Afterward and Afterword

This ends the first volume of the Collins Chronicles.  We say “first” because the staff is confident that more will be found.  If Mr. Collins was anything, it was a thorough diarist and collector.  Or author of fiction.  That decision is up to you.

This project would not have been possible without the collaboration of the finest archival team ever assembled, and I would be remiss not to recognize the prominent members:

Francis Swann

Ralph Ellis

Malcolm Marmorstein

Joe Caldwell

Violet Welles

Ron Sproat

Gordon Russell

Sam Hall

 

This project was developed by Art Wallace.

 

The narrative supervisor was Mr. Dan Curtis.

 

Thank you.

1307

OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR

W I N D C L I F F   S A N I T A R I U M

Julia Hoffman, M.D.

 

June 29, 1971

 

Dear Staff,

My name is Doctor Julia Hoffman.  Over the past four years, I have been on an in-depth professional development sabbatical, the details of which are confidential.  All that matters now is that I am back.

Every day you save lives and minds. You do that by confronting the unknown with courage, compassion, and resourcefulness.  That’s why you’re here.

That’s why we’re never truly alone.

Sincerely,

Dr. Julia Hoffman

1306

June 27, 1971

The sun rises at the Great House of Collinwood.

And where I have been leaden with sorrow, today I feel only hope and purpose.

I know nothing of the cost… nor the perils… nor the punishment I shall endure in the quest before me.

I know only one thing:

I know that I will see her again.

My name is Barnabas Collins.

1305.5

Dear Barnabas,

Roxanne (my Roxanne, not your Roxanne) gave me permission.  Ol’ Willie’s ready when you are.

Hey, thanks for letting me help out.

I also need money to go to the grocery.  We need:

ritz crackers

gum

peanut butter

chili

q-tips

rope

Your pal,

Willie

ps — I can buy the crackers.

1305

April 3, 1971

Time — once my enemy — is now my dearest friend.  For that, I may thank Eliot Stokes.  Hellfire for you, good sir.

BC

1199.5

Gentlemen,

The Professor is back from an extraordinary journey.  Having done my finest work from an armchair over the past decade, getting back into the field was most invigorating!

In 1840, I discovered that the first Mr. Quentin Collins had crafted a working time portal in the form of a staircase.  As you can imagine this was a hideously dangerous device in his unwary hands.  I urged them to destroy it.  As I mounted the stairs and returned to our age, his cousin, Mr. Desmond Collins, smashed the gateway behind me and burned the plans forever.

Well, the original plans.  In my pocket were schematics for a much improved version.  The TS 2.0 shall be completed within the week.

My brothers, we have the wisdom and foresight to use them as we’ve used all of our advantages: to make a difference.  JM Barrie said that “to die will be an awfully big adventure.”  Quite true, but we have bigger ones before us.  I leap into them with vigor.  Who’s with me?

Sincerely,

Timothy Eliot Stokes, Ph.D.

ps – Hellfire!

1199

Dear Barnabas,

Julia told me what happened.  It’s not fair.

Before we met, I thought there were just three kinds of people in the world: marks, rivals, and playthings.  You were a rival until I grew up.  And then I had something that I never dreamed possible: a friend.

You have one, too.

Regards,

Quentin Collins II

1198

I know that I will never see her again.

The House of Trask finally stands in triumph.  Since 1795, they have sought to eradicate the legacy of witchcraft in Collinsport.  In 1796, they added a blood vendetta against me to their crusade.  Mr. Lamar Trask succeeded in both.

Today, he murdered Angelique Bouchard.  In doing so, he has inflicted a wound upon me that shall never heal.

He ended her with a common pistol and then ran.  Her lips tasted of honey and rain, and she was dead in my arms when I finally told her that I loved her.

Desperately, I seized at the one pleasure retained for me by life: crushing the throat of Lamar Trask.  As he staggered into the impenetrable world of Parallel Time, I was denied even that.  The great house of Collinwood exacted vengeance for me, and I am beset with a conflict of pique and flattery.  

When she saw me, Julia tried to be a comfort.  The results were not successful, but I was moved by her intentions.  I was mourning a love that was not she, but Julia found sympathy for me, anyway.  Was the denial of my love causing her suffering equal to my own?

No.  Respectfully, Julia, no.

These centuries have taught me many things, and one fact stands above all others; while my capacity for joy has always been limited, my capacity for grief is infinite.

We returned home.  We changed clothes.  We met Elizabeth.  I am being driven to the opening of the new Collinsport Historical Society, where Roger is giving a speech.  Eliot and Elizabeth are having a lively chat in the seat before me, and Julia is laughing with them, only occasionally glancing at me and then looking downward in shame.

It is a moderated shame, however, for I have led her to believe that I, as always, have recovered.  I shall sit at attention as Roger speaks.  I will hold my program politely.  My mind and heart will be centuries away.  I have saved the Collins family, and I have lost the only thing that has ever made me purely happy.  But had never felt it at all, I would not be feeling what I am, now.

We’re parking.  They expect happiness from me.  Showing otherwise would be quietly harm Collins family yet again.  So I will do what humans always do.  What I always do.

I shall pretend.

BC

1197

Angelique.  I will never again say that name without feeling a bliss I have never known.

Stripped of her abilities, Angelique was left only with her humanity.  That proved to be her greatest power ever, and the only one that mattered.  She stopped the execution by proclaiming everything she had never said before.  Desmond then ended the nightmare by shooting Gerard Stiles.  With his death came the end of Warlock Judah Zachary.  Zachary was, in my opinion, the reason this family has suffered through the centuries, leading to the bitterness and decay I found in Roger, Elizabeth, Carolyn, and David when first we met.  His curse was a slow and excruciating poison, and it is no more.

For my part?  I saved no one.  Angelique deserves the credit.  With all respect and love, Joshua, she turned out to be the greatest Collins of them all.  How can I help but to love her?  I realize now that I always have.  My fondness for Josette, fascination with Miss Winters, and kinship Roxanne will never end.  They were comforts to me.  Angelique was danger.  When the others left my life, I was despondent, but I soldiered on.  Had I allowed myself to admit my love for Angelique, and she were to suffer the same fate, why soldier on at all?

I have braved everything except my own heart.  Now, with fewer years ahead of me than behind, I no longer have that luxury.

I only have Angelique.

I am, at last, complete.

BC

1196

I have failed at everything.  Thus, I must succeed at everything.  “I will do it all,” I promised Quentin as he stood in his jail cell with a wistful defiance as the headman readied his blade.

That is what a Collins does.  For anyone.

If Quentin and Desmond die, and Tad dies in the Civil War, then I will be the only remaining Collins.  But as long as men charge ahead in the spirit of Quentin Collins, I shall never be the last.

He is not dead yet, however.

I will do it all.

BC