Subj: The Birthday Gift/Chapter 3-Intermezzo
Date: 4/20/99 8:20:21 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Daphne

Intermezzo

The nightmare began, as it always did, on the beach below Widow’s Hill. Quentin was walking, alone, through a misty fog and could see nothing before him when suddenly, a plaintive sob echoed from the cliffs. “Quentin help me! Please don’t leave me here!” He knew he had to find her, to save her from her dark destiny, but he didn’t know where to look
and tears of frustration filled his eyes, further obstructing his vision.

“Where are you Beth? I don’t know where to find you!” He panicked, knowing that if he couldn’t help her, she’d be lost to him forever--but how could he protect her if he didn’t know where she was? The breakers crashed along the sand, their ceaseless thunder echoing the fearful pounding of his heart as he searched endlessly for her, feeling as though he was merely moving in circles; it wasn’t until he stopped to catch his breath that Quentin noticed the horror that laid in the sand beneath his feet. The tidal line was flecked with foamy bubbles, but instead of the pearly white ones that topped the waves, they were crimson red. The color of blood-Beth’s blood. He followed the ghastly trail away from the sea to the rocks that jutted like dragon claws from the ground, and as the rising moon parted the fog, Quentin watched his future die before him. There on the rocks that loomed before him, Beth lay like a sacrificial lamb on a pagan alter--her head was turned away from him at a nearly impossible angle and her body was draped limply over the rocks, as if she’d been nothing more than a rag doll that had been carelessly tossed from the cliff. Climbing to her, Quentin ignored the pain that lanced through his hands and knees as the rocks cut into his flesh, and when he reached her, he took her in his arms, but there was nothing familiar about her. Nothing met his embrace except the chill of death. “Beth, honey,” he sobbed, “please try to stay with me.” But he was too late--her once-beautiful body was nothing more than a mess of broken bones and her eyes, which had once reflected her love for him, were dulled by death. Barely breathing, Quentin held her close, an eternity of silent regret blossoming in the moonlight, his tears falling upon her cheeks as he closed her eyes and brushed a final kiss across her bloodstained lips.

Suddenly the scene changed and Quentin was in his room, the gramophone playing the plaintive music which had once been Beth’s favorite song. He went to the window, knowing somehow that she’d find a way to come back to him, but this time, when she returned, it was only to condemn him. “Quentin,” she cried, “why didn’t you come for me? I waited for you and you never came to me...why did you leave me there alone?”

“Beth, I tried to help you, but I couldn’t find you!” he explained, his words sounding hollow as he spoke them. He could have saved her long ago if he’d taken her away from Collinwood, away from her pain that their relationship had caused her, but he hadn’t. And now it was too late. He reached out to Beth to wipe away her tears, but her image shattered beneath his touch, leaving him eternally alone...

Quentin awoke suddenly, his heart pounding in anguish, his face burning with the tears he’d shed in his sleep. Once he could breathe without sobbing, the horror of the nightmare subsided and he realized he was in Arianna’s room; rising slowly so he wouldn’t wake her, he tucked her teddy bear under the blankets beside her, wishing that he could find the same peace that she had in her sleep. He hardly needed anyone versed in dream interpretation to explain the reason for those terrible visions-they were meant to remind him of the tragic consequences of broken promises. He had, in his own way, been as responsible for Beth’s death as Count Petofi had been. After all, he had been the one who had broken her heart and spirit, making her more vulnerable to the sadistic evil that Petofi had brought with him to Collinwood. Hadn’t he promised her time and again that he would divorce Jenny and have her institutionalized so that they could be together? And after Jenny’s death, when the curse’s fury had taken hold of both of them, hadn’t he still told her that they could leave Collinwood to go in search of a cure
for the curse? His words had been spoken with the best of intentions but in the end, all of the promises had shattered in a web of deceit. If he’d been a better man, he would have fulfilled his promises and they would have never been caught in Petofi’s evil void.

Seeking solace in the past, Quentin found himself thinking of the night that he and Beth had first made love; it was his most cherished memory, and the only one that truly comforted and sustained him when his soul was lost. He’d found her at the cottage, waiting for him, a vision of beauty in the pale candlelight. They had both been nervous, she because it was her first time, and he because it had suddenly become so important to him that everything be perfect for her. It had seemed to
take an eternity for them to be bare before each other, but when they lost themselves in their emotional abandon, the pleasure her innocence had given him made all the waiting worthwhile. When he had finally entered her body, he had taken her in his arms, holding her as closely as their bodies would allow, and he had moved slowly inside her, never wanting that moment to end. He’d felt in awe of their lovemaking even then, for he usually pursued the women in his life for the sexual release he could take from them. With Beth, though, his pleasure had come from giving that same pleasure to her, from the innocence of her reactions as he taught her how to love him. When she’d found her release, he’d been too lost in his own aching need for fulfillment to realize that she was crying until he felt the heat of her tears against his shoulder. Fearing
that he’d hurt her, he laid her back against the pillows and wiped away her tears, asking her what was wrong. “Oh Quentin,” she whispered, her voice choking on sobs of happiness, “ I never knew that loving someone could feel so incredible...it’s like we share the same soul now.” Her words had stunned him with the intensity of her devotion-nobody had ever
said anything like that to him, and he hadn’t known how to respond to her. Taking her in his arms, he’d caressed her hair and touched her as he held her close, until the rhythm of her heartbeat lulled him into the most peaceful sleep he’d ever known. Later he’d reluctantly awoken, knowing that they had to return to Collinwood before sunrise; she’d been
so beautiful upon awakening that it had taken all of his strength not to give in to himself and make love to her again, but they couldn’t stay for fear that someone at Collinwood might realize they were both gone and figure out their guilty secret. He remembered taking Beth’s hand in his as they walked through the moonlit woods, watching in silent awe as the snowflakes that had begun to tumble from the sky caught themselves in her hair and eyelashes...

“It’s just too damned bad that was the only glimpse of heaven I’ll ever have,” he muttered as he started to enter the room, wondering if he should even bother trying to go back to sleep-it was, after all, past three in the morning.

“It’s alright, Quentin. You’ll see Beth again very soon,” a tiny voice spoke inside his mind. It was the voice of a little girl, and it had a musical quality to it that he couldn’t quite understand. It almost sounded as if it was coming from an entirely different plane of existence than the one he inhabited, and he couldn’t be sure if it was even real. If it hadn’t been for the words she had spoken, he would have dismissed it as a drunken hallucination, but this little girl, whoever she was, had just promised him a reunion with Beth. How could that be possible?

“Who are you?” he asked the darkness, turning to look back down the hallway, only to find it disappointingly empty. He listened carefully for the voice again, but heard nothing except the ticking of the clock in the hallway. “Well that’s it, old man, “ he bitterly chastised himself, “ you’ve finally lost your mind... and it only took 83 years to do it.”

Entering his bedroom, Quentin was startled to find a little girl sitting patiently at the foot of his bed, a leather-bound book lying across her lap. When she saw him her eyes lit up and she jumped off the bed, approaching him as though she’d known him for a very long time.

“Oh I’m so glad you’re here, Quentin!” she spoke, her voice the same one that had whispered its way into his thoughts. “Beth will be coming soon, but she said you needed to read this first.”

Quentin knelt before the child, tears welling in his eyes as he tried to find the words to ask her what was happening. “Who are you?” he managed to ask before the pain of trying not to cry constricted his throat, making it difficult to speak.

“My name is Sarah.”

“You’re Sarah Collins?” he whispered, reaching out to touch her hair, as if to reassure himself that he wasn’t just dreaming. “Barnabas’ sister?”

“Yes. And you’re Quentin, his cousin. Beth is my best friend and she’s told me so much about you. She misses you terribly and wanted me to tell you that she heard your wish. She’ll be here soon but first you must read her journal. It’s her birthday gift to you. After you read it she can come back to you.” She placed the diary in his hand and he stared at it, still disbelieving what he was seeing. It was a simple leather-bound book, a fleur-de-lis decorating its cover, and the pages were yellowed and worn by the passage of time. Beth’s delicate handwriting covered each page, preserving her life story for eternity, and Quentin knew when he brushed his hand over the inscription in the cover--Elizabeth Anne Chavez, 1896-1897--that he wasn’t dreaming at all. Somehow his beloved was coming back to him! Tears slipped unashamedly down his cheeks as he reached out to Sarah to embrace her, to thank her for coming to him.

When he looked up, he was amazed to find that his cousin’s sister had disappeared into the shadows of the night...

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