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 hell-hounds 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 goodbye, 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 clutched the photo 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!"

To be continued...

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