Subj: Birthday Gift -- 4
Date: 8/19/99 11:46:27 PM Central Daylight Time
From: Daphne

Chanson

The solitary flame of an oil lamp flickered sensually in the darkness, its pale light a comfort to Quentin as he read the journal and lost himself in the past. Poems and ink drawings of the estate mingled with each detailed account of her life, and Quentin found himself drawn into another world, the world that had belonged to Beth alone. It had never occurred to him to think of the things she had enjoyed doing in her private time. Beth had been nothing more to him than a servant working for his family, an infuriatingly pure woman whose resistance to his advances had posed a challenge to his manhood. His only concern had been with seducing her, and when he had succeeded, it had been a testament to his skills in charming women. Pursing Beth had been only a game to him, and the realization that he had never told her how he really felt tore at his heart when he thought of how much love she had given to him without reservation. Quentin’s desperate need to be reunited with her made the journal seem like the most sacred of holy texts as the last year of her life was revealed to him page by page...

January 24, 1897 10:15 p.m.

As I sit here in the candlelight, trying to find the words to describe the intensity of my pain, the room is silent. And the silence only tells me of how alone I am now. My life has changed in the most horrible way possible, a way I can still barely comprehend...Quentin is dead! Jenny stabbed him with one of Sandor’s knives last night and left him to die at the cottage. I can’t blame her though. Her pain has made her so sick and she didn’t know what she was doing. The fault is mine alone. I should have warned Quentin when he came back that Jenny was a danger to him. He deserved to know that his wife had a breakdown, but I’d grown so accustomed to keeping it a secret that I was afraid to tell him. If I had, and Miss Judith had found out, I would have been forced to leave--and I have no place else to go. Because of my selfishness, Quentin is dead, lost to me forever. Not even the sight of him in the coffin has convinced me that he’s really gone. When I close my eyes, I relive the last moment we were together-I can still feel the strength of his body against mine and the taste of his kiss still burns my lips. Oh God, why did this have to happen? I keep telling myself that this is a terrible nightmare, one that will end with the coming of the dawn and I almost expect him to walk through the door at any moment. But he won’t. And knowing that makes me feel so sick inside. Once I thought Quentin was the most obnoxious man I’d ever met; he could so easily anger and annoy me, and he even made me hate him at times, but he somehow managed to become a part of me in spite of everything. Now that he’s gone it’s like my heart has been ripped out, and I’ll always regret that we never had a chance to be truly happy together.

I have no reason to go on living, and yet I must somehow, for Jenny’s sake...

I wonder if the pain will ever go away. And I’m not certain that I want it to--it’s the only legacy that Quentin left me...

And it has become the cross I must bear to keep his memory alive...

“You mourned for me Beth?” Quentin asked the darkness, remembering the hurt that his family’s indifferent reaction to his resurrection had caused him. Judith had told him that he had been a fool and that he would have never been in any danger if he had used some common sense before marrying Jenny. Carl had been frightened of him, convinced he was some sort of monster, but upon recovering from his fear, he’d returned to making his silly practical jokes, as if there was nothing at all out of the ordinary about a dead man returning to life. Edward had refused to speak to Quentin, too angry at the problems he had caused the family to concern himself with his brother’s return. Even Beth had appeared unfazed when she first saw him, claiming that Judith had explained everything about his return to her. He was surprised and touched to find that she alone had been so deeply affected by his death, and read further, wondering what other revelations her journal held for him.

March 7, 1897 11:40 p.m.

If it is possible to touch someone’s soul, to join with them so completely that their essence becomes indistinguishable from your own, then I have shared this peace with Quentin tonight. There was a time when I could resist him, when I could keep my distance from him and his world without feeling the pain of my loneliness consume me. But that time has long ago passed into darkness. When he asked me to meet him at the cottage, I should have refused, but I couldn’t. I felt such an aching need to be with him that it was almost like a physical pain somewhere deep inside me and I couldn’t say no...

I waited patiently for him, fearing that he would reject me for another woman, or perhaps his brandy and music, but he didn’t. He came to me just as he promised he would. He looked so handsome when he arrived that I thought my heart would break from the overwhelming happiness I felt. I was so nervous when we began to undress each other that I could barely breathe
but when the warm strength of his hands moved over my body for the first time, all the uncertainty and fear I felt completely disappeared. He told me that I’m beautiful and for the first tie in my life I believed it could be possible. Time almost seemed to stop when we were together, and somehow I felt like I was the center of his universe. I know now that I was born to share his soul...I have never wanted to give myself to another man before tonight; I was taught that it is a sin to share this sort of bond with someone outside the sanctity of marriage, but it certainly didn’t feel wrong to let Quentin hold my heart in his hands. Feeling his body moving against mine, hearing him cry out my name and knowing I alone was pleasing him made tonight the most fulfilling night of my life. Afterward, he held me in his arms, and I never thought that hearing his heartbeat and feeling the softness of his skin against mine as I drifted off to sleep would bring me such profound peace, but it did.

When we were walking back to Collinwood, he reminded me of a little boy, so innocent and vulnerable. I know I saw the real Quentin Collins tonight. He never said anything as he took my hand in his, but for the briefest moment I saw such emotion in his eyes that I know he loves me. Even if he won’t admit it to me. He is a good man, I know he is. I felt it tonight when we made love. His downfall is that he can’t be close to anyone because he can’t love himself. The tragedy of his childhood has dominated his life, and I feel so sorry for him, even though I know I sometimes shouldn’t. Will we ever be able to find the love we deserve?

Tonight almost makes me believe that we will.

But there’s an emtional barrier between us that I can’t move on my own, and I know that the darkness will someday consume the light I found with Quentin tonight...

It was as though the future had been written in the shadows of the night for Beth and Quentin wondered just what his curse had been like for her. After Magda had cursed him for Jenny’s death, Quentin had lived every day with the nervous fear that came with not knowing what would happen when the moon was full. Then the agony of his first transformation had overtaken him, crippling him with its intensity as his body changed from that of a man to a raging beast; the pain had been enough to endure, but awakening to find his clothes tattered and bloodstained, with the taste of his victim’s flesh still bitter in his mouth had nearly driven him insane with guilt and shame. But how had Beth suffered because of his lustful obsessions and their consequences? She had always been there for him, trying to calm him on the nights he became the wolf, holding him in the peace of her embrace when the sunrise brought about another revelation of bloody terror; she had done so with a gentle dignity, not once asking him to consider her fear or desperation, and when he tried to think of the curse from her point of view, he couldn’t. Turning the pages, Quentin looked for the date that had eternally damned him. He knew it would break his heart to learn of the torment that Beth had suffered, but knowing her pain would be the only way he could ask her for forgiveness if she returned to him...

May 10, 1897 2:15 a.m.

Even if I thought it was possible to sleep tonight, the moon would still haunt my dreams. I would still hear the cries of the wolf, and Quentin’s agonizing pleas for help will still pierce my heart. I can do nothing except sit by the window and wait for the dawn, praying that my beloved will return to me. The curse has frightened me so much that I can’t stop shaking and when I think of what he has become and what he will do, it hurts to breathe. I can’t cry because I have no tears left... my heart is empty of anything except my fear...and my love. What is a curse anyway? Mere words given form in a fit of anger? Until tonight, I thought they only existed in folk tales and legends. When night began to fall, we were both so frightened, but Quentin always hides his true feelings, so I couldn’t get him to talk with me about it. He just kept pacing around the room, drinking his brandy, as if it could ward off the curse. he was so angry with me for staying with him, but how could I walk away? I know he was afraid he would hurt me, but how could I turn my back on him when he needed me? He didn’t deserve to suffer that pain alone. After all, it was my fault that Magda cursed him. If Jenny hadn’t found me in her husband’s arms, she wouldn’t have attacked me and Quentin wouldn’t have killed her if he hadn’t been trying to protect me. And Magda-she cursed him out of grief and her pain, but wasn’t her hatred of him caused solely by my actions? I should have never given myself to Quentin...I should have been stronger in resisting him. I wish I had left this dreadful house long ago, but it’s too late to do so now. I love Quentin more than my own life, and the curse can’t change the way I feel. I won’t let it. I don’t know what was worse-the anguished look in his eyes when he begged me to help him, or the fear I felt when I realized there is nothing I can do for him. I wish that pain could have been my own...if I could have taken it from him, I would have gladly given my soul to the wolf to protect him.

But I couldn’t .

And now I must wait.

Quentin felt overwhelmed by the intensity of Beth’s emotions and closed the book, unable to read any further. He knew what was on those pages...

Petofi’s arrival and the frantic attempt to find an end to the curse; The death of the gypsy spitfire, Julianka, who had been perhaps his only hope for redemption; The death of the only son he’d ever had, the son he’d never known; The mind switch that Petofi had used to make him a slave to black magic; And then the last days of Beth’s life, ones she had spent in fear, not knowing Quentin at all....

It was too painful to remember, and as he laid back on the bed, he clutched the journal to his chest and fell into a exhausted and fitful sleep, the kind of sleep that affords only minimal relief to the deeply depressed...

Quentin didn’t awaken until his subconscious felt the warmth of an ethereal hand brush away the tears he’d cried himself to sleep with, the last tears of pain he would ever shed...

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production.