My songs know what you did in the dark Who: Quentin, his big brother Kevin, and a couple of bullies (all NPCs) Where: Kennebunkport, Maine When: 1995; Quentin is 10 years old
Art was an escape. Nothing else mattered in that moment but the feel of his pen against paper, adding wings, claws, razor-sharp teeth to the dragon he was creating. Step by step, inch by inch, he shaded in every bit of the drawing, switching colors as needed, completely ignoring the world around him. He didn’t acknowledge the tide coming in or the sand sticking to the bottoms of his wet feet. The ocean was an inspiration that could wait until later. The beach was one of his favorite retreats in town, a place where he could be alone and work on all the images and thoughts that were most important to him.
That was, until someone kicked sand into his face, covering his sketchbook and making his pen slide forward, putting a black line through his once-perfect drawing.
Quentin looked up, startled at first, and then his eyes narrowed as he recognized the pair of boys standing there. Jack and Pete, the school bullies, empowered by the fact that they’d hit their growth spurts early and considered themselves stronger for it. Quentin was only 10 years old and a small kid at that, but he’d always had the mouth and the attitude of someone much bigger.
“Oh look, Quentin’s maaaaaad,” Jack said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What are you going to do? Run home and tell Mommy and Daddy? Or are you going to cry over your crappy little sketch?”
“Why would I do that?” Quentin rolled his eyes. His parents weren’t going to help him out with a few bullies; they weren’t that kind of parents. If anything, his father would tell him to man up and take care of the problem himself, seeing as Joshua was never going to win any awards for Father of the Year. The other kids thought he must be “spoiled,” since his family was one of the richest in town and yet, unlike his siblings, he wasn’t one to take advantage of it. Quentin had nice clothes and the best of everything and yet he was still low man on the social totem pole.
Pete cracked up, shaking his head. “I think he thinks he can fight us! That’s a riot, I mean, look at him! Tiny, skinny, got nothing to him!”
Quentin’s hand clenched in a fist, the one not holding his sketchbook. The one thing Pete and Jack didn’t know - the one thing no one knew - was that he had an advantage. He called it telekinesis, his parents called it a flaw. A freak of nature, as his father put it. With his mind, he could call up the sand to fly into their face until it destroyed their eyes and filled up their lungs to the point where they couldn’t breathe anymore. Or he could turn his pens into tiny flying daggers, lodging them in the boys’ throats so they wouldn’t be able to talk ever again. It would cost him his art supplies, but he could buy more of those. And no one would ever know it had been him manipulating everything from the start.
“Well? What are you waiting for, you pansy?” Jack had always been the instigator in every fight he’d picked with Quentin, and now wasn’t any different.
“Yeah, you gonna fight or what?”
Without Quentin knowing it, the pens in his pocket started to rattle as he stood up, closing his notebook and leaving it on the bench where he’d been sitting. One more shift in his emotions, one more poke from the two boys, and the telekinesis would fly out of control. He wouldn’t be responsible for what happened then, he told himself. They’d have it coming.
The roar of an approaching engine stopped all three boys dead in their tracks. Pete and Jack froze where they were, turning to look and see who was coming, and if it was someone they needed to be afraid of. Quentin brought one hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, trying to read the license plate to the truck now parked at the very top edge of the beach, where the pavement ended and the sand began. “Oh hell no,” he murmured, under his breath.
“Quentin?” A tall figure climbed out of the truck, making his way down to where the boys were standing. Quentin’s brother Kevin, seven years his senior, and who was almost never around when Quentin needed him the most. “I figured I’d find you out here.”
Jack snorted under his breath. “Look, you even got rescued. Itty bitty Quentin, a damsel in distress.”
“Go to hell.”
“What was that?” Once Kevin was closer, the resemblance between the two was obvious - the same dark hair and cheekbones, only Kevin had blue eyes to Quentin’s brown. And then there was the height. Kevin was not a short guy, towering over both his brother and the two other boys. “Everything all right down here?”
Pete seemed to realize it before Jack did. “Yeah, we’re fine,” he said, shoving Jack by the shoulder, away from where the brothers were now standing. “We were just leaving. We’ll catch up with you” - he pointed at Quentin - “later.”
Great, now he had to look forward to on Monday morning when he went back to school. The only thing Quentin said was, “Whatever,” one hand sliding into his pocket to stop the pens rattling in there. He was trying to keep from losing his cool completely, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop the telekinesis then, but it was hard, letting Jack and Pete walk away. Just once, he wanted to be able to strike back and get away with it, seeing as they got away with damn near everything, and he always got in trouble for retaliating.
Kevin was a few steps behind him, watching as Quentin grabbed his sketchbook and shoved in it his bag. “What was that all about?” he asked. Kevin was a good guy, and Quentin certainly loved him, given that they were brothers. They just didn’t have the closest of relationships, what with their age difference and Kevin’s status as the golden child of the family.
“They’re assholes.” Strong words for a kid to use, but then again, Quentin wasn’t your stereotypical kid, either. “I had it under control.”
“What, so you could fight them? That isn’t going to solve anything, even if they did deserve it.” Leave to Kevin to be the rational one; someone in their family had to be. Kevin started moving back towards his truck, gesturing for Quentin to follow. “Besides, Mom’s waiting for us, she sent me out to get you.”
Of course, Kevin hadn’t come out here just because he wanted to see Quentin, he had to be told. The bitter side of him latched onto that - even his own family didn’t really want to be around him. “I could have taken them,” he said, taking one of his pens out of his pocket and letting it spin around his fingers for the briefest of seconds. “I could have, Kevin. You know it.”
Kevin stopped in his tracks and turned to face his little brother. Putting his hands on Quentin’s shoulders, he stared down, the look in his eyes one of concern - and a little bit of fear mixed in, too. “You can’t do that. You know you can’t. You’ve got to keep that a secret, because - who knows what would happen if anyone knew?”
“What, that I’m different?” That I’m a freak, just like Dad says?
“It won’t be pretty, Quentin. They’re picking on you now because they think you’re different. It’ll be worse once you confirm it.” Kevin wouldn’t say exactly what it was, as if there could be someone else to overhear them. As it was, this patch of beach was empty, and they were the only two people in sight. His entire family was scared of what he could do, but Quentin wasn’t. He just was, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. “Come on, we need to get home. I’ll give you a ride.”
Slumped in the passenger seat of Kevin’s truck, Quentin stared out the window at the scenery passing them by. At least Kevin treated him like a human being, instead of looking at him like a blemish like his dad did, or just waiting for him to do something wrong, like his mom did. It didn’t change the fact that Quentin was still pissed, and the rest of his night wasn’t going to get any better. All he could do was deal with it until he could be alone again, just him and his art.