Subj: The Birthday Gift-Part 2
Date: 1/15/99 4:32:24 PM Central Standard Time
From: Daphne

Nocturne

Quentin’s bedroom was empty when he entered, a painful legacy of silence that greeted him every time he crossed the threshold, but even though he hated being alone, he knew there was no other place he really belonged. After the party, he had wandered restlessly through the halls, looking for some long-forgotten diversion from his solitude; he’d purposely avoided the passageways that led to the tower room and the servants’ quarters, but the unwanted memories surfaced anyway, pursuing him like spectral hellhounds until he decided to return to his room to drink and forget the past. He had no one to talk to and the only solace he could find was in the tragic beauty of his music and the numbing intoxication that was the alcohol’s solemn promise to him. Long ago, his music had been a powerful means of seduction, but now it guided him through infinite darkness, his only lifeline the painful melodies that echoed his heart’s yearning for peace. When the depression started to control him, Quentin would sit by the window and look out across the lawn to the beach below Widow’s Hill; he could see the ocean just beyond the trees and found a stability in its enduring beauty which afforded him the only peace he knew. So it was with all the other painful nights that had come before, and so it would be with this, the latest night of his eternity.

Absently pouring a drink, Quentin turned on the radio and retrieved a worn photograph from his dresser before taking his customary place beside the window; cradling the piece of paper reverently in his hands, he marveled at the way the moonlight caressed its surface, making its subject appear angelic in the silvery light. It was the only physical reminder he had of Beth, one that he had taken from her room shortly after her funeral. Looking at it now, he realized why he loved the sea, for the picture had been taken on a beach, capturing an innocent moment when she had been sitting barefoot on a rock, her hair cascading down her back in luxurious curls as she watched the ebbing of the tide; he had kept it with him always as a memorial to her devotion. He hadn’t been prepared to love Beth then, for he had learned long before meeting her of the horrible pain love could cause...his mother and father had both died when he was seven years old, succumbing to a flu epidemic that had driven the rest of the family to the Old House in a desperate attempt to escape further catastrophe. They had been robbed of the chance to say good-bye, and when the time of mourning began, the family had grown apart, each of them too young to really deal with their grief. Judith and Edward had always resented having to raise him and Carl, when they were ready to have lives of their own, and Quentin felt that Judith blamed them for keeping her from being married and having a family. To escape the pain of growing up alone, he’d learned to shut off his emotions, and Quentin had been unable to accept that he was worthy of any sort of happiness.

He hadn’t known then that love would have such a lasting effect on him, especially since he hadn’t married Jenny for emotional reasons--he’d felt the need to show his family that he was a responsible adult and thought that marriage was the best way to do so. Jenny had come into his life quite by accident--she’d been passing through the village on her way to an unknown destination when they met and the only thing his relationship with her proved was that his illusions of happiness had all been wrong. The only constant in his misguided attempt at adulthood had been Beth’s unwavering loyalty and love, but he hadn’t known how to respond to her then. Never in his life had someone given so completely of themselves to him, and he’d never before known anyone with Beth’s gentle docility and enigmatic beauty. Most of the women in his life were domineering and selfish, but not Beth. She was the only one who had ever been able to look inside his soul, past the arrogant demeanor he’d adopted to protect himself from life’s pain, and she’d found the part of him that he kept hidden from the rest of the world, the part of him that ached to be loved. That she could do so frightened him, and he’d tried to make her like all the others by constantly arguing with her, but Beth hadn’t allowed his fear to push her away. It wasn’t until he watched in
helpless horror as she fell to her death from Widow’s Hill that Quentin realized that her love had begun to change him. In that terrifying instant when he’d finally reached the beach and found Beth, her innocent beauty destroyed by the cruel grip of death, Quentin had held her broken body close, whispering over and over the words his heart had denied him for so long. I love you, Beth--his words were a mantra as he sat crying in the surf, words that could neither convey the depths of his belated feelings for her or bring her back to him. The family had given her a proper funeral, but none of them had truly understood what he had lost, for Judith, Edward, and Carl had never known the beauty of a virtuous and perfect love. Quentin deeply regretted that he’d never surrendered himself to the purity of Beth’s love; if he had, it would have been the only thing he’d ever done right with his life.

“Oh God, Beth,” he whispered, tears beginning to burn his eyes as he tucked the photo into the inside pocket of his jacket to keep it close to his heart, “I wish you could know how much I love you. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize that in time to save us.” He continued to drink long into the night, wondering how many hours would pass before the brandy’s fire would consume him; it seemed to take such a long time now for him to succumb to the darkness, but if it came to him this night, Quentin knew he would gladly embrace its hazy peacefulness. A timid knock at the door scattered his memories to the far corners of the past, and when he answered it, he was surprised to find that Arianna was the one who had summoned him. She was a tiny vision of innocence in her pink flannel nightgown and she was fearfully clutching a teddy bear to her chest.

“Darling, what are you doing up so late?”

“There’s a monster in my room, Quentin!” she cried, tears suddenly streaming down her face. He knelt in the doorway and she put her arms around his neck, sobbing as he held her close.

“I’m sorry you’re so frightened, Arianna but wouldn’t you rather be with your mother right now?” he asked, wondering why she had come to him.

“No,” she sniffled, her voice muffled against his shoulder, “the way to her room is too dark and scary. I want you to help me, Quentin.”

Looking down the hallway, he could understand why his cousin was frightened--the darkness seemed to enshroud Collinwood in mysterious shadows and he could clearly remember all the times he’d awaked in the night as a child. Calling for Edward or Judith had never helped allay his fears--all they would tell him was that he was being ridiculous because there was no such thing as monsters. He’d spent more than one terror-filled night lying awake with the blankets pulled up to his chin, utterly convinced that a three-headed dragon would come out from under the bed and attack him. Only the pale moonlight that filtered into the hallway from a solitary window had calmed her enough to bring her to him, and that irony wasn’t lost on Quentin. If the moon could be a beacon of hope for a scared little girl, why did it have to constantly remind him of his eternal damnation? Desperately wanting to forget his pain, Quentin picked her up and carried her to her room, promising her that he’d make all the monsters go away. Once there, he made a show of looking under the bed, in the closet, and underneath a pile of stuffed animals that were carelessly thrown in the corner--once she was satisfied that she was safe, Arianna climbed back into bed and laid down, letting Quentin tuck the blankets tightly around her. He sat beside her for a moment, reluctant to leave, and was startled when she suddenly sat up and hugged him tightly, whispering, “I’m sorry that you’re so sad, Quentin.”

“Who-who told you that I’m sad, Ari?” he asked, stunned that she could have known what he was feeling. He’d always kept to himself, never telling anyone- not even his own family-the truth of his existence because it was too dangerous to share with others. Nobody knew the real reason he’d never married or had a family--how could Arianna know something was wrong? She was only six years old...

“Nobody did. I can just tell. Your eyes seem so sad--what’s wrong?”

Quentin sat silently holding her for what felt like an eternity as he tried to figure out how to tell her the truth. He so wanted to talk about Beth, to keep her memory alive, but would his cousin understand any of it? “Well I am a little bit sad tonight, princess. I was just thinking of someone I lost a long time ago...someone I loved very much. Sometimes I just get a little lonely when I think about how much I miss her...”

“Oh...was she your wife?” Arianna’s question brought tears to his eyes, but Quentin was too astounded by her perception not to continue. It almost seemed as though their souls had some sort of special connection, something that he couldn’t explain, but whatever their bond, it made her seem far older and wiser than she really was.

“No...but I wanted her to be. We had a lot of problems, grown-up problems, that kept us apart. But I loved her very much.”

“And she died?”

“Yes darling, she died...there was a terrible accident, and there was no way for us to save Beth. I was just thinking about her tonight, during the party. I suppose that seeing you with your mother and father made me miss her even more because she always wanted a family.” A single tear slipped down his cheek and he quickly brushed it away, not wanting to upset Arianna any further. She seemed to somehow understand though, and took his hand as she laid back down, patting it gently as if to reassure him that he’d be all right.

“It’s OK if you cry Quentin...my daddy cried when Grandma Liz died.”

“You remember that? You were only three years old!”

“Yes, I remember. And sometimes I still cry when I think about her. It’s OK that you miss Beth. Besides, you’re my best friend. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

“Would you mind if I stayed here until you fall asleep again, princess?” he whispered, overwhelmed by her understanding and compassion.

“Of course you can,” she yawned, “it will keep the monsters away.”

He sat up against the headboard, watching silently as Arianna huddled under the blankets. The purity of her innocence reminded him so much of Beth that he could sometimes swear that his love had found a way to come back to him. Of course, he knew that was impossible, and that Arianna looked like Carolyn, and not Beth, but it was a comfort just the same. Quentin leaned back, meaning only to rest for a while until his cousin fell asleep, but the warmth of the brandy and the strength of his emotions had exhausted him, and he gave in to what he was feeling. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep sitting up, and lost himself in the darkness of his dreams, his hand still tightly clasped in Arianna’s tiny one.

Neither of them were awake to notice that someone was watching over them, her ethereal tears pooling into a single yellow rose as they fell silently at her feet.

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production.