Heart of Darkness - One

One

Though the night was far from it, Quinn Bothwell was calm. He stood on the balcony of Bothwell Manor staring out at the rain that pounded into the ocean water. He’d always loved the rain. Even as a small boy, Quinn had loved the rain. There was just something so calming about the pounding of thunder and the bright strike of lightning in the sky. When his brother had been fearful of storms, Quinn had been the one to soothe him even though Ronan had been three years older and wiser than Quinn had been. The rain was soothing even now, long after his brother and parents had gone. He stepped out from under the safety of the canopy and let the raindrops fall on his head, soaking his dark blonde hair to his forehead. It was a bit chilly out here but it felt nice.

Quinn closed his eyes and let the water continue to fall on his head. Tonight’s storm was an unexpected but wonderful surprise. He let his head fall back and gave a long sigh of pleasure. It felt absolutely wonderful to be standing outside in such a beautiful rainstorm. He’d go down to the beach if he felt like walking all the way down there. Unfortunately, he didn’t really feel like walking down all three flights of stairs and to the beach just now. It was already past eleven thirty at night and he didn’t want to be on the beach at midnight. He’d probably run into old Lady Caitlin again and he really didn’t want to listen to the old bat tell stories again for an hour.

Old Lady Caitlin was an ancient lady who lived in their small village. She’d been born and raised in Nollaig and always loved to tell people about her childhood in the village. She also loved to walk the beach at around this time, rain or not. Quinn liked the old lady, really he did. She was interesting to talk to and she was always kind. She just liked to talk. A lot. And Quinn wasn’t really in the mood to talk tonight. Tonight was the kind of night that he’d like to just curl up in bed with a good book and listen to the rain pound on the windows.

With a small smile on his face, Quinn turned away from the rain and stepped into his bedroom. He stripped off his t-shirt and dropped it on the floor. On his way to the bathroom, he continued stripping until he was completely naked, his hair dripping cold water down his body. He shivered slightly before turning on the hot water and stepping into the water. He’d always taken his showers this way, especially on nights like this. The water felt good on his back and he stayed under it for a further fifteen minutes before he turned off the tap and stepped out. He pulled on a pair of boxers and some pajama pants before sliding into bed and turning on his bedside lamp.

The book he was currently reading was a book about the different myths and legends in Ireland. Though he’d lived here his whole life, Quinn had always been fascinated by the myths and legends of his country. Maybe because his life was part of one big legend, he figured. He’d been trying to figure out a logical explanation for the apparent curse that had killed most of the men in the Bothwell line of his family. They’d all died on their twenty-first birthdays or soon after and they all died terrible deaths. Though he wasn’t sure how Ronan had died - or indeed if his older brother really was dead - Quinn knew it had been horrible. His uncle Bradan had been in a terrible motorcycle accident and had his head crushed by the wheels of an eighteen-wheeler, for example. Some of the men had escaped this death, only to have it happen years later. His father had been killed in a car accident two years before. His entire body crushed, his father had died in a futile attempt at saving his wife. She’d died later at the hospital anyways, her hand still wrapped around Quinn’s. It was an image that would stick with him for the remainder of his life.

Quinn remembered that his father had always called it the Bothwell family curse. He’d been hopeful, then, that he and Ronan would both survive the curse. Fifteen years later, though, Quinn was facing his own death. As his father had told them, if he didn’t find love before his twenty-first birthday he would die. Quinn had long known that love was not in the cards for him. He was, after all, not into women. At all. Whatsoever. Because of this, he would probably never find love and he would die. Quinn sometimes wondered how it would happen. Car accident like his parents? Not likely. He didn’t own a car. Would he be murdered? That one was terrifying in and of itself. He hated the idea of someone overpowering him and killing him. Perhaps he would drown while swimming one day. Again, he hated the idea of that. But then, he hated the idea of death itself.

A howl pierced the night air and Quinn shivered. Whatever was up at the old Du Mont place was awake again, he guessed. The villagers had mixed opinions on what exactly was up there. Some of them believed it was a werewolf. Others thought it was an elaborate prank set up by the Du Mont family. But none of them had been seen in years and Quinn thought the werewolf story was more likely. He’d met Mr. And Mrs. Du Mont once and they’d been very kind, certainly not the kind of people to play a prank on anyone. No, if his family could be cursed then Quinn certainly believed the werewolf theory. Maybe it was the Du Mont boy. The Du Mont’s had had a son about his age but Quinn had never met him. He and Ronan had been close then and he hadn’t really needed any other friends. Even now, Quinn mostly stayed to himself.

Quinn had always vaguely wondered if the Du Mont Estate had anything to do with his own curse. Was there something or someone up there with answers as to why he was being cursed? Quinn had no idea what was actually going on up there but he figured maybe they did have answers. He’d always wanted to know where this curse had come from. He knew that, the first of his ancestors to die at twenty-one years old had been Desmond Bothwell but he had no details other than that. Had the Du Mont family been cursed as well? Quinn sighed and set his book aside. Tomorrow night he would go looking for answers, he decided. He would go to Du Mont Estate and he would refuse to leave until he got his answers.

With a small smile on his face, Quinn turned back to his book. Tomorrow, he would spend the day packing a bag and leaving a note in case Ronan was still alive out there. He always left a note when he left the house just in case Ronan came back. This time would be no different. Though his brother had disappeared three years ago, Quinn still hoped that Ronan had found a way to survive. Maybe he’d found his true love out there somewhere, maybe he’d broken the curse for himself. Quinn knew it was unlikely. If Ronan had survived, he would have returned a long time ago. But he couldn’t help but to hope that his brother was still alive out there somewhere.

Quinn gave a soft sigh at the thought of the next days’ events and sat his book on the table by his bed. It was already after midnight and he wanted to be awake by noon the next day so that he could get ready to leave. He only had three weeks until the curse took his life and he wanted to spend the entirety of the time figuring out how to break this curse. If Du Mont Estate held any answers for him, then he’d stay there until his death. Whatever awaited him there, be it death or the answers he craved, he would welcome it with open arms.

There would be no hiding for what awaited him this time. Once, before Ronan’s disappearance, Quinn would have hidden from his destiny, would have prayed to whatever God was out there to save him. Not anymore. He’d had time to get used to the idea of his death, had been ready for it for over a year. It didn’t mean that he wanted to die, of course. Quinn could never want death. There was so much in life that he still wanted to explore. It was just that he knew he would die, had accepted that his death was inevitable. Unless some miracle happened and placed his true love right before him, he would die in three weeks. He’d accepted it and wasn’t going to let this make him give up. He would spend every waking moment until his death trying to locate the exact origin of this curse. At least, if he knew why his family had been cursed, he would be able to die in peace.

Peace. It was a word that, for a log time, Quinn had believe he could never tie to himself. How could he? Nothing in his life had been peaceful for a very long time. Especially after Ronan’s disappearance. After Ronan’s disappearance, Quinn’s father had begun to realize that there was no escaping the curse. He’d kept Quinn and his mother even closer than before, not wanting to lose even a second of his time with them. A year later, when his parents were killed in that car accident, Quinn had gone through the entire thing alone. He’d been in charge of everything to do with the funerals and burials for his parents and it had been the worst thing in the world. He’d spent many nights awake in Bothwell Manor, wondering how he would die, if he would even see it coming.

Quinn woke up at two the next afternoon, still groggy from sleeping so long. The sunlight was pouring through the curtains and he yawned as he crossed the room to shut them. He hated sunlight in the morning almost more than he hated waking up early. Yawning, he slipped into the bathroom and quietly washed his face and went to the bathroom. Downstairs, the coffee pot had automatically made his coffee and he poured himself a cup. He smiled as he took a drink of it. He drank his coffee black with three sugars, just like his mother had. His father had always thought that his way of drinking coffee was disgusting and had teased them about lightly until his mother would throw something at him. Quinn smiled at the memories before pouring himself another cup to drink while he cooked breakfast. Well, technically it was lunch but no one was there to tell him what to call it anymore.

He made himself a can of tomato soup and some grilled cheese, his favorite lunch item, and sat down at the table to eat. Glancing outside, he saw that it was a beautiful clear day out. Maybe he’d go sit in the sun after he’d finished packing. Quinn still planned on going up to Du Mont Estate. He’d changed the time he was going, however, because he’d noticed that the nightly howls were always heard at midnight. Because he didn’t really want to be werewolf food, he was going to go at eleven o’clock. That way, he was still going when the village was quiet but he was out of the danger zone. He was absolutely sure that whatever was up there had some sort of safety plan because it had never ventured into the village.

After washing his plate and bowl, Quinn headed upstairs to get a small bag packed. He only had three weeks left to live anyways, he wouldn’t need to bring much. Maybe a bag or two but nothing more. Reaching into his closet, he grabbed a small suitcase and lay it on his bed. He then opened his dresser and pulled out three weeks of clothes. After closing this suitcase, he carried down to the entryway and laid it by the door in easy reach. He did a quick run through in his mind to see if he’d missed anything and found that he hadn’t really missed anything. All he’d need was clothes, though he would bring the book he was currently reading.

Quinn spent the rest of the day reading his book under the sun. He came inside around ten thirty and heated up the spaghetti he’d made for dinner the previous night and ate it quickly. The walk up the hill to Du Mont Estate was bound to be at least ten to twenty minutes long and he wanted to get there in time to at least talk to the person that lived there. The Du Mont boy - he couldn’t remember his name - had never left after the Du Mont parents had been killed in that boating accident as far as he knew. He figured he’d find out when he got there.

Ten minutes later, Quinn was walking out of the house with his suitcase at his side. It was a nice, clear night out. There was a small breeze but nothing that was going to knock him off of his feet or anything. He trudged up the hill towards the huge, intimidating structure that was Du Mont Estate without much effort. Daily runs on the beach had given him good legs and he found that this didn’t hurt as much as it would have three or four years ago. It was still hard, mind you, to trudge up the hill but it wasn’t too bad.

Twenty minutes later, he was standing in front of the rather long driveway that led to Du Mont Estate itself. He could see the looming structure ahead and grinned. Soon, he would be in there finding answers. It didn’t occur to him that the person in there might not want answers. If both of their families had been cursed, shouldn’t he want to know why? Besides, he wasn’t going to give the other man a choice in the matter. He would not leave without answers. If that took him the entire last three weeks of his life, Quinn would do it. He needed to know where this curse came from. He’d long ago given up on finding a way to break it. But he could at least know why he’d been cursed.

Quinn stood at the door to Du Mont Estate for a long moment, just staring up at it. Inside this magnificent house he would either find answers or death. It was a hard concept to grasp and for a moment, he could only stare in wonder as he thought about it all. This Estate was nearly three hundred and fifty years old. That was centuries of history inside those walls. Centuries. Quinn let out a long breath at the thought of that history. There was only one way to know what he’d find behind these walls. Putting his hand on the door, Quinn pulled it open and stepped inside.

It was a bit weird, just waltzing into someone else’s home as if he owned the place, but Quinn forced himself to do it. He needed the answers this place would give him and he was not going to be turned away by the person who lived here. Not when he only had three weeks left to live anyways. As he was closing the door, the very man in question came around the corner. He was tall with short, messy black hair and green eyes. His cheekbones were high and he had very...prominent ears. Quinn’s mouth went dry at the very sight of him. He was gorgeous. And his name was, Quinn remembered quite suddenly, was Seamus. Seamus Du Mont. Seamus stared at him with narrowed eyes, as though trying to figure out what in the hell Quinn was doing in his house. Which was probably not far from the truth.

“What on earth are you doing in my house? It’s past midnight and you certainly weren’t invited.” Seamus demanded.

Quinn rolled his eyes. “Of course I wasn’t invited. Do you normally invite people into your home when you’re about to turn into a werewolf?” he asked boldly.

Seamus’ eyes widened. “How do you know about that? Who told you?!”

“No one had to tell me. It’s something the entire town thinks. Though some think it’s an elaborate prank set up by your ancestors that your family just sort of...goes with.”

Seamus looked affronted. “You’re insane. Obviously you’ll be leaving.”

Quinn shook his head. “I don’t think I will. Because, you see, I have a curse of my own to figure out and I believe Du Mont Estate has the answers I’m looking for.”

“What curse are you talking about? And who are you anyways?” Seamus asked, seeming to realize that Quinn was quite serious about this.

“My name is Quinn Bothwell. I own Bothwell Manor down in the village. My curse...is one that my family has borne since around the time yours has borne its own curse. Every male Bothwell dies on or around their twenty-first birthday. It’s always a terrible death. Hell, every Bothwell male dies a terrible death period. Just...some live longer than others.”

”I’ve heard that. Always thought it was a rumor, though. Why the hell are you here if you know I’m a werewolf and have a curse like this? I could kill you, you know.”

Quinn gave a shrug. “If I die, then I guess I die. I’m already going to die in three weeks, Seamus. It’s not like I’m giving anything up.”

Seamus sighed, looking defeated. “All right then. But you’ll be on the top floor. I’m not having you anywhere near me when I change.”

“Suits me.” Quinn nodded.

Seamus led Quinn up three flights of stairs and into a rather large bedroom. Flipping on the light, Seamus stepped inside and waited for Quinn to step in behind him. The room was painted in dark green and silver and had a king size bed in the very center. Quinn set down one of his bags and waited for Seamus to speak. After a few moments, he spoke in a pained-sounding voice.

“This’ll be your room. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer but we’ll talk tomorrow. I’ve gotta go lock myself up but feel free to utilize the library if you want. I’ll be up early tomorrow morning and there’s always coffee and I’ll probably make breakfast as well.”

“Thank you, Seamus.”

Seamus gave him a short nod before he began walking down the stairs again. When he was gone, Quinn shut his door and stripped his clothes off. Finding a pair of pajama pants that he’d packed, Quinn got dressed quickly and went to climb in bed. He wanted to be up early in the morning to meet Seamus for coffee. He hoped they could discuss their families’ curses so that Quinn knew what kind of link he was looking for between their families.The only thing Quinn knew about the person who cast his family’s curse was what she looked like. Desmond Bothwell, the Bothwell male who’d been cursed, had left behind a portrait of her in his study. It wasn’t labeled with a name but Quinn knew who it was because of a letter he’d once found hidden inside the frame. Her name was Brigid De Luna and she’d hated his ancestor, Desmond Bothwell. The letter Desmond had kept inside the frame hadn’t been complete but it gave Quinn enough information to know that the Du Mont family was involved somehow.