Another Life

by Angie

“ ... If there were somewhere a being strong and beautiful, a valiant nature, full at once of exaltation and refinement, a poet's heart in an angel's form, a lyre with sounding chords ringing out elegiac epithalamia to heaven...”

Gustav Flaubert (Madame Bovary)

Chapter 1

Vincent was on his nightly patrol in the tunnels near the surface. Everyone called it a patrol, but he was honest enough to know that the term wasn't entirely accurate. He was prowling, like a big cat, not exactly looking for something, more a matter of trying to walk off the sorrow that filled his soul - even with baby Jacob, now asleep, a reality in his chamber.

So, it was with relief that he heard the sentry at the Park culvert entrance tap out an urgent request for assistance. An intruder! As it happened, he wasn't far away.

Often, even without really thinking about it, he found himself in parts of the tunnel network where he and Catherine had walked, or met, or stood in each other's arms. He couldn't escape those places, and didn't want to.

He approached long tunnel leading from the massive steel door, putting up his hood and hiding his hands in his cloak. He rounded the corner and stopped in shock, looking down the tunnel, to the figure standing inside the heavy sliding door.

The intruder was a small woman, casually dressed in slacks, boots and a leather jacket, obviously waiting. Her stance was what made him stop. It was the same as Catherine's; patient, nonthreatening – but solidly determined.

For one terrible ... and wonderful ... moment, he thought Catherine had returned to him.

As he finally bestirred himself to walk towards her, he realized that the resemblance, although certainly uncanny, was not perfect. This was a slightly older woman, and her hair was brown.

She watched him approach, unmoving. He sensed no fear, and no danger from her, but he was careful, just the same. He had lived with danger too long to discount any possibility.

He reached a spot at least five yards from her and stopped. Seen this close up, he could see she had green eyes, and the same strong jawline as Catherine. She did not appear nervous; she had courage, just daring to come here.

Why had she come? Who was she? How had she found the secret entrance? Questions boiled in his brain.

Vincent didn't want to appear aggressive, but he also wanted her to know that she couldn't proceed without his approval. He waited for her to say something; silence being most advantageous to him. First words could be enlightening, and he did not want them to be his – at least until his face could be seen.

So, he waited. And waited. She was trying to discern his face under the deep hood, he could tell, but he knew she could see nothing. His face was in shadow. At this point in the tunnel, the light was immediately above him, and there was no light in front at all. That was deliberate, a security feature, giving intruders a disadvantage from the start. He was large, and he knew he appeared solidly menacing and dark.

Finally, she shifted slightly.

“You must be Vincent,” she stated bluntly. Her voice sounded very much like Catherine's too, low, no nonsense, unafraid. Who was she?

Vincent did not move so much as a hair, but wished he could. There were too many coincidences with this woman. He decided he had to respond.

“Who are you?”

The woman looked at him and smiled slightly. “My name is Cara Montrose. I'm a cousin of Catherine's. I'm ... I'm also also a friend of Dr. Peter Alcott's. He told me about you and how to find you.”

She stopped speaking then, waiting patiently. Vincent bestirred himself to be polite. He was relieved that this was no intruder and moved to the side a little so she could see him better in the overhead light.

“Cara, you are welcome, as is anyone who knew Catherine, and has been approved by Peter. Please, forgive my ... caution. You were not expected. Peter should have sent a message. If you wish, you may come with me, and you can sit down and tell me more. Do you have a place to stay?”

Cara took a step forward and shook her head, a gesture that made his heart clench, it was so familiar.

“I asked Peter not to announce me. I wanted to be accepted, or not, for myself. I'm staying with him.”

Vincent nodded. He tapped an 'all-clear' on the nearest set of pipes, using a rock that was always near a pipe in the entrance. Then, he silently led her through the long, winding passages to the home tunnels and then to his chamber.

He had no idea what to say to her and she apparently was not inclined to talk, preferring, he guessed, to observe this strange place that Peter had told her of. She placed her feet carefully, and followed him closely. Her boots made the only sound, his own being as near silent as usual. It was a long walk, but she kept up and hesitated only briefly at the more unusual features ... the spiral staircase, the high, long forgotten galleries, the turns into different tunnels, some lit only sporadically, others, eventually, with torches. She radiated an energy that reminded him of Catherine too.

Vincent led her into his chamber, and positioned a second chair near his own and put two cups on the table nearby. He silently put a battered metal kettle on the brazier to boil water. It was late, and he decided not to wake Father. Baby Jacob was in his cradle next to his own bed, and still sleeping soundly. He was not a fractious child, for which Vincent was grateful.

Cara, however, did not sit immediately, but went to look at the baby. She smiled and then looked at Vincent.

“He's beautiful, Vincent.”

Vincent could not reply for long moments, remembering too well Catherine's last words to him on the rooftop. Finally, he gathered his wits and spoke softly.

“Please sit, Cara. Tea will be ready shortly.”

She obediently sat on the chair he indicated near the table, and he shoved some of his papers out of the way. When the tea was ready he poured it into the cups, then found the cookie tin and opened it. Good, there were still some of William's oatmeal cookies left.

“Please tell me more of your story,” Vincent asked her, after they had both had a sip of tea and a bite of cookie.

“I didn't see Catherine often,” Cara admitted. “I saw her sometimes during summer vacations, when they were on their way to the cottage in Connecticut. Our families got together there a few times, when we were young. I lived – still live - in Boston. My father was Catherine's uncle, her mother's brother, one somewhat older. He died before Catherine's mother. My mother died when I was in my late teens.”

Vincent nodded. “Catherine lost her mother at the age of nine, she told me. Losing ... anyone ... is never easy.”

Cara leaned forward a little.

“I'm so very sorry, Vincent. I wanted you to know that. I lost someone I loved very much, too. He was killed in Iraq last year. I ... wanted to die. I hated everyone, especially our government. I felt misunderstood, alienated, forgotten.”

She paused and Vincent's face mirrored her pain. He looked at his hands. “I know those feelings too. They do not allow forgiveness ... least of all of ourselves.”

Cara nodded and looked down too. She spoke very quietly now.

“I didn't know Catherine had died until just before her funeral. I had decided to try and contact family; there aren't many of us left. So I called Peter, whom I knew, because I had lost track of Catherine, and he told me ... some of the story. I'd missed it because I refused to read or watch the news. I drove up to attend her funeral. Peter couldn't be there, but he invited me to visit him later that day. We talked, and he told me what no one else knew – about you, and your relationship with Catherine. I returned home saddened. Then, a few weeks later, he called to tell me I had a nephew - that Catherine ... and you ... had a son.”

Vincent listened, sadness almost overwhelming him. He wondered if she understood how remote his community was from the world above. No one really followed the news here either. Anything they needed to know, a helper told them. Father read the newspapers, of course, but most people preferred not to.

He felt obliged to say something, but he didn't look at her, as he spoke. His voice cracked slightly.

“I could not attend the funeral either. It was ... difficult ... sitting here, knowing that the woman I loved was being put to rest, and I couldn't ... be there. Our child was missing. I ... decided I had to find him. She wanted me to. I made a fortuitous friend, at a time when I was despairing. I could not have found him alone.”

Cara nodded, understanding what he didn't say; that he was still grieving, as was she. How alike they were!

“I suppose you are wondering why I came,” she commented at last, as the silence lingered.

Vincent focused on her again. He shook his head.

“You have a quite natural curiosity to see this place that Catherine knew and loved, once you knew about it. People have found their way here for many reasons, but none out of simple curiosity - because they are not permitted to. In that you are unique. We are careful about whom we allow to visit – and many of those decide to stay. They need this place – as do I.

“Catherine first came here to heal, but she saw little of it, then. I didn't see her again for many months, and it was many more before she truly visited.”

“Why was that, if you don't mind my asking?”

Vincent gave a rueful grin. “It was because of me, of course. Father is sometimes ... over-protective. And he feared my getting involved with a woman from above, especially a wealthy one with a full life in her world.”

“And he grew accustomed to the idea?”

“Not for a long time. I continued to see Catherine, of course, but our time together was always too short. We both had many obligations.”

Cara was silent for long moments, merely looking at him. Her world – that is the world she and Catherine shared – was so unforgiving, and so ... cold. She could sense that this place was anything but.

“Vincent, I don't have the right to ask anything of you, but I would like to be considered a helper. Peter told me about them. I want to help, if only in Catherine's memory. I'm not as wealthy as she was, but I have no money worries and I don't have to work. I've worked as a nurse and a social worker – not jobs I'm keen to return to, at least as I knew them. But perhaps I can help this community, if you'll let me. I'm an only child, so I've inherited from both my parents. I want to move to New York. I need a new life, a new start. Peter has offered to let me stay with him until I can find a place. He says he could use a nurse too – at whatever level I prefer. He has some other ideas he did not reveal ... about this community. He also manages Catherine's estate, which he told me he needs to discuss with you.”

Vincent tried not to look surprised at her offer, but he knew his shifting in his chair gave him away. Peter had mentioned he was executor of Catherine's estate, but the details had not been discussed. There had been too many other concerns, and Vincent knew his grief was too raw to allow him sufficient impartiality on the topic of her wealth. He would have refused it all, if it would give her back to him. He spoke slowly now.

“Cara, I owe Peter an apology. I know that Catherine made ... provisions ... for me ... for us ... in her Will. Peter told me. She did not know she was pregnant, then. She did make it clear that she wanted any child of hers taken care of ... by me ... so I suppose she hoped ...”

Vincent paused, and grief overwhelmed him for several moments. His voice was hoarse when he continued. “I am to blame for the fact that hope was all she did, then.

“I have been remiss. I have not wanted to talk about this. Her loss is still ... very painful. But I must. Perhaps you can tell Peter to come down when he is able, and I promise I will make myself available. It is unfair of me to procrastinate, any longer.”

Cara spoke softly.

“There is always after the death of anyone a kind of stupefaction; so difficult is it to grasp this advent of nothingness and to resign ourselves to believe in it.”

Vincent sat up straight, new respect in his eyes. Of all the things he might have expected, a quotation from Flaubert's Madame Bovary was not among them. It left him speechless.

Cara noticed, and chuckled a little. “Our families both believed in the benefits of a classical education,” she remarked, wryly.

“As does Father,” Vincent replied, regaining his power of speech. “We have both known great loss. He has only memories.”

“Vincent, I know that feeling too. I'm told the grief will become less, in time, but perhaps you and I have not had enough time, yet. Frankly, I don't believe the emptiness will ever leave completely – and something will always be around to remind us of it. It takes very little, I've discovered. A shadow, a voice, a book, a word even. I've had to deal with these, without a child to comfort me. If I can help in any way, I want you to tell me. Perhaps I can help Peter, as well. I sense that this is a place where a person might heal.”

Cara looked around, taking in the eclectic array of books and mementos, and giving a long look to the stained glass fan over his bed. Vincent watched her and mentally nodded to himself. This was a woman with a heart much like Catherine's, thinking of others before herself.

“Yes,” Vincent agreed. He did not want to commit without consulting Father, but he knew that was a formality. He wanted to see this woman again, precisely because she reminded him of Catherine, and he was curious to know how alike they were. Perhaps, he thought wryly, a living reminder, aside from the baby, would be a step towards healing for him.

They talked of less important things for some while after that. Vincent, at one point, his curiosity getting the better of him, asked her how she knew Peter.

“Didn't Catherine tell you? He has a cabin next door to hers in Connecticut. Hers was actually a family cottage, for all of us, but Catherine's parents took it over when my parents died. There was no one else by that time, except me, and I didn't want it. I visited once in a while. Peter knew our family well, and we knew his wife and daughter, of course. Peter was like a father to me.”

Vincent nodded his understanding. Peter, it seemed, was as enmeshed with the Chandlers and the ... Montroses ... as he was with their tunnel community. He was suddenly feeling quite tired. He was not being a good host.

“You must be weary, Cara,” he said at last. “If you wish, you may stay with us tonight. We have a guest chamber.”

Cara shook her head. “Peter is expecting me back, and will want to hear how I did. He said you could show me to his tunnel entrance.”

“Of course,” Vincent replied. He rose, and Cara rose too, taking a last sip of her cup before she did. He was glad she was not staying this time, he realized. She had given him much to think about, and he wanted to do that before morning, when he must confront Father.

He led her at an easy pace to Peter's entry, and showed her how to turn the nearby wall light so that the secret door would open. Cara smiled at him as she preceded him. Vincent flicked the switch for the inside light, then waited only long enough to be sure she was safely up the basement stairs, before leaving and closing the door behind him.

He returned to his chamber must more quickly, almost running, and immediately sat at his table. He had to write in his journal. That always helped him get his thoughts in order.

March 16, 1991

“Tonight I met Catherine's cousin, Cara Montrose. She came via the Park entrance. I wonder why? Peter, I think, must have decided that was the best way to get my attention, with the least risk to a stranger. How predictable I am these days!

Cara is much like Catherine to look at, and some of her mannerisms are very similar. She has the same eyes, too. They must be a family trait of her mother's family. I want to know more about her, meet her when we are both less tired. I found myself watching her too intently sometimes, watching for those traits which Catherine shared - which is unfair to Cara.

Cara made it clear that she wishes to be part of our lives, which is very kind of her. I don't think Father will object. Some of our helpers are aging and dying, and we do not find more easily.

I must also talk to Peter about Catherine's estate. Cara made it plain Peter is anxious to talk to me about it. He has been below only once or twice since that dreadful night on the rooftop, once to make sure the baby was well, or at least that is what he claimed.

Everyone, including Peter, has been tiptoeing around the subject of Catherine. That is my fault, undoubtedly. I have not talked about her with anyone, except Diana, and that only very briefly. Diana has not been below much, either. I think she wishes to put some distance between us because of Joe's suspicions. I believe that is a good idea. I do not want her to feel that her career is being compromised because she knows me ... and I fear she might become too close, and risk too much. Catherine, at times, knew what that was like.

Cara does not seem to have any such concerns, and her skills would be welcome, even if we have to share them with Peter.

Tonight, the tunnels seem more than usually quiet. Perhaps I am hearing that silence now, and finding it less ... engulfing.

Cara quoted Madame Bovary. Like that heroine, my own life, since Catherine was taken from me, has been 'cold as a garret whose dormer window looks on the north, and ennui, the silent spider, was weaving its web in the darkness in every corner of my heart'.

I seem to have 'attained that rare ideal of a pale, languid existence, beyond the reach of mediocre spirits.'

Cara has touched me, made me realize my 'cold' is not impenetrable, for which I am grateful. She, I think, is no mediocre spirit, no more than Catherine was. I sense she has much to offer, and perhaps we can help each other. I must not hope too much, but talking has helped. I have been unable to talk to Father, or anyone else, even Peter. The wound is too raw and no one knew Catherine as I did. Cara perhaps can ease that pain, a little.

Now, I must sleep. I feel that tonight I will be able to. Tomorrow, I must talk to Father.

Catherine, I have failed you. I not only failed to find you in time, but I have ignored what you bequeathed me, not wanting to discuss it. That was selfish, since not only I will benefit, I am sure, given your known generosity to us all.

No excuse is sufficient.

Forgive me, my love. Sleep well, now.

Chapter 2

I arise today through the strength of Heaven: Light of sun, Radiance of moon, Splendour of fire, Speed of lightning, Swiftness of wind, Depth of sea, Stability of earth, Firmness of rock.

(Patricius/St Patrick)

That, thought Vincent, for some reason remembering this statement from the patron saint of Ireland, was how I should awaken in the morning. Not sombre or regretful, but with a sense that there were greater things, to be grateful for. Patricius, had had his own challenges, far greater than any I know.

He looked at baby Jacob. He was fast asleep, as if he too needed more rest. Mary would send someone in to feed him, he knew. This time, he preferred to let them do so, but that ... and other matters ... would change, today.

With a sigh, he washed and dressed and went to the dining hall for breakfast, with a much lighter heart than he had the day before. It was a noisy place, and for once, Vincent didn't mind – and wonder of wonders, there wasn't a silence, when he entered. Something had happened. He thought about that, and realized, with something like shock, that he was almost smiling, and that people were smiling at him! What a difference a few hours could make! It also made him realize how his dark mood – dare he call it a funk? - had affected his tunnel family. That sobered his expression.

He gathered up some toast, a hard-boiled egg and an orange, and sat down next to Father. That spot was always empty for him, he knew, but this time he used it cheerfully.

Father looked at him, but said nothing as he ate and then poured himself a large cup of tea, from the pot that they shared. Vincent sipped it gratefully. He was still tired, for he had not had enough sleep for some time, and today, he let himself feel it. The tea revived him a little. He would try to have a nap afterwards - after he had reported to Father - unless there was some pressing business.

The patriarch finished his tea and looked at him. “I ... heard there was an intruder last night, Vincent.”

“Yes, Father. It was a friend of Peter's, a cousin of Catherine's.”

Father was momentarily too stunned to responded. “ A ... a cousin?”

“Yes, she bears some resemblance to Catherine. They did not meet often. She has passed on the message that Peter wishes to talk to me. I told her to tell him to come down when he has time.”

Father nodded. “Peter has said as much to me. I told him you would come around in time. I feel I must be grateful to this woman, who seems to have accomplished more in a single meeting than I have in weeks.”

Vincent hung his head. “It's true I have been distracted and not very accommodating. I ... needed time. I believe Cara, that's her name, will wish to come below, occasionally. She seems lonely and has no obligations above. She's a nurse. She might be able to help us in that capacity.”

“A nurse! Well, of course she would be wonderful help!”

“Peter has some ideas he wishes to discuss about that, also.”

“Hmmm. And what about Diana?”

Vincent started at little at this apparent non-sequitur. He looked at Father, sharply. “What about her?”

Father's brows knitted a little. “Well, she might be ... surprised at this latest development.”

Vincent chose his words carefully, after tardily grasping Father's concern. “Father, we are not a couple.”

Jacob stared into his cup of tea, clearly uncomfortable at having to explain what he considered obvious.

“No, but I think Diana wants to be.”

Vincent's mouth thinned a little in mild annoyance. “I cannot be responsible for that, Father. I have given her no encouragement. We are friends. I have also been in mourning. She knows that. She has her work to engage her, and has decided not to come below as often.”

Father nodded his understanding. “We owe her a great deal, nevertheless.”

“I know this - and I am grateful beyond words. But that is all. We are friends. I do not wish us to be more.”

“And this Cara ... do you think you might be more than 'friends'?”

Vincent frowned. “How can I answer that, Father? I have met her only once. We talked. She is kind, she cares deeply for someone who died, and Peter trusts her with our secret. She apparently has no other close family. That must be enough, for the present.”

“Ah, I see. Well, you certainly look happier today, Vincent. Everyone noticed it. It's almost manic in here, this morning. A lot of pent-up happiness suddenly in the open.”

Vincent looked around. Father was correct, of course – hadn't he himself noted it? - but that could not go unchallenged.

“I cannot take responsibility for that, either. I know people have tread lightly around me lately, and I do appreciate it. But it wasn't my doing; I did not ask them to.”

Father sighed. Vincent was being deliberately stubborn.

“What are your plans for today?”

“I must get some sleep. I need it. Perhaps we'll see Peter. It is, I believe, a Sunday above. I want to be rested, before we talk. It will be difficult.”

“It will be, but you will prevail. How is my grandson?”

“He was sleeping when I left, so I didn't disturb him.”

“He has an empathic bond with you, Vincent, so perhaps he too needs more sleep.”

“Very likely. I have been a burden on many, it seems. I am sorry for that.”

“Not a burden, merely not yourself. We are conscious of that kind of thing here, as you know. We must be. Our caring unites us.”

“I know, Father. I will return to my chamber now and try to sleep.”

“Good luck, Vincent.”

Vincent declined to comment, knowing full well that quiet was not likely during the day. However, he must try.

He rose and walked towards his chamber. Mary met him on the way.

“Jacob is fed and changed, Vincent, and went back to sleep. What a dear he is!”

Vincent smiled at her. “Thank you, Mary. I am going to try to sleep also.”

“I'll tell the children to leave you alone, then. And Mouse, if I can find him.”

“I'll put down my door curtain. That should be sufficient for others.” Mouse routinely ignored such obvious barriers, if he deemed his message important.

“Sweet dreams, Vincent,” Mary said. She squeezed his arm and then walked on.

Back in his chamber, Jacob did indeed look peaceful. Had he looked this way before? Had his own ... distraction ... inadvertently affected his son's sleep? It was more than likely. But what could he have done differently? His loss was huge. He couldn't hide it well, especially not from his son. Perhaps they could both be healed a little now.

He took off his boots and vest, and clambered under the covers on his bed. He was beyond tired. He closed his eyes and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The next thing he knew, he sensed baby Jacob fussing a little. Vincent looked at his clock. He had missed lunch - and slept over five hours!

He rose and went to where he kept Jacob's bottle, a cool nook in the chamber wall. Mary always ensured there was one waiting. He warmed it in a pan of water over the brazier, then gathered up his son in his arms.

Jacob sucked on the bottle eagerly. When he was finished, and obviously replete, Vincent burped him and sat the baby on his knee, holding him so they could look at each other.

He was an attentive child. He looked at Vincent with his green eyes, which had gradually changed from blue. He seemed to be considering what he saw. Vincent chuckled at the expression and the baby copied him. Had he ever done that before? Vincent was sure he hadn't. Jacob reached out with a hand and Vincent brought him closer, holding him against his chest, still facing him. The baby touched his face, and smiled, gurgling happily.

“Yes, my son, it is a new day, a day for hope.”

He felt the diaper and realized it needed changing. He put the baby on the table given to him for the purpose, and quickly cleaned him, then put him in a dry diaper. The soiled one went into a bucket, which he carried into his bathroom. He rinsed it, then added water and a little bleach to the bucket. He rinsed it again. Then it went into a lidded bucket near his door for laundering. He did not want his chamber to smell, so he was careful to clean well. He did these things in logical order, one he had to think about. He hoped it would become automatic in time.

Yes my son, he thought poking a light finger into his son's belly as he regarded him, I am now ready for the joys and challenges of fatherhood.

Chapter 3

A message tapped on the pipes told Vincent Peter was on his way. Well, that was quick, Vincent thought. He dressed Jacob in a warmer onesie, gathered up a blanket to wrap him in, then carried his son to Father's chamber. He said good afternoon to Father, who was seated at his table, and took one of the other seats. A third was waiting, as was the pot of tea and three cups.

“Did you sleep well, Vincent?” Father asked.

“Very, Father. And so did Jacob, I think. He seems quite happy now.”

Father nodded, declining to state the obvious, aware as he did so that he must be getting old. Once, he would not have hesitated. He was debating what to say next, when he was saved by a friendly voice at the chamber entry.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Peter declared, stepping lightly down the steps and sinking gratefully into a chair. He put a flat briefcase on the table.

“It's Sunday, but I haven't sat down since 6 am! I'll have a tea, thank-you,” he stated as Father poured three cups.

“I hear you have a house guest,” Father commented.

“Indeed. I won't bore you with the details, but I'm grateful for my guest. She made breakfast for us both, despite the early hour, when my pager went off. Then she made lunch when I got back, too! A nurse seems to have a sixth sense about such things.”

“I hope it was nothing dire, Peter,” Father said.

“Just the usual baby who can't tell the time or day of the week,” Peter explained, giving a deep sigh after a long sip of tea.

“I was told you have some information to impart,” Vincent remarked, eager to get this over with.

Peter looked at him and nodded. He pulled out a sheaf of papers from the briefcase, and left them on top of it. They were sure he knew them by heart, and so it proved. He rarely even glanced at them, choosing to regard his two friends, instead.

“Indeed, there are many things. I'll be brief about the legalities. Basically, Catherine made you, Vincent Wells, heir to her entire estate and named me as executor. I don't have to show her Will to anyone, as there's no one left who would contest it, and it's extremely simple. No beneficiaries except yourself, and no details at all. However, that said, some decisions have to be made. Her apartment is still hers – I've made sure the fees and taxes are paid from her estate – and I think it would be a good idea if Cara took it over. She plans to stay in New York and what better place? If she does become a helper, the location is perfect.”

Vincent nodded his agreement, wondering how he could bear being on that balcony again – or if he needed to be. Something to worry about another time, he decided.

Father spoke up. “I haven't met Cara, but Vincent seems to like her, and she certainly seems to have cheered him up, so I have no objection to her being a helper. I'm sure the Council will agree. Her qualifications alone would make her welcome. Poor Mary is often run off her feet.”

“Then that's settled,” Peter said, relieved. “There is also the matter of Catherine's money.”

He stated a number and watched Vincent's eyes shoot under his hair and Jacob's jaw drop.

Jacob cleared his throat. “I had no idea,” he said hoarsely.

Peter nodded. “I suggest setting up a Foundation for it, and using it to help any of your children who wish to attend higher education. We can set up a committee, if you wish. I'm willing to sit on it to provide advice. I'm not a lawyer, but I know one who will do the paperwork and can be trusted to keep it confidential.”

Vincent and Father both nodded their agreement. Peter made a note.

Peter ploughed on, encouraged. “My brownstone is really larger than I need, so I'm thinking it would be useful to set up a consulting office in the front room. Cara is interested in continuing her nursing, to some degree, and it would be convenient to have access to electricity and some modern equipment for you, Jacob, should you need it. Things like an ultrasound, small X-ray machine and monitors. My house is a little way from here, I know, but still within range, and it has good tunnel access. The stairs are a nuisance, but I'm thinking of getting a small elevator installed, just big enough for two people. There's an old chimney and dumbwaiter/laundry shaft that could be utilized. I'll take care of the details.”

Jacob's eyebrows went up again.

“That's extraordinarily kind of you, Peter. I know we could use better diagnostic equipment here, and some of our young people are considering medical careers. It would be wonderful to have a nurse available, as well. Do you plan to use the office for your own purposes?”

“I have all that in my downtown office. I can't see that I would need it – but Cara has stated she wishes to do some community nursing, which would at least give it some legitimacy on the street, and account for some coming and going, if needed. There would be no problem with a business permit – there are other small offices already; a lawyer, a dentist, an optometrist. A small nursing clinic wouldn't be out of place. The clientele is not likely to be dangerous, but just in case, we must consider this.”

Jacob nodded. “I don't expect we could keep Cara occupied full-time,” he remarked. “Community nursing would be a good way for us to determine if anyone needs additional support – of the kind we can supply here below.”

“That's what I was thinking too, Jacob,” Peter declared. “I can put out the word to a couple of shelters I support, which aren't far away. Cara should have someone on hand for security, though. Can you think of anyone?”

Jacob looked at Vincent and they nodded.

“Kanin. He's strong and large,” Jacob stated. “Olivia might be handy as an assistant to Cara, perhaps as a secretary, or helper. I know she doesn't really want to leave the tunnels, but she might be convinced to help in this way, privately, if Kanin is there too. Samantha wants to take some medical training – and there are one or two others.”

“I have some spare bedrooms if anyone needs to stay overnight. They can also use my address when they enrol for training,” Peter commented.

The doctor hesitated a little, then decided he had to continue. “There's one other thing. Catherine, of course, didn't know she was pregnant when she last revised her Will, but she made provision for children, just the same. She requested that a trust fund be set up with me as trustee. I took a portion of the estate and set it aside in a separate account, as she requested.”

He stated another number, which once again rendered his listeners speechless.

“Where did all this money come from?” Vincent asked at last.

“Well, Catherine was an only child, as you know. She was left some money by her mother, and then when her father died, everything he owned became hers, as well. Plus, the Chandler & Coolidge law firm gave her a one time payment, for the accounts her father managed, and she put that into a special account with the rest of his investments. She wanted that to be exclusively yours, Vincent, the father of her children, should there be any. I added it to the trust fund she requested.”

He stated the amount, and Vincent closed his eyes in pain. It took no great insight for Peter to realize that Vincent cared nothing for the money, and would have far preferred to have Catherine alive, even as a pauper.

Vincent's mind rang like a bell. Children! Catherine had never mentioned any until that horrible night on the rooftop. How could he not have known that this was what she wanted, deep in her heart of hearts? He thought about that and ignored the conversation. The two men stopped talking, realizing they had lost his attention, and waited.

Why had she not said something? Good reasons, he told himself. I was not forthcoming in my belief in our future – or she would not have hesitated to tell me she was pregnant. But she hoped.

He closed his eyes and finally looked up, his face clearly showing his pain. Father put his hand over Vincent's and nodded at Peter.

Peter pressed on. “So, besides the money, there's still the cottage in Connecticut, which I have no idea what to do with. It's yours to use, of course, if you wish, or you can sell it. Taxes are paid until next year. There's more than sufficient in the estate so that interest on the principle will cover any costs.”

“Connecticut,” Vincent muttered, his head dropping so no one could see his expression behind the curtain of his hair.

Jacob looked at him and cleared his throat, having some guilt about that particular subject.

“I guess we'll have to discuss that,” he said finally. “It must need at least a visit once a year. Perhaps we can ask Devin if he's interested in playing the role of caretaker, perhaps with Charles. We have a way to contact him, but it's not quick.”

“I suggest you tell him to contact me,” Peter suggested. “I'll install a special phone line for the clinic and he can use that. It'll have an answering service.”

Jacob nodded his thanks. “We haven't heard from him for a while. He left with Charles before Catherine was abducted. They were going to the mountains. He told me where. I'll write to him care of that post office.”

Peter straightened the papers he had not touched, automatically, and then looked at his listeners. “Is there anything I can do for you now? Something you'd like me to buy, perhaps? Are you in need of anything at all?”

Jacob shook his head. “We need to think about this, Peter. At the present, we are well supplied, but Catherine used to bring us bulk food items occasionally. William, as you know, makes do with what he has. I'll ask him and let you know.”

Vincent then spoke up, softly. “I would like a doll for Jacob, one as much like Catherine as possible, and a photograph, if you have one.”

Jacob and Peter stared at him. Neither could speak for long moments. Vincent pressed on.

“He needs to have something for comfort. Having not had a mother myself, I know the pain of the lack.”

Jacob nodded. “I understand the photo, Vincent, and there is that ... portrait. But a doll?”

“Something for him to hold, to call his own,” Vincent stated, looking at both men.

Peter replied. “I'll ask Cara to look for a baby doll, then. Is that what you want? The range of adult dolls is very limited, but there may be something ... like her ... in a baby doll.”

“That would be fine, Peter. I do not expect a miracle, merely a likeness. And the photograph.”

“There are photographs, official and not,” Peter admitted. “I'll send Cara down with them. And Jacob, make up a list of food – or anything else - you need, and I'll see that you get them.”

He did not state the obvious, that Catherine would have wished this, above all. His listeners understood the unspoken words and nodded. There would be no argument.

“Well then, I must go. I will see you again, I'm sure, quite soon. Cara wishes to see more of your world. I'll teach her how to tap out a message when she wishes to come and visit. And Jacob, soon I should have time to give you an opportunity to beat me at chess.”

“You could play me,” Vincent offered, only half-joking.

Peter put on a shocked expression. “Vincent, if I played with you, it would be far too short a game – and it wouldn't end in my favour. I know my limits.”

Vincent nodded to acknowledge the compliment and gave Peter a wry smile. The chess contest between Jacob and Peter was something they both enjoyed, and had for many, many years. Father DID win the occasional game.

Both men smiled, and nodded at the unspoken knowledge. Peter rose, and left with an airy wave.

“Thank-you, Peter,” Vincent called after him, somewhat belatedly. He heard a “You're very welcome” distantly, in response.

Vincent rose to leave also, then looked at Father. “Thank you for your patience with me,” he said.

Father smiled. “Vincent, you require less patience than anyone in these tunnels, yet you have more reason. You needed time, and that we have here, usually.”

Chapter 4

Vincent returned to his chamber. He found Sarah holding Jacob, who was sucking on his bottle. He realized he had almost missed yet another of his son's meal times – and in one day. Lunch had passed without him noticing, while he was asleep.

That has to change, he berated himself.

He greeted Sarah and watched his son greedily finish the bottle. Sarah burped him and then handed him to Vincent.

“He's thriving and getting heavy,” she said. “He drinks it all, and I'm sure would drink more, if there were any.”

Vincent smiled down at his son, who gurgled back at him, wriggling, a little.

“I will feed him from now on,” he told Sarah. “It's time I performed all my duties as a father. I'm sorry to have put such a burden on everyone.”

“Jacob is no burden!” Sarah exclaimed. “Babies are a blessing, and this one is special. He needs our love, and we give it freely.”

“Thank-you,” Vincent said humbly. “I appreciate what all of you have done. He is indeed thriving. Even I can tell he has gained weight.”

“Father wants to weigh him every week, Vincent, so be sure not to forget. The next weighing-in is tomorrow.”

Vincent looked at her in astonishment. “I didn't know.”

“We didn't mention it – it didn't seem important enough to trouble you. We always take him after breakfast. Father has a chart.”

Vincent nodded, wondering what else he had missed in regards to his son. “I will remember that. Thank-you, Sarah.”

“You're very welcome,” she said, and left.

Vincent carried his son to the bed and sat on it, rocking the baby slightly. He recited a little poem he remembered from an A.A Milne collection. It seemed appropriate, perhaps a finale to his funk, since he now admitted it for what it was. Grief was necessary, but it was time to move on – as much as possible - he decided. His son needed him. He recited softly to the bundle in his arms.

“If people ask me,

I always tell them:

"Quite well, thank you, I'm very glad to say."

If people ask me,

I always answer,

"Quite well, thank you, how are you to-day?"

I always answer,

I always tell them,

If they ask me

Politely.....

BUT SOMETIMES

I wish

That they wouldn't.”

(Politeness – A A Milne)

That admitted and done, Vincent remembered another Milne poem he had recited to his son ... it seemed like years ago, instead of weeks. This time, he recited it with less wonder, but more happiness.

No one can tell me,

Nobody knows,

Where the wind comes from,

Where the wind goes.

It's flying from somewhere

As fast as it can,

I couldn't keep up with it,

Not if I ran.

But if I stopped holding

The string of my kite,

It would blow with the wind

For a day and a night.

And then when I found it,

Wherever it blew,

I should know that the wind

Had been going there too.

So then I could tell them

Where the wind goes...

But where the wind comes from

Nobody knows.

(Wind on the Hill – A. A Milne)

The baby in his arms gurgled happily and closed his eyes. Vincent carefully rose and placed him in his cradle. Then he sat in his chair and pulled his journal to him. There was a little time before supper, and he needed to write.

March 17, 1991

Today I have realized just how much of a burden I have been, although no one will tell me so, or admit it, at least to my face. I have not been a good father to our son, letting others do much of the work. That ends today. He is growing and is aware of me, through our bond. How could I let him suffer so, a baby who senses emotions better than anything ... except perhaps hunger?

Today, Peter visited so we could discuss Catherine's estate. It was painful, but not as much as I had expected. I have become somewhat numb over the weeks since her death. I had not realized this.

Peter asked if we needed anything, and I asked for a doll and a photograph. Father and Peter seemed stunned by the request. I explained, but I don't think they understood. It was not just that I want my son to know his mother, because of course, I will tell him everything. But I am afraid that I will forget her face, without a reminder – a photograph, not just Kristopher's portrait, which while excellent, is not the same.

I hope the doll will be a physical thing my son can love, as children do a favourite toy. He will not remember Catherine except through me, but he will need something to hold, to comfort him. As I did, so long ago. Father has forgotten.

My son will have me and I will love him with all that I am, but I am not his mother. It would be nice if he could bond with a woman. Perhaps Cara. Diana, I think, although she loves him, has a life to live. She cannot be here often. I dare to hope that Cara can. I want our son to have someone from the world above, someone to teach him and perhaps show him what I cannot. Her blood tie to him is also important – it may well be the only one he will have apart from myself.

Catherine, forgive me. I have not been what you would have wanted for our child. I will improve, for his sake. Sleep well, my love.

Vincent closed his journal and looked over at his son. He would know if anything distressed the baby, but the child was sleeping peacefully. The signal for supper rang along the pipes, so he made his way to the dining hall. He was hungry, having missed lunch. He was looking forward, now, to being part of the community again. His entrance made no stir in the lively conversation, so and he sat in his usual place, next to Father, after ladling out a bowl of stew and helping himself to two large slabs of homemade bread.

Father looked at him and nodded around a chunk of bread. Since there seemed nothing urgent that needed to be imparted, Vincent finished quickly, then went into the kitchen to get another bottle for the baby.

“Where are we getting the milk, William?” Vincent asked, ashamed that he had not asked this, before.

William regarded him with an expression he couldn't fathom, and cleared his throat.

“Well, Vincent, a couple of nursing mothers have too much, and I add some milk we get from Peter to it. We often do this, so no one runs out. Is there a problem?”

“No, William. I was just curious.”

“Good. I was afraid Jacob might not be able to digest regular milk. Father told me you had difficulty.”

“Fortunately, Jacob is not all mine,” Vincent pointed out.

“Too soon to tell what may come in time,” William responded. “I think you may be in for some surprises. Most parents are.”

Vincent frowned. “What kind of surprises? He looks nothing like me.”

William chuckled. “Looks ain't everything, Vincent.”

He walked away into his office before Vincent could form a reply. William was right, of course. This was new territory for everyone, himself included.

Vincent took the bottle back to his chamber and put it in a pan of water to warm over the brazier. Jacob was still asleep, so he decided it was time to tidy his table. There was hardly a space to be seen between the piles of books, and they were stacked seven or more high. With a sigh, he made himself look through them. Deftly he sorted them into piles - what he had read to be returned to Father's library (with those he had acquired for no reason he could remember), and those which he had not read but wanted to.

By the time he was done, he had a large double armful of books to return, which he did, setting them down on what had become the 'in' table in Father's library. One of the children was tasked with replacing them each week. Then, he returned to his chamber and found the baby awake and squirming.

Taking up his son .... HIS son ... (he still couldn't quite believe it), he tested the bottle and held the baby so he could feed. Jacob sucked gustily and eagerly. That was a very good thing, Vincent decided. He hadn't thought about it, but of course his own babyhood would have been remembered, and there would have been concerns about little Jacob.

Whatever differences the child had, feeding wasn't one of them. He seemed to have inherited his own hair colour, but his eyes were Catherine's. Vincent looked into them and for long moments, was saddened by what he had lost ... what they had both lost. The baby abruptly stopped sucking and a chubby hand reached for him, touching his face.

Vincent sighed. I must keep better control. Jacob was becoming more and more aware of their bond. He would have to learn, again, how to separate himself from others, as he had with Catherine, to some extent. It was safer, and less traumatic for them. He kissed his son and the baby began to suck again, quickly finishing the bottle. Jacob wriggled happily, and Vincent decided to take his son for a walk. But first, the baby needed a diaper change, so he did that, taking the bucket of rinsed diapers to the laundry. There were two buckets there already, so he did not feel he was imposing on whomever had that duty.

He returned the bottle to the kitchen, to a basket William kept for the purpose, and carried the baby to the Whispering Bridge. He sat down on the middle of it, not daring to get any closer to the edge with the child, and they both listened to the sounds from above.

“Listen my son,” he told the wriggling bundle in his arms. “This is where the world above reaches us, expressing itself in all its myriad ways. Listen, Jacob. There is a train overhead .... talking ... car horns ... there is a fire engine or ambulance siren ... and there is music.”

Today, it seemed, there was music in many places. Was it a holiday? Well, New York needed little excuse to celebrate with music, so perhaps there were concerts in the Park, or buskers. Some did not sound professional. He heard a fiddle being played well and concentrated on it. The person was playing typical folk tunes, happy, rousing and fast. They lifted his spirits, and he looked down at his son, who seemed to be listening intently too.

Music! He had not thought of it for a long time. There was none below if they did not make it themselves. A radio couldn't pick up any signal through so much rock. Mouse had tried and even rigged up an antenna – but the distances were too great.

Vincent sighed. He had not been to the music chamber since ... he did not complete that thought. He knew he must find a way to introduce Jacob to more music. Father had a Victrola, and perhaps he had some records that could be played, if it still worked. There were cds of course. Perhaps Cara could find him a player. Catherine had a stereo in her apartment! Of course!

So much to think about, Vincent's mind whirled. He would talk to Cara.

When they returned to his chamber, Vincent put Jacob to bed, then sat down at his table, considering. He picked a page at the back of his journal and made a list of considerations for his son's future. It would get longer, he was sure. This was new territory.

Chapter 5

Cara did not appear below, although a load of food was delivered to the warehouse. Vincent helped to haul it back, but did not see Cara or Peter. He forced himself to be patient, to concentrate on his duties, which seemed to mostly be connected with baby Jacob. Father had removed him from the regular duty roster and Vincent did not comment on that. He did not want to be away from his son for long hours anymore, and heavy labour was not needed to distract him. There were others to do that work.

About a week after he had first seen her, Cara hesitantly tapped on a pipe at Peter's tunnel access, to request a guide. Vincent immediately replied and went to meet her. She stood in the tunnel, much as she had initially; quietly, dressed in sensible boots, slacks and a leather jacket against the chill.

She greeted him with a smile. She was carrying a large shopping bag and took his arm, as they walked back to his chamber. He found he liked the feel of that, and it also kept him from moving too swiftly for her.

“How have you been?” he asked her, determined to make some kind of conversation.

“Very well. Busy,” she answered. “I've looked at Catherine's apartment, and am so grateful to you for suggesting it. It's perfect! I could just move right in, I suppose, but I want to change some things first. To make it more mine and less hers. Would that be all right with you, Vincent?”

Vincent was silent for long moments. He had not been able to visit the balcony since finding Jacob and bringing him home to the tunnels. The last time he had seen Catherine, there on her bed, where he had carried her, was too painful even to think about. He had been there afterwards, but only briefly, and Diana had interrupted. What did he think about that place now, where they had been so happy, that place for both of them, but was now associated with tragedy?

Cara waited patiently, merely glancing at him as they walked. Vincent sighed.

“I cannot judge in this, Cara,” he said at last. “My emotions are still raw and confused. We met often on her balcony, but only rarely did I go inside - but I knew it. You must do as you see fit. It cannot hurt less, no matter what you decide.”

“Would you come inside if I was living there?” Cara asked quietly.

Vincent looked at her and nodded. “Yes. And I would like Jacob to be there too, when that is possible. I would like him to hear music, have exposure to the world above, see the sunshine, experience the seasons. Catherine would want that.”

Cara nodded. “I will see what I can do to make the transition easier. I'm willing to help any way I can. I'll make some changes to the apartment and let you know when I'm moved in. It won't be for a few days, likely. I will be moving my belongings from my home in Boston. I'll let you know about anything I don't want in the apartment, and perhaps it could be useful here.”

“That's very kind of you, Cara,” Vincent replied. He had not considered that she would want her own things, but of course she would. The less there to remind him of Catherine, the better, he concluded, but did not say. They reached his chamber, and Cara immediately put the bag on a chair and opened it. The first thing she brought out was a doll.

“I... I found this, in a thrift store. It's not new, but it's small enough for a child, and soft-bodied. I thought it looked much as Catherine did as a baby. I've seen photos.”

Vincent took the doll from her and gazed at it, his eyes burning. It did indeed remind him of Catherine. The hair was light-coloured, as hers was, naturally, and in a style that was not unlike hers. A label on the clothing said 'Gotz'.

It was made here in the U.S,” she commented. “A good brand, a well-known company.”

“It is very like her,” Vincent managed at last. It had her jawline and hair.

Cara hesitated before putting her hand in the bag again. She pulled out another doll, not very different to the first.

“I found this in a box of Catherine's things in her closet. I believe it was probably a cherished doll from her childhood.”

Vincent took it from her carefully and looked at the face. It was indeed very similar, with the same coloured hair. He put it to his nose, automatically, then closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, there was a scent he associated with Catherine, not perfume, just something innate to her. He forced himself to return to reality and opened his eyes, but held the doll close to his chest.

Cara was watching him and smiled. “The doll is yours if you wish. I found it after I had found the other.”

Vincent found his throat had closed up and merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He had no idea what to do with it, but he would put it someplace ... close. He could not bear that it become a tunnel child toy. His son would have the newer one, and perhaps, when he was older, Jacob too would love the original, for its association.

Next, she pulled out a framed photo. It was Catherine smiling, her hair falling around her face, but not masking it. It was probably taken at a party, Vincent guessed.

“Peter had this. It was taken one New Year's at a small family gathering. I was there too. I remember how happy she was. She had got a job at the DA's and seemed ... different, more focused.”

Cara's expression became more serious.

“That reminds me. There's a problem, Vincent, and Peter suggested we talk about it. Can we sit down?”

Vincent pulled another chair close, and Cara put the bag on the floor and sat down.

“Problem?” Vincent prodded.

Cara sighed. “It was inevitable, Peter says. You remember Joe Maxwell, Catherine's boss? Well, he's been phoning Peter, wanting to know what happened to her child. Apparently, Diana has said little, merely that the child is safe, that he is being cared for. Joe isn't satisfied.”

Vincent was silent while he thought about this. It wasn't fair to Peter, but what could be done? He could not reveal himself to Joe. It was best no one knew about him and the tunnel community. He had made an exception for Elliot, but Elliot was dead. He could not risk it again.

“Could you show Jacob to Joe?” Vincent asked at last. “Would that be enough?”

“It would help, but he wants to know who the father is. And meet him.”

“That is not possible,” Vincent declared. “Peter is the official guardian. No father has been mentioned, and this must remain so. I believe Peter wrote out the birth certificate saying the father is unknown; I know this is not unusual above. Perhaps you could be the baby's caregiver? Is that possible?”

Cara thought about that. She was a relative, and the role seemed reasonable. And she was a registered nurse. Yes, she could do that.

Cara nodded. “We will probably have to devise a way for Joe to visit, occasionally. I can bring Jacob to my ... Catherine's ... apartment, if necessary.”

Vincent suddenly realized his plans for his son were coming true - thanks, of all people, to Joe.

“Cara, my dream for Jacob is that he be introduced to the world above, so he can decide for himself whether he wishes to be part of it. He does not look like me. He could have a life I cannot.”

“Peter did suggest this, Vincent. I'm willing to help. I wanted to be sure it was all right with you. You should be the primary caregiver, as his father. I can also look after him in Peter's house, when you wish, if you need time away. You'll be able to take him there, yourself.”

Time away? Peter must have told her about his occasional trips to the nameless river. He had not thought about that place for a long time. Would he need it? He conceded that he might. He nodded his understanding.

“Very well, Cara. Do you plan to meet with Joe?”

“Yes. We'll set it up very soon, and invite him to Peter's house. I can tell a fib and say that I have been caring for him all along. I think this will satisfy Joe. Peter is still the guardian, and he's permitted to appoint a caregiver.”

Vincent nodded. “Joe may wonder at the delay, but I think your presence will explain it. There should be no questions you can't answer. I'll bring Jacob over when you wish. I can stay out of sight, but close, so Jacob won't fret.”

Vincent paused. “I'd better talk to Diana,” he decided. “Then we can make sure our stories match.”

Cara nodded. “Thank you, Vincent. I must go now. I have begun preparing for my move into Catherine's apartment. My furniture should arrive in a day or so. If someone from here can visit me, I'll tell them what I won't need and see that it gets to you. Peter says there's a tunnel entry under the building.”

“Yes, I'll find someone who can help you. They'll have a note from me.”

“I hope to stay longer, soon,” she commented. Peter tells me there are many wonderful things to see.”

She turned around, as if wanting to memorize this place – and still did not quite believe what she was seeing. Then she looked up at Vincent and smiled, reminding him very much of Catherine. Cara was not very much taller, but seemed to like what she saw in his face. She didn't move into his arms, as Catherine would have, and Diana certainly did when she needed a hug. Vincent almost wished she would. He replied quickly, realizing he had been maundering.

“There are many special places here in my world – and I would like to show them to you, Cara,” Vincent replied, smiling back. It felt very good to be able smile, again.

He watched her turn to leave, and followed her. He led her back to Peter's tunnel access and she turned to wish him a good day.

Chapter 6

That evening, after Jacob was fed and asleep, Vincent made his way to Diana's loft. He looked through the window, but it was too dark inside to see. He tapped on the window, just in case, and she rose from a couch looking dishevelled and half asleep, but dressed in sweat pants and a long sleeved t-shirt. It wasn't late, so she must have been napping.

She came over to let him in and stood aside as he descended the stairs.

“Sorry I look such a mess, Vincent,” Diana said, running her fingers through her long red hair.

“I am the one who should be sorry, Diana. I should have let you know I was coming.”

“And how would you do that? Leave a phone message?”

Vincent ignored the caustic tone, knowing that Diana could have a sharp tongue when she was tired or stressed.

“Someone could have left a note.”

“Which I probably wouldn't have seen. I've been too tired to even check my mailbox.”

Vincent said nothing, merely gathered her in his arms and held her until he felt her relax. He congratulated himself that he could still do that. Catherine had loved to feel his arms around her too. He was glad to be able to do even so little.

“I've missed you,” he said softly, as she pulled slowly away. “I'm afraid this isn't entirely a social call, Diana,” he admitted at last.

“I figured,” she replied and led him into the living room. He sat down in a chair and Diana put her feet up on the couch and yawned.

“It's Joe Maxwell,” Vincent began, and watched Diana stiffen. “He demands to see my son. So a cousin of Catherine's is going to show him to Joe at Peter's, where she has been staying, and will be his official caregiver.”

Diana nodded. “And?”

“Our stories must agree, Diana, or this will be for nothing. Could Peter have taken Jacob from you in the tunnel entry under Gabriel's mansion? Was there time – and opportunity?”

Diana considered that for a moment. After Vincent left with the baby, it had been at least 15 minutes before Joe and the police force had come inside. They had spent some time rounding up staff. Before that, she had located and burned all the videotapes by throwing them into a furnace in the basement, grateful that the cold weather meant it had been turned on. She had met Joe on returning to the main floor. He had not asked what she was doing and she had not volunteered. He had moved swiftly, issuing orders. She told him where Gabriel's body was and admitted she had killed him. Joe had naturally assumed the gun, which she showed him, was hers, and had not taken it. There wouldn't be a ballistics test. The baby was gone, of course, and she had not said anything. Joe hadn't asked, either – despite the baby crib in the room with Gabriel. An oversight on his part, one he probably rued later.

Diana nodded. “Yes, that would work. I burned the videotapes in the furnace. Joe would assume one of Gabriel's men did that, if they checked. So I could have met Peter at the tunnel entrance and handed over the baby.”

“Good. Then Peter could have had Jacob all this time, and called in Cara to help him.”

“Cara?”

“She is the cousin I mentioned. She came below on Peter's suggestion about a week ago. She looks very like Catherine, Diana, but older and trained as a nurse. She is moving into Catherine's apartment soon. She will work for Peter, and help us when she can.”

“Well, things are certainly moving quickly,” Diana commented, trying to get her tired brain around this news. She wasn't sure what she thought about an almost-Catherine in Vincent's life, but decided that consideration would have to wait. It wasn't as if she had any right to Vincent. They were friends, but certainly not lovers.

“Joe Maxwell seems insatiable,” Vincent continued. “He has been pestering Peter, but I know you have tried to keep our secret.”

“Joe can be a bulldog when something makes his nose twitch,” Diana admitted ruefully. “I told him the baby was with Dr Alcott and that he was being cared for. Joe asked for details, but I told him I didn't know any more. Joe knows I have secrets, and that he has no right to give me the third degree. The investigation is closed as far as the DA's office is concerned.

“I know Catherine's Will made Peter the executor of her estate, so he became the baby's guardian too. Your story should satisfy Joe's curiosity. Peter's a good man – and Joe has met him before. Peter told me so,” Vincent added.

Diana rubbed her eyes and yawned again. Lord, she needed a good sleep!

“Would you like to be present at this meeting, Diana?”

Diana shook her head, then wished she hadn't. She felt a headache coming on.

“I couldn't explain why I was there, Vincent. I do want to meet Cara, but I can do that another time, after she's settled in. The less official relationship between me and the baby – and Cara - the better.”

“My son may visit Cara on occasion. At least, I hope so. I want Jacob to be part of your world, or to have that option, if he chooses to. He won't have to hide from it as I do. Cara has offered to help. Peter has some plans, too.”

“Let me know how it all goes, Vincent. I don't expect Joe to tell me anything. He's not very happy with me since the raid on Gabriel's place, but I rarely have to see him, so that's fine. He'll get over it. Joe's not my immediate boss, but he can shove his weight around. He did that while we were looking for Gabriel. So I stay clear.”

“I'm sorry we have caused this upset in your life, Diana.”

“You didn't, Vincent. Joe did. He put me on the case, forced me onto it actually, and I followed it to its conclusion ... and you. Not my fault the raid gave him less satisfaction than he had hoped. He did find proof that Gabriel had killed Catherine, but kept her baby. He just hates loose ends.”

Vincent chuckled at the thought of being considered a 'loose end'. Diana met his eyes and laughed.

“Some loose end you are, right? Six foot two and eyes of blue. Good thing Joe doesn't know how many others there are. But he can't. And this should allow him to get on with his job. Catherine's death obsessed him. He almost lost his job for it, back when Moreno was still running things. I heard about it.”

There were so many dark aspects to those few months, most of them life-changing. Vincent's memories were just as unforgiving. It seemed a lifetime ago. Diana touched his arm and he looked at her.

“It's been hardest on you,” she commented. “You had to pick up the pieces. Joe has no idea. He just likes things wrapped up nice and neat. You'll give him that.”

“Yes. Thank-you, Diana. You have been an invaluable friend. I'll see that you get word after Joe's visit. You must come down and visit again.”

“I'll try, Vincent. But you know my work hardly gives me time to socialize.”

“Then I'll visit you, Diana. If that is all right with you.”

“Of course. You're always welcome. Now, I'd better get some more sleep.”

Vincent nodded and rose to leave. He walked to the stairs, followed by Diana, and left quietly, waving at her from the roof.

Diana sighed, closed and latched the door, and trudged to her bedroom. The couch was a poor substitute. Someday, she must find a job that didn't require so many long days and nights in a row, she decided. Hell of a way to not live.

Chapter 7

Peter came below in the late afternoon a day later. He was bristling with news, and found Vincent in his chamber, holding baby Jacob.

“He seems to be thriving,” Peter exclaimed, touching the baby's nose, which made the child chuckle.

“And soon he will make a public debut, I assume,” Vincent commented. Peter was almost impatient and barrelled ahead.

“Yes. I've invited Joe to my house for 2:00 pm Saturday, two days hence. Joe made it clear it wasn't official. He was just concerned, he claims, as a friend of Catherine's.”

Peter paused. “But concern doesn't explain it,” he commented. “He knows me and knows I would care for Catherine's child like my own. He's hoping for some revelation about the father - one we won't supply. He's curious, Vincent. He's persistent – but we can deal with that. I didn't know Catherine was pregnant before she was abducted. No one did, except the nurse who took blood from her when Joe was injured. That report did come to me, as Catherine's doctor of record, but it got buried on my desk. It wasn't flagged because it wasn't urgent - and I confess I didn't see it until ... too late. Events happened quickly, as you know.

“She knew she could have told me – but apparently she told no one, not even you. I had no idea what was going on, so I said nothing, even later. If she had been killed earlier, it would have come out in an autopsy, but I hoped ... what we all hoped.”

Vincent hung his head. He spoke softly, painfully. “I think she was going to tell me, then she was abducted. She asked me to meet her at the threshold. She never arrived. I understand she was captured in the building where she worked.”

“Yes, that's what I was told too. Much later, the autopsy revealed she had given birth not long before her death.”

“I had lost all sense of her, Peter. I couldn't find her. I did see her once, following a tip. But I was unable to rescue her. She was drugged, I think. Then, I sensed the heartbeat and found her ... just before she died. That heartbeat was my son's.”

Peter nodded, having heard this before, from Father.

“Anyhow, the meeting is arranged. I'll see Joe in my den, with Cara and the baby. There's a forced air system in my house. If you sit in the basement, you should be able to hear almost everything through the grate.”

“Thank-you, Peter. I'll see that Jacob is fed just before I bring him. That will ensure he's quiet and sleepy. I'll be nearby, so he won't fret. I'm not sure how far away he can sense me.”

Vincent cocked his head, listening to a message over the pipes.

“Cara has sent down some furniture from Catherine's apartment. I'll have to go and help, Peter.”

“I'll go and challenge Jacob to a chess game,” Peter replied, and rose to leave. He turned to address Vincent, as he reached the entrance.

“Don't worry, Vincent. Cara's appearance has been fortuitous. Joe knows nothing about her. I think we can throw him a curve ball he didn't expect.”

He continued out the exit.

Vincent sat for a moment, then sighed and headed for the threshold. When he arrived, Cullen had already taken charge and a pile of furniture and smaller items sat in the light from the building's basement. Mouse and Kanin were loading up a trolley. Vincent stopped and regarded the items. He recognized the two loveseats, and was surprised to see the vanity table that had been in Catherine's bedroom, as well. And her bed. He had not been inside Catherine's apartment much, and he had no particular attachment to any of the pieces. Nevertheless, he had lain in the bed – and left Catherine's body in it. Some of the pictures and art pieces were familiar. It was a peculiar feeling to see them in the tunnels.

“We're taking it all to the dining hall, for now,” Kanin told him. “We thought that would be best, so people can see if they want anything before we put it in storage.”

Vincent nodded, and helped Mouse to load a second trolley that had arrived. He picked up a small box and felt movement inside it, so he looked inside, curious. It had some of Catherine's eggs, ones he had knocked off when he had broken her glass display case, in his madness. He reached in for one he recalled. It had  with golden 'threads' – rutillated, was the term, he believed, for quartz of this type. He stared at it for a moment, then he put it in his cloak pocket and closed the box.

He piled on some more items, and pulled it after Kanin, with Mouse pushing from behind.

It took several more trips to get all the items moved, but the pile was neatly arranged in one end of the dining hall. Peter dropped by and asked if he could have one of the drawings. Vincent, who was still trying to decide if he wanted anything else for his already crowded chamber, told him to take as many as he wished. There were few pictures in the tunnels, because nails had to be driven into rock. Cara had kept all the lamps and the decorative chairs, but she had sent down quite a lot of Catherine's casual clothing as well, neatly folded into suitcases.

Vincent sighed, as he recognized sweaters and jeans, knowing the items would be welcome, and find new homes among the community. Jamie would appreciate the jeans. She was small, as Catherine had been. He shook his head to clear it of morbid thoughts and returned to his chamber. He put the glass egg on the shelf, directly below the woman in his fan window. It shone there, as if embraced by the golden light.

Chapter 8

The next morning, Friday, Vincent went through his normal routine after breakfast, trying not to think about what was coming the next day. He was nervous, he finally admitted to himself. This plan had to work. They could not have Joe continuing to ask unwanted and awkward questions. He cleaned Jacob and changed his diaper, then took the baby with him to lunch. The child was restless, no doubt picking up his own unease. William gave him a bottle and he fed his son, although the baby did not seem very hungry.

Father regarded the scene, speculating on what he would have said a year ago was impossible, for Vincent, but very glad that he had been proven wrong, in this at least. The sight of his special son feeding his own son was one he wanted to remember, forever.

“He's growing big,” Father commented, as Vincent sat the wriggling child on his lap, and attempted to eat his own meal, not very successfully.

“Here, give him to me. I'm finished.”

Vincent passed the baby to Father, watching the two Jacobs eye each other, speculatively. He gratefully ate the rest of his lunch and drank a mug of tea. Then, he gathered up his son from Father, mumbled that he had some planning to do, and returned to his chamber. There, he found a large brown paper package waiting for him. He looked at it and read the message printed on it in black marker;

Vincent, I think these might be of use for tomorrow. See you then.

Cara

He put Jacob in his cradle, then sat on his bed to open the package. His eyebrows rose as he pulled out a new, one piece baby pyjama, in thick, but soft flannelette, and then another, followed by two pairs of tiny, thick socks, and a soft hat. Then he pulled out what was one of several diapers, neatly folded into squares, but unlike anything used below, which were large pieces of old terrycloth, folded over and kept in place with safety pins. These were thick, cotton, obviously washable, elasticated around the legs – and fastened with velcro! He put them aside and dug further. A very soft baby blanket emerged, then several bibs, and finally, at the bottom, was a shoulder satchel he guessed was meant to hold baby items. It had a pocket obviously designed to hold a bottle.

Vincent regarded the items with something like shock. He had never considered that his son needed something more than his usual patchwork tunnel garb for Saturday – but of course he did. Vincent silently thanked Cara for her foresight. Now, baby Jacob would look as well-cared for as he most certainly was. Nevertheless, his father needed a few lessons. He hoped he had not overlooked anything else.

Jacob was still restless, so Vincent gathered him up and sat in his big chair. He wracked his memory for only a short time. The tunnel children loved A.A Milne, so Vincent had no difficulty remembering another poem.

A bear, however hard he tries,

Grows tubby without exercise.

Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,

Which is not to be wondered at.

But do you think it worries him

To know that he is far from slim?

No, just the other way about -

He's proud of being short and stout.

(Teddy Bear by A. A. Milne)

Jacob was gurgling happily, so Vincent decided to recite another poem.

She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,

She wore her greenest gown;

She turned to the south wind

And curtsied up and down.

She turned to the sunlight

And shook her yellow head,

And whispered to her neighbour:

"Winter is dead."

(Daffodowndilly – A A Milne)

Jacob reached up to touch his father's face and Vincent chuckled.

Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,

Tra-la-la, tra-la-la,

Rum-tum-tiddle-um-tum.

Tiddle-iddle, tiddle-iddle,

Tiddle-iddle, tiddle-iddle,

Rum-tum-tum-tiddle-um.

(Tra-la-la, tra-la-la – A A Milne)

Vincent sighed. His son was still too awake for a child that should be napping. He tried one last poem.

Wherever I am, there's always Pooh,

There's always Pooh and Me.

Whatever I do, he wants to do,

"Where are you going today?" says Pooh:

"Well, that's very odd 'cos I was too.

Let's go together," says Pooh, says he.

"Let's go together," says Pooh.

"What's twice eleven?" I said to Pooh.

("Twice what?" said Pooh to Me.)

"I think it ought to be twenty-two."

"Just what I think myself," said Pooh.

"It wasn't an easy sum to do,

But that's what it is," said Pooh, said he.

"That's what it is," said Pooh.

"Let's look for dragons," I said to Pooh.

"Yes, let's," said Pooh to Me.

We crossed the river and found a few-

"Yes, those are dragons all right," said Pooh.

"As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.

That's what they are," said Pooh, said he.

"That's what they are," said Pooh.

"Let's frighten the dragons," I said to Pooh.

"That's right," said Pooh to Me.

"I'm not afraid," I said to Pooh,

And I held his paw and I shouted "Shoo!

Silly old dragons!"- and off they flew.

"I wasn't afraid," said Pooh, said he,

"I'm never afraid with you."

So wherever I am, there's always Pooh,

There's always Pooh and Me.

"What would I do?" I said to Pooh,

"If it wasn't for you," and Pooh said: "True,

It isn't much fun for One, but Two,

Can stick together, says Pooh, says he. "That's how it is," says Pooh.

(Us Two – AA Milne)

Vincent planted a kiss on his son's forehead. The baby was struggling to keep his eyes open now, but succumbed in a few moments. Vincent rose and place him in his cradle.

Then he looked around to find a place to put all the new items Cara has sent. Surely there was room in a drawer! He pulled out the top one in his wardrobe and leaned his forehead heavily against the door when he saw what it held, closing his eyes in pain. How could he have forgotten?

Reverently, he pulled the clothes out and held them against his face. They did have some of Catherine's scent, for they were the ones she had worn during her stay below after her father had died. The nightgown was long, made of fine white wool, decorated with ribbons. He held it, and tears rolled down his cheeks. He remembered her wearing the jacket and skirt at the waterfall, when she had asked him ... that ... and he had said what he had. If he had known the future, he would have given her more satisfaction, no matter what unease he had felt. Opportunities lost ... so many of them! And all his fault.

When he had finally composed himself, he looked around and spotted his large, battered, leather satchel. He emptied out the clean but somewhat tattered heavy clothing he wore for hard labour, and carefully replaced it with Catherine's clothing.

Then he had a thought. He picked up Catherine's doll, which he had left on his table. He had been uncertain what to do with it, but had not been willing to let it out of his sight just then. He carefully put it on top of her clothing in the satchel. Then he closed it with determination, strapped it shut, and placed it on top of the wardrobe. He could get it down when he needed to – if he needed to. He felt the closure of his actions. This is good, he told himself.

The wardrobe drawer now had room for all the new items except the bag – which should be kept handy, he thought. Vincent arranged the items, put Jacob's new doll on top, then closed the drawer with relief. A part of his life put away, to be replaced by one much more current. He felt a little better, now. So little was needed to shatter his calm, he reflected. He must get a better grip on himself.

He continued tidying up his chamber, and really looked at it for the first time, as a father and caregiver of a soon-to-be active child. William was correct – he had no idea what his son would be like, but hoped passionately that he would not take after himself, getting into trouble and doing things that would give his father – and grandfather – grey hairs.

Every adult over the age of 14 had taken turns looking after toddlers for a day. There was a special small chamber with a lot of pillows and cushions and a well-padded floor. There were usually no more than three of the children, but he well remembered how curious and fearless they were – and how everything went into their mouths.

How could he keep Jacob safe in this chamber? Should he expand his chamber a little, to make a playroom? Perhaps that was the solution. He knew there was nothing preventing that on the far end of his chamber. Perhaps baby Jacob could stay with Cara while he excavated a space for his son. Otherwise, a great deal more would have to change. Even the steps to the bathing chamber he shared with Father were dangerous. They would need a barrier.

He looked at the shelf unit where he stored personal items he loved, and realized it was filled with breakables. The unit was tall and sturdy though, so he would have to move things higher than a toddler could reach. Perhaps he could use the lower shelf for children's books. Or get another bookcase for new additions.

Vincent sighed, and decided he would need another bed, eventually, too. One for a child. Jacob could sleep with the other children in the dormitory when he was older, of course, but while he was a toddler, he should be his father's responsibility. That was only fair. Every family with a child only used the services of others as respite.

The future mapped out somewhat, Vincent settled down to update his journal again.

March 20, 1991

Today, Cara surprised me with a bag of clothing for the baby. New clothing, suitable for a child being seen by someone from above, someone who is already suspicious. I did not think of it. Diana thinks Joe will be satisfied, and so does Peter. I hope they are correct. I am nervous, even though I will not be on view at all, but hiding in the basement.

My son will not have to hide like this I hope, a blessing I will see he takes advantage of. So much is unknown with this child, but he behaves like any other baby, except for our bond. He probably does not yet understand what that is, but he is definitely empathetic. He loves to touch my face – and he is fearless, seldom crying.

You would be proud of him Catherine. He has not been touched by his time with Gabriel. He seems to have no trauma from that. I am so grateful I was able to rescue him before he got any older. Our bond is strong.

I have decided I will need to expand my chamber, make a small bedroom and playroom for Jacob. Cara would take him for the time needed to do that. It need only be a few hours a day. She has already suggested she would love to help with him. I feel like the Fates are finally working in my favour. Others here would be happy to look after Jacob, of course, but I want him to see the sun, the city, and feel the free air. Later, perhaps Cara can take him to the Park. He is so precious to me, so loved, but I must get used to not having him here all the time.

Sometimes, he will not be close. That too is necessary. My son must learn to be independent. It will be very difficult Catherine, but I am determined. I cannot risk smothering our child. I have learned from Father. I cannot be too cautious, too fearful. I want our son to grow up strong and independent. As you were.

Now I must see to myself. It will be suppertime soon, and I must try to make some order out of this chambers. I am already hungry, a good sign. I must be strong, too. I will be. Sleep well, my love.

Chapter 9

For several hours, Vincent busied himself rearranged his mementos, then packed a few that seemed more than usually awkward, in his trunk. Then he sat down on his bed an looked around as if seeing it for the first time. He realized he was not a very tidy housekeeper. There were boxes and bags here and there, under things, behind others – and far too many books. But at least his clothing was where it belonged, and now so was his son's. He had never liked that lying around. He sighed.

When the pipes rang out with the announcement that supper was ready, Vincent looked at his son and decided to let him sleep. He made his way to the dining chamber and helped himself to the amazing array of food on the sideboard. There was a large sliced ham, yams, potatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, bread ... He took some of everything, then sat down next to Father.

“What are we celebrating?” he asked the patriarch.

Father chuckled. “Nothing specific, Vincent – unless it is our decision to allow Peter and Cara to assist us more. It seems our benefactors have done some shopping for us with our bequest. This was part of what was sent down the other day. William is beside himself. I even heard him humming!”

Vincent nodded. Had he been preventing this occurrence by refusing to discuss Catherine? He decided he had to assume it was so.

His face must have shown his guilt, because Father touched him on the shoulder.

“This came about because of Cara. She has time to help us, far more than Peter does. She may have gone a little overboard. But William assures me it and can be stored and we will be able to eat it before it rots. She sent down a lot of root vegetables and squash. She's a canny shopper, Vincent.”

Vincent grunted something as he filled his mouth.

“Your appetite seems improved,” Father commented.

Vincent nodded and paused his eating. He might as well tell Father what he planned.

“I have not been looking to the future, Father. There is much to do. I wish to expand my chamber so that my son can have his own room.”

Father was silent for long moments. “I don't think there is anything preventing that, Vincent. There is that small chamber behind yours, the one we used as a kind of holding cell for Brian. It's too small to be of much use, and has been empty for a long time. It's too small even for storage. But if added to your chamber, it should be sufficient for baby Jacob.”

“Who will not be a baby much longer,” Vincent pointed out. “I fear he may be like me – active.”

“Then a room of his own is a good idea, however small,” Father said.

“I want my son to see the sun and the city, and Cara has offered to care for him. Catherine's apartment is safe, even for a toddler. I think this will be a good for him. After tomorrow,” Vincent qualified.

“Ah yes. Tomorrow. Should I be there, do you think? Joe has met me.”

Vincent considered that for a moment, then shook his head.

“Father, you would just add another complication to the situation – and more questions. Diana will not be there, either. We want Joe to see Peter and Cara with my son and be satisfied. Neither Peter nor Cara have any connection to ... what happened. They are caring for Catherine's child. Joe needs to know nothing more.”

Father nodded. “Good points, Vincent. This will be hard on you.”

“No harder than losing my son to a madman for months. I want to have closure on this ... matter. Jacob is growing and must have as normal a life as possible.”

Vincent finished eating and then drank a large mug of tea, slowly. He son was awakening.

“I must feed my son. He is voracious.”

Father chuckled. “He is growing very fast, putting on weight quickly. Soon he will need some soft food. He will be large, Vincent.”

“How can you tell?” Vincent asked, curious.

“His feet and hands. They are large for a baby. He is heavier than any child his age, even Luke, who is also the son of a big man.”

“He does seem to be thriving,” Vincent commented.

“He's healthy and happy. That's most important,” Father stated.

Vincent nodded and rose to leave. “I'll draw up a plan for the new room,” he said. He picked up a bottle from William and went back to his chamber. The baby was gurgling to himself, so Vincent picked him up and watched in amazement as his son finished the bottle in record time. Perhaps some soft food should be introduced into his diet. Milk did not seem to be sufficient anymore. Vincent made a mental note to speak to William about it.

Then, he took the baby to the changing table and changed his diaper and his bib. Jacob wriggled and gurgled, as if he enjoyed the chilly air. Vincent examined him for rash, and found none. He cleaned the baby with a warm facecloth, and Jacob smiled. Vincent smiled back and kissed his son everywhere he could reach. Jacob's hands found his hair and grabbed, but not enough to hurt. Carefully, Vincent extracted himself and ran his hands over his son's golden hair. Yes, the boy had inherited his hair, no doubt of it.

He noticed the baby was yawning and put him back in his crib. Then, he sat down at his table and drew a diagram of the room behind his.

Unable to picture it, he grabbed a metal tape measure he kept handy, and walked around the tunnels to the small chamber. It had a door, of course, but that could be sealed off ... somehow. Bricks perhaps. Vincent took measurements and then went back to his chamber and wrote them down on the diagram. Then, he went to the adjoining wall and tapped on it with the tape measure. It rang, slightly. He had no idea how much rock was in between the two rooms, but whatever there was would add to the size, so that was fine.

He made a mental note to talk to Kanin – and then decided there was no time like the present. He tapped on the nearest pipe, asking Kanin if he had a moment to talk to him. The answer came in a short time that he was on his way. Vincent sat down, relieved.

Kanin entered and waved at Vincent, then pointed at the cradle and mimed a question.

Vincent nodded, then took Kanin by the arm and led him around to the small chamber.

“I want to join this to my chamber, for my son,” he explained to the stonemason.

Kanin nodded. “Should be possible.” He went to the adjoining wall and tapped it with a small, red-handled, steel hammer from his pocket. Vincent's eyebrows rose.

“Do you always carry that?”

Kanin chuckled. “No, but Luke has taken a fancy to it, probably because it looks like a toy. I have to keep it out of his sight.”

Vincent nodded. “I should take some lessons from you. I've looked after children, of course, but it's not the same when you have a child of your own.”

Kanin grinned at him. “Your son will know you better than anyone. You can't fool him – that's lesson number one. Livy and I learned that quickly. And children are expert manipulators – that's lesson number two.

“Anyhow, I think there's at least a couple of feet of bedrock between this wall and your chamber, Vincent. It could take two days to punch through a doorway. Then I guess you want this door filled in?”

“Yes, I think that would be best. A second door would be too tempting.”

“Do you want a door on this new entry?”

Vincent pondered that. “No, I think not. I can have a curtain hung. I don't want my son on the other side of a door.”

“Good idea, Vincent. He'll get into enough mischief without that. You'll need one of those expanding wooden gates for the doorway, and another for the top of your bathing chamber stairs. There may be some in the big storage room. We're using one right now.

“When do you want to start?”

“I'll let you know tomorrow, Kanin. I have to talk to Cara. She has offered to babysit Jacob, and I think it would be good for him to be somewhere else during the day. She has moved into Catherine's apartment.”

Kanin nodded. “Think she might like a second baby to look after?”

Vincent chuckled. “I shall ask her ... but perhaps a little later. We don't want to overwhelm her from the start. Two children might be fine as long as they don't fight. Luke is older, so perhaps he'll be a big brother.”

“Some responsibility would be good for him,” Kanin said wryly. “He's a little spoiled. Too much attention. A day or two away from us and the tunnels would be a good education.”

The two men parted company and Vincent returned to his chamber. He had better talk to William next, before he forgot.

Baby Jacob was asleep, so Vincent went to the dining hall and walked into the kitchen. William was overseeing the washing up by the work team, so he waited. When he heard William give a sigh of relief after handing over the last serving dish, he approached. William looked at him and wordlessly beckoned him into his office, a cramped room where he kept all his recipe books and inventory records. The big man sat in his chair on the far side of the desk, and Vincent sat himself down in the other, a chair made for 'their' type of man – large, armed and comfortable. Vincent sighed with relief, glad to be sitting down.

“What can I do for you?” William asked.

“Father thinks Jacob should be started on some soft food now. He does seem to be somewhat unsatisfied with milk alone. He's always hungry.”

William nodded. “It's probably time. I make some mashed vegetable and meat dishes for other babies, so I'll make a little more for you. We may have to experiment a little. Some babies don't like some foods.”

Vincent was about to thank him when he thought of another question. “How much should I feed him to start?”

William grinned. “Whatever he'll eat, Vincent. Babies will let you know when they've had enough.” He looked pointedly at Vincent's vest and Vincent understood. Good thing he had some bibs. Maybe he should wear one himself – an extra large one.

“Is there anything ready that I can feed him, tonight? If I don't, he may wake up in the middle of the night.”

“Yes, I believe I have a little left from supper. I'll give you a small bowl of that and a spoon.”

“Thank-you, William.”

Vincent waited. Vincent decided he was hungry too and grabbed a muffin and a sandwich – both left over from other meals. William left such things on a table by the kitchen entry for anyone.

He had just finished when he realized that William was standing nearby watching him.

“What?” he asked.

“It's very good to see you eating, Vincent. You were losing weight, and in a man with your frame, that's not good – especially since you've never been overweight. If anyone saw me lose that much weight, they'd have doubts about the food I'm cooking.” He chuckled, making his belly jiggle.

Vincent looked down at himself and had to admit that William was right. His vest was loose and his pants were too. He hadn't really paid any attention, except to tighten his belt a couple more notches.

William handed over a small basket containing a bowl and spoon, plus another bottle of milk. Vincent thanked him, and since he could tell that the baby was still asleep, he went to talk to Father. He found him in his customary position, poring over some large reference work. When he looked up, Vincent addressed him.

“I've talked to Kanin about expanding my chamber to give Jacob a small room, and he says it might take a couple of days to get through that adjoining wall.”

Father nodded. “He's probably right. Remember how long it took to make you a stairway into our bathing pool?”

Vincent did remember. And the mess was substantial. He would have to find a way to prevent the dust from entering his chamber and affecting the baby.

“I'll need some plastic sheeting, to block the dust as we work.”

“I believe Kanin has a lot of it somewhere, used when he was carving out the chamber for himself and Livy.”

Of course, Vincent admonished himself. And no doubt others used it when they had to do expansions to their chambers – not unheard of.

“Thank-you, Father, I'll ask Kanin.”

Father regarded Vincent seriously. He could tell that Vincent was nervous, and somewhat distracted - and he didn't need to guess the reason.

“Don't worry about tomorrow, Vincent. Peter can be relied on to mollify Joe. After all, he's a doctor – no one knows how to do that better.”

“Yes,” Vincent agreed, while not stating the obvious - that Joe was not a worried relative.

“I'm going to try to feed my son some food, now,” he told Father. “William has given me something. I think the baby is probably hungry. He always is.”

“Can you sense that in him, Vincent?”

“Yes, but only when he's awake. He is just beginning to awaken now, so I will go back.”

Father nodded, and Vincent returned to his own chamber with the basket. On the way, he tried to remember how to feed a baby soft food from a spoon. It had been some years since he had done so.

The baby was awake when he got there, so he put the basket on his bed and then picked up his son. He found a bib for the baby, and tucked the large napkin into his shirt at the neck, then sat down on his bed. He soon realized he needed three hands. He recalled that there were highchairs around somewhere, and made a mental note to find one. In the meantime, he put the bowl on his lap and spooned some of the contents to Jacob's mouth.

The baby regarded the spoon and looked at his father, as if questioning his sanity. Vincent prodded the delicate mouth and it opened enough to allow the spoon entry. Then he waited, while his son sucked the stuff off and he could remove the spoon. That went reasonably well, he thought. The second one was easier, but Vincent noticed that the baby wrinkled his nose. Vincent smelled the stuff and found nothing untoward. It smelled like mashed vegetables and fruit – squash, potato and apple. He filled another spoon and Jacob obligingly ate it, but not with any great passion. Vincent mentally shrugged, and managed a few more spoonfuls, before the baby blew the contents of one spoon out all over his father. Some of it even got on the napkin.

Vincent sighed, ruefully wiped the child's mouth and his own face, and reverted to the bottle, which was fortunately still warm. Jacob sucked on it gladly and with gusto. He drank most of it, and Vincent put the remainder back in the basket, then put his son over his shoulder to burp him, which the baby did obligingly. Vincent then removed the large napkin and the baby's bib and moved to his chair. Jacob regarded him with his usual intensity and Vincent kissed his forehead, which made the baby smile.

Vincent noticed that his son could sit on his own and was indeed quite strong when the child grasped one of his hands. He had a good grip. He played with the baby for a while, encouraging him to reach and making him laugh.

The child's happiness was contagious. Vincent could not remember feeling so ... connected to his son, so contented. For the first time, looking in those green eyes did not cause his heart to skip a beat. Jacob was becoming a person, unique and wonderful – not merely a reminder of a loved one lost. That, he realized, was a large step in the right direction. Perhaps he was healing, now that he had taken on a larger role in his son's care.

Whatever else I want for my son, being associated with his mother's death must not be one of them, if I can do anything about it. How that can be managed, I didn't know – but I must find a way.

In between one patty-cake and the next, the boy's eyes started to flag a little, and Vincent decided it was time for bed. He took the baby to the table and changed his diaper, then put him in his cradle.

When the child was asleep, he left quietly, picked up his lantern, and went to the larger of the storage rooms. He could see a highchair tilted at an acute angle, and realized it had a broken leg, so he looked further. Near the back, was a very old wooden one with faded appliques, now indistinguishable. It had been worn smooth by many bottoms and backs. Perfect, Vincent decided, and carried it back to his chamber. It was a little low for him on the bed, but would work if he sat in his chair. So be it! He dusted it off, then used a clean rag and water to wash it down. The tray lifted well and but one leg was a little short on his uneven floor, so he propped it with a folded rag until it didn't rock.

Satisfied he had done everything he could for the time being, Vincent undressed and climbed into bed. For the next several hours he attempted to read – but his mind kept wandering to the next day, and what it would bring. Finally, he blew out his candle.

He fell asleep, but his dreams were tortured. He kept seeing his son being carried away by Joe - and himself unable to move. His feet seemed welded to the floor. He could see the baby's arms waving, and hear him cry, but seemed to be rendered mute as well, unable to even say goodbye.

Chapter 10

Vincent must have slept at some point, because he was awakened by the pipes announcing breakfast, and his son gurgling in his crib.

He quickly washed and dressed, changed Jacob, and carried him to the dining hall. He found a bottle and a small bowl of porridge waiting in the kitchen, and sat down next to Father to feed his son. The elder Jacob was finishing his tea and his brows knit in a frown.

“Vincent, you know you don't have to do this all the time. Give him to me and get yourself some breakfast.”

Vincent nodded and did as he was told. He was hungry, and made short work of two muffins, a couple of sausages, scrambled eggs, and fried potatoes. He poured a cup of tea and sighed. His son was examining his grandfather's vest, and chuckling.

“He's a happy and curious child,” Father remarked, ruffling the baby's golden hair.

“He's adorable,” Mary said, coming up behind them and smiling at the sight of the two men and the baby. “I haven't seen him lately. He's grown, I believe, in just that short time.”

“Ah yes, and we must weigh him today,” Father said. “If you're finished, Vincent, you take him and bring him to the clinic.”

Vincent rose and extracted his son from the patriarch, carefully prying his grasp from Father's shirt ties, then waited for the older man to get up and grip his cane. They proceeded to the clinic, where a scale waited.

Father adjusted the weights and looked at the result, then made an entry in a book on a shelf, nearby.

“Hmmm. Very good. He IS putting on weight rapidly, Vincent. And now he's eating some soft food, he'll grow even faster. You should be able to reduce his feedings to three times a day.”

Vincent nodded and lifted his son, realizing as he did so that his diaper was wet again. He sighed.

“Thank-you, Father. I must change him – that, I suspect, will still be frequent.”

Father chuckled, then looked serious. “You must make sure you eat properly too, Vincent.”

“So William has reminded me, Father. But I am not doing anything, so my appetite reflects that.”

“You are not on the work schedule, except to expand your chamber,” Father told him. “Your job is to keep your son fed and happy. That will be a harder job as he gets older. You'll see.”

Vincent nodded, not unaware of what caring for a baby involved, but finding it difficult to apply to his son, who was not even crawling, yet. Then, it occurred to him that he had no idea what his son was really capable of now, much less what he would do later. He returned to his chamber, deep in thought. He found a note propped up on his table, and discovered it was from Cara. He sat Jacob on his lap while he read it.

“Vincent,

Please join us for lunch at noon.

Cara”

Well, that solved what to do with some of the time until 2:00 pm, he mused. He put Jacob on an old towel on the carpet, to see what he would do. The baby waved his arms and legs for a while, gurgling happily, then rolled onto his stomach by twisting his body like a cat's. Vincent watched in amazement, as his son attempted to move in that position. The baby did manage to prop himself on his arms, but could not coordinate his legs well enough to move forward. He gurgled and rolled onto his back, then waved his arms at his father.

Vincent laughed, somewhat relieved that he was still needed. He picked up the baby, who immediately used both hands to grasp his vest. He kissed his son and got a big toothless smile in return.

Time to see to the essentials, Vincent decided. He brought out the baby tub from under the table, poured in water from the kettle on the brazier, then added enough cold water to make it lukewarm. Then he undressed his son, and placed him in the bath. Jacob splashed and wriggled like a seal and Vincent was soon almost as wet as his son. He managed to get the baby soaped and scrubbed, then rinsed as best he could. He took the baby out onto the table and dried him, Jacob giggling and wriggling happily all the while. Vincent had to keep one hand on him while he dried, so the child didn't fall off the table. Finally, he was able to get on a clean diaper, one of the new ones Cara had sent, and with a sigh, then carried the child to his bed and sat down gratefully. His son was exhausting! Father was correct, he was not taking good care of himself. This shouldn't have tired him out.

He sat playing with Jacob and catching his breath for some while. The baby seemed indefatigable, but he had to be dressed, so Vincent bestirred himself and left the child on the bed while he found the new clothing Cara has sent.

He picked out a soft one piece outfit and a pair of socks and dressed Jacob. The zipper was plastic, and shielded from the baby on the inside. They thought of everything, he marvelled. He left Jacob on his bed while he packed a bib, the other outfit, two diapers and a pair of socks into the new bag. He thought a moment, then put a bottle to warm in the pan on the brazier. He didn't need it yet, but he would take it with them for lunch.

Now, what to do? He looked down at himself and decided he needed a change of clothing too. He was soaking wet. But first, he rinsed out the soiled diaper in his bathroom, and put it in the hamper by the chamber door and closed the lid. Then, he rooted around, found a clean shirt and long leather tunic, and another pair of pants. He dressed and then considered his next move. It was still at least two hours until lunch.

Vincent couldn't bear waiting in his chamber until noon, so he gathered up his son and walked to the Chamber of the Falls. Sitting on a handy rock seat there, he dandled Jacob on his lap, so the baby could see the falls, and was gratified when the child become still. The falls always amazed Vincent, and obviously the baby found them fascinating too.

This place brought back memories, sweet and sad. Vincent sighed. Robert Frost's poems came to him often, these days. Softly, he recited a poem to his son.

No speed of wind or water rushing by

But you have speed far greater. You can climb

Back up a stream of radiance to the sky,

And back through history up the stream of time.

And you were given this swiftness, not for haste

Nor chiefly that you may go where you will,

But in the rush of everything to waste,

That you may have the power of standing still-

Off any still or moving thing you say.

Two such as you with such a master speed

Cannot be parted nor be swept away

From one another once you are agreed

That life is only life forevermore

Together wing to wing and oar to oar

(The Master Speed - Robert Frost)

“We will not be parted, my son,” he whispered. This time, he would make sure of it.

Chapter 11

Vincent reluctantly left the view over the falls and carried Jacob back to his chamber. He decided he should leave before he became maudlin. It would take him a little while to get to Peter's entry, since he could not go at his usual speed. He picked up the bottle of milk he had prepared and put it in the bag, tucked to keep upright. In doing so, he realized there was a bulge in the outer zipped pocket. Still holding Jacob, he zipped it open and reached in to find a collection of very long straps with a broad piece of fabric in the middle.

He grinned. He knew what this was, and once again gave silent thanks to Cara. Many women below used these to carry their babies. Vincent held it up and considered how best to put it on safely. Yes, the bottom first.

He sat down on the bed and put the baby on his lap while he tied the straps behind him just one loop, above his hips. They were long enough to bring around the front, so he did so, tying them firmly. Then he put Jacob into the loose fabric square facing him, then took the upper straps and looped them under the lower one at the back and then around to the front, where he tied them firmly, keeping the baby in place.

He stood up experimentally, and adjusted his stance just a little to take in the extra weight. Yes, this was good. He grabbed the bag, tapped a signal that he was leaving for Peter's, and walked slowly out the doorway.

The baby's weight did make his stride awkward, but he straightened his back again, which helped. The child was indeed getting heavy. He knew he would be early, but Peter knew his ways and would not mind.

It was good to be moving towards a goal, he realized, even one so fraught with danger. He tried not to think about it and hummed to his son, who had fallen asleep. How easy the life of a baby, he thought.

In time, he reached Peter's tunnel entry and activated the latch. He entered and rang the bell which would announce him to Peter and Cara, then turned on the light to see his way up the stairs. Stairs! It was very awkward going up with Jacob in front of him and he was grateful for the railing and both hands free. He pushed open the door at the top and gratefully stood in the little hallway, near the kitchen.

“Vincent,” Peter exclaimed, coming to meet him with his customary smile. “You're only a little early. How's our little fellow? The look suits you.”

Vincent smiled back. “It seemed the best way to carry him. He's getting heavy, Peter.”

“Come in, then, and we'll relieve you of that burden for a while. I have a little chair for him.”

Vincent followed his friend into the den, where he noticed a beautiful child's wicker chair, and a wicker cot with sturdy round rails.

“They're Lloyd's loom,” Peter commented. “Passed down from generation to generation. They were mine, once. I'd like you to have them.”

Vincent looked at him. “Doesn't Susan want them?”

Peter chuckled. “Too far to ship them now, Vincent, even if she had been interested in them – which she isn't. Too last century. I'd like you to use them and pass them along to anyone who wants them in the tunnels.”

Vincent thanked him and took the baby over to the little chair. Jacob had awakened and was now restless. He put down the bag, extracted his son from the sling and put him in the chair, holding onto his chest to make sure he stayed upright. Surprisingly, Jacob sat quite comfortably in it, and looked around with interest. Vincent took his hand away but stayed close. He stroked his son's hair and got a chuckle from him and a look that seemed pure Catherine. He sighed.

“He's a strong child, Vincent. Very robust. He'll be tall like you, I think,” Peter commented.

“Father says that too, although I am not convinced.”

“Oh, doesn't he look precious in that chair!” came Cara's voice, as she joined them.

Vincent turned to smile at her. “He's a lucky child. He seems to attract lovely gifts. Thank you for all the items you sent down, Cara. I had not thought of his clothing. He needs to make a good impression.”

“Oh, I don't think the clothing is THAT important. Babies wear stuff out quickly, and the mothers I've seen soon give up on trying to keep them neat - and and concentrate on clean. But yes, we do want to give Joe the impression we aren't slacking.

“Lunch is ready, by the way! Jacob is probably hungry too.”

Vincent nodded. He picked up Jacob and his bag, then followed Peter and Cara into the kitchen, where a large table boasted plates of sandwiches, cookies, cheese, mixed nuts, and cut fruit.

Vincent sat Jacob in a high chair, also wicker, and extracted his milk bottle from the bag. Cara took it from him and put it in a pan of boiling water on the stove. She brought over a bowl of mash that Vincent's nose told him included apple, ham and peas. He was about to sit down to feed his son, when Cara pushed him towards a different chair.

“No, Vincent, let me feed him. You eat. Peter tells me you're too thin.”

Vincent sighed – not entirely happy that everyone seemed to be obsessed with his weight - but gladly sat down opposite Peter. He filled a plate with some of everything he saw and ate heartily and with appetite, even taking seconds. He considered thirds, but decided he had had enough. Peter looked at him, approvingly.

“Eat as much as you wish, Vincent. It's good to see you looking so ... present.”

Vincent regarded his friend with wry humour, trying to imagine himself, at his size, not being 'present' wherever he was. But he knew what Peter was trying to say. The weeks before Cara had arrived were a blur. He had not paid much attention to anything except his son – who looked so contented now that Vincent had to assume his abstraction had also affected the child.

He grinned at Peter. “I am fully here, now,” he remarked. “And perhaps people will find something else to concern them besides my pounds.”

Cara was eating her own lunch, and making Jacob giggle by tickling him as she did so. The baby gurgled happily. Vincent was glad they got along.

Peter chuckled. “When someone your size loses a lot of weight – as you have – it's bound to be noticed. Surely even you realize there is less of you.”

“I do admit that I am discovering how tiring it is looking after a baby. I have not had enough practice.”

Which reminded him he needed to get Cara's help.

“Cara, I have to expand my chamber to make a room for Jacob. Could you look after him during the day for two or three days, soon?”

Cara looked at him and smiled. “Of course, Vincent. Just tell me when. I can even bring him here if necessary, sometimes. Peter needs my help to set up our little clinic, but right now we're still working on plans. Jacob would be no bother.”

Vincent rose and lifted his son out of the high chair, immediately getting a nose-full of a smell he knew well. He grabbed the bag and looked around.

“Um, he needs to be changed. Where can I do it?”

Peter led him to a front room where a stainless steel table was sitting against the wall.

“This will be our little examination room, soon. Feel free.” Peter ran some warm water into a bowl and found some disposable cloths. He placed them nearby, and left Vincent. “Come back to the den when you're ready.”

Vincent nodded, placed the bag on the table, and put down Jacob. He extracted a clean diaper from the bag, then undressed his son carefully. Wonder of wonders, the only food was on the bib. He put that into a handy pail on the floor, along with the soiled diaper, cleaned off his son with one of the disposable cloths, then dried him with another. Then he put on the clean diaper and dressed Jacob again. He had not thought to pack towels and made a mental note to add one, next time. He knew some parents used baby powder, but Father had warned about the commercial types and recommended corn starch as a safe, scent-free alternative, should he need it. So far he hadn't, but it was best to be prepared. William made sure to keep a lot in the kitchen, since it was an essential ingredient of shortbread.

Vincent left Jacob on the table long enough to rinse out the diaper in the sink and put it in the pail. He had not thought to bring anything to put a wet diaper in, either! He looked around the room and found a box of small garbage bags on a shelf. He put the bib and diaper in one, tied it, and shoved it into the bottom of the bag. Then, he washed his hands thoroughly and dried them, picked up his son and the bag, and headed for the den. He found Cara and Peter already seated, and put Jacob in the cot. The baby almost asleep, for which Vincent was grateful.

“He IS filling that out well,” Peter observed.

“Yes,” Vincent agreed, placing a blanket over his now drowsing son. “He can sit up too, so the chair will be useful for some time. I will be grateful for this cot, Peter. He is outgrowing his cradle.”

“Good! Better with you than taking up room in my attic. Now, are you clear about what we're doing with Joe?”

“Doing? I thought he was just visiting and seeing Jacob.”

“Well, yes, but I will have the paperwork handy that legally makes me his guardian, and have also officially designated Cara as caregiver. Joe will want this in black and white.”

Vincent nodded. “Thank you, Peter. I do appreciate all you both are doing.”

“We'll invite him in here and show him all this,” Cara pointed at the wicker furniture, “so he'll see we've got it all covered. We don't have a baby room, but this isn't an inspection of the facilities. We'll keep him distracted with chit chat. Jacob is adorable. Even Joe will plainly see that he's happy.”

Vincent sighed. “Catherine used to tell me Joe was a bulldog – and Diana says so too. I think he just wants to be sure he has done everything a friend would do. Diana says Catherine's death hit him hard. They were friends, as well as colleagues.”

“I met Joe and Catherine in the DA's office once,” Peter remarked with a chuckle, “and told that stale joke of mine about her. Joe was friendly after that. I anticipate no problems now.”

Vincent regarded the clock on the mantelpiece and thought perhaps it was time he made himself scarce.

“Where do you want me to wait?”

Peter nodded. “I'll show you. Follow me.”

Vincent picked up the bag, deciding it was best out of the way, and followed Peter back downstairs and to a cosy little room with a thick rag rug, a narrow but tall bookshelf full of books, two comfortable chairs, and a large television on a stand. The television had a slot on the top, which Vincent presumed was for the videotapes he saw on a shelf below it. Diana had one – as had Catherine. Another stand had a CD player and a small stack of compact disks. There was also a small fireplace, probably from the same chimney as the one in the den, and a stack of wood. The mantelpiece had an ornate clock, probably electric, with a loud tick. All the comforts, he thought.

Peter pointed at one of the chairs. “If you sit in that one, you should be able to hear us. The grate in the ceiling is very near the one in the den. We'll prepare a seat for Joe near it, and sit near him so that you can hear everything. I'll have the paperwork on a small table between us. Cara will take charge of Jacob when necessary.”

Vincent nodded. “Thank you, Peter.”

Peter patted him on the shoulder and left.

Chapter 12

Vincent took a look at Peter's basement library, selected an anthology of Victorian poetry just to have something to hold onto, and sat down in the chair Peter had indicated. He could hear Cara talking and concentrated. She was cooing at the baby. He heard Peter laugh.

Then, there was a period of silence. Vincent looked at the clock, and a few minutes before 2:00 pm, he heard what he presumed was the front doorbell. Feet left the room above him and tramped away. More feet returned, and he heard the low hum of greetings and creaks as chairs received weight. He sat stiffly until he heard a voice he didn't know – Joe's, he presumed – thanking them for seeing him, then tried to relax a little.

He heard Peter's voice, then Cara's and thought he heard his son laugh too. Vincent closed his eyes to concentrate.

“Cute kid,” he heard Joe say - then “Who's the father?”

Vincent's eyes popped open and he stiffened in shock. Joe was even more forthright than he had been led to believe.

He heard Peter's voice, which had become softer, sadder.

“Catherine didn't tell me she was pregnant before she was abducted. I don't think she told anyone, Joe. I didn't see her often. You kept her pretty busy. I only knew from the blood work report because she was going to donate blood.”

“To me,” Joe said bluntly. “I was nearly blown to bits by someone I considered a friend. I gave a coded book to Cathy to check out - from my hospital bed. She took it .... and that was the last time I saw her ... alive. That book ... if I hadn't given it to her ... she would be still alive. I left her alone, with Moreno knowing she had it. I'll never forgive myself for that.”

“You couldn't have known, Joe.”

“I should have realized something wasn't right. It was too pat. Moreno practically had to hit me on the head with it before I caught on ... that he didn't want me looking for Cathy because he knew where she was – or at least who had her ... not the other BS he told me.”

“We were both caught in that tangled web, Joe, the one Gabriel intended, if I understood what I read in the newspapers. I lost someone who was like a daughter to me. I was her godparent. Her parents insisted on it. And I couldn't do anything but wait.

“I'm grateful to Diana for finding Cathy's baby. I don't know how she did it, but she told me where to come and she handed him to me. I didn't question her. I wanted Cathy's child to be safe. She left her estate in my hands, so it was the least I could do. I filed the legal paperwork to be his guardian. Cara, here, will be his official caregiver.”

“I'm a nurse.” Cara's voice was clear and strong.

Joe murmured something Vincent didn't catch, as he seemed to have moved away from the heating grate.

“I haven't talked to Diana,” Vincent heard Peter state, clearly. “I understood she felt the child belonged with me, as the executor of Cathy's estate, and her doctor.”

“I'm not arguing about that, Doc,” Joe's voice came through clearly now.

Footsteps returned to the area of the grate and someone – Joe probably - sat down. Joe spoke, his voice carrying easily to Vincent, who was now very tense, book forgotten, hands gripping the arms of his chair.

“Sit down Doc, and Cara. I want to say this, and I want you to think about it. No pressure. Please.”

There was a slight pause. The silence was heavy with portent. Then Joe continued.

“Ma Maxwell didn't raise a stupid kid. My dad was a cop. I learned how to tell when he wasn't saying something important. My Ma probably did too, but she never pressed him. It was a tough job, and she never knew if he would be home for dinner - or if one day he would leave the house for the last time. She gave him all the love and respect she could.”

Peter said something Vincent didn't catch.

“Bear with me Doc. I gotta say this. I know you're not lying to me. But you're not telling me everything, either. That's okay - I don't have to know everything. But one thing bothers me. Cathy was in love with someone ... and for some reason, she couldn't let on. I knew it, and one night in the office, after she had taken some time off, she told me this someone special had been ill. That was the last time I saw her before my ... accident. I think he must be the father of this baby. Either she didn't know she was pregnant, or she didn't have time to tell him before she was abducted. My fault, again. I kept her too busy, used her too much, because she was good at her job.

“I know Cathy didn't play around. The only guy I ever saw her with was Elliot Burch. There was something there, but it ended quick. Burch did something she couldn't forgive, and I can guess what it was. That guy was all about money, and Cathy wanted more. Afterwards, she was always polite, but professional - that's all. She didn't tell anyone about a boyfriend, because I asked Jenny – her best friend. I wonder about that. But she had one - someone she cared a lot about.

“Then lately, I started to think about Diana. She seemed to have a secret too, and it involved some guy Cathy knew. Diana closed down the investigation into Cathy's abduction ... as is her prerogative ... when we closed in on Gabriel. But she refused to say what she had discovered about this mysterious guy, other than that it was a dead end.

“So here I am, Doc, with the only proof that there was a guy, Cathy's baby. Too bad he can't talk. So I'm thinking there's a reason why no one knows anything about this guy. He's being protected for some reason. Then I think back on some of Cathy's cases, dangerous ones she managed to ace, but left some damage behind her. There was no loss to society from those scumbags, but how did a little woman like Cathy come out alive, even if she knew street fighting? Yeah, I knew about Isaac Stubbs. He's a good man.”

Vincent's eyes popped open. Peter protested that he knew nothing about this. He sounded harried. Vincent tried to lean closer and closed his eyes again, his nails unconsciously digging into the chair arms now, tightly. The book he had been holding fell to the carpeted floor unheeded – and fortunately silently.

“S'okay Doc, I'm not pressing you. I know what I know. None of this will go outside this house, I promise. I owe Cathy, big time. She was a hard worker and didn't deserve to die of a drug overdose from that slimeball. I'll carry this guilt to my grave. I deserve to.”

There was a long pause. Vincent shifted, eager to hear more. Joe continued.

“So, I'm assuming you actually do know who the father of that child is, but you have been sworn to secrecy. I'm thinking it wouldn't be just anyone, or why this charade? He must have a good reason for staying out of sight, and there are only a couple of reasons for that. If he loved Cathy as much as she loved him – and I think he did – then it's something no one would understand or accept, except maybe you, Doc.

There was a murmur of protest from Peter. Cara was quiet. Joe plowed ahead, undaunted.

“Why did Diana call you to take the baby? Okay, she knew you were Cathy's doctor, but she really wanted to make sure the kid got to his father ... this mysterious man both she and Cathy knew. I have a hunch Gabriel knew him, too. It might explain a lot ... like that broken jail cell in the basement of that mansion. But I have no proof – and we didn't look for it, Doc. Even then, I knew there were things I didn't have to know, officially. Diana made sure I knew which, in her way. She killed Gabriel ... and we were both satisfied with that. Then she clammed up.

“So I know the father is alive and I know he's considered safe with a baby, whatever his problems are. So he's not a criminal, and he's not insane. It's something else. He might be disabled, disfigured perhaps, so badly that he prefers to stay out of sight ... like the Elephant Man. Too unusual for the likes of me, apparently.”

There was a long silence and Vincent held his breath, waiting. He heard Cara say something, probably to Jacob. Peter gave a diplomatic cough. Vincent could imagine him shaking his head in disbelief. Then Joe spoke again.

“I see you understand me, Doc. No need to say anything. This secret was Cathy's and is still Diana's ... and yours. I get it. Joe Maxwell, the New York DA is too big a risk. Maybe you're right.

“I'm not asking for any details. Just know that if you ever need anything, or this kid does, when he grows up, I'll drop everything to help. I mean that. And if someday I meet your standards and can be introduced ... well, you know where to find me.”

There was a pause, and a chair shifted on the floor.

“Thanks for seeing me, Doc. Nice to meet you Cara. You gave me a shock when I came in. You look a lot like Cathy. I know Jacob is in good hands. That was never my concern.”

A series of footsteps left the room. Vincent extracted his nails from the chair arms and looked at his hands with distaste.

“These hands are my hands,” he heard her say, as he had that night on her balcony, so long ago now. He had tried to believe her then, and tried again, now. He slumped, and closed his eyes until the pain of her loss passed. Finally, he let out a huge sigh of relief.

After all those revelations, he had half-expected Peter to bring Joe downstairs. He was almost sorry it hadn't happened. Perhaps there would come a time ...

He shook himself and rose from the chair, waiting until he heard the front door close, then he stiffly made his way to the basement stairs. Then he remembered the baby bag and went back for it. Upstairs, finally, he walked into the den, and found Cara and Peter sitting down, looking equally stunned. They watched him sit down on the chair Joe had used, and he regarded them both helplessly. What could he say?

Peter finally managed a chuckle. “That Joe is quite a guy,” he remarked. “A class act. Cathy ... and Diana ... were right . He's a bulldog - but one with a heart of gold.”

Cara nodded. “And his last words, before he went out the front door, Vincent, were for you.” She looked at Peter, who grinned and nodded.

“Tell the father I envy him, and give him my sincere regards, please,” she quoted. “If that doesn't tell you everything, Vincent, I'm Cleopatra. Joe loved her, too.”

Vincent nodded. He had suspected it, but also knew Catherine had never been tempted. Her heart was big enough to accept the regard of all the men she had met, while still loving himself – whether they were Elliot, Steven, Michael ... or Joe. That had been hard to accept, sometimes, but he'd had to face the fact that Catherine's love was not limited to himself. He had learned to deal with his jealousy – an emotion he had never experienced before. Catherine had explained it to him as only she could. He sighed.

“I would like to meet Joe, someday,” Vincent found himself saying. He had met the other men in her life, albeit not always under ideal circumstances. Joe was different. He had truly cared for her. Vincent regretted never meeting him. Father had, though, and had found him straightforward.

Peter coughed. “I hope you can ... someday, Vincent.

“Lord, I'm glad that's over. Never assume you know anything! I live by that, Vincent, as a doctor – but I never expected Joe would surprise me like this. I'm assuming you know what he was talking about ... about Cathy's assignments. On the other hand, maybe I can guess, and it's better I don't know everything. Joe said something of the sort. He's right.”

Vincent looked at his friend and chose his words carefully. “Joe was very close to the truth, Peter. I knew when Catherine was in danger, and I went to help her. I did save her life, but she saved mine, too, and together we saved the lives of others.

“She took on dangerous jobs against violent, desperate men. Some Joe couldn't have known about; they were private matters, old ones from her world ... or mine.

“I ... we expected too much of her too, Peter. She kept our secret at some cost to herself. She didn't tell me she was pregnant. Joe was correct. She didn't have time to. Was she afraid to? Possibly. I was recovering from my illness, and our bond was gone. I was self-absorbed; cut off from her.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Have you come to any conclusion about why that happened?”

Vincent nodded. “I think ... it was because she was pregnant, Peter. I was well, but the bond was gone. Why? She told me it had been a gift, that more gifts were waiting for me. I had no idea what she meant ... then.”

Vincent paused, his expression showed the pain of that remembrance.

“That was the last time I saw her, alive. I received a note to meet her ... but she didn't come. Couldn't, I know now. I couldn't find her because I didn't have the bond to guide me any longer.”

Peter nodded. “It must have been devastating – to realize you could do nothing but search.”

Cara looked at him and spoke. “I have no idea what it must have been like, to know where someone you love is all the time – but I can imagine how helpless you felt, as we all do, when someone we love is taken from us. We always wonder if we could have done anything differently the last time we saw them. I've been there too.”

She dropped her head and gathered herself together with an effort. There was no time today, but Vincent promised himself that he would encourage her to talk to him about this sad part of her life. She had kept much inside. He could see it in her face; he knew that scenario well.

Vincent nodded, in response, then looked over at his son.

“Joe has his guilt ... but I have mine. I should have realized she had something to tell me, that last time. I was too upset. So her months with Gabriel are my fault, too. Diana found Gabriel ... afterwards ... and my son. He is everything to me. He somewhat assuages my guilt, for at least he is where he should be now, but he has lost much too.”

Peter said nothing. He was looking down at the floor. Cara spoke up.

“Vincent, you had been ill. Of course losing your bond was traumatic. Catherine was worried about you, naturally. She would have come below if she could. She tried to. She was betrayed – but not by you, Vincent – by Moreno. Some of that is on Joe, as he said, but it seems Catherine told no one about this secret book.”

“She told Elliot,” Vincent said. “He died for it, and I almost did – but Diana found me and gave me hope.”

Peter spoke slowly. “I have guilt too, Vincent. How could I not? Why didn't she tell me she was pregnant? Why didn't I realize how dangerous her life was? Sometimes, a doctor needs to delve deeper. I didn't. I could have talked to Joe – made him back off a little.

“I couldn't even attend her funeral. My duties got in the way, but I'm glad they did, that time. I couldn't bear it – because I failed her, too, didn't keep her safe, as a godparent should. Then I met Cara, after the funeral. I've had to come to terms with it. You will too, Vincent.”

Peter stood up. “Well, enough. We've all had enough of a shock for one day. Would you care for something to eat and drink, Vincent? I could use a drink ... of something strong.”

Vincent shook his head. “I should take Jacob home. He's sleeping now, but soon he'll want to eat, again.”

“I'll get his bottle and the rest of his food,” Cara said, and rushed ahead of them.

“I'll leave the bed and chair downstairs for you, Vincent. Do you want the highchair too?” Peter asked.

Vincent nodded. “Thank you, Peter. I would be grateful for all of them.”

Vincent gathered up his son and followed Peter to the kitchen. Cara packed the bag with the bottle and a plastic container with the remaining food. She helped Vincent get Jacob into the sling and smiled at him.

“You look ... very competent, Vincent.”

Vincent smiled at her. It was becoming easier to do that, he realized.

“Could you look after Jacob tomorrow, Cara?”

“Yes, of course. I can be ready. I can look after him in my apartment now. When shall I meet you at the threshold?”

Vincent realized he hadn't considered the means. Of course he couldn't ride on top of the elevator with Jacob in his arms!

“I hope you don't regret becoming a babysitter, Cara. Would tomorrow around 9 am suit you? I'll wait until you open the hatch, in case there's anyone in the basement.”

Cara nodded. “See you then.”

Vincent picked up the bag, said goodbye to Peter, who was pouring himself a drink, and Cara, who waved. He made his way down the stairs, out the secret door and along the tunnels to home.

Chapter 13

His son was still asleep when Vincent got back to his chamber. He carefully extracted him from the sling and put him in his crib.

Better give Peter a few hours to get the furniture down the stairs. After supper, perhaps.

In the meantime, it was still afternoon, so he went looking for some drop sheets to cover his furniture, and a plastic sheet for wall they would be breaking up. He went to the small room where Kanin and Cullen kept their more common tools and found a pile of plastic sheets, neatly folded, and stack of old canvas sheets. Some of the latter, he suspected, had once been tents, judging by the seams. He gathered a few and went back to his chamber.

Covering everything would be easier if there were less on his table and other surfaces, he decided. With a sigh, he went to another storage room and rooted around until he found a battered metal trunk. He heaved it back to his chamber and removed several items from shelves that might be at risk of breaking. He packed old towels around them, and then topped them with his pillar candles and holders. He would have to use lanterns for a couple of days. He lit one before he stored the last of the large candles and made sure he had enough extras for it. Then he laid the canvas sheets close to where he would unroll them and sat down on his bed, more tired than usual.

He looked at his son, who had just awakened. The pipes announced supper, so he gathered up the baby, put a bib on him, then grabbed his bottle and food, and went to the dining hall. He arrived at his customary place to find Samantha standing near his chair.

“May I feed Jacob, Vincent?”

Vincent looked at Father, who was concentrating - perhaps too well – on his food. Vincent smiled at the girl and nodded.

“Take this bottle into William to warm up, and here is some food you can feed him too.”

Samantha ran away with the two items, then returned for the baby. She took him to a short couch that had not been there at breakfast, and seated the baby, who looked around with interest. Samantha ran back into the kitchen and returned with a little stool, then went back for the food.

The couch ... loveseat ... was very familiar, and Vincent blinked in surprise, as he recognized it - in a place he could not have imagined. He watched as Samantha competently held the child and began to offer him food. Jacob ate greedily.

Vincent sighed and realized he had a plate of food waiting on the table, along with a cup of hot tea. He looked at Father again, who appeared engrossed in his meal. Vincent shrugged and ate. When he was finished, Father turned and addressed him.

“How was the meeting with Joe, Vincent?”

Vincent swallowed the last of his tea and wondered where to begin. He sighed.

“It went nothing like any of us expected, Father, but all is well. Joe has deduced almost the entirety of Catherine's story, some of which even I didn't know, and is satisfied that Jacob is in good hands – his father's hands – although my name was not mentioned.”

Father stared at him, rendered speechless. “Are you sure?” he finally managed to ask.

“Sure of what, Father? I am sure that Joe is a remarkable man and carries guilt that is even greater than mine. He has not asked anything, except to be allowed to help Jacob, should that ever be necessary.”

Father laughed wryly. “So much for Peter's assertions. That must have shocked him.”

“He had a strong drink afterwards. He was ... rattled. I could hear Joe from the basement. It was ... stressful.”

“I'm sure it was. Well, that's over at least. What happens now?”

“Cara will look after my son tomorrow and probably the next day, while Kanin and I enlarge my chamber.”

“Yes, Kanin mentioned that. I've made a note on the schedule. Take as long as you need, Vincent. You've never asked for anything, and everyone is eager to help.”

Vincent looked over at Samantha and nodded. Father chuckled. “There are more helpers to feed Jacob than there are days in the week, Vincent. You need to eat to build up your strength, so accept the gift that comes with little Jacob's celebrity – it won't be forever. There will still be plenty for your to do, never fear.”

Vincent nodded. “Peter has some furniture for Jacob, Father. I'll need some help to haul it back on one of the dollies.”

Father stood up and tapped his cane on the floor for silence. It was almost immediate. If anyone expected revelations about that day's events, they were disappointed. Father kept it short.

“Vincent needs some help to bring some furniture from Peter's. Anyone free?”

Mouse jumped up and waved madly. “Got dolly too.”

“Why doesn't that surprise me,” Father said under his breath. Then he addressed the volunteer. “Very well, Mouse. Vincent, there's your help.”

“Could you see that Jacob is put to bed, Father? We won't be long.”

Father nodded and when Vincent had left, he signalled to Rebecca, who took the child from the younger girl and carried him back to Vincent's chamber. Samantha followed. Between them, they changed the baby's diaper, washed his face and hands, dressed him in his tunnel sleepwear and lay him in the cradle. He was asleep almost immediately. They both sighed with relief.

“I'll wait for Vincent,” Rebecca said, looking around, and Samantha nodded and left.

Chapter 14

Vincent carried the dolly, partly to save his ears, as the thing's metal wheels screeched over rough spots, but mostly to speed their passage.

Mouse, who was carrying a rope in loops on his shoulder, immediately took the relative quiet as an invitation to talk.

“Is Cara your girlfriend now, Vincent?”

Vincent stiffened and looked at his friend. No point trying to explain that this was not a question he appreciated.

“No, Mouse. Cara is Catherine's cousin.”

Mouse frowned. “That means she can't be your friend?”

“Of course she's a friend, Mouse. But she is not my girlfriend.”

“Oh. What's the difference?”

Vincent frowned. “Cara is only a friend, Mouse, as Peter is a friend, as you are a friend, or Rebecca. A girlfriend is ... different. It means there is a deep attachment.”

“Deep how?”

Vincent stopped and looked down at Mouse, trying not to show his irritation.

“Mouse why are you asking me this?”

Mouse looked puzzled, but answered quickly. “Just want to know if you're happy now. Was so sad when Catherine ...” He stopped in confusion and turned red.

“Died?” It is all right to say it, Mouse. I can bear it better, now.”

“Ok good. Then Cara is a friend, but not a girlfriend. Got it.”

“That's right, Mouse.”

Vincent strode away so swiftly that Mouse had to run to keep up. They reached Peter's tunnel entry, opened the door and found the items neatly waiting inside. They stacked the three items onto the dolly, in what was necessarily an awkward arrangement, but firmly held in place with rope. Thank goodness the tied bundle wasn't tall, Vincent thought, or it may not have made it through the lower heights of some tunnels. They'd had to stack it partly on its end, in order to have room for the chair and highchair, which were nestled inside it. It was fortunate the furniture was all rattan, or it would have been impossibly heavy to shift.

“I think we'd better take the long way, not down the stairs,” Vincent commented.

Mouse nodded, and they headed back. Vincent pulled and Mouse kept a hand on the furniture, to make sure it didn't slip on the bumps. Vincent had learned how to tie knots long ago, so only a massive bump could unbalance it to that extent – but he did worry that an accident would crack the ancient rattan.

They took it slowly, but speech was impossible over the noise of the wheels, for which Vincent was grateful. The journey took longer than Vincent had anticipated, and every curve and tunnel ceiling had to be examined and negotiated carefully. They were both sweating by the time they made it to the home tunnels.

Mouse began to chatter again as they shifted the furniture into a corner of Vincent's chamber. Vincent gave him a look, and then pointed at the cradle. Mouse took the hint, and after helping to stack the chair and highchair on top of the cot, Mouse waved, put his fingers to his lips, and left. Vincent covered the furniture with a drop sheet, ready for the next day.

After looking towards his son again, Vincent noticed Rebecca, who had been sitting quietly in the shadow near his wardrobe. He carried a chair over to her and sat down with a quiet sigh.

“I almost regret teaching Mouse to talk, sometimes,” Vincent confessed quietly to her.

Rebecca chuckled. “He has that ... boundless energy we all had when we were young. Except that he's never lost it as an adult. He reminds us that we are sometimes too ... reserved.”

Vincent looked at her. “Do you think I am reserved?”

Rebecca smiled at him. “Vincent, I have very rarely seen you anything else. It's your nature. You consider every word you speak, unlike Mouse. We all know that, and that's why when you say something, you get attention. Poor Mouse is usually ignored, or not taken seriously.”

“Empty vessels make the most noise,” Vincent quoted. “Except that we know Mouse's head is anything but empty ... just somewhat ... chaotic.”

Rebecca chuckled. “Your chamber looks a bit like that now, Vincent.”

Vincent looked around and sighed again. “I have tried to make it easy to cover everything up before we start work on Jacob's room, tomorrow. I had not realized how much I have accumulated.”

“Which makes you like everyone else in these tunnels, Vincent. It's how we lay claim to our space. What we collect reflects who we are.”

“Yes,” Vincent agreed.

Rebecca was silent for a moment then revealed her reason for staying. “Vincent, I understand you have a new friend. Perhaps you could invite Cara below soon, so she can meet everyone.”

“I intend to Rebecca, but it won't be for a few days, until the work is finished.”

“Good. Everyone is dying to meet her, you know. One of the sentries says she looks like Catherine.”

“There is some resemblance,” Vincent admitted. Was that why he had accepted her as a friend so quickly? He preferred to think it was because she was easy to like.

“And Jacob likes her?”

“He seems to. But he seems to like everyone.”

“Yes. He's a much happier child, lately. Well, I should go. If you need any help with the baby, when you bring him back down, I would be happy to look after him.”

Vincent thought about that. Quite obviously, Jacob could not sleep in this chamber, while it was covered with dusty drop sheets.

“Thank-you, Rebecca. He won't be able to sleep in here, so I'll bring you his cradle tomorrow morning, before I take him to Cara. I will bring him to you when he's ready for sleep.”

Rebecca nodded. “And where will you sleep, Vincent?”

He hadn't considered that, either. There weren't many beds long enough for him. Perhaps he could camp somewhere. He shrugged in reply.

“My chamber is large, Vincent. You could sleep on the floor next to your son, if you wish. We can find you enough pads and blankets to make you comfortable. And I don't snore.”

Vincent decided he would not get a better offer. “That is generous, Rebecca. I can bring my bedding. I don't believe I snore, either.”

Truth to tell, he would probably be exhausted at the end of the day, so would not be awake for long.

Rebecca rose and planted a kiss on his cheek. Then she left before he could say anything – but he was too stunned to do so, anyway. No one but Catherine had ever kissed his cheek!

He looked around the chamber. This was the last night he would have freedom to roam for a while. He decided to walk to the culvert entrance. He needed some fresh air. His son was sleeping soundly, and he would know if the baby awakened.

Quickly, Vincent grabbed his cloak and headed out, long strides ensuring he got there quickly.

Chapter 15

It was dark out, of course, so he could stand near the culvert entry and not be seen, should anyone happen by. He did so, breathing in the night air and remembering. How often he had met Catherine here! He remembered a poem by Robert Frost and recited it silently to himself.

“Love has earth to which she clings

With hills and circling arms about-

Wall within wall to shut fear out.

But Thought has need of no such things,

For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.

On snow and sand and turn, I see

Where Love has left a printed trace

With straining in the world's embrace.

And such is Love and glad to be

But Thought has shaken his ankles free.

Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom

And sits in Sirius' disc all night,

Till day makes him retrace his flight

With smell of burning on every plume,

Back past the sun to an earthly room.

His gains in heaven are what they are.

Yet some say Love by being thrall

And simply staying possesses all

In several beauty that Thought fares far

To find fused in another star.

(Bond And Free - by Robert Frost)

Vincent sighed quietly. Yes, he was in thrall to Love, had been since he met Catherine. Her death had not changed that, and his thoughts were still often of her. They had stood here when she had given him Tennyson's 'Idylls of the King', and he remembered how they had hugged, and might have done it longer ... had not Kristopher interrupted.

“Oh, now, you can't blame me for being curious,” a voice said. Vincent felt that peculiar sensation of a presence, as he always did.

Vincent looked for the ghost, but he was staying invisible.

“You can read minds now?” he asked.

“No, of course not, Vincent. But your face is expressive. I remember that night and come here too. The two of you changed my ... existence ... in this realm, from that night forward.”

Vincent nodded, but ignored the latter part of the comment.

“It seemed as if we never had enough time. Something always interfered with our plans to be together, even for a few minutes.”

“I should resent being referred to as 'something', but I don't, Vincent. A ghost can't be insulted.”

“I know what it is like to be thought of as 'something' rather than 'someone', so I apologize, Kristopher. I was making a generalization. Most of the time, what kept us apart was work, hers or mine.”

“Yet, you worked together to help me to retrieve my paintings. I would do anything to help you.”

“If only you could bring Catherine to me, just once,” Vincent replied sadly.

Kristopher said nothing for long moments.

“I can't, Vincent, but not for the reason you might think. I have no control over anyone but myself ... and I don't know why I'm 'at large'. I'm alone, and there's no one to ask. I've never seen another ghost – if that's what I am. Maybe there's something I have to do in this world – isn't that what they used to say about restless spirits? But I'm aware of presences, sometimes. Catherine's spirit is strong - that much I do know. I've sensed her, but she isn't there for me. I can't talk to her.”

Vincent sighed. “Sometimes, I too think she is close, watching, consoling. I had so little time to talk to her, at the end.”

“Yet you did find her, and she told you about your son. That was a gift I envy.”

“Envy?” Vincent queried. “I thought a ghost would have left such emotions behind.”

“Vincent, there is nothing to my existence and I have little comfort. I have regrets – many of them. The only person who seemed to understand me when I was alive was that old bookseller. Perhaps because we both had a passion for books. Now he welcomes me, but has nothing to offer but his silence.”

“'The rest is silence',” quoted Vincent, thinking again how Shakespeare knew everything. His own heart was filled with an empty silence. Memories merely made that silence deafening.

“Don't waste your life in silence, Vincent. There is too much of it when you are dead. I know.”

“Advice from a ghost,” Vincent remarked.

Kristopher chuckled. “Who better?”

Vincent nodded and sighed. He could tell that the ghost had gone, so he turned to head back. His son was restless. It was time he got some sleep, as well. He bent to walk through the culvert and opened the gate. Inside, he closed it, but stood still, thinking. How often had he left Catherine on the other side of that gate? Too many times. Why hadn't he brought her inside more often?

“Vincent.”

It was a whisper, like Catherine's voice, softly, gently, as she so often spoke to him. And a feather light presence, not at all like that of Kristopher's.

“Catherine?”

“Let Cara heal you.”

Vincent turned around, but knew he would see nothing. There was, however, a slight scent in the air, one he always associated with Catherine. He sighed softly, deliberately thinking of Cara instead.

“Catherine. She is already healing me.”

“I know. Let her love you. She needs healing, too.

“If ... If it is to be, I will not deny it.”

“I hope one day you and Joe can be friends, Vincent. Be kind to him. He should not feel guilty. I carry more guilt than anyone. I put you in danger, and myself - even when I knew I was pregnant with your child. Moreno was not behaving normally, but I was too distracted to notice.

“By me.”

“Not just you, Vincent. By Joe too, in the hospital. By the book. By ... complications and frustrations. Then I gave the book to Elliot, to see if he could help. I wasn't rational.”

Vincent sighed. “We all have guilt, Catherine. You deserve less than any of us. We were all too wrapped up in ourselves, I think ... blind. You were only trying to make sense of it all. The fault was not yours.”

“Thank you, Vincent. I love you.”

That last was a sultry whisper that wrapped Vincent's heart in velvet warmth. He sighed.

“Cath....”

Vincent stopped before he finished. She was gone. He stood a moment longer, waiting, just in case.

Then a whisper seemed to fill the tunnel. Vincent realized it was himself speaking, without thought, as if compelled to do so:

“Turn away no more:

Why wilt thou turn away

The starry floor

The watry shore

Is given thee till the break of day.”

(William Blake)

Vincent nodded. Blake was a fitting ending ... and a new beginning. There was much to do. He made his way through the tunnels, back to his chamber, back to his son.

END