The Journals of Barnabas Collins

Dearest Joshua,

These will be the final words of mine that you shall read.  By the time these words reach you, the poison will have claimed me.  I will always love you and I will always love the man Barnabas was.  Tonight, you showed me a capacity for care I thought was a distant memory.  For that, I thank you.

Our son is a murderer, and for that, someone must atone.  There was little meaning to our lives.  Now, there is none.  Tragedy is now the constant rule rather than a passing exception.  In such a world, I cannot continue.  You can, and thus, you are worthy of living, perhaps because of your stalwart inability to love.  I have not the strength for that.



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