Chapter 4: Invasion
Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Shadows or anything mentioned herein.
A/N: References to previous stories are indicated with multiples of * (see end note)
Barnabas' telepathic communications to Willie are underlined and italicized.

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Willie, where are you?

Don't go there, Barnabas; it's not a safe place. Come home.

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Willie was in the parlor, barefoot, wearing sweatpants and hoodie. A bottle of disinfectant and cotton balls were on the floor.

"What has happened?" Barnabas hung up his cloak and cane. "Why are you burning your breeches?"

Willie sat in front of the fireplace poking his jeans into the flames. "They got dogs now at the Tanner Farm. Three of 'em. And there was a patrol car in the driveway—turned on its headlights." He shuddered and jabbed harder at the timber. "Not sure if he gotta good look at me or the pickup, but if he did, he'll come here. If he sees my ripped pants with blood on 'em, he'll know it was me."

"Were you injured?"

"Not bad." Willie showed him the bite marks on his ankle and lower leg. The wounds stung a little but had, for the most part, stopped bleeding. "Mostly got my jeans. Gotta scrub my sneakers next; they're fulla mud."

Barnabas knelt beside him and gave the injuries closer examination. He lifted Willie's leg slightly and drew it to his mouth.

"Hey, what the fuck—don't do that!" He pulled back, scooting across the floor and grabbed at his sweatpants which caught on the rug and didn't scoot with him. The vampire clamped his hands around Willie's leg and ran his tongue along the young man's abrasions.

"Oh, shit—stop it!" He writhed and kicked until Barnabas pressed on the wound, intensifying the pain. Willie yelped.

"Hold still, you fool. When the authorities come tomorrow, you will have no marks, and there will be no evidence."

Willie sighed, "Okay." He collapsed onto the floor and squeezed his eyes shut. It still felt creepy.

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Willie cleaned up the First-Aid supplies and scrubbed his shoes in the scullery sink. Later in his room, he lit the oil lamp and checked out his damaged ankle. If you looked very carefully, you would swear you could see it healing, like a time-lapse sequence in a movie. Okay, that was cool, but Barnabas was just weird. You don't go around licking people's legs like that. That was not cool.

Willie lit a fire, exchanged his hoodie for a tee shirt, and crawled beneath the covers. He was secretly relieved their cow adventures had come to an end. Yeah, but what would the alternative be? Gotta think about that. Willie drifted off to sleep.

He was awakened a few hours later when he thought the lamp had gone out because it was suddenly dark. As the room came into focus he realized it was Barnabas' silhouette blocking the light. He was startled into a state somewhere between nightmare and consciousness, and with a yell, scrambled back and became tangled in the bedcovers when he hit the wall.

"No, NO!" Barnabas seemed to fly towards him, grasping him by the forearms. Willie struggled fiercely at the injustice. "Sanctuary! Sanctu—ary!" The vampire pulled him closer as Willie drew up his knees to push him away with violent thrusts and kicks. Barnabas twisted the young man's arms and flung him back onto the mattress, pinning his arms to either side. Willie continued to resist desperately.

"Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?" (2) Barnabas referred to their earlier encounter in the parlor. "I have not fed this evening."

"This is MY room—!"

Barnabas continued to restrain his victim. "Did you think this was your little haven, where you would be safe from me?" He laughed and licked his lips.

"It is—it's mine; you can't—come in here!" He bucked and kicked harder, like a wild pony, even knocking Barnabas off balance. The vampire grew tired of this game, and his initial expression of bloodlust changed to that of irritation. He lifted Willie up and flipped him over, sending him face down on the bed. Barnabas pulled Willie's head back and spoke softly in his ear.

"You are a slave, and always will be. You have no rights. You own nothing." The vampire sank his fangs into Willie's neck.

The young man wanted to pass out afterwards, but he didn't. That gray, fuzzy feeling was there, but not enough to overcome conscious thought. The vampire stood across the room fingering his servant's possessions—what he had thought were his possessions. His master smiled and spoke genteelly, but Willie couldn't understand most of what he was saying. His hands were bound to the rails of the brass headboard. He struggled to turn onto his back, but in doing so, tangled his oversized sweat pants and twisted the binds so that they dug painfully into his wrists.

"What are you doing to yourself? There's nothing there." Willie brought down his arms, staring at them, unfocused. It had been an illusion. The vampire laughed apologetically. "I'm sorry! I love doing that."

Barnabas continued to chat as he read the letters in Willie's desk—something about an incident on a promenade the young thief couldn't even remember. "I'm sure you would rather be restrained in silk ties by a beautiful woman." Oh yeah, that he remembered, if not in great detail.** "What a confidence artist you were, but we change, don't we? We all change." Willie nodded as his eyelids closed.

Barnabas crossed to the bed and spoke directly to him. "I asked you a question. Where did you learn the word sanctuary?"

"I dunno," he mumbled, "from a movie—or comic book. Ugly guy lives in an old church. Hunchback."

"I'm not familiar with it, I'm afraid. Yes, churches are known to provide sanctuary but, you see, you do not live in a church." He patted Willie's arm with what looked like affection, and closed the door gently as he left.

No, I live in hell.

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References to characters/incidents in previous stories:

* Little Willie
** Globetrotters
*** The Maine Event
**** Changes

(2) Quotation from Romeo and Juliet, W. Shakespeare