1: Stolen Memories

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#CC9900" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="047005a0dwnjzk.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     | </B><B> </B><B> </B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" ><B>Cassie's Writing</B></FONT></div> <div> <B>1:  Stolen Memories</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id110.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="2: A Complex Puzzle"><U><B>2:  A Complex Puzzle</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id111.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="3: Peeling the Onion"><U><B>3:  Peeling the Onion</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id112.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="4: Secrets Revealed"><U><B>4:  Secrets Revealed</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id113.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="5: Going Home Again"><U><B>5:  Going Home Again</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id114.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="6: ThingintheBox"><U><B>6:  Thing-in-the-Box</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id116.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="7: Challenging the Leviathan"><U><B>7:  Challenging the Leviathan</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id117.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="8: Circling the Wagons"><U><B>8:  Circling the Wagons</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id118.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="9: Jebs Curse"><U><B>9:  Jeb's Curse</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id119.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="10: Spell of Jealousy"><U><B>10:  Spell of Jealousy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id120.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="11: Carrying the Weight"><U><B>11:  Carrying the Weight</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id121.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="12: A Fiendish New Year"><U><B>12:  A Fiendish New Year</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id122.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="13: Barnabas Crisis"><U><B>13:  Barnabas' Crisis</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id123.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="14: Barnabas in Parallel Time"><U><B>14:  Barnabas in Parallel Time</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id124.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="15: Clues to Disaster"><U><B>15:  Clues to Disaster</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id125.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="16: Demons Possession"><U><B>16:  Demon's Possession</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id126.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="17: Breach of Trust"><U><B>17:  Breach of Trust</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id127.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="18: Labyrinth of Emotions"><U><B>18:  Labyrinth of Emotions</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id128.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="19: The Amanda Dilemma"><U><B>19:  The Amanda Dilemma</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id129.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="20: Ziganas Cure"><U><B>20:  Zigana's Cure</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id130.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="21: The Approaching Storm"><U><B>21:  The Approaching Storm</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id131.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="22: Enigma at Collinwood"><U><B>22:  Enigma at Collinwood</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id132.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="23: Reunion in Hell"><U><B>23:  Reunion in Hell</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id133.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="24: Scattered Through Time"><U><B>24:  Scattered Through Time</B></U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>1:  Stolen Memories</B></div> <div> <A HREF="id107.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Alternate Destiny"><U><B>Alternate Destiny</B></U></A></div> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div>      "Quentin!  Quentin!"  He mumbled, rolling onto his side on the bed, trying to get away from the voice.  "Quentin, you have to wake up!  It's time to go home!"  Someone was shaking his shoulder.  Reluctantly, he rolled onto his back to face her, blinking sleepily.  He could hear her laughing softly.</div> <div>      He could make out her features in the dark:  long, thick red hair that was no longer tangled and knotted, which flowed loosely over her shoulders.  She had wide, expressive eyes that gleamed unnaturally in the darkness.  "Jenny?"</div> <div>      "Yes, darling.  I came to tell you that it's time to go back.  They're home again.  They'll help you."</div> <div>      Quentin raised himself on his elbows.  "Barnabas and Julia?"  He was still fuzzyheaded with sleep and drink.  He'd been in a fight; he couldn't remember why.</div> <div>      "Yes, they're back, and you must go back now, too!"  Jenny's voice took on an insistent sound.  "Remember your promise!  You promised to help our great grandson."</div> <div>      "And then you'll help me?"</div> <div>      "Yes, you trust me, don't you?"</div> <div>      He thought about it.  "Yes," he answered finally.  He wasn't sure he did.</div> <div>      "I trust you," Jenny whispered.  "I have no choice.  Neither do you.  Go back to sleep, darling.  In the morning, you'll go back to Collinwood?"  Her voice faded away.  </div> <div>      Quentin jumped, as if he'd been struck by lightning.  He was wide-awake now, staring into the darkness.  He realized he'd been dreaming again, but he remembered everything clearly.  He always remembered everything when he dreamed of Jenny.  They're back, he thought.  Finally!  After all these years, he would see his cousin Barnabas again-and Julia.  She'd helped him all those years ago, and he now knew he had another connection to her.  He was sure they would help him again.  He closed his eyes.</div> <bR> <div>      In the morning, he packed a bag and went down to tell his landlady he would be away for a few weeks.  He gave her a check to cover the next month's rent because he wasn't sure how long he'd be gone.  "Well, I will miss you!" she exclaimed, pocketing the check.  He'd found her in the basement, starting a load of laundry.  She slowly added sheets to the churning hot water.</div> <div>      He laughed and kidded her.  "You'll enjoy the peace and quiet," he assured her.  She reminded him of Mrs. Cleary, the housekeeper who'd left Chicago to come with him and his family all the way to Vienna.  She'd been a cheerful woman, full of common sense and kindness.  He still missed her, even though she'd been dead these twenty years. "Do you mind if I park my bike in your garage?" he asked now.</div> <div>      "Absolutely not!  This way I'll know you'll be back!" She smiled.  "Have a good trip."</div> <div>      "Thanks, I will."  He'd decided to take the train to Collinsport, leaving his Harley behind.   There was a cab waiting to take him to the train station.  Once there, he rented a locker.  He thought it would be better to leave these things in the locker-he wouldn't leave them out accidentally.  Before he put the envelope in, he opened it and pulled the first article out again.  There was another, older article; he left it untouched.</div> <div>      This article was about a singer and actress named Olivia Corey.  There was a possibility that producers in Hollywood were going to make another film starring Olivia Corey in the same role she'd just got done playing on Broadway.  She'd made one earlier film, which had done modestly well.  He studied her features and wondered again if this really could be the woman he'd known as Amanda Harris all those years ago.  They looked exactly alike and yet…it was impossible!  Amanda Harris probably was dead, now-or, at the very least, a very old lady.  He hadn't thought of her often since leaving her in New York-not until he saw this article.</div> <div>      Maybe this is her great-granddaughter, he thought, not for the first time.  A sudden thought crossed his mind, sending a chill through his body.  Reincarnation?  Like Beth?  No!  He didn't want to think it possible.  If it was, he didn't want to meet her.  He'd lost Beth again.  He didn't want to take anymore chances with anyone else.  Quickly, he pushed the article into the envelope, slammed the locker shut and locked it; he turned and headed for the platform.</div> <div>   The wind was picking up, and it was cold.  Maybe it was going to rain.  He thought he saw some storm clouds coming in. It would be nice if it would snow, but that didn't happen often on the coast. He smiled wryly, glad he'd brought his trenchcoat.  "Do you work for the CIA?" his landlady had asked him suspiciously the first day he'd come to look at the room.</div> <div> He'd burst out laughing.  "Oh, come on!  If I was in the CIA, would I be renting a room here?"  He knew he had a charming laugh, and he looked at the landlady, who'd immediately softened up and laughed, too.  "I'm just a writer, ma'am, that's all."</div> <div> It was a great cover.  He really did write, too-and was published frequently enough that the cover worked.  There was a lull; he wasn't needed overseas and his research was completed.  He'd been drawn back to Maine as if it was a magnet.  As he got onto the train, he began to wonder about the family living in his house now-no, not his house.  Collinwood had never been his house, and it hadn't been his home in nearly 100 years.  It was ironic, he reflected, that with all his connections, he'd never tried to dig up any information about the Collins family after he returned to the States.  He'd been curious about them, particularly Elizabeth, but had been afraid to check up on them.</div> <div> The only people he would "know" here would be Barnabas and Julia since he hadn't seen Elizabeth since she was a little girl and Roger had just been a baby.  He'd go to Barnabas first.  He knew that in this time Barnabas was cured, and it didn't matter what time of the day or night he showed up.  He wondered if Barnabas would be very surprised to see him.  And Julia-he realized he missed her even though he'd known her only a short time as an adult.  She'd been kind to him--the first person who hadn't been judgmental at all.   He wondered if she would remember him from anywhere else and hoped not, although he would deal with it if he had to.  He pulled his little square puzzle out of his pocket and began to fiddle with it.  It was better than biting his nails.</div> <div> The train got into Collinsport late in the afternoon.  There was no one to meet him.  He hadn't called ahead.  He hadn't known where to call; he assumed Julia lived in Collinsport somewhere and maybe practiced here.  He already had checked and discovered Barnabas had no phone.  That was odd, Quentin thought, but his cousin was an eccentric man.  Maybe he didn't want to be bothered with ringing phones.  The best thing to do would probably be to check into the Collinsport Inn, and he began walking in that direction.</div> <div> The names of the shops had changed; the town itself really hadn't--not since the last time he was here in 1925, before his brother Edward died.  He and Jamison had never really mended their broken relationship so there hadn't been any point in coming back.  Quentin stopped calling after taking his family, Nora, and her daughter Mary Jane to Vienna.  He felt momentarily sad about that, and then he stopped still, looking through the windows of an antique shop.</div> <div> She looked like Beth!  Flowing blonde hair that spilled over her shoulders, she moved gracefully around the inside of the store, placing objects here and there.  It couldn't be her, he knew that, but he never seemed to stop looking for her.  He had to go in and talk to her.  He opened the door, hearing a bell jingle above his head.  He didn't see her, and then she popped up from behind a counter.  No, not Beth, but still-very pretty, and very petite.  He towered over her.  She seemed to like the look of him because she dimpled prettily and asked, "May I help you?"</div> <div> He had to think quickly.  "I didn't realize there was an antique store here." He looked around.  "Are you the owner?"</div> <div> She had a musical laugh.  He was enchanted.  "Oh, no!  My friends own the shop-I'm just here to help out.  I had nothing better to do.  So-you like antiques?"</div> <div> "Well, yes, you might say that.  Actually what I like is the music from a particular period of time.  I have some of the original recordings of Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, and Bix Beiderbecke."  Again there was that lovely musical laugh at the unusual sounding name.  "I thought I'd see if you had any 78s or even possibly a victrola or a gramophone?"</div> <div> "Old Nipper!"  she exclaimed.</div> <div> "That's right!" he agreed, delighted.  "Do you like jazz?"</div> <div> "Well, to be honest with you, I probably like the sound of Chicago better than I do Duke Ellington or Count Basie."</div> <div> "Well, that's all right.  I like their use of brass with rock," Quentin said, looking at her with a great deal of interest.  "What about Jimi Hendrix?  Or Eric Clapton?"</div> <div> "I hadn't thought of them as jazz musicians!"</div> <div> "No, they're rock stars-but they use jazz and blues techniques in their music."</div> <div> "I loved the way Jimi Hendrix played the guitar." She sounded almost dreamy.  Recovering herself, she said, "I'm afraid the Todds don't have any victrolas or gramophones.  I haven't seen any records, either."</div> <div> "What a shame," he said softly.  "Is there a music store in this town?"</div> <div> "Around the corner.  Why?"</div> <div> "What time do you get off?  I could come back, and we could look at the records and maybe get something to eat."</div> <div> She laughed again.  "Are you really asking me out?  I don't know your name!"</div> <div> "Grant Douglas.  And you are-"</div> <div> "Carolyn Stoddard."</div> <div> "Carolyn," he repeated, taking her hand in his.  "Carolyn, would you go out with me?"</div> <div> She looked at him as if he was someone who'd appeared in a dream.  "Well, I really only just met you-you aren't from here, are you?"</div> <div> "No, I'm from Portland.  I'm visiting for awhile.  I promise you I'm not dangerous." </div> <div> Her eyes twinkled, then she looked serious.  "No, you're no Manson, are you?"  She hesitated only a split second more before deciding, "I'd love to go out with you, but I promised the Todds I would tend the store for them until it closes."</div> <div> "What time does it close?"</div> <div> "Ten."</div> <div> Ten.  Well, the store would be closed, but they could still eat.  He could take her dancing; she looked like she enjoyed dancing.  "What if I came back then?  Would you have eaten?"'</div> <div> "Very lightly."</div> <div> "Well, we could go out for something to eat and then-dancing?"</div> <div> She looked pleased.  "Now, how did you know I liked to dance?"</div> <div> "I had a feeling you liked the same things I do.  How about it-Carolyn?"</div> <div> She squeezed his hand a little.  "All right.  Ten-Grant."</div> <div> He let go of her hand and backed up toward the door.  "I'll see you at ten, then.  So long for now."  As he closed the door behind him, he felt his spirits rising considerably.  Actually, this was perfect.  He could check into the Inn, find out where Julia lived, and call on her or Barnabas, or both.  He walked jauntily down the street toward the Inn.</div> <div> After he checked into his room, he checked the phone book for a listing under Julia Hoffman's name.  Frustrated, he couldn't find anything.  Maybe she'd gotten married, or maybe she lived in Rockport.  Sighing, he called Collinwood, feeling himself becoming very tense.  Would the present family remember Quentin Collins as a vengeful spirit?  Maybe the changes Barnabas and Julia had affected had erased that nightmarish experience.  "Good afternoon, Collins residence," he heard in his ear.  It was a female voice, and she sounded irritated-as if she'd been interrupted.  "Hello?"</div> <div> He cleared his throat.  "Hello," he answered, feeling his heart thumping rapidly.  He realized he couldn't ask for Elizabeth or Roger; he was too frightened.  "May I speak to Barnabas Collins, please?" He felt his mind going blank.</div> <div> "I'm sorry, but Mr. Barnabas does not reside here.  I could have a message delivered to him if you'd like?"</div> <div> Thinking quickly, he asked:  "Do you know where I might contact Dr. Julia Hoffman?"</div> <div> "I'm sorry, she's not in.  May I take a message for her?"</div> <div> "Oh!"  He was shocked into near speechlessness.  It hadn't occurred to him that Julia lived at Collinwood. Damn!  Now what?  "Uh-what time do you expect her back?"</div> <div> "Late-she had some personal business.  If you'll tell me your name, I'll let her know you called.  And I'll have a message sent to the Old House."</div> <div> "That's all right," he said hastily.  "I'll just call back tomorrow."</div> <div> "Why don't you just give me your name so I can let her know-" the woman insisted, sounding even crankier if that was possible.</div> <div> "No, that's all right, I'd prefer to surprise her.  Thanks."  He hung up abruptly, taking a deep breath.  Whew!  No, he didn't want to leave his real name for sure.  Julia would not recognize his alias, and he really preferred to speak to her privately first anyway.  What now?  He could walk out to the Old House and see if he could find Barnabas but decided against that idea as well.  He didn't want to run into any family members on the grounds.</div> <div> He had another idea-the Blue Whale.  It was end-of-shift time.  If he went down there, he could sit at a table and have a couple of drinks and listen to the men talk.  Maybe he could pick up a thing or two while he was there.  </div> <bR> <div> Quentin woke up with a start.  He'd been dreaming about Woodstock; he could feel the rain pouring onto his face and arms.  There was light rain pattering at the window, and he had such vivid and lucid dreams; maybe it had gotten into this dream somehow along with the sounds of Hendrix and Janis Joplin and the Who.  He thought about Lisa, who looked so much like Beth, standing in the pouring rain with him, naked and high on something she'd smoked or swallowed.  His conversation with the pretty girl must've brought on this dream.  What time was it?  He looked at the clock.  It was 9:15.  He still had time-he wasn't late.</div> <div> He had too much to drink again, and on an empty stomach too.   He vaguely remembered stopping at the coffee shop after leaving the Blue Whale and eating something.  He still felt a little high-this was not the way to make a good impression on-what was her name?  Carolyn something.  He had time to take a shower, though, and freshen up.  She didn't have to know he'd been slinging down the beer at the Blue Whale.  At least he hadn't gotten into a fight with any of the patrons.  He hadn't learned much either-he was a stranger, and the men who came in eyed him suspiciously. </div> <div> He felt a lot better after taking a shower.  Maybe Carolyn would tell him about the Collins family during the evening.  He would bring it up in conversation; she seemed easy to talk to and he was sure he could get her to tell him everything she knew.  He wondered if she would invite him home with her.  She really was very attractive.  </div> <div> He was close to the antique shop now.  As he was crossing from one corner to the next, he was aware there was a car approaching very rapidly.  He half turned; all he could see was the headlights of the car.  His senses were still a little dulled by the alcohol he'd consumed.  Unbelieveable!  The car wasn't going to stop!  Not only that, it seemed to be pointing right at him.  He tried to jump out of the way but his reflexes were too slow, and the car struck him.  He went flying. He landed on the concrete, hitting his head.  Pain exploded from everywhere on his body.  It won't last long, he thought to himself, fighting to stay conscious.  It never does-except that one time, because of Petofi.  The pain will go away soon.  He blacked out.</div> <bR> <div> Quentin heard voices.  He thought he heard Julia-maybe it was a dream.  It can't be, he thought, I've never had such a bad headache in my life.  He didn't think he could stand to open his eyes to the lights in the room and so he just lay still, trying to make out the words through the agonizing throbbing between his ears.  Someone took his wrist gently, taking his pulse.</div> <div> "Tell me again, Carolyn-how did this happen?"</div> <div> "It was an accident, Julia-oh, God, it was just so awful! Barnabas says he tried to stop, but the streets were wet and he skidded right into Mr. Douglas.  And Barnabas feels so guilty about it!"  That was the pretty girl's voice.  Ah! So she was here, concerned for him.  That was really nice.  </div> <div> Something was wrong, though, and it finally dawned on him what it was. That was no accident!  "There's something awwwwfuwwy swwewy going on awound here!" Elmer Fudd whispered into his ear. He decided he was going to keep playing dead.</div> <div> "His name is Douglas?" Julia asked.</div> <div> "Yes-Grant Douglas.  He just came into the shop this afternoon.  We were supposed to go out on a date-he was coming to meet me.  Will he be all right, Julia?"</div> <div> His hand was placed gently back onto his chest.  "I don't know, Carolyn," he heard Julia say.  "Have you seen Mr. Douglas' doctor?"</div> <div> "Very briefly-it was Dr. Harper in the emergency room.  He said that Grant was very lucky-no broken bones.  They think he's got a concussion, though.  Is that serious?"</div> <div> "Not necessarily-it can be, but usually the patient is just fine," Julia answered reassuringly.  "I'd have to talk to Dan-er, Dr. Harper-to find out exactly.  Why don't I do that?  Does Mr. Douglas have a family physician?"</div> <div> "Not here-he's just visiting from Portland."</div> <div> "I see. All right.  I won't be long."</div> <div> The door opened and closed.  He felt someone take his hand again, holding it gently.  "I don't know if you can hear me," Carolyn said softly.  "I'm sorry this happened to you.  I hope you'll be all right."</div> <div> He was sorely tempted to open his eyes and talk to her, but he heard voices in the hall.  One of them was Barnabas.  Julia's voice was rising steadily.  She sounded angry.  Quentin couldn't make out the words, and it hurt his head too much to try.  He relaxed, feeling Carolyn stroke the back of his hand.  It felt nice.  It was comforting.</div> <div> After awhile, a nurse came in and told Carolyn she had to leave.  Visiting hours were over.  "I'll come see you tomorrow, I promise," Carolyn said.  Then she was gone.  </div> <div> Someone else had his hand now.  "Mr. Douglas, Mr. Douglas," a woman was saying softly.  "Mr. Douglas?"  It wasn't Julia.  Slowly he opened his eyes just a little.  The nurse taking his pulse was dark; he couldn't make out her features very well.  "How are you feeling?"</div> <div> "My head aches," he managed to answer.  "What happened?"</div> <div> "You were struck by a car.  Do you remember what happened to you?"</div> <div> "Just that I was hit."  She was putting a pressure cuff on his arm now.  "Who hit me?  Is that guy still here?"  He could feel the pressure on his arm increasing until he wanted to yell at her to stop it.  It made his head ache more; his ears were ringing.</div> <div> "He'll be here to see you tomorrow.  He's very sorry-he feels very guilty.  Your blood pressure's a little high, but that's probably from the shock of the accident.  I'm afraid I can't give you anything for your headache now.  It would make you too sleepy, and Dr. Harper wants us to observe you and keep talking to you-you have a concussion," the nurse explained briskly.  </div> <div> "That's why I have a headache?" he asked.</div> <div> "More than likely."</div> <div> "If I still have it tomorrow, what then?"</div> <div> "We'll ask the doctor-hopefully, though, you'll be fine.  We're waiting on the final report from radiology but it seems you don't have a fractured skull-no broken bones.  You're very lucky, considering how you went flying."</div> <div> If you only knew, he thought bitterly.  The portrait would immediately heal broken bones, fractured skulls, and deep lacerations.  He only had to put up with the inconvenience of minor contusions and bruises-usually for just a few hours.  The headaches didn't last long either.  This one was a real bastard, though.  He must've hit his head pretty hard.  He realized she was talking to him again.  "I'm sorry.  What?"</div> <div> "Oh.  My name is Nicki.  If you need anything, you just push this buzzer, all right?"</div> <div> "Okay, thanks-would you turn the light out?"</div> <div> "Of course," she said, shutting the door softly behind her as she went out of the room.</div> <bR> <div> Quentin was still sleeping when he heard the door open the next morning.  The nurse had just been in again to check on him so either this was breakfast or Julia.  He was very cranky.  His head still hurt, and it seemed every hour on the hour someone was waking him, shining lights in his eyes, asking him questions-how did anyone ever get better in a hospital?  At six a.m. Dr. Harper came in and examined him, determined that he wasn't in any imminent danger and agreed to give him something for the pain-a shot, which hurt like hell. </div> <div> "This is Quentin Collins," Julia whispered.  Although he was alert, he didn't move a muscle.  </div> <div> "That can't be!" a man's voice exclaimed.  "He's the same age I am!"</div> <div> "Sssh," Julia hushed him as the man continued to protest that there was no way this could be Quentin Collins.  Thanks, Julia, Quentin thought, wondering why on earth she'd tell anyone about him without speaking to him first unless…maybe this was the great-grandson Jenny told him about in the dream.  The door shut quietly.  They were gone.  The next person who came in and disturbed him brought breakfast but he found he had no appetite at all.</div> <div> He wasn't sure how long he'd been sleeping; no one had been in to bother him for a long time and he slept undisturbed.  He opened his eyes, feeling a little disoriented and looked around for the clock.  Immediately, Julia moved into view and picked up his hand to take his pulse.  Oh, shit, he thought, panicking, looking directly into her eyes.  "Quentin, it <I>is </I>you, isn't it?" She sounded happy to see him and was smiling at him.</div> <div> He hesitated, unsure about what to do.  He didn't feel any sense of danger now-not like he had last night.  Still, why had she brought that man here?  He wasn't sure he could trust her.  She even looked different somehow.  Julia's smile faded a little, and she looked a little puzzled.  "You do remember me, don't you?"  When he still didn't answer, she whispered, "Don't be afraid.  I want to help you."</div> <div> "Julia."  As soon as he said her name, her smile came back.  He studied her closely and realized that she looked different because of all the stuff she'd put on her face-like Bette Davis in one of her later movies with Joan Crawford.  He almost blurted out that thought, realized it would hurt her, and instead asked abruptly, "Who was that guy?"</div> <div> "What guy--?  Oh, I'm sorry, Quentin.  I thought you were sleeping.  It was Chris Jennings-"</div> <div> "Is he my great-grandson?"  Quentin interrupted.  "Is he a-is he cursed, too?"  He tried to sit up.</div> <div> Julia pushed on his shoulders gently.  "Ssssh, we can talk about all this later.  We want to make sure you're all right, first."</div> <div> "Oh, I'm fine-the portrait, do you remember?"</div> <div> "I remember some of it," Julia answered.  "I had a feeling you were still alive, Quentin.  To have you show up like this, though-"</div> <div> "I had to come.  I had a dream to come here." He interrupted again. Julia's eyebrows went up, encouraging him to continue.  "Jenny-my wife-came to me in a dream.  She said I was to come here and help-help-Chris-and that you and Barnabas would help me get him cured somehow.  She said she'd help me find Beth again-"</div> <div> "Beth?" Julia interrupted.  Her lips had become thin and tight when he said Barnabas.  Something was wrong.  Julia mused, "Chris had a dream about Jenny, too.  She told him to look for you."</div> <div> "Well, that's why I came," he said, wondering what was wrong.  "Jenny said that we could help Chris, but I really don't know how."  He could tell her about all the places he'd been throughout the world later.</div> <div> "I've been working on that.  Now that you're here, you can help me," Julia said softly.  "First, though, you've got to get well."</div> <div> "Oh, I'm all right," he scoffed.  "I can tell the doctor to just release me."</div> <div> "Do you have a doctor yourself, Quentin?"</div> <div> "Not here, no."  He thought.  "Not in Portland, either.  I didn't need one." He smiled ruefully.  "That Dr. Harper seems like a reasonable guy.  He said I was doing all right."</div> <div> "Yes, that's true, and I can talk to Dan, too.  I can give him the name of a doctor who can follow you-I'm sure that's what Dan would be most concerned about.  So-you've been living in Portland? As Grant Douglas?  You know, we tried to find out about you through the police but they had nothing on file."</div> <div> Now he laughed out loud.  "They won't either.  No fingerprints, no birth certificate, no medical records, no military records-nothing like that."</div> <div> "But how-"</div> <div> "Oh, I have everything I need for identification, Julia, but it's not under that name."  He wasn't sure how much he should tell her.  "I have different aliases.  Grant Douglas is one of them.  But no one's got any record of me anywhere as anyone."  Julia frowned.  He sighed.  "There's nothing sinister about it, not really-not for this country, anyway."  He thought that was about as broad a hint as he could safely give her.  </div> <div> Her eyebrows shot up again, this time in admiration.  She got it, all right.  "You know, somehow I'm not surprised," she commented, smiling again.  "Would you be able to provide something to the sheriff?  And maybe an insurance agent about the accident?  They'll want to interview you, you know."</div> <div> He gave her a troubled look.  It wasn't about the identification; that was no problem at all.  "Sure, I can do that, no problem.  Look, if I gave you a note, maybe you could pick up my bag at the Inn?  It's got some ID in it I use whenever I need it.  It looks legit  and no one  has ever bothered to check it out."</div> <div> "All right."  Julia agreed.  She brought him some paper and a pen so he could scrawl out a note for the desk clerk. Now Julia bit her lip, looking obviously uncomfortable.</div> <div> Quentin suspected he knew what was troubling her.  It was bothering him, too, and he didn't know what he would tell the sheriff yet-but it wouldn't be the truth.  "Barnabas ran me down," he said.  "You know it, too.  Why?"</div> <div> Her expression became pained, and he suddenly realized: she loves him!  "He really did it on purpose, didn't he?" she asked, very softly.</div> <div> "It sure seemed that way, to me.  I was crossing the street and there he was.  He was driving pretty fast, too-and I remembered thinking he was going to hit me on purpose.  I don't know why.  He didn't know who I was, did he?"</div> <div> Julia looked shocked.  "No!  Of course not!"  She put her hand on his arm reassuringly.  "No, he didn't know it was you and when he realized-he felt terrible."</div> <div> It made no sense.  "Why would Barnabas do it anyway?"</div> <div> Julia patted his arm.  "Something has happened to him.  I suspect he did it because he knew Carolyn was meeting someone."  She looked almost angry now.</div> <div> "Carolyn?  What does she have to do with it?"</div> <div> Julia studied him a moment and then answered, "That's right, how could you know?  Carolyn Stoddard is a Collins-she's a distant cousin of yours." </div> <div> He was stunned, then irritated.  It figured!  "I was going to take her dancing," he muttered.  He didn't want to confess what else he'd considered trying.  "What is a Collins doing working in a shop?"</div> <div> "It's a very long story, but I am so glad you are here now so that I can tell it to you."  So-it was even worse than he suspected-something was wrong with Barnabas.  He felt bitterly disappointed.  This was going to get in the way of helping Chris, and that meant Jenny wouldn't help him find Beth-not yet.  Julia noted the change in the expression on his face.  She said softly, "I'm sorry, Quentin.  This is all too much for you right now, isn't it?"  She patted his arm again.  "I'll come back and see you in a little while.  I'm going to go and find Dr. Harper."</div> <div> "Okay," he said.  He sighed and turned his head away, feeling depressed.</div> <div> "Quentin," Julia said.  He turned back and looked at her.  She looked into his eyes.  "I am so glad that you are all right.  Everything is going to work out, please don't worry.  It'll all be fine."</div> <div> He nodded and tried to smile.  He didn't believe a word of it.  As soon as she went into the hall, his fears were confirmed.  He could hear young Chris' voice again and then he heard Barnabas' familiar sonorous voice.  He sounded very angry.  He and Julia began to argue, their voices rising.  "You are deluding yourselves!" he heard Barnabas shout.  Another voice joined them, quieting them and moving them down the hallway.</div> <div> What had happened to Barnabas?  Now Quentin felt scared.  He'd depended on Barnabas very much during all the troubles with his curse and Petofi.  Barnabas had helped him escape from the evil, powerful Petofi.  He'd missed his cousin over the years, mostly keenly after being attacked by Petofi in New York years and years ago.  Over the years he'd lived with much suffering and many times he'd wanted to die, especially after losing Beth again.  The one hope he held on to was being able to be reunited with his cousin, as if Barnabas held the key to his salvation.  But now, it was all wrong.</div> <div> He was still brooding when the doctor came back in to check on him.  "I didn't realize you and Julia were old friend, Mr. Douglas," the doctor told him pleasantly.  "I don't see any reason why I can't discharge you tomorrow as long as you continue to show improvement today.  She said she'd get you an appointment for a follow-up.  I'd see you myself, but I'm just on staff here.  It's not a very big hospital."</div> <div> Quentin nodded and thanked the doctor, who noticed he seemed subdued.  The doctor asked if he was still in pain.  Quentin considered.  He really wasn't, but the pain medication would knock him out for a while and he thought he could use a little escape from reality-even if it meant another shot in the hip.  He admitted his headache was still bothering him.  "All right, I'll get you something for the pain.  We'll keep an eye on that, though."  Hmm, thought Quentin, guess the headache has to go after this shot.  I want out of here.</div> <bR> <div> Much later, Quentin sensed some movement in the room.  Someone touched him, and that roused him further.  Whoever it was put a hand on his throat-that was an unusual way to get his pulse.  The nurses had used his wrist for that.  He felt very groggy from the pain medication as he opened his eyes to see if Julia had come back.  He found himself looking up into Barnabas' eyes, and he pulled back in fear because of the lack of feeling in them.  Barnabas had looked at him many ways before-with anger, with disgust, with sympathy, with understanding, and with love, but never with cold indifference.  The flat, obsidian look in his cousin's eyes reminded him of Petofi, of Bartelli, of Dorn…</div> <div> "Hello, Quentin." Barnabas' voice was pitched softly and without emotion.  "I knew we'd see each other again, but I didn't expect it would be here."  He was standing beside the bed, and now he leaned over to bring his face closer to Quentin's.  Quentin reacted by turning his face away, feeling terrified.  "You're frightened of me, aren't you?" he heard his cousin say, sounding pleased.</div> <div> "I don't understand what's going on," he mumbled.</div> <div> "Good.  It's better that you don't.  Look at me, Quentin."</div> <div> "No, I don't want to.  What's going on, anyway?  Why did you run me down?"</div> <div> "Quentin!"  Barnabas' voice was hard and commanding.  "Look at me."</div> <div> "No," Quentin said, stubbornly.  He squeezed his eyes shut, but they flew open again when he felt Barnabas grab his chin between his fingers, squeezing painfully.  He forcefully turned Quentin's head back.  Barnabas' brown eyes were like two bright, hard stones, with no depth at all to them.  No soul, a voice whispered into Quentin's head.</div> <div> "Look in my eyes and don't look away," Barnabas commanded.  "Do you know, Quentin, that I could have killed you as you slept here just now?  It would have made things so much easier for me, and yet I decided to spare your life for one reason alone.  You saved my life once, and so I owe you that in return.  However, now we are even.  This is your only chance.  If you interfere with me, I will kill you without hesitation, do you understand?"</div> <div> Barnabas wasn't expecting an answer to his question. Quentin could not have replied in any case; he felt paralyzed all over.  He realized that Barnabas was hypnotizing him somehow and wondered how it could be done.  His cousin was no longer a vampire.  "Ah, but that doesn't matter, Quentin," Barnabas' voice said softly into his ear.  "I have much more power now than I ever did as one of the living dead.  Come with me, now."</div> <div> They were in a damp and dark corridor.  "Where are you taking me?" Quentin asked.</div> <div> "Well, if I told you that, you would be able to get free.  I don't want that happening.  I want you safely neutralized," Barnabas replied with a chuckle.</div> <div> Quentin tried to pull away.  "I don't want to go!"</div> <div> Barnabas had a firm grasp on his arm.  "You have no choice!" he hissed, menacingly.  He continued to drag Quentin along with him.  This was a scary place.  It was getting darker, damper, and colder.  There were huge fat spiders in the corners of the ceiling and the rustle of rats along the floor.</div> <div> "Why are you doing this to me?" Quentin cried.</div> <div> "To save your life!"  Barnabas' face was bloodless and stark in the darkness.  There was a frightening luminous quality in the pallor of his skin that he hadn't had even when he was a vampire.  He didn't look human.  "I don't want to kill you.  I can't let you stay here as you are, though!"  They stopped walking.  With his free hand, Barnabas pulled open a creaking, dungeon door.</div> <div> "Don't leave me here," Quentin begged.  "Please, Barnabas, don't!  I'll do anything you say!"</div> <div> "Shut up!" Barnabas snarled at him.  "Coward!  This is nowhere near as terrible as what Petofi did to you, and you bore that like a man!  Stop sniveling like a child and get in there."  He began to propel Quentin inside what was probably a cell.</div> <div> "You don't understand!" Quentin shouted, suddenly furious with the injustice of it all.  "I didn't expect anything from Petofi but brutality!  I trusted you!  I loved you!"  Barnabas shoved him roughly, and he fell to the cold, stone floor.  He wanted to cry, but struggled not to, remembering Barnabas' cruel words.  He heard the door slam with a ringing sound of finality in his ears.</div> <div> "You cannot possibly understand this," Barnabas whispered.  "I am doing this because I love you, too, Quentin.  Stay here, and you will be safe."</div> <div> Quentin let the tears come as he heard his cousin's footsteps receding.</div> <bR> <div> He opened his eyes to see a stranger standing there, looking at him with a great deal of concern.  The man wore a long cape and carried a cane.  His brown eyes were filled with worry.  "Hello," the man said.  "How are you feeling?"</div> <div> "I'm feeling all right," he answered, feeling confused.  He looked around and saw that he was in a hospital room.  "What am I doing here?"</div> <div> "You don't remember?" the man asked, looking even more worried now.  He tried to think and realized that he couldn't remember anything at all about how he'd gotten here.  He shook his head, puzzled.  "Oh, dear," the man exclaimed, clearly distressed.  "I'm afraid it's all my fault, you see.  I was driving into town the other night, and I'm afraid I lost control of my car and hit you.  You were unconscious a very long time.  I kept coming to check and see how you were feeling, of course.  I felt terrible about what happened."</div> <div> "Accidents happen," he said softly, to try and alleviate the other man's distress.  "God knows, I've had my share of them."</div> <div> "Yes?" the man asked, expectantly.</div> <div> He frowned.  Why did I say that?  What am I talking about? He wondered.  "I'm sure I did," he answered hesitantly.  "I just don't remember."</div> <div> "My name is Barnabas Collins."  The man held his hand out.</div> <div> "My name is-" He stopped as he took Barnabas' hand.  He didn't know.  Barnabas was looking at him curiously.  He felt upset and frightened.  "I don't know," he whispered.</div> <div> "You must have amnesia," Barnabas decided.  He smiled and patted his shoulder to reassure him.  "I'm sure everything will come back to you, and you'll be sorry it did-I mean, you'll remember the details of the accident.  Well, you bear a striking resemblance to a very distant cousin."</div> <div> "Really?"  He grasped at that hope.  "Do you think I might be him?  What is his name?"</div> <div> "Oh, I don't think you are.  His name is Quentin Collins," Barnabas answered.  "You could be his twin, though.  You might hear someone else say that to you."</div> <div> The door opened, and he jumped, looking around.  Two women were coming in.  One was an older woman in a pea-green tweed coat with closely cropped startling red hair, and great gobs of mascara on her lashes.  The other was a young, beautiful girl with long, flowing blonde hair.  There was something familiar about that thick blonde hair, usually worn up…he shook his head, confused.</div> <div> "What are you doing here?" the older woman demanded, sounding furious.  </div> <div> "I couldn't stay away," Barnabas said apologetically.  "I just felt too guilty-I had to see if he was all right."  He moved back and extended his hand.  "Look-see for yourself!  He is awake!"</div> <div> The blonde smiled in genuine delight, moving forward, almost pushing the man out of the way.  "Oh, thank goodness!" She exclaimed.  "I'm so glad to see your gorgeous blue eyes again!"</div> <div> He laughed while wondering at the nasty attitude of the other woman.  He didn't think he liked her much.  This blonde, though, was beautiful.  "Thank you," he answered. "I'm pretty glad to see yours, too."</div> <div> "Well, I just want you to know that that you gave me quite a fright, and it's the only legitimate excuse for standing me up!"</div> <div> A clue.  "Did we have a date?" he asked her.</div> <div> She looked suddenly confused.  "You don't remember?"</div> <div> "No, I'm sorry," he admitted.  Maybe she could help him, though.  "I wish I did remember.  A date with you is something that would be worth remembering."</div> <div> "Do you remember my name?" she asked hesitantly.</div> <div> "No," he replied regretfully.  "What is it?"</div> <div> "Carolyn Stoddard," she whispered, now clearly distressed as well as confused.  She turned toward the older woman, who was looking angrier and angrier.  "I thought you said-"</div> <div> The older woman very deliberately pushed Barnabas out of the way and moved to stand beside the beautiful Carolyn.  "You don't recognize me, either?" she demanded.</div> <div> "Now, why would he?" Barnabas put in before he could answer.</div> <div> The woman's lips became a tight, thin line as she glared at Barnabas.  Obviously, they were enemies.  "Because I am a <I>doctor</I>!" she snapped.</div> <div> "Are you my doctor?" he asked, trying to somehow get between them.  They looked like they were going to get into a shouting match.</div> <div> The woman looked at him as if irritated with his interruption.  "Dr. Dan Harper has been treating you.  Do you remember?" she demanded.</div> <div> He felt like he was being attacked but manfully restrained himself from confronting this bitch.  Who did she think she was?  "All I know is what Mr. Collins told me," he answered mildly.  When the woman turned and glared daggers at Barnabas again, he added, "Well, that's not so unusual.  Stranger things than this have happened to me before."</div> <div> Julia swung back toward him.  "What things?"</div> <div> He let some of his irritation with her show now.  "Well, I can't tell you that for sure because I don't remember anything that's happened to me before."  He turned his attention to Carolyn and smiled appealingly at her.  "You know me, don't you?  Can you tell me anything about myself?"</div> <div> Carolyn swallowed, looking hesitantly at Julia, and then brushed her hair away from her face nervously.  "Well," she began, "your name is Grant Douglas.  You're not from here-you're from Portland.  You came here to visit-someone.  You walked into the antique shop where I work, and we talked about music.  You asked me to go out with you."  She stopped.</div> <div> He could sense her distress; she was genuinely concerned for him, and that touched him.  He reached for her hand and smiled at her reassuringly.  "Well, at least I know one thing-I've got great taste in women."  Carolyn laughed appreciatively at that, and he liked the sound-a musical, tinkly sound.</div> <div> The doctor grabbed Barnabas by the sleeve and was practically dragging him toward the door.  "I'd like to speak with you, please!"  Barnabas seemed to be reluctant but followed the woman into the hall.  Their voices began to rise in anger in the hallway and then faded away, as if they were walking down the hall.</div> <div> "Do you know what that is about?" Grant asked her.  "Why is that doctor so angry?"</div> <div> "I'm just as mystified as you are," Carolyn answered.  "Really, they are the best of friends."</div> <div> Grant's eyebrows shot up dubiously.  "I'd hate to see how she treats her enemies!  I'm glad she's not my doctor!  She's not, right?  It was Dr. Harper-that's what she said?"</div> <div> "Yes, that's right, but really, Grant, you mustn't judge Julia so harshly.  She must be upset about something.  She's normally very nice," Carolyn assured him.</div> <div> He looked at her doubtfully.  "What kind of music do I listen to?" he asked.</div> <div> "You like jazz-you came in looking for some 78s.  You mentioned Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, and Duke Ellington-"</div> <div> "Oh? What about swing?"</div> <div> Carolyn brightened.  "No, you didn't mention that.  You did mention Jimi Hendrix, though, and Eric Clapton."</div> <div> "The old and the new.  Interesting.  Did you hear Jimi Hendrix do the National Anthem on his guitar?  At Woodstock?"</div> <div> "I've heard it on a recording," Carolyn confided.  "My mother would have died before she'd let me go to Woodstock, though."  She hesitated and then asked, "Were you there, Grant?"</div> <div> He thought.  He knew the name.  He could see a field.  There were hundreds of people-young people dressed in brightly colored clothes.  He remembered a voice:  "They just closed the New York Thruway, man!"  He could see a young girl-very much like Carolyn-only taller, with broad shoulders.  She had hair like corn silk and sky blue eyes…  "I must have been," he whispered.  "I can't see myself there, though.  Maybe it was from the television."</div> <div> Carolyn put her hand on his with sympathy.  "It's all right, Grant.  I have a feeling you were there.  When you talked about Jimi Hendrix, it just seemed as if you were actually there.  You'll remember."</div> <div> "But why don't I remember anything?" he asked her fretfully.</div> <div> "You do," Carolyn objected.  "You know who the musicians are.  You knew about Woodstock.  You had a concussion from the accident-I'm sure that's why you can't remember anything about yourself."</div> <div> The door opened, and the redheaded doctor came back into the room alone.  She looked very unhappy.  Carolyn smiled.  "Julia, we were just talking about Woodstock and some musicians."</div> <div> "Oh?" Julia smiled a little.  "Were you at Woodstock?"</div> <div> Grant furrowed his brows, trying to get hold of the images again.  They slipped away.  "I think I was.  But I don't know where it is."</div> <div> "It's a farm in upstate New York," Julia explained calmly.  "Just this August, there was a weekend long concert at this farm.  Thousands of young people went.  A lot of well known rock musicians were there."</div> <div> "The New York Thruway was closed?" Grant asked.</div> <div> "Yes!"  Julia seemed delighted.</div> <div> "Where the hell is that?" he asked.  He was not so delighted.  "Are we in New York?"</div> <div> "No," Carolyn answered.  "This is Collinsport, Maine."</div> <div> "Collinsport?"</div> <div> "Named for the Collins family," Julia put in quickly, watching for a reaction.  He shook his head, frustrated.  She thought it would mean something to him, that was clear.</div> <div> "Am I here to see them?" he asked.</div> <div> "No-or you would have known me," Carolyn answered softly.</div> <div> "You're a Collins?"</div> <div> "Yes, but my last name is Stoddard.  My mother is Elizabeth Stoddard," Carolyn explained.  "Her maiden name is Collins."</div> <div> He looked at her blankly.  "The man who was here-who hit me, he is one of the Collinsport Collinses?  Barnabas Collins?"</div> <div> "That's right."</div> <div> "But I am not a Collins?  He said I looked like a cousin."</div> <div> Julia visibly started.  Grant noticed that she blanched, but Carolyn asked, "He said that?  Who did he say you looked like?"</div> <div> "Quentin?"</div> <div> "<I>What!</I> " Carolyn exclaimed, obviously shocked.  She looked at Julia.  "Why on earth would he say a crazy thing like that?"</div> <div> Julia's mouth made that thin line again.  "I'll have to ask him.  I don't know."</div> <div> "What's wrong?" he asked.</div> <div> Carolyn cleared her throat.  "Well, Quentin Collins would be about 100 years old now."  Grant scowled, confused.  "Well," she continued brightly, "you did say that you were here visiting.  I'm sure someone else in town knows who you are.  When they realize you are missing, they'll contact the sheriff."</div> <div> Now Grant looked at her hopefully.  "That's true.  How long have I been here?"  He looked toward Julia.</div> <div> He noticed that she had an odd look on her face and wondered what she wasn't saying.  She answered carefully, "You were brought here last night."</div> <div> "So whoever I'm supposed to be visiting will miss me soon," he exclaimed.  Carolyn nodded in agreement; Julia's lower lip curled under for some reason.  "Do you know anything else about me?" he asked.  He thought there had to be a reason for that expression.</div> <div> "Well," Julia began carefully, "we know that you rent a room in a private home in Portland.  You don't have any family there.  Your landlady told me that you gave her a month's advance rent and that you were going on a trip, but you didn't tell her where.  She was concerned about you, but I told her you'd be all right."</div> <div> "What else did she say?" he asked.</div> <div> "Just that you keep to yourself.  You write.  Sometimes you go out and stay out all night.  You keep late hours."</div> <div> "I write?  Am I published?"</div> <div> Julia shook her head.  "I don't know that yet."</div> <div> He sighed, very frustrated now.  "Barnabas said I had amnesia.  How long does that last?"</div> <div> "Well," Julia said grimly, "first of all, he is not a doctor.  If it is amnesia, it's hard to say how long it would last.  It varies.  As a matter of fact, I think I'd like to go and locate your doctor, Grant, if you'll excuse me."</div> <div> "Sure," he said, glad to see her go.  After she'd gone, he asked Carolyn, "What is her name?"</div> <div> "Julia," Carolyn answered.  "Dr. Julia Hoffman."</div> <div> "Hoffman," he repeated, turning the word over in his mind.  It meant nothing to him.  Nothing at all.  Since Carolyn didn't seem to know much more about him, he asked her to talk about herself.  She began to tell him about the place she worked-the antique shop-and her friends, the Todds.  She told him her father had just come back to town after being away for many years.  The sound of her voice was very soothing.</div> <div> "You're glad to see him again, aren't you?" Grant asked.  Carolyn's eyes softened, but before she could reply, Dr. Hoffman was back with another doctor.</div> <div> "Mr. Douglas," the other doctor said pleasantly.  "How are you?"</div> <div> "Mad!" Grant burst out, more irritated at being interrupted in his conversation with Carolyn than anything else.  However, he complained:  "Everyone seems to know my name but not much else!"</div> <div> "And you?" the doctor asked.</div> <div> "Didn't you tell him?" Grant demanded of Julia.  He looked at the doctor.  "I can't remember a damn thing about myself!  Who the hell are you?  Are you my doctor?"</div> <div> "Yes-Dr. Harper."  Dr. Harper shook hands with Grant.  He turned to the two women.  "Would you mind excusing me?  I'd like to have another look at Mr. Douglas."  Grant rolled his eyes in exasperation.</div> <div> "It's all right," Carolyn soothed.  "I have to go, but I'll come back later-I promise."</div> <div> "Okay," Grant called after her.  He sighed and allowed Dr. Harper to look in his eyes with a penlight.  He answered most of Dr. Harper's questions with an "I don't know."  When they were through, Dr. Harper looked as if he was trying to cover his concern.  "Well?"</div> <div> "Well, I'm not terribly surprised by this," Dr. Harper answered slowly.  "You sustained a concussion.  Does your head still hurt?"</div> <div> "No-it hurt before, then?"</div> <div> "Yes, it did.  I tell you what-I'd like to keep you another night or two for observation.  I'd like to get another X-ray of your skull.  Just a precaution."</div> <div> "Against what?" Grant asked.</div> <div> "Well, you hit your head pretty hard.  Initially, we saw no skull fracture, but it's possible we overlooked something.  It's nothing to concern yourself about, though.  In time, you'll recover."</div> <div> "How much time?"</div> <div> "That I can't answer, I'm sorry," the doctor answered.  Grant nodded, resigned.  He felt very depressed and frustrated.  There was some reason he was here and he didn't know what it was.  Something needed to get done, and nothing was being accomplished this way.  He closed his eyes and sighed.</div> <bR> <div> The initial results of the second set of x-rays appeared to be normal, Dr. Harper told Grant.  Still, they were going to go over them carefully to make sure there were no hairline fractures.  "Do I have to stay in bed?" Grant demanded.</div> <div> "Not if you don't want to," Dr. Harper answered.  He left Grant alone.  Apparently Dr. Hoffman had brought his bag over from the Inn and left it for him.  Why would she do that?  He wondered.  He was glad, though, because it meant he could get rid of the stupid hospital gown and wear his own robe.  He paced restlessly, occasionally stopping to look out the window and watch the people going by.  Nothing looked familiar, but then he was from another town.  Why was he here?  No one had come looking for him yet.  </div> <div> He'd found a puzzle in his trenchcoat pocket and was fiddling with it when Julia came in.  He glanced over at her when he heard the door open and then looked away, disinterested.  He'd been hoping it would be Carolyn.  "Hello, Grant," Julia greeted him cheerfully.  "You're up-you must be feeling better."</div> <div> "I'm feeling restless," he corrected her irritably.  He was being rude, he realized, and softened his tone.  "Thanks for bringing my stuff.  How did you know where to go to get it?"</div> <div> "You told me," Julia answered carefully.</div> <div> He looked at her, surprised.  "I did?  When?"</div> <div> "This morning-when I first saw you," Julia replied, slowly.  "You had more memory then than you do now."</div> <div> "You're kidding!" he exclaimed.  He was upset.  "Why don't I remember?  What happened to me?"</div> <div> "The accident was traumatic, very traumatic," Julia explained.  "It could be that you are dealing with the trauma by developing this temporary amnesia."</div> <div> "Oh, that's just great!" he exploded.  "In the meantime, I don't know who I am or what I'm doing here!"</div> <div> "All right, all right," Julia soothed.  "It's frustrating, I know, but there are ways we can bring your memory back."  She watched him manipulate the puzzle.  "Do you like to do puzzles?"</div> <div> "It's better than chewing my nails," he snapped back.</div> <div> Julia put her hand on his arm.  "Did you hear what you just said?  Do you chew your nails?"</div> <div> He thought.  He exhaled sharply.  "I don't know!  This is making my head ache!"  He looked at her.  "What did you mean when you said there were ways to bring my memory back?"</div> <div> Julia met his eyes steadily.  "I want to hypnotize you."</div> <div> He shrugged.  "All right.  If you think it will help."</div> <div> Julia smiled.  "Good.  I think it will."  She began to reach into an oversized handbag.  "You can sit or lie down, which ever would be more comfortable for you."</div> <div> "I guess I'll sit," he decided, plopping into one of the stuffed chairs in the room.  "I've been lying down forever, it seems like."  He watched her dig around in the handbag.  "What kind of a doctor are you, anyway?" he asked curiously.</div> <div> "Well, I have a degree in psychiatry," she answered.  "I'm an MD as well, you know.  You have to have a license to practice medicine as well to be a psychiatrist."  She pulled out a beautiful looking pendant on a gold chain.  It seemed a shame to treat such a lovely piece of jewelry in such a cavalier manner, he thought.</div> <div> "You're not going to shrink my head with that thing, are you?" he asked kiddingly.</div> <div> "I can't hypnotize you unless you let me," Julia explained.  "I can't make you do anything you wouldn't normally do.  You're perfectly safe."</div> <div> "Okay," Grant said.  "Let's get this show on the road.  I want to know who I am."</div> <div> Julia smiled at him again, and Grant noticed for the first time that she had a lovely smile.  She might be a pretty woman too-it was hard to tell under all the makeup.  It must be the profession, he thought.  Maybe women psychiatrists didn't care to dress attractively-they were too preoccupied with madness or something.  Julia was dangling the pendant in front of his eyes.  There seemed to be a prism within it.  "Look at the center, Grant," Julia urged, and he tried to concentrate, listening to her words.  "Look for the center.  Do you see the center?"</div> <div> He thought he did.  "Yes."</div> <div> "I want you to keep looking at the center, but look deeper.  Go beyond the center, now, Grant.  I want you to begin to look within yourself.  You have memories of yourself-I want you to look for what happened yesterday, Grant."</div> <div> "I don't see anything."</div> <div> "Look for what happened when you left Portland to come here, Grant."</div> <div> "I don't see anything."  </div> <div> He could hear her voice, softly urging him to look for a memory of something.  He felt that he was opening one empty trunk after another.  He didn't feel angry or frustrated, though.  He felt very detached from his feelings.  He was determined to find something, and there was a room filled with boxes to be opened.  He opened them, one after the other.  There was nothing…but there was a closet door.  He went to the closet and turned the knob.  It turned, but the door was stuck.  He turned the knob, pulling.  He believed he had the strength to force it open.</div> <div> He heard a woman scream behind the door and the sound of a man's evil laughter.  He pulled on the knob with all his strength and it finally flew open.  There was a tall thin blonde woman there, being held at knifepoint by a muscular blonde uniformed man with a crew cut.  He had an eye patch, and he held that wicked knife against her throat.  "And so, we meet again!" the man snarled harshly, pressing the point of the knife into her flesh.  She screamed.</div> <div> He screamed, too. </div> <div> "One, two, three!  You're back, Grant!  You're safe!"</div> <div> He opened his eyes, feeling his heart thumping wildly in his chest.  Cold sweat poured down his face.  He looked at Julia wildly.  "What the hell happened?"</div> <div> "What do you remember?" Julia asked cautiously.</div> <div> "Nothing-but I feel like I've had the scare of my life.  What happened?"</div> <div> "You wanted to leave.  You were very upset, Grant.  You said that you had to leave because of `him'.  Do you recognize the name Frederick Dorn or Thorn?"</div> <div> He thought.  He couldn't remember.  "No."  He was disappointed.  "I thought I would remember what I saw when I was hypnotized."</div> <div> "I'll tell you the truth, Grant," Julia said.  "It seemed to be a horrible memory and so when I brought you out of it, I told you that you wouldn't remember."</div> <div> "Why?"  He was angry.</div> <div> "Sometimes a bad memory like that without an explanation or understanding of it does more harm than good," Julia explained.  "I wanted to see if you knew who this person was.  If you'd remembered a little bit, I would have had you remember it next time."</div> <div> "That's it?"  He was bitterly disappointed.</div> <div> "No.  There's also this."  Julia showed him a tape recorder she'd had inside that big bag of hers.  "Do you speak any other languages?"</div> <div> "I don't know.  Why?" he asked.</div> <div> "Listen."  She pushed the play button.</div> <div> Stunned, he listened to his own voice say in a conspiratorial tone:  "Gut, Kinder. Jetzt werden wir ein spezielles Spiel spielen. Und allen wichtigste Richtlinie von ist Sie muß sehr sein, sehr ruhig. Niemand müssen sprechen oder sich bewegen, oder das troll ißt Sie. Ich wünsche jeder das Spiel gewinnen, also ziehe nicht um und spreche nicht, bis ich Ihnen zu erkläre. "</div> <div> "That's your voice," she said softly, stopping the tape.</div> <div> "My God," he whispered.  "What language is that?"</div> <div> "German."  Her voice was as soft as a whisper, too.  He realized she looked a little pale and shaken.</div> <div> "Do you speak German?" he asked her.</div> <div> She looked at him, troubled, and then nodded.  "Not in many, many years.  But I remember it."</div> <div> "What did I say?" She continued to look troubled, as if she wondered if she should tell him.  "Doctor, please!"</div> <div> She nodded slightly.  "All right."  She rewound and played the tape again, listening.  She turned to him and said, "It seems you were talking to children.  Roughly, you said, `All right, children.  Now we're going to play a special game.  And the most important rule of all is you must be very, very quiet.  No one must speak or move, or the troll will eat you.  I want everyone to win the game, so don't move and don't talk until I tell you to.'"</div> <div> It made no sense.  That was more upsetting to him than the sinister sounding words themselves.  "What does it mean?"</div> <div> "It almost sounds like you were playing a game of some kind."</div> <div> "Could I be a teacher?" he wondered.  "But why would I speak to children in German?  I don't have an accent-I'm not German by birth, am I?"</div> <div> "No," she replied.  "In fact, your German has an American accent to it." He shook his head.  Now his head really was beginning to ache.  He went back to the bed and lay down on it, covering his eyes with his arm.  "Grant, I'd like to try this again-perhaps once you are discharged from the hospital."</div> <div> "I don't know what I'm going to do," he mumbled.  "I don't have any money except for what's in my wallet, doctor."</div> <div> "Don't worry about that.  I'll take care of everything for you."</div> <div> He moved his arm and looked at her incredulously.  "Are you always so generous with your patients, doctor?"</div> <div> "With special cases, yes, I am," Julia said, taking the chair next to his bed.  She took his hand in hers.  "Will you trust me?  I want to help you."</div> <div> He looked at her silently for a moment.  "You know, I didn't like you when I first saw you," he admitted.  "I thought you were an awful bitch."  Julia's eyes widened, and she burst out laughing.  Her eyes filled with tears, and she let go of his hand to wipe her eyes.  He began to laugh, too.  Why had he distrusted her?  He could see now that there was nothing but sincerity and warmth in her eyes.  When they both stopped laughing, he said, "Yes, I trust you, doctor.  I want you to help me."</div> <div> Julia squeezed his shoulder.  "All right.  Why don't you rest?  You've been through a lot.  I'll talk to Dr. Harper again and find out when he will release you.  In the meantime, I'll make arrangements and find a place for you to stay."</div> <div> "Thanks, doctor."</div> <div> She patted his shoulder and stood up.  "One thing-would you call me Julia, please?"</div> <div> "Julia."</div> <div> She smiled.  "I'll see you later.  Get some sleep."  </div> <div> He nodded cooperatively.  As soon as she left the room, though, he was up and pacing again, fiddling with the puzzle.  How could he rest after that?  That was a woman for you, he thought.  The door opened again, and Grant thought maybe Julia had returned.  When he looked up, though, he stopped stone still, gaping at the beautiful woman standing there.</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id110.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="2: A Complex Puzzle"><U>2:  A Complex Puzzle</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U>Cassie's Writing</U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>