Subj: Scent of Lilacs No More Chapter 8
Date: 6/12/99 12:34:43 AM Central Daylight Time
From: Beverly LaCroix
Chapter 8
Death, Guilt, and Mourning
Quentin stood alone, a forlorn figure looking out of place with his dark glasses on in the pouring rain. The piper stood away from the funereal procession playing Amazing Grace. It had the desired effect of sounding forlorn as Quentin felt since that night at the Old House.
The sun was beginning to set, and Quentin saw Barnabas walking over the hill, a sad lonely figure, like himself, in a time not his own. They were both freaks of nature, they did not belong here in this time, acting as if they were a part of, because they were not. If he could die he would.
Watching Barnabas, his face a mask of grief, made Quentin feel sad for his cousin and friend, who was always looking out for him, and apparently so had David. Quentin felt a catch in his throat thinking about the boy, and his brave act that night. Quentin had know Daphne was in the room, the overpowering scent of lilacs was choking him, and apparently David knew about Daphne. He was hiding. He had come back to make sure he was all right, and had stopped at the doorway, when Barnabas had him in a grip, and he was drowning in his hypnotic eyes, and they were stronger than Roxanne. Quentin had felt euphoric for a split second that Barnabas could help him -- again. He was stronger and more powerful, and he felt the cloak of madness lifting, and that's when he saw the knife fly out of Daphne's hand, and it had been pure silver. If it had hit its target Barnabas would have been destroyed immediately, but David had seen it, and to everyone's surprise he ran and shouted no and threw himself in front of Barnabas, breaking the grip Barnabas had on him, Barnabas had been so startled, the knife had hit David right above the heart.
"Barnabas, make me like you," David said with difficulty as he had lay dying in his cousin's arms. "You knew." Barnabas said, as he fought the war in his mind of whether or not to do as David requested.
Quentin had been listening and managed to get Barnabas' attention, and told him "no, you can't, Barnabas. Look at me. Think of Roxanne. You can't do that to David, " Quentin had managed to say in a hoarse whisper. And Barnabas had known he was right. Barnabas had looked at David and said, "I'm sorry, David."
"Barnabas, Quentin, is he going to be all right?" David said, and before Barnabas could answer him, David went to his final sleep.
Wiping the blood from David's face with the hankerchief, David had used earlier to wipe Quentin's brow, Barnabas answered him, "yes, David, Quentin is going to be fine." A vision of another child dying in his arms almost two centuries ago flashed before him, as he held David to him, "no, not you, David." he said morosely.
Finding Roxanne alone in the apartment she and Shaw
shared in the night time hours, she wasn't surprised to see him. "Barnabas,"
she said sitting in the dark. "You're through with Quentin, you know that. Your
attentions are driving him insane, and for some reason you don't seem to care.
He's different, Roxanne, as you know." Barnabas was saying when
she interrupted him.
"Barnabas, tell me, how is it that you do not remember being my creator?" Roxanne asked. Now Barnabas was genuinely shocked. He was by Roxanne's side in a split second, taking her by the face, turning her neck he sunk his fangs into her. He heard the intake of her breath at this erotic act. He drank, and as he drank the blocks that he had so carefully erected over a century ago came tumbling down. He pulled her into his embrace, holding her, caressing her, and he wanted her again. This was his Roxanne. The beautiful young woman he had wanted to spend an eternity, and she with him. And the Fates had yanked them cruelly apart, now they had found one another. Disengaging his fangs, he caressed her face, and told her, "I know, Roxanne, and now you know that I didn't desert you, don't you?"
"Yes, now I know. "
Barnabas, remember the night you first came to me, and you told me you would love me as no one had ever been loved?" Roxanne asked him her voice filled with pain.
"Yes, I do, Roxanne," he answered her softly and seductively, pulling her to him, one hand in the small of her back, and the other now tracing the outline of her breast.
"Love me, Barnabas." Roxanne said. She knew he wanted her she could feel his arousal, and could smell his desire for her.
"Oh, Roxanne," Barnabas said and crushed her lips with a savage kiss. She undressed for him, and he marvelled at how beautiful she looked standing in the moonlight, and then she undressed him, touching him, teasing him, and couldn't get enough of his aristocratic, his features were chisled, he was so sensual Roxanne thought, and remembered she had always thought that about him. She grew hot at the memory of him touching her, and demanding she not cover herself, he liked to look at her, she was so beautiful Only he could make her blush she thought with a small smile.. And then he made love to her, holding her, whispering lover's words to her, needing her as much as she needed him. For Barnabas it was bittersweet, as he pulled himself from her, and held her close to him, outlining the curves of her body with his fingers, he had tasted her overwhelming desire for Quentin in her blood, and knew she could never give him up. He also knew of the depravity that Roxanne enjoyed. She couldn't hide it, and he couldn't forgive her no matter how much he loved her.
Pulling her to him, he embraced her, and kissed her, and he let her go, and got dressed, then he pulled her to him, and just held her. She returned his embrace, and then she screamed as the stake pierced her heart.
"Why, Barnabas?" she asked him. He didn't answer her, he just shoved the stake all the way through her body, and then he broke her neck, and put her body outside for the rising sun. Roxanne had changed since he knew her.
She liked killing just for the sake of killing, and
that pleasure she got from it, and the smell of blood was her perfume, and it
was driving Quentin insane. Her pleasures were so depraved and evil, that Quentin's
mind couldn't tolerate the onslought, and was choosing to shut down. He felt
overwhelming compassion for the suffering Quentin had been going
through, and he knew what he had to do to stop it. The destruction of Roxanne
wouldn't stop his suffering, it was too late, his mind was to infected with
her diseased life.
"Quentin, let's go to Roger and Elizabeth. They need us." Barnabas told the boyish looking Quentin, thinking how much he looked like a lost child.
Quenin watched Barnabas walk away, glad that Roger had okayed the funeral for later in the day, glad it was dark and cloudy, so Barnabas could at least be here for part of it. Watching his cape blowing wildly around him, Quentin wondered if Barnabas got tired of the death that always surrounded him, and followed him. He didn't blame Barnabas, Barnabas was one of the most decent people he'd ever known in his long life. It's just that with immortality came a terrible price, and Quentin was tired of paying it. Quentin felt the heavy melancholy descend on him again that he'd had since David's death, and since Barnabas had helped him overcome those visions caused by the combination of Roxanne's vampirism, and his immortal blood.
Quentin watched as Barnabas turned around and stood patiently waiting for him to join him. Barnabas looked terrible, if it were possible for a vampire to show the ravages of grief, that's what Barnabas' countenance was showing. A striking figure of a man, Barnabas would never be ignored in a crowd, Quentin thought as he joined his cousin.
"You're right, Barnabas, I know you are, but I don't think I can face Roger. I feel so guilty, if it hadn't been for me David would be alive, and we wouldn't be standing here in the twilight, and rain at his funeral. I can't." Quentin told him, the uncontrollable sobbing threatening, as it had since Barnabas had gotten him threw the after effects of Roxanne, and it became clear to him everything that had happened that night. He had wanted to cry, but he couldn't. Tears would flow silently down his face, but that would be it. he felt he deserve to mourn the slain David.
Barnabas looked at Quentin, and knew it was difficult for him, but it was more difficult for Roger to be robbed of his young son, and right now Roger needed them. Barnabas was worried about Quentin, he seemed to be more withdrawn, and quieter everyday since David died, and the destruction of Roxanne. Quentin would have said the same about Barnabas. Neither men were the same.
Barnabas had returned to the Old House after he had destroyed Roxanne, and went to the basement where Julia had left some syringes, and picked up one, and stuck it in his vein, and filled the vial with his blood. It was a painful process for a vampire, and he didn't like doing it, but he had no choice. He had to kill the visions that Roxanne had left him, and he would be able to do it. He was a vampire created from the beginning, created by the Leviathins, very powerful and very old. It was very different from the curse Angelique had placed on him, that had been powerful enough, and Roxanne was a product of that curse.
"Quentin, come on, let's go to Roger and Elizabeth." Barnabas said, and Quentin could hear his heart beat slowing down, and knew he had lost the argument. Barnabas rarely used his powers on him, but sometimes when there was no other way he wouldn't hesitate, and this was one of those times.
Barnabas looked at his cousin, thinking of the pain he had gone through when he had taken the syringe and injected his blood into his veins. Quentin had screamed and screamed until it had quieted down to a continual groaning. He had said it hurt like someone was jabbing the inside of his blood veins with sharp pins continually. It burned, and Barnabas felt his arms, and he was very hot. It would pass, he didn't know how long this would last, but it was the only way for Quentin to rid himself of Roxanne once and for all. Finally, after three days of injections Quentin was over the visions, and the seizures had left him a day earlier. He had slept for 24 hours without waking, his body had been so exhausted. He had left Julia out of this. He couldn't involve her anymore than he already had. She had come and pronounced David's death as accidental, Barnabas nor Quentin were willing to give her any details, and for once she didn't press.
Walking over to the grieving Collins family, Barnabas took an inconsolable Elizabeth in his arms, and just stood holding her. Quentin, walking to Roger to offer him some condolence saw the lilacs on the top of David's coffin, and thought somebody or something was playing a cruel joke on David, because he couldn't do anything, but Quentin could. Walking to the coffin, he picked up the lilacs and tossed them as far away as he could. "David, don't worry, the scent of lilacs will be no more. I promise you, I will never let anyone put them on your grave, David. It's the least I can do, Cousin." Quentin said so softly that only Barnabas could hear him, but he understood. "Roger, did you know David hated lilacs, and the smell of them?" Quentin said to Roger, by way of explanation for his actions. Roger nodded in understanding, knowing Quentin was grieving and grieving hard and he wished he could say something to make it better, but he knew it was useless. Quentin had just done the first thing that had made him feel better, and that was show concern and respect for his dead son.
Everyone had left, and Quentin could hear the piper playing one last mournful stanza of Amazing Grace. Barnabas was standing solemnly by David's interrment, and Quentin stayed near the gravesite, and saw that the lilacs he had thrown were dead. Since David's death he had smelled the scent of lilacs no more.
The End