably had little time left on this earth, he wanted to have at least one bit of Genevieve on his person when he died. When he had what he wanted, Tom rose out of the hole and filled it in.

The deed was finished much more quickly than he had expected. Although he had at least an hour left until the sun rose, Tom had hoped that the burial would take longer and leave him at the mercy of the sun. He couldn’t wait in the cemetery because someone could easily find him there. He was surprised no one had found him before.

Then again, he had nowhere else to go. He couldn’t go to his old home out of the fear of finding a furious Chris. He couldn’t hide out in his coffin because he would put himself closer to having to deal with Nicholas Blair or quite possibly Barnabas Collins. Of course, Blair might not be as mad at him as he believed. Any fitting revenge had been enacted on Tom by the Devil’s emissary. Besides, he would eventually have to find his way back to his coffin. He had few other choices.

Tom flew back to the House-by-the-Sea, choosing to wander through the forest for awhile before facing the music inside the house. For a few moments, he felt slightly lifted by the cool night air and, for the first time, remembered what he had enjoyed about this life in the first place. But as he approached the house, he was met with a grim reminder of why he hated it. He saw Barnabas Collins hiding behind the trees as he spied on Nicholas Blair and someone who looked to Tom to be the Johnson kid. Once they left the scene, Barnabas made his way out of the woods and entered the home through the unlocked door.

Tom knew why he was there and, for a moment, seethed with pent up rage. If Barnabas only knew what he had been through this night! "Death would be kind," he snarled. It would end the intense suffering; it would throw out the regret and guilt over what had happened. Hell, if it were done correctly, Tom thought that he might actually escape the odd limbo he had found himself in with Barnabas’ first hand as Van Helsing. He knew that Mr. Collins would not stop until he found a way to destroy him. He had nothing left to live for; there was no use in running.

Tom left the forest and headed for the house. If Barnabas wanted a fight, he found no need to let him down, but he readily admitted to himself that he would not see the next nightfall. Hopefully, he would be begging Genevieve’s forgiveness in the afterlife. He didn’t quite know if he deserved such a gift but it didn’t hurt to wish.

Before he stepped through the door, Tom took a moment to remind himself of how the stake felt going through the heart. ‘It hurts for a few minutes and then there’s nothing.’ And with one last look at the slightly faded sky, Tom Jennings turned the doorknob and walked inside to meet his fate.

The End

Go to: Part 1 | Part 2

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