Necessary Sacrifices

Two Bookend Fics

by Barbara Anderson

Inspired by

One Down and One Up

Two stories

by Nan Dibble

Resurrection by Barbara Anderson

One Down by Nan Dibble

On Up by Nan Dibble

Necessary Sacrifices by Barbara Anderson

A Treasure Chambers Publication

Foreword

Dear Reader,

When I first read Nan Dibble’s companion stories One Down and One Up, which originally appeared in the 1996 fanzine Flame and Shadow Vol 11. I was so traumatized by it that I just couldn’t reconcile that that could possibly be how Vincent and Catherine’s story would end. It just didn’t make any sense! What would cause Catherine to act so out of character after all she and Vincent had shared and been through?

And then I realized that Nan had only told the middle of the story.

So, I had no choice but to write the beginning and the end, Bookend Fics, that would set the world right again.

I’ve presented these stories in zine form, because Bookend Fics cannot stand alone. They have to be ‘propped up’ on either side by the story that inspired them in the first place.

Resurrection and Necessary Sacrifices are a prequel and sequel (you might even call them a “rebuttal”) to Nan Dibble’s two companion stories: One Down and One Up. I don’t know if Nan Dibble ever wrote a prequel or a sequel to those two stories, or even if she intended to, but there are clues throughout her odd S3/SND tale that indicate that all is not as it seems. And there’s one thing we all know about Diana’s character, she’s brilliant, and tenacious. If something doesn’t make sense to her, she will eventually get to the bottom of it. Even if it means she could lose the man she loves.

*** Please know that I believe wholeheartedly in a ‘Happy Ending’ for our Beauty and her Beast. If you have the courage to continue by reading Nan Dibble’s stories, One Down and One Up and then the sequel I have written, Necessary Sacrifices, I promise, your bravery will be rewarded.

I wrote these two bookend stories to ensure that Vincent and Catherine find their way back to each other, and make their dreams come true.

-Barbara Anderson

***Nan Dibble’s stories and all attributed art has been used with permission.

Resurrection

By Barbara Anderson

S3 SND

~~~

“Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion. While I live, you live… with me… in me. Always.”

–Vincent, Walk Slowly, Beauty and the Beast, Season 3 Episode 2.

~~~

Chapter 1

Vincent was playing a quiet game of chess, with Father, in the common chamber. He was trying to keep his mind occupied, so he didn’t think too much about what was going on in the world Above. Baby Jacob sat happily on his father’s knee, soothing his teething gums on the carved jade bishop Vincent had captured from his worthy opponent.

“Vincent, must my grandchild slobber all over the chess pieces?” Father lamented. “It hardly seems sanitary.”

“I suppose you have a point, Father. If you wish, I will take the set to William once I have defeated you and ask him to boil them,” Vincent replied wryly.

Father harrumphed at the idea. “I was expressing concern more for the child than for myself, Vincent. After all, I’m not the one in the habit of putting them in my mouth.”

“Well then, perhaps before our next game you could ask William to boil them yourself,” Vincent quipped good-naturedly. “My son seems to be showing an interest, and I rather like the idea of him cutting his teeth on the game.”

Father found it hard to argue with Vincent’s reasoning. “Well… he certainly is his father’s son. Perhaps we should get him a set of his own, so I don’t feel the need to keep disinfecting mine.”

“Mmmm,” Vincent replied, only half listening, as he gazed absently at the game board before him.

Father waited for several minutes for Vincent to make the next move. He got the feeling that Vincent was not completely engaged in the game before him.

“Vincent, I must say, you really don’t seem to have your heart, or your mind, in the game today. Perhaps we should table it, and play some other time,” Father suggested.

“Check Mate,” Vincent said, calmly, as he moved his bishop to capture the queen, not really exhibiting any joy in the victory.

Father narrowed his eyes and leaned toward his grandson. “You, my boy, are being used as a pawn to distract me from the game. Well played, Vincent. Well played,” Father teased, attempting to lighten Vincent’s mood.

“You wound me, Father.” Vincent feigned offense. “I would never do such a thing!”

Father lifted his namesake onto his lap and bounced him happily. “Well, I can’t think of a more enjoyable reason to lose. You just wait, Vincent. One day, this little lad will best you in the game. Of that I have no doubt.”

Vincent gazed fondly at his father and his son. “You are probably right about that. I suppose there would have a certain symmetry to it.”

Vincent stood and lifted his son into his arms, gently retrieving the slobbery chess piece and putting it on the table. “I’d better get Jacob to the bathing chamber. I want to get him ready for bed before Diana gets here.”

“You’re spending more time with her these days.”

“Yes, she’s a good friend… More than a friend, I suppose.”

Father was silent. He had learned by sad experience not to interfere in his son’s private affairs. He blamed himself for much of the sorrow Vincent had suffered in regard to Catherine. He was painfully aware that he had been wrong about many things, though he’d never said it aloud. He was relieved to see his son moving forward in his life, after the tragedies of the past.

“The trial of those responsible for Catherine’s death is coming to a close,” Vincent informed his father. “Diana is bringing me an update on this week’s court proceedings. She’s concerned that there may not be enough hard evidence to convict them all.”

Father glanced over at a day-old copy of The New York Times. “Yes, I’ve noticed you have been pouring over the papers lately.”

“I know it won’t change anything that has happened, but I have some hope that there will at least be justice for all the suffering those men have caused.”

“Yes. Well, we know the man primarily responsible has already received justice, hasn’t he?” Father asked, referring to the abominable man Diana had killed.

Vincent’s grief at losing Catherine in such a violent way had long since reached the final stage of acceptance. The sadness in his voice was quiet, in his gentle reproach. “Are those who merely stood by and watched it happen, any less responsible, Father?” he asked.

Father sighed. “No, Vincent, of course they are not. I suppose I am just anxious to put all of this terrible ordeal behind us.”

As Vincent turned toward the stairs with Jacob in his arms, Diana came rushing in. She seemed out of breath.

She was smartly dressed in a tailored business suit and her thick mass of red hair was carefully tamed into a tight French braid. It was very different than her usual attire, Above or Below. It was clear to Vincent that she must have come straight from the courthouse.

“Diana?” Vincent asked, surprised to see her. “You’re early.”

“I… I know… I came as soon as I could. The trial’s over.”

“The trial is… over?” Vincent asked in disbelief. He might live Below, but he read enough newspapers to know that there would surely be one or two days for closing arguments, and then the jury would undoubtedly deliberate for several  days after that. He had only expected her to bring a current update. He hadn’t expected the trial to fully come to a conclusion for at least another week.

“Yes, it’s over,” she said, still a little out of breath.

“And… what happened?” Vincent asked, unsure if the sudden conclusion was good or bad.

“There was a surprise government witness… Her testimony was… irrefutable. The defendants took a plea deal, and the jury was dismissed.

Vincent could see Diana’s eyes were wide, almost fearful. It was clear she was holding something back. What is she afraid to tell me? Vincent wondered.

“Tell me, Diana. What was this… deal?”

“They all pled guilty on all but one count. Racketeering, kidnapping, blackmail, murder, attempted murder… They only dropped one of the murder charges. They’re all gonna spend the rest of their lives behind bars.”

“I don’t understand… Why would they do that? What could have made them change their pleas? Which charge was thrown out?”

Diana hesitated, but finally said, “Catherine Chandler’s murder.”

Vincent felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He sat back down at the chess table, little Jacob still in his arms. He shook his head and looked up at Diana. “How?… How can that be? Why would they do that?”

“Because the surprise witness… It was… It was…”

“Who was it? Please, Diana. Just tell me…”

If Father didn’t know better, he could swear he saw fear in her bright blue eyes.

She couldn’t figure any easy way to say it. Finally, she just blurted it out.

“The witness was… Catherine Chandler.”

Chapter 2

Catherine stood alone, sequestered in a room on the eighteenth floor of the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse, looking out the window at the city below.

It was all too surreal. She’d been held against her will for nearly 6 months. Then she’d been held in protective custody for 9 months.

9 months 1 week and 4 days… to be exact, she thought.

9 months 1 week and 4 days since I gave birth to my son…

9 months 1 week and 4 days since I was murdered… left for dead, anyway… no longer of any use to the man, if you could even call him that, who held me prisoner.

9 months 1 week and 4 days since Vincent held me… kissed me for the last time.

9 months 1 week and 4 days… that the world has believed I was dead.

And now… it’s all over…

I’m alive again.

Or am I? she wondered.

Now what? What am I supposed to do now? Now that it’s all over.

It was shortly after 5 pm on a Friday afternoon, in Manhattan, and the sun was on its downward arc in the clear blue sky. It was late spring. The days were getting longer, and this had been an especially long, and stress-filled day. She could hear the traffic sounds coming from the street, far below. People scurried in every direction, trying to make their way home to begin their weekend. Drivers impatiently honked their horns, yelling, as they struggled through rush hour traffic. It was music to her ears… the music of her city… the music of her home. And yet… she felt disconnected from it all.

Home… home… home… She turned the word over and over in her mind.

Home had never been so much of a place for her, but rather it was something with a texture to it, a smell, even a taste. Home was in the feelings of safety and belonging she felt when she heard the sound of her mother’s laughter or caught a whiff of her father’s aftershave. Home was the taste of that first bite of her grandmother’s pot roast, or apple pie. As a child, home was drinking hot cocoa in front of a warm fire after a day of ice skating or playing in the snow.

Catherine’s last home had been the mingled scents of leather, candle wax, and homemade soap that surrounded her whenever she was safe and warm in the circle of Vincent’s arms.

They were all homes that spoke to her of love, and security, and gave her spirit rest. All homes that were now lost to her, forever.

They’re all gone now, she admitted to herself. I haven’t been to any of those “homes” for a very long time.

They were all part of the life she had lived before.

I can only depend on myself now, she had concluded, at some point in the last fifteen months. I have to be my own home now, my own safety, my own security. My own… everything. That is all I have left.

Standing there, she wondered how she could ever hope to slip back into a life that had ended so abruptly 9 months… 1 week… and 4 days before. She wasn’t sure it was possible, or if she should even try.

Catherine heard the heavy wooden door open but didn’t turn to look. She didn’t care anymore. It was undoubtedly one of her handlers, or a court clerk, or some other stranger who didn’t know her, and didn’t really care about her or what she’d been through.

“Miss Chandler,” the low voice announced.

Hearing her name even sounded foreign to her. It had been so long since anyone had addressed her by her real name.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

When she didn’t respond, he said her name again a little louder.

“Miss Chandler?”

Catherine turned slowly and looked, as he opened the door wider to let her visitor in. Her eyes widened in surprise as they stood staring at each other.

“Joe?” she breathed in disbelief. She could hardly believe her eyes.

He smiled and tilted his head in that very Joe way he had.

“JOE!” She ran across the room and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Joe!”

Joe just laughed and embraced her in a huge bear hug and tried not to let her see his tears. “I had to see you up close before I let myself believe it, Cathy. How? How is this even possible? I saw you… I saw you with my own eyes… You were… in your apartment and you were…”

“Shhhhh… Joe. Please,” she said, shaking her head. She didn’t want to talk about that. She didn’t want to relive the memory of that awful day. “It doesn’t matter how it happened. It just did. I’m alive, and it’s all over.” Then, looking up at him with fear in her eyes, she asked. “It is… all over… isn’t it, Joe?”

Joe smiled his huge victory smile, the one she knew so well. “Yeah, Kiddo, it’s all over. It’s all over because of you! Your testimony put the last nail in their coffins, today. I wasn’t sure if there was enough hard evidence, even with my testimony. But boy, oh boy! I’ll never forget the looks on those scumbag’s faces when you walked in and took that stand! It was priceless! I’ll tell ya, Radcliffe, you coulda knocked me over with a feather! I’ve never seen the tables turn so fast.”

He held her at arms-length, scrutinizing her more closely. “Hey, you don’t seem very happy about it. What gives?”

She pulled away and walked back to the window.

Looking at her more closely, he noted how tired she looked. She looks awfully thin, he thought. She had wrapped her arms around herself as if she was trying to keep from falling to pieces.  He could see her shoulder blades bulging slightly even through the tailored suit jacket she was wearing. But she’s still beautiful, he added inwardly.

“I’m still shaking, Joe. I’m not sure what’s going to happen now. I… I don’t even know where I’m supposed to go… what I’m supposed to do. Or if I’ll ever feel safe again. How do I even begin to reclaim my life? I’m not at all certain that I can. I don’t even know how to get passed all of the reporters and photographers waiting down there. I don’t think I can face them all… after… after…”

“You trust me, Radcliffe?” Joe asked. On some level he didn’t feel that she should. Why would she, Maxwell? he asked himself. After all, it’s my fault all of this happened to her.

She gave him a searching look, inwardly asking herself if she did trust him.

Do I trust you, Joe? she wondered. I’ve trusted people before, she recalled. I trusted a stranger once who offered to hail a taxi for me, and he slashed my face. I trusted Steven Bass, and he nearly killed me. I trusted John Moreno, and he destroyed my life. I don’t even think I can trust myself.

He could see the doubt flicker across her face and realized how much John Moreno’s betrayal and her subsequent ordeal must have affected her ability to trust anyone.

“Do you trust me, Cathy?” he asked again, more earnestly.

It’s Joe, she told herself. Good old Joe. He’s never given me a reason not to trust him. She slowly came to her conclusion. “Yes, Joe. I… I do trust you,” she answered hesitantly.

He suddenly realized how much that meant. “Okay, then!” He smiled and nodded. “They’ll probably have a boat load of paperwork for you to sign when they release you. And then I’ll get you outa here, okay?”

She nodded.

“How ‘bout I take you out to dinner? You like Italian? Of course, you do! I know this little place that makes a gr—”

“A great lasagna?”

He looked puzzled. “Yeah. How’d ya know?”

She smiled. Same old Joe, she thought. It was comforting to see that some things hadn’t changed.

“Thanks, Joe, but I’m not very hungry. Besides, I don’t really think I’m up to going out in public.”

“You look like you could stand to put a little meat on your bones, Cathy… as my sainted grandmother used to say. How about if I have it delivered to my office? We can go back there, and talk about how you’re going to get your life back on track. It’s after hours, so it should be pretty deserted… and you can call Jenny, or Peter Alcott, or anybody else you want.” He wasn’t sure if there was anyone else she could call. “And we’ll take it from there. Okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded. “That sounds like a start.” She looked back out the window

Peter, she thought. Yes, I’ll need to call him. He’ll contact Father and Father will tell Vincent. They’ll know I’m alive soon, if they don’t know already. They need to know, so I can see my son. She was beginning to feel overwhelmed by the thought of it all.

“Jenny.” She smiled a little at the thought of reconnecting with her life-long friend. “I don’t know if Jenny’s going to be angry enough to kill me, or if she’ll hug me to death,” she said, softly.

“It’s Jen,” he said. “She’ll probably do both.” He smiled. “There may even be some screaming involved,” he said, with a chuckle.

Catherine gave him a wry smile and wondered how he knew that.

True to his word, Joe managed to sneak her out of the building while the reporters were occupied at a news conference. One where they hoped the government’s star witness would appear.

Things went smoothly, until Joe pulled into the parking structure at the state office building where he worked. It was after close of business, so the lot was fairly empty. Catherine gripped the door handle, as his car tires squealed on the cement and echoed through the building. She looked around to see if there were any suspicious vehicles following them. Joe pulled into a reserved spot near the elevator.

“We made it. So far so good, huh, Kiddo?” Joe said jokingly as he turned off the engine.

He looked closer, when she didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed, and her face had gone as white as a sheet. “Hey, Radcliffe? You okay?”

She took a deep breath and nodded, before opening the car door. She had clenched her hands into fists to try and control the shaking.

Heading for the elevator, Joe put his hand protectively on her back. The sound of their feet on the pavement echoed off the cement walls.

Vivid visions of what had transpired here over a year ago came, unbidden to her mind.

“Ding.” The elevator signaled its arrival. Joe gently pressed the small of her back to propel her toward the open elevator, but she didn’t move.

“Cathy?”

She looked up as if she was coming out of a trance and looked a little confused.

“The elevator’s here.” He jumped halfway in to keep the doors from closing. “You coming?”

“Sorry, Joe.” Catherine followed him in and pressed her back against the farthest corner. As the elevator began its ascent, her heart felt like it was going to jump right out of her chest, and she was having trouble breathing.

“You look like you just saw a ghost, Cathy. You okay?” Joe asked with genuine concern.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed deeply, again. “The last time I was in this elevator… I… I…”

“Yeah?... What?”

“It was the day they…” She paused and took another shaky breath before continuing. “…the day John… and those men… they were waiting… when the doors opened. I saw John there… and I… I thought I was safe and…then he…” She shook her head and stared at the closed elevator doors.

“Oh, man!” Joe looked stricken and combed his fingers through his hair. “I’m such an idiot, Cathy! I can’t believe… I didn’t even—”

“It’s okay, Joe,” she said, as he paced in the small space.

“I’m so sorry, Cathy. I didn’t even think. I’m such a jerk!”

“JOE! Stop it!”

He looked at her with such remorse that it made her want to cry.

She put her hand on his shoulder and looked into his sorrowful, brown eyes. “Joe… it’s all right… Now cut it out and pull yourself together.”

Pull myself together? That’s rich! he thought. She’s the one who’s been through hell and she’s standing here telling me to pull myself together. What is wrong with you, Maxwell?

“Ding.” The elevator signaled they had arrived at the floor containing the District Attorney’s offices.

As the doors finally slid open Catherine couldn’t exit the elevator fast enough. She immediately headed in the direction of Joe’s old office, the one place she thought she would feel safe.

Joe caught her arm. “This way, Cathy,” he said, steering her in a different direction. He stopped in front of John Moreno’s old office, and she looked at him, confused.

He pointed directly at the name on the door.

District Attorney

Joseph A. Maxwell

“Are you kidding me, Joe? You’re the new District Attorney?”

“Yep, that’s me.” He puffed up his chest a little bit.

“That’s wonderful!”

Joe opened the door and motioned for her to enter.

~~~

Upon entering, Catherine moved slowly around the room. Lightly touching some of the furniture, she recalled the last time she had stood in this office.

Choking up a little, she said, “I thought I could trust him, Joe.” Then shaking her head to get a grip on herself, she suggested, “You need to redecorate this office. It feels like he’s still here.” She rubbed her arms to warm away the goosebumps.

Joe looked at her in surprise. “That’s exactly what Jenny keeps telling me.”

“I swear, I can even smell his cologne. Wait… did you say, Jenny?... My Jenny?”

Just then, she heard the elevator ding, telling them that someone else was getting out on their floor. A look of fear crossed Catherine’s face and she moved behind the desk to shield herself from the unknown.

“It’s okay, Cathy. It’s just the food I ordered,” Joe explained, surprised that she was so jumpy. Geeze, Cathy, what did they do to you? he wondered.

“Hey, Joe… Are you in here?” a familiar voice called out.

“Come on in,” he called.

Joe was the only person Jenny saw as she came through the door. “I take it things went well in court today, by the amount of food you ordered. I better get a great tip for schlepping all this up here.”

She handed Joe all the bags and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Are you expecting company? There’s enough food here to feed a small ar…mee…”

Jenny saw someone move out of the corner of her eye and turned to see who was there.

Catherine moved from behind the desk but didn’t speak.

The two women stared at each other in stunned silence. It was Jenny who finally spoke.

“Cathy?” she whispered, tilting her head in disbelief. “CATHY?” she asked louder.

“Hi, Jen,” Catherine whispered.

“CATHY?!?!?!?! Is that you?” she screamed.

“In the flesh,” she said softly, leaning on the desk to steady herself.

Jenny dropped her purse and ran across the room, throwing herself into Cathy’s arms.

Joe had been right, there was definitely screaming involved.

Joe watched as they hugged each other and cried in each other’s arms. He silently counted down: 5…4…3…2…1…

As if on cue, Jenny straightened up and stepped back. “We thought you were dead! YOU COULDN’T HAVE LET US KNOW YOU WERE ALIVE?!?!?! HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME, CATHY?!?!?!”

Cathy took Jenny’s angry outburst in stride. She spoke in a whisper. “I couldn’t put you in danger, Jenny. It nearly killed me to put you through that, but it kept you safe… and alive.”

And now more hugging, he thought. 5…4…3…2…1…

Jenny threw her arms around Catherine again. Then she tearfully took Catherine’s face in her hands. “I just can’t believe it. You are such a sight for sore eyes. I kept having dreams… dreams that you were trapped… dreams that you were lost… dreams that you were sick… dreams that you were…” She shook her head, still trying to accept the truth before her eyes. “I thought I was going crazy.”

“I’m sorry, Jen. I… I had no choice.”

“Oh, Cathy!” Jenny hugged her friend again. “It’s over… It’s over… and you’re alive. YOU’RE ALIVE!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

And now we’re back to screaming, Joe thought. “Ahem!” He cleared his throat to remind them that he was still there.

Jenny and Catherine turned their tear-stained faces toward him, and he held up the bags of Italian food. “Anybody hungry?” he asked. “It’s getting cold.”

Catherine and Jenny laughed through their tears at the sight of Joe standing there. He looked incredibly uncomfortable… not to mention, hungry.

It didn’t take long for Joe and Jenny to dig into the Italian take out. It all smelled wonderful, to Catherine, but she just picked at her food and nibbled at the edges of the bread. It had been a long time since she had had much interest in food of any kind.

She just kept looking at her two friends and wondering how Jenny could talk incessantly and still manage to eat so much. Both were things that Jenny excelled at under normal circumstances, but even more so when she was excited.

What she was saying was mostly a blur, but Catherine was enjoying being with them. Hearing their voices, she felt like a lifeline was pulling her back from the brink of oblivion.

Jenny paused for a moment as if she had just thought of something. Looking suspiciously at Joe, she asked, “Did you know about Cathy all this time, Joe? Because if you did…” She pointed a breadstick threateningly in his direction.

Joe held up his hands, defensively. “Hey… no way! I would never do that to you, Jen. I swear… I had no idea until she walked into that courtroom… and even then… I didn’t believe it at first. I had to see her up close before I could let myself really believe it.”

Jenny looked at Catherine for confirmation. “It’s true, Jen.” She shook her head. “He had no idea… No one did.”

“So, you’ve been completely alone all this time?” Jenney asked.

Catherine nodded.

“Where are you staying now?” Jenny asked.

“I haven’t thought that far. I guess I should. I’ll need to find an apartment and gain access to my bank accounts… if they still exist. I’ll probably need a lawyer… Maybe I could call Jay Coolidge…”

“I can help you with all of that, Cathy,” Joe offered. “It’s the least I can do.” After all, I almost got you killed, he added silently.

“And you can stay with me,” Jenny said, hopefully. “I know I’m being selfish, Cath, but I don’t want you out of my sight. Otherwise, you might disappear again.”

Catherine looked like she was thinking it over. “I should probably call Peter Alcott. If he’s seen the six o’clock news he’ll be—"

The phone on Joe’s desk began to ring.

“Who would be calling your office at this hour?” Jenny asked.

“Someone who knows he never goes home,” Catherine quipped.

“You know, Joe all right.”

They both laughed.

Joe went over to his desk and picked up the phone. “Joe Maxwell.”

Joe looked over at Catherine and pointed at the phone. And mouthed “It’s Peter.”

They could only hear one side of the conversation, but it wasn’t difficult to guess what Peter was saying.

“No, I haven’t seen the news,” Joe said. “I haven’t gone home yet…. I figured you might see that... Yes, it’s really true… I know… it is unbelievable. No, I had no idea…. Not until she walked into the court room… As a matter of fact, I think I do. Hang on a second.” He covered the phone with his hand and turned to Catherine.

“Peter saw the six o’clock news, and he’s wondering if I know how to contact you. You wanna talk to him?”

Catherine stood and walked over to the desk. Joe could see her hand shaking as she accepted the phone. She sat down in the chair behind the desk. “Peter?” She was having trouble holding back the tears. “Uh-huh, yes, it really is me… Yes… No, not really… actually I…I don’t know… It’s all very overwhelming. I’m very tired…”

Jenny watched Catherine with interest, beginning to notice how fragile and pale her friend looked.

“Yes… Yes… Yes,” Catherine continued. “I think I would like that… Are you sure you don’t mind?... You’re right, I think Daddy would want that too… Yes, I promise, I’ll wait right here… Okay… I love you too, Peter.”

She gently replaced the receiver and put her head down on the desk.

“Are you okay, Cathy?” Joe and Jenny asked in unison.

She took a deep breath and sat up, wiping her eyes. “Yes, I’m okay.” She tried to smile, in an effort to reassure them. “Peter’s on his way. He’s coming for me. I’m going to stay with him.”

She knew that going with Peter was her best option for making her way Below. She could feel her heart beating out of her chest, just thinking about it.

“What?” Jenny demanded. “Why?”

“I’m sorry, Jen. I’ve been isolated from the world for the last fifteen months. Today was really too much for me. I’m completely exhausted. I just need some time. Peter’s my family physician, he’s known me all of my life, and he was very close to my father. I think Daddy would want me to go with him. I’m going to stay with Peter and figure out what my next steps are… like… where I’m going to live.” Catherine could see the hurt in Jenny’s expression. “I promise, I will call you every day.”

“Promise, Cathy?” Then holding up the little finger on her right hand she asked, “Pinky swear?”

Catherine laughed at the old oath they used to use as kids. She held up her hand interlocked their fingers. “Pinky swear.”

“I can help you with the legal red-tape…” Joe offered again. “…getting you declared alive again, and all that. And you’ve got your old job here, if you want it. All you have to do is say the word.”

“I don’t think I can do that job anymore, Joe. It’s too dangerous. I—”

Interrupting, Joe held up his hand. “Say no more. My old job is available… There’s no field work, and it comes with your own office. And as it happens, I have an ‘in’ with the guy who’s doing the hiring. OH WAIT… I am the guy who’s doing the hiring.”

Catherine smiled at Joe’s persistence. “I really appreciate that, Joe. Can you give me some time to think about it? Things are happening so fast. I need a few days to get my bearings. If you need to get in touch with me, just contact Peter, okay?”

“Sure thing, Radcliffe. Sure thing.”

“Well, if Peter is coming to take you home, then we’d better get to dessert,” Jenny suggested. “If I’m not mistaken, there’s some Zeppole and Cannolis in that last bag.”

Catherine laughed a little. “You never change, do you Jen?”

“Nope,” she quipped. “I can’t deny it. I’m definitely all about the food. You should taste Joe’s mother’s lasagna!”

They all laughed at that, and Catherine realized that it felt good, but it sounded strange to her. She tried to remember the last time she had laughed. Maybe I can come back, she thought. Maybe I haven’t lost everything.

“So…” Catherine ventured, as they dove into the bag of pastries. “Who’s going to tell me what’s going on with the two of you?”

Jenny had just begun telling Catherine how she and Joe began dating when Peter appeared in the doorway.

“Peter!” Catherine exclaimed, running into his arms. He was the closest thing to a father she had left in the world.

Peter held her tight. He wept openly. “Oh, Cathy… I can’t believe it… I’m looking at you and I still can’t believe it. Are you all right? Are you well?”

“I’m fine. I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry for what I’ve put everyone through.” The tears were running freely down her cheeks.

“You haven’t done anything to apologize for, Cathy. You were just caught up in a terrible situation. You’re home now, and you’re safe. That’s all that matters… that’s all that matters.” He pulled a starched, white hankie out of his suit pocket and used it to wipe her eyes. It was an excuse for him to get a better look at her. Despite her assurances, she didn’t look well, and he was concerned.

“How did you get here so fast, Peter?” Joe asked. “I expected you to take at least thirty minutes.”

Peter looked up as if just realizing there were others in the room. “I was meeting a friend at a little restaurant in Soho and it came on the news. You were the only person I could think of who might be able to give me some information. I knew you were a workaholic, so I took a chance and came over here. I called your office from the lobby.”

Then turning to Catherine, he said, “You look completely done in, Cathy. Let’s get you home.”

Catherine didn’t argue. Turning to Jenny, she gave her a hug. “I’ll call you in a couple of days, all right?”

Jenny threw her arms around her and whispered in her ear. “You better, Cath. If you don’t, I swear I will hunt you down.”

Catherine smiled at her friend’s fierce love. “I love you, Jen,” she whispered.

“Now, quitit. You’re going to make me start crying again.”

She turned to give Joe a hug. “Thanks, Joe… for everything.”

He hugged her tight but was too choked up to speak. What is she talking about? he wondered. Every bad thing that’s happened to her is all my fault. Doesn’t she know that?

Joe coughed in an attempt to hide his emotions. “Cathy’s suitcases are in the trunk of my car, Peter. If we all go down together, I’ll get them for you.”

Chapter 3

As the taxi finally pulled away from the curb, Catherine rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes.

“How long has it been since you slept?” Peter asked.

She took a deep breath. “I don’t know… three… four days, I guess. Since they told me I would be testifying today.”

“How are you really, Cathy?” He tentatively asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When I first saw you up there, I could have sworn I was looking at Caroline.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, knowing what he was referring to, but didn’t speak.

“You’ve been ill.”

It wasn’t a question. Peter had known her all of her life. She knew she couldn’t hide it from him, so she didn’t even try.

“Yes.” There was a resignation in her voice. “My medical records are in my suitcase.” She didn’t want to talk about it, so she changed the subject. “Does Vincent know yet, that I’m not… dead?”

“There are a lot of Helpers Above. I would expect word has reached him by now.”

Looking out the window, she watched as the lights of the city went by… the beautiful, vibrant city she used to call home. Will this ever feel like home again? she wondered. Is there anything left here… for me?

“What about my son?” she asked hesitantly.  “Is he… all right?” She felt she had no right to ask, somehow.

“He’s healthy… growing like a weed. Would you like me to take you to them?”

I’m not ready for that, she realized. She shook her head. “I’m so tired, Peter. I can barely hold my head up. Will you take me there in the morning?”

Peter nodded, a little surprised by her reluctance. “I’m sure the morning would be fine.”  I expected her to want to see him as soon as possible, he thought.

They rode in silence the rest of the way.

Reaching their destination, Catherine stepped out of the cab and looked around. She had spent a large portion of her childhood here, especially after her mother passed away. As they stepped into Peter’s townhome, she noticed the lovely furnishings and she could see that very little had changed. It felt as if she was out of place and time, like she was walking in a dream, or a memory. She closed her eyes and could almost hear her old friend Susan laughing as they ran up the stairs.

“I hope you don’t mind staying in Susan’s old room. Lillian turned it into a nice guest bedroom after Susan got married.”

“No, that’s fine.

“You remember where it is?”

“I think so. Thank you, Peter… for coming to get me… for letting me stay here.”

Peter embraced her again and kissed the top of her head. “You’re like my own daughter, Cathy. I’m still pinching myself to be sure I’m not dreaming. It’s true… you’re really here. I couldn’t believe my eyes or my ears when I saw it on the news.”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I’m sorry for what I’ve put everyone through.” She apologized again.

“Oh, Catherine Rose... How could you have done anything about it? It’s over now. That’s all that matters.”

“Yes… It’s over now. It’s over now.” she repeated, hoping that if she said it enough times, she might begin to believe it.

He picked up her luggage and she followed him up the stairs to the guest room. He deposited her suitcases just inside the door.

“I’ll get you some towels.”

When he returned, she was standing next to an open suitcase with two large three-ring binders in her arms.

Peter put the towels down on the bed and turned to relieve her of her burden. “This looks serious,” he said, trying not to fear the worst.

“I saved everything. Test results, treatment protocol, prognosis… it’s all here. But before I give these to you, I need you to promise me something.”

“Whatever you want, Cathy.”

“I don’t want anyone to know about this. Can you promise me, you won’t tell… anyone?”

“You mean… not even… Vincent?”

“No one, Peter… Please.”

“But, why? Don’t you think it’s something you should share with him?”

“There is no reason for him to know about it. It’s all over now. You know him, Peter. You know he’ll find some way to blame himself. Don’t you think he’s suffered enough? I don’t want to cause him any more pain.”

Peter thought for a moment. “I’m your physician, Cathy. I may not agree with you, but I will do as you wish.”

“Thank you,” she said, handing over the files. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. It’s been a very long day.”

Peter nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. If you need anything, I’ll be in my study looking at these.” Tucking the binders awkwardly under one arm. He gave her hug with the other, and a fatherly kiss on the cheek. “I’m so relieved to have you home, Cathy,” he whispered, before turning to leave.

Closing the door behind him, Catherine quickly lifted her other suitcase onto the bed, and opened it to fish out a bag of toiletries.

Stepping into the shower, she let the hot water flow over her. It instantly began to soothe her knotted muscles and wash away the tension of the day. “It’s over,” she whispered to herself. “It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.” Her heart rate began to slow as she took deep, soothing breaths and slowly relaxed, repeating the words over and over.

Finally, stepping out of the shower, she reached for the towel, and paused to look at her blurred reflection in the steam covered mirror. For a moment she could almost imagine the foggy image was the same person she had been more than fifteen months ago, before… before her life and all of her dreams had been brutally stripped away from her. Her limbs felt heavy as she realized anew how incredibly tired she was. She was barely able to dress in her night clothes before crawling into bed.

Chapter 4

Peter placed the binders on his desk and sat down. Afraid to look inside, he stared at them for several minutes. He was daunted by the sheer volume of the records and couldn’t help but fear that her condition might be serious. What if it’s happening again? he thought. What if I can’t help her any more than I could help her mother? Or any more than I could help my wife?  Realizing he couldn’t put it off any longer he opened the first binder and began looking at the pages of test results, doctor’s notes and treatment history, his heart sinking with every turn of the page.

He sat back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, Cathy,” he whispered aloud. He sighed heavily, lamenting all that Catherine had endured alone.

After having made a small dent in the weighty tomes of medical records before him, Peter heard the bell indicating that someone was at his basement threshold. It wasn’t hard to guess knew who it was. He sighed and closed the file he was looking at. How did you make it through this alone, Cathy? he wondered. You shouldn’t be doing this alone. But Catherine was adamant that no one should know, and he intended to honor her wishes.

As he opened the Tunnel access door in his basement, his assumption was confirmed. Vincent was there alone, pacing in the shadows of the ancient tunnel under his brownstone.

“Come in, Vincent,” he said, somberly.

Vincent ducked through the door and Peter closed it behind him. Vincent followed Peter up the stairs, without hesitation. He didn’t seem to have the same trouble crossing every threshold, as he did crossing Catherine’s.

“Would you like to have seat?” Peter asked when they reached the living room.

“I’m not here for a social call, Peter.”

“I know why you’re here, Vincent. I still think we should sit down.”

But Vincent still declined the invitation and chose instead to pace back and forth in the room.

Chapter 5

Despite her exhaustion, Catherine had fallen into a restless sleep. Tossing and turning, she dreamed of Vincent. He was running through the tunnels searching for her. He was angry, and hurt, demanding an explanation. How could you? he demanded. What have you done, Catherine? Where have you been? I searched for you everywhere. I thought you were dead. Why, Catherine? Why?

Catherine woke suddenly and sat up in bed. He’s here, she thought. He knows… He knows I’m alive. Convinced she was right, she got out of bed and reached for her bathrobe. After checking the mirror to straighten her hair, she quietly opened the bedroom door.  She immediately heard voices coming from the living room.

“So, it’s true?” she heard Vincent ask. The mere sound of his voice set her heart racing. “Catherine is… alive?”

“Yes, it is true,” Peter replied. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

In the living room, Vincent continued trying to make sense of it all.

“Diana brought the news. But it’s… it’s impossible. She died in my arms, Peter.” He held out his hands as if they could speak to bear witness to the terrible truth. “I carried her lifeless body back to her apartment. How can it be?”

“I’m not the one to ask, Vincent. All I know is that it is true. Catherine is alive.”

“Do you know where she is? How I can get in touch with her?”

She noted the sound of desperation in his voice.

There was a pause as Peter considered what to tell him. Catherine silently padded down the stairs.

‘She’s here.” Peter finally said. “I brought her home with me.”

“She is…. here?” he asked, in disbelief. “She didn’t want to come… Below?”

“She’s exhausted, Vincent, and overwhelmed by all that’s happened today.  I’ve sent her to bed. I promised her I would take her Below tomorrow.”

Catherine quietly descended the stairs and came around the corner. Neither man noticed her there. “It’s all right, Peter. I… I couldn’t sleep.”

Her voice was not much more than a whisper, but it pierced Vincent to the heart. He had never imagined he would ever hear the sound of her beloved voice again.

The two men turned to see Catherine standing there in a plain white seersucker bathrobe. Something one might wear in a hospital. Her hair was disheveled and her face free of make-up.

Vincent could see that Peter had been right. She looked exhausted. Even with the layers of pajamas and a bathrobe, she looked much thinner than he remembered.

“Hello, Vincent.” She spoke softly and tentatively.

“Catherine?” he whispered, hardly believing his own eyes. “Is it really you?” He wanted to run to her, to take her in his arms. But his shock at seeing her alive stopped him. He was half afraid that he might be dreaming and reaching out to her would only confirm his fear.

“Yes… it’s really me.” Her voice sounded flat and emotionless.

“How? How is this possible?” he asked. “You… died… in my arms… I took you home, myself.”

She huffed a little at the word “home.”

That apartment was never my home, she thought. Didn’t you know that, Vincent? You were my only home… in the end.

But those were words I never had the courage to say to him, she reminded herself. How could he have known?

She didn’t have an answer for him. She slowly shook her head. “I… I’m not really sure how it’s… possible. Somehow, I… I survived.” She shrugged her shoulders. “The doctors ran all kinds of tests. They said there was enough morphine in my system to kill three grown men. If they ever figured out how… or why… I survived, they never told me. I still have a lot of questions, myself.”

The room was silent, as he stared at her in disbelief, still afraid to accept the truth that stood right before him.

“Are you… well?” she asked, nervously.

“I… I’m not really sure what I am… at the moment,” he admitted. He couldn’t stop staring at her. He could clearly see that it was Catherine. But he also recognized that something was very wrong.  Something is wrong with her eyes, he thought. They look haunted… dead. What has happened to her?

She closed her eyes, as if she had read his thoughts. When she opened them, she tilted her head to the side a little, and stepped a little further into the room.

“Our son… Is he… Is he all right?... Is he well?”

Vincent nodded. “Yes, he’s fine… growing fast. He’s getting his first tooth.”

She nodded ever so slightly. Of course, he is, she thought, sadly. I’ve missed so much.

“You found him…” She tried to smile, but discovered she was too tired to even manage that. “You saved him.”

“I had help,” he admitted, recalling the risks, Diana had taken to save them both.

“You never gave up, Vincent. Thank you…”

He’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, she thought, unable to take her eyes off of him.

She looks so lost, standing there, Vincent noted. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I have so many questions.

As Peter watched the two of them silently, he noted that they seemed almost like strangers.

“Where have you been?” Vincent finally asked. “All these months, we believed you were… dead.” He cringed, realizing that the questions sounded like callous accusations.

She shook her head. “I was… out west, I… I guess. Arizona… mostly.” She nervously twisted the belt of her bath robe. “I’m not really sure. They were trying to keep me isolated… keep me safe, and… far away from here.”

“How long have you been back in New York?” He cringed again. What’s wrong with me? he asked himself.

“We flew in this morning. They took me straight to the courthouse from the airport.” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as if she was freezing. “Afterward… when they let me go, I… Joe helped me avoid the reporters by taking me to his office… and then… and then Peter came and brought me here.”

There was an awkward silence. A myriad of unasked questions hung in the air.

“I’m sorry, Vincent,” she said, to fill the void.

“You’re… sorry?” He looked confused. “For what?”

“All of the… pain… What I’ve put you through.”

“I keep telling her that none of this was her fault,” Peter explained. “But she keeps apologizing.”

Her wide eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Not trusting himself to say more, Vincent rushed to enfold her in his arms.

She didn’t resist. Gripping the padded lapels of his quilted vest, she inhaled deeply, the beautiful scent that was so uniquely Vincent. She began to tremble in his arms, overwhelmed by the love he surrounded her with, and the realization of all she had lost.

Vincent too, was overwhelmed. Even without The Bond they used to share, with her this close, he could feel how out of control her emotions were. It felt as if she was drowning again. “Don’t be sorry, Catherine,” he whispered. Instead of feeling relieved at their reunion, it felt as if she was crumbling in his arms. “Catherine? Catherine!” He looked to Peter in a panic. “Something’s wrong, Peter. What’s wrong with her?”

Peter rushed to Vincent’s side as she seemed to collapse in his arms. As Vincent scooped her up in his arms, her head lolled against his chest, and he realized she had lost consciousness. “Peter!” he exclaimed.

“Lay her on the couch. I’ll be right back.”

He rushed into his study and came back with his medical bag. “I said, lay her down, Vincent.”

“I tried. She won’t let go.”

Peter looked to see that even though she appeared to be unconscious, she still had a firm grip on his clothes.

“All right then, just sit down with her. She’s exhausted,” he said, checking her pulse again, and checking her clammy forehead for a fever.  “I was worried the instant I saw her.”

“Is she going to be all right?”

“She’ll be fine. She just needs to rest,” Peter replied, hoping he was right. “I believe she is just… overwhelmed. This has all been too much for her. She told me she hasn’t slept for several days.”

“She seems frail,” Vincent observed.

“Yes,” Peter agreed. “It has me worried. We have no idea what she’s been through.”

“She’s so pale and cold.”

“We need to get her warm. Let’s take her up to bed. She’s staying in Susan’s old room at the top of the stairs. I’ll get some extra quilts.”

Vincent wasted no time, taking the stairs by twos. Entering the open bedroom door, he lay her gently on the bed. She had begun to relax her grip on him, so he was able to pry her hands loose, and quickly pulled up the blankets.

Entering the room, Peter handed him two more quilts. “Put these over her. We need to warm her up.”

Sitting beside her, Peter gave her an injection.

Vincent obeyed. “What are you giving her?”

“It’s a mild sedative. I don’t think she’s sleeping well. With this I’ll be sure gets a good night’s sleep.”

“Is she going to be all right?” Vincent asked again. The concern was clear in his voice.

Should I tell him? Peter wondered. But he had made a promise. No, he decided. She’ll tell him when she’s ready.

“She just needs to rest, Vincent.” At least that’s partially true, he told himself.

“What should I do?”

“Go Below. Get some rest. I’ll send word in the morning.”

“I want to stay here, by her side. I want to be here if she needs me.”

Of course, he wants to stay by her side, Peter realized. He could see the deep concern on Vincent’s face.

“Vincent, please… go Below. Try to get some sleep. It won’t do little Jacob any good if both of his parents collapse from exhaustion. I promise, I’ll take good care of her. I’ll bring her down as soon as she’s up to it.”

“Will you bring her down tomorrow?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he said. “But she’s as stubborn as you are. There’s not much chance I’ll be able to stop her if she decides otherwise.

Reluctantly, Vincent retreated to the doorway. He watched her for a few moments before turning for home. “Be well, Catherine,” he whispered.

Peter sat with her for a while. When he was satisfied that she was fine, he turned out the light and slipped out of the room.

“Good night, dear girl,” he whispered as he closed the door behind him. I would wish you pleasant dreams, he thought. But it’s probably been a long time since you’ve had any of those, hasn’t it?

Chapter 6

Catherine peeked into Peter’s office and discovered him sitting there, immersed in the medical records she had given him the night before.

Peter looked up from his desk. “Cathy! I hope you’re feeling better today. You certainly look better,” he exclaimed, making a mental note of the obvious care she had taken to look like her old self. If I didn’t know better, he thought, I wouldn’t have a clue she’s been through anything.

She was dressed in a tailored business suit that seemed to highlight her femininity without drawing attention to how thin she had become. Her skillfully applied makeup covered any tell-tale signs of illness and fatigue.

A good night’s sleep has returned a little bit of color to her cheeks, Peter noted. She certainly seems more energetic and cheerful than she was last night.

But how much of her appearance is just a carefully crafted façade? he immediately wondered. She had learned at a young age to bury her true feelings deep, so she wouldn’t worry her father. Peter only knew that because he had known her for so long and had watched her mother do the same thing during her own illness.

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long,” Catherine scolded.

He looked at his wrist. “It’s only, seven-thirty.”

“P.M.!” she said. “You let me sleep for nearly twenty hours.”

“Closer to eighteen,” he corrected. “Truthfully, Cathy, I wish you would have slept longer. You frightened me last night. You frightened Vincent too.”

“Did he see… anything?” she asked, reaching to touch a spot near her right shoulder. “Did you tell him… anything?”

Peter shook his head. “No… he didn’t see anything, and I didn’t tell him anything. I promised you I wouldn’t. But he was worried.”

“I don’t know what happened. One second, I was standing there and the next… I just…”

“You fainted, Catherine Rose. You collapsed out of sheer exhaustion. It’s perfectly understandable. You were severely sleep deprived. You said yourself that you hadn’t slept for days.”

“Well, I’m fine now,” she said, smiling at his term of endearment. Her mother had always called her Catherine Rose whenever she was worried about her. “You said you would take me Below today. I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

“Cathy… I really think you should rest. It can wait until tomorrow.” Peter hoped he could dissuade her, feeling that another day of rest could be a great benefit to her.

“No,” she said, stubbornly. “I want to go today, Peter… I need to go today. I want to see my son. I need to see him. If you won’t take me, I’ll go alone. Either way, I am going.”

“I was afraid you would say that.” Peter sighed. “All right, I’ll take you, after you’ve eaten something. The housekeeper left some fresh baked bread, and a pot of beef stew in the kitchen. I kept it warm for you. I’ll put all of this in order, while you do that. Then we can go.”

“I’m not really hungry,” she replied, anxious to get going.

“I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, young lady,” he said sternly.  “It’s not negotiable. If you don’t eat, we won’t go.”

“I’m not a child, Peter,” she said, stubbornly realizing his fatherly concern was quickly wearing thin.

“Then don’t act like one. Can you tell me the last time you actually ate a decent meal?”

Her silence was all the admission he needed. Determined not to back down, he said, “I will not allow you to go that far on an empty stomach, Cathy. What do you think I could do for you, if you collapsed again on the way? Or if you collapse again while we’re below? Do you really think I could keep them from discovering your condition?”

“Fine!” she said, in a huff. Rolling her eyes like a teenager, she turned and headed for the kitchen. How is it that I always revert to my childhood when I’m in Peter’s house? she wondered.

He’s just as bad as Daddy, she thought, recalling how hard her father had fought to keep her under his wing when she’d quit his law firm.

She puttered around the kitchen, loudly opening and then slamming drawers and cupboards as she looked for a soup bowl and spoon. In a way, it was comforting, to know that Peter loved her as if she were his own daughter. At the same time, she didn’t like being told what to do. She had lost control of her life over a year ago and she was desperate to take that control back.

As Catherine begrudgingly swallowed the first spoonful of soup, her stomach rumbled loudly, as if grateful to finally receive some nourishment. I hate it when he’s right! she thought, admitting to herself that it was delicious.

It wasn’t long before Peter appeared in the kitchen, wearing a suit jacket. “I see you found it.”

Putting the spoon down, Catherine looked up sheepishly from the nearly empty bowl. “I’m sorry, Peter. I… I have no excuse for acting the way I did. I know you are only thinking of what’s best for me.”

“I love you like a daughter, Cathy,” Peter said, tenderly. “I know you’re anxious to go Below, but I want to be sure you take care of yourself. Especially after all you’ve been through. You need to build up your strength.”

“I know.” She nodded. “I hate to admit it, but you were right. I was a lot hungrier than I realized. Thank you… for insisting that I eat.”

“You’re too thin. The first thing you need to do is put on a little weight.”

She nodded, rising to put her dishes in the sink. “That’s what the other doctors said. I promise, Peter, I will work on it,” she said, turning to give him a hug.

He hugged her tight and dropped a fatherly kiss on top of her head. “Charles was the best friend I ever had, Cathy. I promised him I would take care of you. So far, I haven’t done a very good job of it,” he said sadly.

“That’s not true,” she protested. “I’ve always known you were here for me.” She backed away a little so she could see his face. “And it means so much that you’re here for me now.” She stood on her tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek.

“Can we go now?” she asked.

Not waiting for him to answer, she turned and headed in the direction of the front door.

“Not that way, Cathy.”

She looked back at him, confused.

“Follow me,” he said, opening the basement door.

Catherine followed him down the stairs and laughed when he exposed an opening in his basement wall that was cleverly hidden by a large wooden cabinet and a false wall. Of course, Peter would have his own threshold, she realized. He’s been a part of it all since the beginning. She took a deep breath as she stepped over his threshold into a world she had once feared she would never see again.

After closing the false door, Peter picked up a large wrench and tapped Tunnel Code on a nearby pipe. “P-T-R   B-R-N-G-N-G    C-T-H-R-N    D-N.”

Chapter 7

Diana watched as Vincent paced back and forth with little Jacob in his arms. He had become more agitated as the day wore on, waiting for word from Peter Alcott, about Catherine.

Diana was filled with mixed and conflicted feelings. During the last twenty-four hours, she had tried to come to grips with the fact that her chances with Vincent were now over. She had no illusions. The depth of his love for Catherine had never been a secret. She’d known that from the beginning.

She’d considered staying Above today, but curiosity, and her need to spend a last few hours with Vincent had driven her Below. As the hours ticked by, she was surprised that Catherine had not made an appearance.

Each passing hour stoked a tiny ember of impossible hope within her, that perhaps Catherine didn’t love him anymore. Maybe she won’t show at all. It was a thought she immediately rejected as ridiculous each time it surfaced. But if that is the case, she mused, I’m determined to be here to comfort him.

“Are you sure she’s coming down today?” Diana finally asked. “It’s getting late.”

“I’m certain of it. Peter wasn’t eager for her to come Below so soon, but I know Catherine. She will want to see her son.”

Diana squinted a little, scrutinizing him a little closer. “What about you? Don’t you think she’ll want to see you?”

That was a subject Vincent was not so sure of. “I don’t know,” he confessed. Since the moment he’d heard Catherine was alive, his mind had swirled with questions. She’s been alive all these months. Months I believed her dead. Why didn’t she attempt to get word to us? he wondered. Why did she allow us to continue believing she was dead? How could she do that, knowing how much pain it would cause?

It was nearing little Jacob’s bedtime, when the message finally came on the pipes. Diana hadn’t yet mastered Tunnel code, but she could tell by the look on Vincent’s face that Catherine was finally on her way.

“I guess I’ll head home,” she said, awkwardly.

“You’re leaving?”

Diana nodded. “I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable… Anyway, she doesn’t know me.”

“Please, Diana. I want you to stay. I want to introduce Catherine to the person who saved my life… who saved our son. I want you to meet her.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, at the same time wondering, Is that all I am to you, the woman who saved your life?

“Promise me, you will wait for us to return,” he pleaded. “Please, Diana. It’s important for me to introduce you to her.”

“Then I’ll wait. I promise.” She ducked her head, pleased at the thought that it was important to him. What does it mean that he wants me to stay? she wondered. Don’t be ridiculous, she chided herself. All he can think of is her. Is he even aware of how all this is affecting me?

“Would you like me to get Jacob ready for bed, while you’re gone?” she asked.

“Thank you, yes.” He thought for a moment. “Could you take him to the nursery to sleep? I’ll ask Mary to bring him after Catherine arrives. I think that would be best. I’ll be bringing her to the common chamber. I’m sure there are many who will want to welcome her back.”

Diana nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She was grateful that he trusted her with his son, but she was struggling to hide the pain she was feeling at the entire situation.

With her assurances, Vincent placed the child in her arms, donned his cloak, and headed for the chamber exit.

Sighing heavily, Diana watched him leave. Of course, you will want Jacob to sleep in the nursery, she concluded. You and Catherine will want privacy, to get reacquainted with each other. She couldn’t stop herself from looking over at Vincent’s bed and imagining what would undoubtedly occur there.

Trying to occupy her mind with other things, she turned to the child in her arms. “Well young man, I guess it’s you and me. Would you like a bedtime story?”

Jacob was soon clothed in a fresh diaper and a pair of warm footie pajamas. The little boy babbled incoherently in her arms, chewing incessantly on his chubby fist.

Diana looked around for one of his teething rings, and gently pulled the little hand out of his mouth. “Here little buddy, this will help it feel better.” He seemed to agree, and happily took the toy from her, promptly putting it into his mouth.

Diana kissed his chubby little cheeks, realizing it could be for the last time. “I love you, Jacob,” she whispered in his ear. They were words she had hoped to tell Vincent one day but had never had the courage. She inhaled the scent of Jacob’s baby sweetness and rubbed her cheek affectionately against his fuzz-covered head. There wasn’t enough there yet to actually be considered hair.

She’d grown attached to Vincent’s baby over the last seven months since his return to the home where he belonged. She had even begun to hope that one day, she might be more than a passing Helper in his life, though she had never said that to anyone.

It’s a good thing, she thought. Because it looks like that’s never going to happen now.

“What book should we read tonight, Jacob?” she asked, as she carried him over to the bookshelf that held his baby books. The Saggy Baggy Elephant?... No? The Pokey Little Puppy?... No? How about this one?” She picked up a book and read the title. Are You My Mother?... Definitely not!” she declared, quickly putting the book down. “Here we go. How about Goodnight Moon?... You like that one?” she asked.

Jacob babbled happily.

“Okay then,” Diana replied. Goodnight Moon it is.”

She sat down in Vincent’s big chair, curled up with Jacob in her lap, and began to read…

In the great green room

There was a telephone

And a red balloon

And a picture of the cow jumping over the moon

And there were three little bears sitting on chairs

And two little kittens

And a pair of mittens

And a little toy house

And a young mouse

And a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush…

Jacob was lulled by the rhythm of her voice as she read. He pushed his chubby fist into his mouth and buried his head in the soft folds of her sweater. This was his little world, a world of soft candlelight and soft voices of people who loved him. He was nearly asleep by the time Diana closed the book.

She sighed and lifted him to her shoulder and headed for the nursery. “I’m going to miss you, little one,” she whispered in his ear. She walked slowly, knowing it might be for the last time.

~~~

Vincent could feel his heart beating in his throat, as he made his way to meet Peter and Catherine. His nerves and emotions had been in turmoil all day. Images of the night she died had plagued him since the moment Diana had brought the news of her miraculous return. How? he wondered. How can this be possible? Am I dreaming? he asked himself for the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours. Am I losing my hold on myself again? But if he was, so was everyone around him. A helper had even sent a newspaper down with the headlines declaring Catherine’s resurrection. I saw her with my own eyes, he reminded himself. I held her in my arms. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it is true.

Vincent had often wondered over the ensuing 9 months, how it was possible that his heart had continued to beat, after living through her disappearance, her death, and the horrors of the nightmare that had followed.

How is it possible that I continue to breathe day after day, he had often wondered, when all I long for is to join Catherine in death?

But Vincent’s heart had continued to beat, and he had continued to breathe. He recalled the night he went back to that dark cave to do battle with his darker side. At the point when he was ready to consign himself to oblivion, her memory had called out to him from somewhere, reminding him that their child needed him. And thanks to his son and Diana’s friendship, his heart had even begun to heal, much to his amazement.

His thoughts turned to Diana. He’d been aware for some time that she was in love with him. In the last couple of months, he had begun to allow his own feelings for her to expand. He no longer felt as if he was betraying Catherine’s memory by allowing himself to open his heart and reach for someone new. He knew Catherine wouldn’t want him to live the rest of his life alone, or for her son to grow up without a mother.

He had recently taken the first tentative steps of allowing his heart to wander into the realm of hope again. Now what? he wondered. What must this be doing to Diana? To know that what we have barely begun is now over?

His heart was heavy at the thought of the pain it must be causing her. I owe her something, he thought. If it wasn’t for her, I would probably be dead… and Jacob would be as well.

But the memory of his love for Catherine was overpowering. He had loved her with every breath, every beat of his heart. Seeing her for the brief moments the night before had resurrected all of those feelings with the same intensity that had nearly consumed him before her death.

Chapter 8

Catherine and Peter walked through the Tunnels in relative silence. Peter had a lot of questions, about her captivity, about her pregnancy, about her emotional state, and more. But he was a patient man, and he was confident that Catherine would answer them, in time. He knew she’d been through something unimaginable, and somehow survived. He decided it was best to let her walk in silence and speak when she was ready.

Peter had already descended part way down the rusty, old, spiral staircase when he realized Catherine was no longer behind him. He looked up to see her gazing past him as she sat on the top step, her knuckles white, from the tight grip she had on the railing. Peering over the inside railing, he could see that Vincent was already waiting at the foot of the stairs.

“Cathy?” He asked, but it was as if she wasn’t seeing or hearing him. Something’s wrong, he realized, as he quickly retraced his steps.

Reaching her, he gently placed one hand over hers. “What is it, Cathy?”

She shook her head and looked at him, a bit startled.

“Cathy?” he asked again. “What’s wrong?”

“How can I face them all, Peter?” She looked at him searchingly. “There’s been… so much pain. I don’t want to cause them more. I don’t know if I… if I belong there… anymore. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back. Maybe they were better off without me. Maybe I should have stayed… dead.”

Peter embraced her tightly. “Of course, you belong there. It’s all going to be fine, Cathy. Vincent loves you. They all love you. I’m sure they will all be relieved that you’re alive.”

His words comforted her, but she did little to assuage the doubts that were welling inside her. Am I making a mistake coming back here? she wondered. Will I only cause them more pain? Why am I doing this when I will only be leaving them again in the end? The beef stew she’d eaten was threatening to reappear.

I need to face my fear, Catherine told herself. The people I love are down here. My baby is down here. I need to touch him, to hold him… even if it’s only temporary.  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. She stood up straight and gripped the railing. Then, straightening her back she resumed her journey without further discussion.

Peter could see her doing battle within herself. He could see the strength in her rising. He’d seen her mother do the very same thing, even as a child, to face the tragedies in her own life. And then, when Catherine had lost her mother, he had witnessed the same strength in her. She’s so much like Caroline, he thought.

Vincent watched, mesmerized by her beauty, as she descended the stairs. She looked so different than she had the night before. If he didn’t know better, he would think last night had never happened. But as she neared him, he could see that though she was impeccably dressed and beautiful, she was pale. Her eyes still looked tired and devoid of life, and every muscle in her body was tense. He didn’t need their Bond to detect that. He extended his hand as she stepped off the last stair. “Welcome, Catherine.”

She hesitated to accept it.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, still offering her his hand.

“I wanted her to wait and get more rest,” Peter explained. “but she insisted on coming down.” Then turning to Catherine, he asked. “Do you want to go back?”

She shook her head. “No, it has to be today. Let’s go.” She slipped her small hand into Vincent’s, and they proceeded down.

She was content to walk in silence for a while, unsure of what to say. After only a few hundred yards, she stopped and leaned against the rough rock wall.

“Are you all right, Catherine?” Vincent asked. “Do you need me to carry you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m just not used to the walk. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Are you sure, Cathy?” Peter asked. “We could go back and try again tomorrow.”

“I’m sure,” she answered, sounding a little irritated. “We’re more than halfway there. Turning back now would make no sense.”

As she rested against the wall, she quietly asked, “What’s his name?”

Vincent looked at her, a little confused. “Whose name?”

“Our son,” she stated simply.

That’s right, he realized. She doesn’t know anything about him.

“I named him Jacob…” he said, smiling. “Jacob Chandler Vincent…”

As he said their son’s name, she noted the same reverence in his voice that was always there when he spoke hers.

“Is that…? Is that all right?” he asked, worried that she might have had something else in mind.

She repeated the name softly. “Jacob Chandler Vincent.” She smiled and nodded. “It’s perfect.”

He nodded, relieved.

She pushed off the wall and began walking at a faster pace, anxious to meet her son.

Chapter 9

Jamie stood near Mouse in the common chamber. Many of the tunnel citizenry had gathered there, at the news that Peter was bringing Catherine below.

“I won’t believe it until I see her with my own eyes,” Jamie declared. “Catherine wouldn’t do something like that… letting us all believe she was dead. She just wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Father says, it’s true,” Mouse confirmed. “Vincent saw her… Peter’s house. Heard him tell Father.”

“I could hardly believe it when I heard,” Rebecca whispered to Olivia.

“I know,” Olivia replied. “What could have possessed her to do it?”

“Do you think she actually had a choice?” Rebecca asked. “The newspaper says, she was in hiding all this time, something called ‘Witness Protection.’”

Similar chatter could be heard throughout the room. Many had trouble believing that the gossip circulating throughout the community could be true.

“After all,” they said. “She died in Vincent’s arms, didn’t she? He said so himself. There was even a funeral.”

But the newspaper on Father’s desk confirmed it: Murdered Socialite Resurrected As Surprise Prosecution Witness. Another paper declared: Catherine Chandler Returns From the Grave.

The headlines were clear.

Zach came tearing into the chamber so fast he barely stopped in time to avoid tumbling headfirst down the steps. “They’re coming! They’re coming!” he shouted, as he put on the brakes and grabbed hold of the railing.

The chatter in the room came to an abrupt halt and everyone craned their necks to get a better look at the chamber entrance.

~~~

Catherine paused as they neared the entrance to the common chamber. She looked up and down the tunnel but detected no movement from any direction.

“Catherine?” Vincent asked.

“Where is everyone?” she asked. “It’s too quiet.”

“They are most likely in there…” He pointed in the direction of the common room. “…waiting to see you. Hearing that you were alive has caused quite a stir, as you might have guessed.”

Catherine nodded but stood frozen to the spot where she stood. Her expression one of fear.

What is she afraid of? Vincent wondered, lamenting the loss of The Bond they once shared.

“It’s all right,” Vincent urged, concluding that she was just overwhelmed. “I’ll be by your side.”

“We both will,” Peter added.

Vincent tugged her hand ever so gently and they entered the chamber.

All eyes were on her as she stood there at the top of the steps. Catherine felt as if their stares were burning through her. She scanned the crowd for familiar faces.

Everyone seemed to be holding their collective breath. No one moved. It was as if time was suspended momentarily. She could feel her heart beating in her throat… hear it pounding in her ears.

Why am I so frightened? she asked herself. These are my friends… aren’t they?

It was Samantha who first broke away from the crowd and ran up the steps, throwing her arms around Catherine’s waist. “Catherine! Catherine! It’s really you!” she exclaimed.

Catherine felt herself take a breath and wondered how long she had been holding it. Putting her arms around the young girl, she was momentarily confused, until Samantha let go and backed up a little bit.

“Samantha?” Catherine asked. “Look at you! You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman. How old are you now?”

“I turned thirteen in February,” the girl replied, standing proudly.

“I can’t believe how grown up you look.”

Kipper, Zach, Geoffrey and Eric approached the steps and stood at the bottom as Samantha pulled Catherine further into the room.

“Hey, Catherine,” Geoffrey said. “Remember us?”

Looking past Samantha, “Of course I remember you!” Catherine exclaimed. “Look at you boys! I can’t believe it. You’re growing into young men.” She took the time to hug each boy and speak to each one for a moment. As she reached Eric, he hung his head.

“I haven’t grown so much,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. It was a sore point with him that his friends were beginning to look so grown up, and he still looked like a little kid.

Catherine remembered those days when she couldn’t wait to grow up and her peers seemed to be so far ahead of her. She took both of Eric’s hands in hers and bent down a little so that he could see her with his downturned eyes.

“Don’t worry, Eric,” she whispered. “You’ll have a growing spurt soon enough,” she continued. “I promise.”

He looked up with hope in his eyes.

“You really think so?” he asked. He had begun to fear he would never grow.

“I do!” she said with conviction, as she tousled his hair. “And I’ll bet, you’ll be taller than all of them, when all is said and done.”

Eric smiled broadly and hugged Catherine tightly. Looking up at her he said, “I’m glad you’re not dead, Catherine.”

Catherine hugged the boy back and kissed the top of his head. “Me too, Eric. Me too.”

Looking on, Vincent’s heart was touched by her gentleness and kindness with the young boy. That’s the woman I love, he recalled. She hasn’t really changed, after all.

~~~

From the back of the room, a pair of steady blue eyes watched Catherine’s every move.

Who are you, really, Catherine Chandler? Diana wondered, from her perch. She had chosen a seat atop a sturdy old reading table that was pushed up against the bookshelves, where she could watch everything without being noticed.

As Vincent, Catherine, and Peter Alcott entered the room, Diana had an unobstructed view of the woman whose life she had studied so extensively. This was the first time she’d had the chance to get a good look at her, with the exception of a back-row seat she’d had in court the day before. She’s as perfect and beautiful as all her photographs, Diana observed. Almost too perfect, she noted. Perfectly, yet sparingly applied makeup, and not one hair is out of place. Her nails look neatly manicured.

Even her clothes are perfect, Diana observed, looking critically at her own worn jeans and baggy, old sweater. She stands out like a sore thumb here.

Every detail was important to the detective in Diana. In the coming days, she would analyze them all in an attempt to more fully understand the woman who stood before her.

Catherine was dressed much like she had been in court, the previous day: a feminine, high neck silk blouse, a fitted wool skirt, and a matching jacket. She looks like she just stepped out of Bergdorf’s display window, Diana observed. Top dollar all the way. Everything about her screams money. Yet, Diana had to admit it wasn’t overt. There’s an understated, yet the unmistakable elegance about her, Diana observed, accented by a complete lack of jewelry, not even a watch or a ring.

Does her wealth make her feel superior? she wondered. Does it make her feel powerful, to come here dressed like that? Or are those clothes her armor? But armor against what? What’s here that she might fear? Does she realize the impression she gives? And what’s with Peter Alcott? she observed, changing her focus… in that tailored suit and perfectly knotted silk tie? Who wanders around in underground tunnels and caves dressed like that? she asked herself. They look more like they’re going to a power lunch at The Four Seasons, than coming into damp, dirty tunnels beneath the city.

Diana continued to observe as one by one, Catherine’s old friends moved forward to welcome her home. She wanted to study the woman she’d come to know only through her coworkers, friends and acquaintances, and the few intriguing clues she’d left behind.

It wasn’t often that Diana had the chance to study the subject of her investigations in the flesh, at least a living, breathing one, anyway. She found it fascinating and invigorating, at the same time it took her mind off of what it meant for her and what she was losing, because of the woman’s unexpected return.

Catherine Chandler had been a puzzle from the beginning, one that had challenged Diana’s brilliant mind. The beautiful, murdered, New York socialite had been a high society sweetheart, who had gone through significant changes in the last few years of her life. She had nearly disappeared from her former social circles and had kept many secrets. Catherine Chandler was an enigma to the intense and sometimes obsessed investigator, a collection of contradictions that intrigued her, even after the official investigation had ended.

On the surface, Catherine had appeared to be a typical, spoiled, rich socialite. But as Diana looked deeper she’d discovered that Catherine had developed a reputation for being a doggedly determined investigator for the D.A.’s office, a staunch defender of abuse victims, and an tireless advocate to the downtrodden. She was a wealthy heiress, and a beloved Tunnel Helper and friend. She was Elliot Burch’s romantic interest, and Vincent’s, mostly platonic, true love, and ultimately his savior. And let’s not forget, the mother of his child, she reminded herself. Diana had heard all about how Catherine had saved Vincent’s life in that deep cavern. Catherine Chandler was literally loved, and almost worshipped, by everyone who knew her, Above or Below.

No one can be that perfect, Diana had often told herself. But she had found no evidence to contradict that conclusion.

Diana couldn’t deny that a part of her always wanted to meet the woman who had won Vincent’s heart so completely, and then left him in such agony. Although through no fault of her own, Diana admitted.

For months, Diana had been painfully aware that she was competing with the hallowed ghost of “Saint” Catherine. It was only recently that she had felt Vincent beginning to respond to her not-so-subtle hints that she wanted more than friendship.

She sighed in resignation. It’s one thing to compete with a ghost, she admitted to herself.  Now I’m competing with a living, breathing woman. She knew it was futile to even try. Vincent and the love of his life will undoubtedly resume their fairy tale love story right where they left off, she surmised bitterly. And why shouldn’t they? They have a child together. Besides, after all that Catherine Chandler has been through, doesn’t she deserve to get her life back?... and her love?

Diana’s logical reasoning did nothing to ease the incredible aching in her heart. She knew now that she had begun to fall in love with Vincent, even before she met him. Face it, Bennett, it’s over, she told herself, feeling a sudden urge to get as far away from the Tunnels as she could.

Looking across the room at the chamber entrance, she realized she was mpw trapped in the corner of the chamber and couldn’t escape through the crowd without calling attention to herself. At least not until the numbers thinned out. Just hold your head up, and act natural, she told herself. Maintain as much dignity as you can until this is all over, and then you can get the heck outta here.

It took a while, but finally, people seemed satisfied that Catherine was fine and began to wander out of the chamber and back to their sentry stations, or to their chambers to retire for the evening.

Diana was finally able to make her way toward the exit when she came within earshot of a conversation from Vincent and Catherine’s direction.

“Kanin! Is that really you?” Catherine asked, clearly surprised to see the man in the Tunnels. “It’s so good to see you! I didn’t expect--”

“You didn’t expect to see me out of… prison…  to see me home… so soon?”

Catherine shook her head.

“Mrs. Davis came to my first parole hearing,” he explained. “She put in a good word for me… and here I am.”

“She did?” Catherine was wide-eyed with shock.

“You didn’t know?” Kanin cocked his head, a little confused at her reaction. “I thanked her afterward. She told me it was because of you that she did it. She said you spoke to her about me, and Livvy, and Luke after the sentencing hearing. She told the parole board that there had already been enough suffering. I’ve been out on parole for almost three months.”

Catherine sighed, as she tried to recall those difficult days. “It seems like it was a million years ago,” she whispered. “I don’t even remember what I said to her.”

“Well, whatever it was, Catherine… thank you.” He reached out and clasped her hand in both of his. “Welcome back. I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“I’m glad you’re home, Kanin,” she said. She looked a little past Kanin to see Olivia standing just behind him. “Hello, Olivia. It’s good to see you.”

Olivia wasn’t as welcoming. Olivia had been cold toward Catherine after Kanin went to prison and time had not done much to change that. “So, is it all going to begin again?” she asked.

“Begin… again…?” Catherine began. “I don’t think I--”

Olivia was more than willing to explain. “Do you even know how much trouble you caused around here?”

Catherine was bewildered by Olivia’s harsh tone. Despite the coolness of their relationship after Kanin went to prison, Catherine had continued to consider Olivia her friend. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

“Olivia… please…” Father gently intervened. “This isn’t the time or the place     for--”

“No!” Olivia clearly had something to say, and she had no intention of being deterred. “She should know!”

The remaining Tunnel citizens in the room, made a hasty exit, uncomfortable with the prospect of an unpleasant scene.

Diana realized she finally had a clear path to the exit, but now found herself unable to pull herself away. She paused at the sound of a woman’s raised voice. Catherine looked uncomfortable. Vincent did, as well. It felt as if she was about to learn something important.

So not everyone loves Saint Catherine, after all, she observed. She wasn’t sure what the woman’s name was, but it was clear she wasn’t happy that Catherine had returned.

“What do you mean?” Catherine asked Olivia. “What should I know?”

“That a monster came down here… because of you… He killed Old Sam and Steven.”

“A monster? What monster? When?” She looked to Vincent for an answer.

“It was several months ago…” Vincent explained. “It’s all over now…”

“Brooke and Steven were so in love,” Olivia continued. “Everyone thought they would get married. But that’s not going to happen now, is it? Because he’s dead… and Brooke’s all alone. All because of you, Catherine. But hey…” she said, bitterly. “As long as the princess gets her Happily Ever After… I guess that’s all that matters… right?”

Catherine was astounded. She looked as if Olivia had slapped her across the face.

“Olivia… I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know? Or you don’t care?” Olivia spat the words loudly. “You left heart ache and destruction in your wake, and didn’t think about anyone else, did you? Not Vincent. Not even your own baby. You abandoned them, and just let everyone think you were dead. Who does that? And now you show up and act like nothing’s ever happened.”

“Livvy…” Kanin put his arm around his wife’s shoulders hoping to calm her down.

“I did think about them, Olivia,” Catherine responded to the accusation. “I thought about them every minute of every day. I thought about all of you. But I didn’t know anyone here was killed.”

Diana stepped closer and corrected Olivia. “I think you’re confused, Olivia. People in protective custody, can’t contact anyone. She couldn’t let anyone know she was alive… not even Vincent. It was the only way to ensure her safety, and the safety of everyone she cares about.”

Olivia looked Diana over, with contempt. She had kept her distance from Vincent’s new friend from the beginning. After Catherine’s betrayal, she’d had no interest in trusting another topsider. But even from a distance it was clear that Diana was in love with Vincent. Why is she defending Catherine? Olivia wondered. Doesn’t this stupid woman realize that Catherine will betray her too?

“See, Livvy… it wasn’t Catherine’s fault,” Kanin said. “We should be going now.” He steered his wife toward the exit, hoping she would comply.

As they left the chamber, Olivia continued to vent. “That’s what you say about everything, Kanin. It’s not Catherine’s fault you went to prison. It’s not Catherine’s fault Vincent got shot and nearly blown to smithereens. It’s not her fault Old Sam and Steven are dead… Nothing is ever Catherine’s fault… Then whose fault is it?” Her voice faded, as they disappeared down the tunnel.

Visibly shaken, Catherine turned to get a better look at the woman who had come to her rescue. “Thank you, I…” she said, tilting her head and squinting as tried to identify who the red-headed woman was. She looked vaguely familiar, but Catherine couldn’t quite place her. “I’m sorry, I… I don’t think I… know you.”

Diana froze, not sure how to introduce herself. What should I say? she wondered. Hi, I’m Diana, the woman who’s madly in love with your… Vincent? Her face flushed deep crimson, at the thought.

Vincent spoke before Diana had a chance to respond.

“This is Diana Bennett. She saved my life after the explosion, and if not for her, I never would have found Jacob.”

“If it wasn’t for Diana, Vincent would probably be dead,” Mary added.

Catherine looked thoroughly confused and concerned. “I’m not sure I… I understand,” she said, not sure she really wanted to know.

“Uhm… It was Diana…” Father tried to explain. “Diana who found Vincent… at the cemetery, after the… uh… after the explosion that killed Mr. Burch. She took care of him until he was strong enough to return to us.”

“And you found Jacob too?” Catherine asked.

“Diana is a special detective for the police department,” Vincent explained.

This bit of news came as quite a shock, but it jogged Catherine’s memory. “You… you were in the courtroom yesterday?”

Diana nodded, feeling incredibly uncomfortable at becoming the center of attention. So much for your dignified getaway, Bennett, she inwardly chided herself.

“You were sitting next to Joe,” Catherine added.

“Yes, that was me. Joe was the one who convinced me to take the case after your … after you were found. He was really… upset… after the police discovered your… uhm…” Why am I speaking like a stuttering idiot? she inwardly screamed.

“After they discovered my body?” Catherine finished her sentence.

Diana nodded, feeling very disoriented, speaking to a dead woman.

“Yes,” Father interjected. “Your friend, Joe… He was just as determined as the rest of us to find out what had happened to you. He was also a great help to us.”

Catherine felt as if her head was beginning to spin. It was clear she was unaware of many of the events that had led to Jacob’s rescue. But hearing that her two worlds had somehow become entangled with each other was a stunning revelation. Nothing was making sense to her. But she didn’t care. She was more anxious to see her child. She put her hands to her head and began to massage her temples.

“Are you all right, Catherine?” Vincent asked.

Looking around anxiously, Catherine looked at him pleadingly. “Where is Jacob? Where is our son?”

“I sent Jamie to get him from the nursery,” Mary explained. “She should be back with him, soon.”

As if on cue, Jamie arrived, carrying a sleepy and confused Jacob in her arms. “This is Jacob, Catherine,” she whispered.

Catherine gasped. “He’s so big,” she said, remembering how tiny he was the one and only time she had ever laid eyes on him.

“He’s nine months old now,” Jamie informed her.

“Yes,” Catherine said, looking at the child with wonder. “9 months 1 week and 5 days,” she said, without skipping a beat. She had kept track of every minute and every day since the terrible night he was born.

Interesting, Diana thought, she knows precisely how old he is. That says something… I’m not sure what… but it definitely says something.

“Do you know who this is, Jacob?” Mary asked the baby. “This is your Mama. Can you say ‘Mama’?”

Jamie came closer and put the sleepy little boy into Catherine’s open arms, but Jacob wasn’t ready. He took one look at the stranger who was holding him and began to wail. Thrashing around, to get away from her, he shrieked in fear and threw himself directly into Diana’s familiar embrace, and sobbed, as he hid his face against her chest.

“Oh dear!” Mary exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, Catherine!”

Hurt by the child’s rejection, Catherine tried to smile and sound reassuring. “It’s all right, Mary. He doesn’t know me.” Of course, he would cry, she told herself. I abandoned him, just like Olivia said.

Diana felt incredibly uncomfortable with the entire situation. Of all people, why did Jacob have to choose me? she wondered, as she held the sobbing infant. “Shhh… shhh…” she cooed softly, as she kissed his fuzzy, bald head, and bounced him in her arms. “It’s all right, Jacob,” she whispered. But he was inconsolable.

Turning to Catherine, she explained, “Don’t take it personally. He just isn’t used to being woken up after bedtime. And he doesn’t meet many strangers.”

Catherine nodded, realizing that this woman was clearly more of a mother to her child than she was. Everyone seemed to feel the awkwardness of the moment and looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed.

“Here, Mary,” Diana blurted. “Take him please, I really need to be going. I have an early day tomorrow.” She dumped Jacob unceremoniously into Mary’s arms and made for the exit, hoping to make a clean getaway.

Vincent looked very uncomfortable, as he followed her. “I’ll show you out,” he offered.

“NO!” Diana replied in a panic. “Please don’t, Vincent. I’m fine. I can find my own way.”

Vincent continued to follow her into the tunnel just outside the chamber, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

Diana whirled back, her faced flushed crimson and her eyes ablaze. She put her hand up, signaling that she clearly did not want him to touch her.

Vincent obeyed her unspoken demand. “Diana…” he began.

She put her hand up higher. “Don’t!... Please, Vincent… don’t… say… anything.”

They stood there in silence as she tried to compose herself. The tunnel was silent, except for the distant sound of the subway and the sound of baby Jacob’s inconsolable sobs.

“I’m sorry, Diana,” Vincent ventured to say.

Shaking her head, she stopped him again. She spoke, this time more calmly. “No, Vincent, please don’t… be sorry. I can’t stand it. There is nothing for you to be sorry for. It’s a miracle. You’ve been given a miracle. I’m the one who should apologize.”

“You? Why?”

“Yes, me… for not congratulating you sooner. What were the chances that you would ever see her again? Zero! She’s the love of your life, Vincent, and she came back to you… from the grave, no less! Congratulations… I really am happy for you… and for Jacob.”

“But, Diana… we…”

“Forget about it,” she said, suspecting the inner conflict he must be feeling. “I’m fine… really… I am,” she lied. “Now, go back in there… and get your happy ending. I’ve never known anyone who deserves it more than you do.”

He looked conflicted. He didn’t have a bond with Diana like the one he had once shared with Catherine, but he was still empathic enough to know she was suffering and trying mightily to hide it from him.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll ask one of the sentries to guide me up.”

“Very well.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “And… thank you… thank you for… everything. None of this would have been possible, if it wasn’t for what you did for me… and for Jacob.”

Oh, how I wish he would just shut up! she thought. “I’ll see ya later, ’kay?” she said, doing her best not to scream. “Now please, Vincent, go back in there… before she starts to wonder why you’re out here with me.”

Vincent nodded and returned to the common chamber.

Chapter 10

Catherine walked beside Vincent, as he held a sleeping Jacob in his arms. The baby had finally sobbed himself to sleep in the safety of Vincent’s arms. He was now sleeping peacefully in his father’s familiar embrace, interrupted only by an occasional hiccup.

As they entered Vincent’s chamber, she could see a crib had been added to the already cramped living space. The large statue of Lady Justice had been sacrificed to accommodate the new furniture. Catherine looked around and found that very little else had changed. His books and treasures were still in their places of honor on his shelves. A dilapidated antique tiffany lamp still stood at one end of his bed, another hung from the ceiling. Vincent’s writing desk still held his waiting journal and an assortment of candles.

What has he written about for the last 9 months? she wondered. Has he documented the milestones in Jacob’s life? When was his first smile? How old was he when he first rolled over? When did he laugh for the first time? Does he keep a record of the miracle that is our son? Does Jacob like carrots or peas?... bananas or applesauce?

She noticed the nightstand held a couple of children’s books.

Does he read to our child the way he used to read to me? She closed her eyes and remembered the calming sound of his voice the first time he read her.

The familiar room felt comforting and strange at the same time. A wicker basket stood in the corner. It held a package of disposable diapers, wet wipes and assorted baby toys. Some of the books on the shelf were clearly Jacob’s. Among the scents of candle wax and musk was the unmistakable fragrance of baby powder. She imagined one of the dresser drawers held an appropriate assortment of tiny baby clothes.

Catherine watched as Vincent gently kissed Jacob, and put him in his crib, and covered him with a homespun baby quilt.

Who made that quilt? she wondered. Was it Mary or Jaimie? Maybe it was Rebecca, or Samantha.

Catherine’s interest was not lost on Vincent. He motioned for her to come closer. Standing over the crib she watched the sleeping child in awe. “He’s even more beautiful than I remembered,” she whispered, longing to reach out and touch the soft fuzz that covered his head.

“You can touch him, Catherine,” he suggested.

She smiled and shook her head. “No. I don’t want to upset him again. It’s best if I don’t.”

Vincent could see the yearning on her face. But she kept a firm grip on the railing of the crib, content to merely watch her sleeping child.

“Very well. It’s late, I’ll walk you back to Peter’s.”

“You don’t have to do that. Peter knows the way.”

“Peter has already gone back,” Vincent explained. “He thought we might like to walk alone.”

Catherine looked around, concerned. “But what about, Jacob? He can’t stay here by himself.”

“Jamie is waiting outside. She’s agreed to watch over him until I return.”

Catherine nodded and turned toward the chamber exit.

They walked in silence… much like the first time Vincent had taken her home. They both felt like strangers… albeit like strangers who had once loved each other… still did… but everything felt strange.  The comfortable camaraderie they had once shared eluded them.

When they reached the familiar gap between two large sewer pipes, Vincent hopped across and turned to offer Catherine his hand.

“It’s okay, I can manage it myself,” she said, waving him off, as she hopped over the gap, unassisted.

Vincent felt his heart constrict a little bit, at her rejection of his help. In all the times they had walked this way, she had never turned down his offered hand before. She no longer needs my help, he observed. Or is it that you no longer want anything from me, Catherine?

As they walked, Vincent searched for some way to bridge the growing gap between them.

“You’re very quiet, Catherine,” he observed.

She stopped and turned to look at him.

Vincent tried to interpret her strange expression. Is it sorrow? Fear? Regret? She looks so lost, he thought.

“I’m sorry, Vincent,” she said, when she finally spoke. “I… I haven’t had many people to talk to, for the last fifteen months… I guess I’m… out of practice. I… I’m not sure what to say.”

It wasn’t meant as an accusation, but her words convicted him just the same. They were a reminder of how he had failed her. How can she even look at me? he wondered. After all she has been through because I couldn’t save her.

He hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Catherine.”

“You’re sorry?” she asked, somewhat confused. “For what?”

“I searched for you…”

She waited for him to continue… but didn’t speak. He looked up to meet her gaze and she could see the anguish in his eyes.

He spoke haltingly. “I… I tried… to find you… but I…” He hung his head again.

“I know you did,” Catherine said, reaching for his hands. “I never doubted that… not for one minute. I knew you were looking for me, Vincent. I knew how distraught you were.”

“I searched the city night after night… for months… until the night I finally… the night that you…”

“The night I gave birth to Jacob?”

He nodded, reluctant to speak of that horrible night.

“How did you find me?”

“It was the heartbeat… Jacob’s heartbeat… I felt it… It led me there… to him… and then to…”

Of course, she realized. He has a bond with his child. “…and then to me,” she whispered, recalling how desperate she had been to tell him about his son, before she died. How she had used her last ounce of strength to climb the stairs to the roof so she could tell him… and so she could say good-bye.

“But not in time. You… died… in my arms… At least I thought you were… dead.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, in an attempt to block the memory of the horrors she had endured. “So did I,” she admitted.

“Catherine… If I had known… I never would have left you… I would have brought you Below… to Father… if I had known you were… still…”

“Oh, Vincent. I do know that. You don’t have to explain…”

“I’m sorry…” He hung his head and his tears dripped on their clasped hands. His great shoulders shook as he silently sobbed.

“Vincent…” she sighed. She reached under his chin and raised his face until she could see his eyes. “I don’t want you to be sorry… please… you couldn’t protect me from everything… You were not responsible… for any of it… And you found our son. You saved our son!”

He put his arms around her and held her, as she comforted him. After a couple of minutes, he sighed, as he began to sense that she was uncomfortable with their closeness.

Moving a few inches away, he said, “You must be tired, Catherine. I should take you home.”

“Home?” she asked, wondering what he meant. I don’t have a home, she thought. Not anymore.

“To Peter’s house. That is where you are staying, is it not?”

She nodded. “Oh… Yes,” she said, as if she had momentarily forgotten. “Yes, back to Peter’s house.” Since I have nowhere else to go, she reminded herself.

The chasm between them that had been bridged momentarily, returned, and they walked the rest of the way in mutual silence.

They stopped at the place where she had begun that evening.

“Thank you, Vincent, for showing me back,” she said, awkwardly.

“Will you be coming Below tomorrow?” he asked, unsure of what she might want.

She shook her head. “I should call Jenny. I promised her I would. She’s afraid I’m going to disappear again.”

I know the feeling, he thought. “Yes, I understand. I’m still trying to convince myself that this isn’t a dream… that you aren’t going to disappear into mist before my eyes.”

“This… a dream?” She seemed to be weighing the meaning of the word. “No, this is definitely not a dream.”

There are no more dreams. Not for me, she inwardly reminded herself. Only nightmares.

“Is it all right if I come Below after I meet with Jen?” she asked. “Some time in the afternoon, maybe? That is if… if you want me to.”

“Yes, Catherine…” Vincent said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Of course, I want you to. If you tap on the pipes when you’re ready, I’ll come for you. And what about Monday? I’m sure I can reschedule my literature class… or you could attend. I’m sure the children would love to have you there.”

Catherine hesitated, seemingly reluctant to accept his invitation. “Peter wants to give me a complete check-up. I have an appointment at his office first thing Monday morning. Maybe we should just play it by ear. I have to see my lawyers next week about being declared alive and reclaiming my identity… and Joe wants me to come in and talk about going back to work at the D.A.’s office.”

She is actually going to go back to work there… after all that’s happened? So, it is all going to begin again, he surmised, just like Olivia said. The thought sent shudders down his spine. How can I possibly protect her when we no longer have a Bond? he wondered.

“I see,” Vincent replied, even though he didn’t.

“You do?” she asked. “Because I certainly don’t. I can’t see as far as the next five minutes. I’m not sure how anything is going to work out. How am I going to reclaim my life? How am I going to live?… Where am I going to live?... Everything is such a mess.”

Her expression was one of despair and worry. She had a faraway, hopeless look in her eyes. The lifeless look in her eyes that had caught his attention the night before, persisted.

She is lost, he realized. Perhaps that is why she looks the way she looks… the reason she feels so conflicted.

He put his arms around her protectively, and pulled her close, in an attempt to comfort her. “It will all work out, Catherine… it will.”

In your arms I can almost believe that, Vincent, she thought. I want to believe it. I really do… but I can’t.

He felt her discomfort immediately. Her body tensed and she began to push him away. Her rebuff surprised him. The look of hurt and confusion was clear on his face.

“I’m sorry, Vincent, I…” Catherine was quick to explain. “I’m not used to being… close… to anyone… I… I’m very tired. It’s late… Peter will be worried.”

They both knew that wasn’t completely true. Peter wouldn’t worry. He knew she was safe with Vincent, and Catherine had comforted him only minutes before.

Vincent could feel an invisible barrier between them. A wall as real and impenetrable as the bricks that separated his world from hers.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It is late.” Is it too late for us? he wondered, reaching for a secret lever to the side of Peters hidden basement door. It swung open easily. “Sleep well, Catherine. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she replied.

As the door closed behind her, Catherine leaned her back against the cold, rough wall, and slid to the floor. Banging her head back against the bricks, and looking up at the ceiling, she whispered, “I’m sorry, Vincent… I’m so sorry.” She bowed her head, resting her forehead on her knees, and wept…

With only inches between them, Vincent leaned his back against the brick tunnel wall and sighed heavily. “Catherine, Catherine,” he whispered, desperately. “What happened to you?”

It was a question he repeated over and over, in his mind, as he walked slowly home…

Chapter 11

Vincent and Catherine continued in much the same way for over a week.

Despite the fact that Catherine continued to come Below each day, Vincent felt the distance between them remain unchanged. Since her early rejection of his advances, he had been careful to give her the space she seemed to need. He was frustrated that without The Bond they used to share, he couldn’t tell what her true feelings were.

He intently watched her interactions with their son. She seemed eager to see him, but reluctant to participate in any way. She watched as Vincent read to Jacob and played with him. She sat quietly as Mary or Brooke fed him or bathed him, always declining to touch him or hold him. Vincent wondered why, Catherine, who was always so generous with her love, was so reluctant to extend it to their child.

Returning her once more to Peter’s threshold Below, Vincent turned to her and took her hand.

“It’s been over a week… since you returned, Catherine,” Vincent observed.

“Yes, it has,” she acknowledged, not giving him any encouragement to discuss it further.

They had spent a lot of time together, but Vincent still felt a great chasm between them. “Will you be staying here at Peter’s much longer?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. Peter is a dear, but he has a tendency to hover. I think he believes he owes it to my father to watch out for me, she sighed, but it’s a little bit…”

“Suffocating?” Vincent suggested.

“Yes… and frustrating. But I can’t find a place to live on my own until my identity is restored… and the wheels of bureaucracy move slowly. I just want to get my life back.”

“Do you have any idea when that will happen?”

“Joe has arranged a meeting tomorrow with a government representative. He’s trying to help me navigate all the red tape so that I can get my life back as soon as possible. Until that happens, I can’t move forward. I can’t get back to work. I can’t find another place to live. Even then, it will take me awhile to get back on my feet. At the moment, everything I own in the world fits into two suitcases.”

Is that why you are so distant, my Catherine? he asked himself. Will you come back to me once you have settled your life Above? I can only hope, he answered inwardly.

Vincent reached out and gently brushed her hair behind her left ear. Seeing the old scar there comforted him, somehow. “You are welcome to come Below and stay with us, Catherine,” he whispered.

Catherine was taken aback by the offer. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘You are welcome to come below and live with us.”

“You mean, with… you and Jacob?”

Vincent nodded. “Yes, Catherine. We are a family now… aren’t we?”

She looked bemused. “Yes, I… I suppose we are… in a way.” She hadn’t anticipated him making such an offer, considering what their relationship had been in the past. “But I don’t know how that would work… with my job Above, once I have one. But thank you… for offering.”

Vincent was frustrated at every effort he made to establish their old comfortable rapport with each other.

“There is a concert in the Park tomorrow night,” he suggested. “I thought we might have a picnic dinner in the music chamber. Would you like to go?”

For the first time in eight days, he saw a little spark in her eyes and just a hint of a smile. It was an encouraging sign.

“That sounds wonderful. I think I would like that.”

“The concert begins at seven. Should I meet you here at six, and we can walk there together?”

“I’ll be ready,” she said, smiling just a little bit more.

Taking that as another encouraging sign, Vincent leaned close and gave her a tentative kiss. “Good night, Catherine. Sleep well,” he whispered.

When she didn’t retreat from him. He slipped one hand around her back and rested it lightly on her back. Leaning close he kissed her again, with a little more confidence.

For a small moment she responded. He thought he could feel a flicker of their old Bond come to life between them, before she stiffened and moved back a fraction of an inch.

“Good night, Vincent,” she whispered, appearing to be a little off balance by what had just happened between them.

Vincent sighed, and reached for the lever that opened the door, returning her again to her world Above.

As the door closed behind her, Catherine raised her hand and touched her lips. He kissed me, she thought. He kissed me.

She recalled all the times she had wished for him to do just that. How she had once wished he would have the confidence in her, and in their love for each other, to just kiss her.

Now what am I going to do? she wondered.

For the last week she’d been walking a fine line. Her heart yearned to be with Vincent, and with their child, every minute of every day. But her head told her that that was not possible… that it would never be possible, and that she must protect her heart, and them, from the pain of the inevitable separation that loomed before them.

She licked her lips and closed her eyes, trying to burn the sweet taste of Vincent’s gentle kisses into her memory.

The tragic irony of it made her ache for all the possibilities that were now lost to her.

Chapter 12

Vincent walked slowly and thoughtfully back to his world Below. As he reached his chamber, he sat at his desk and opened his journal. Before writing anything, he opened the leather pouch that hung around his neck, and removed something shiny, turning it thoughtfully between his fingers.

Jacob Wells stood near the entrance of Vincent’s chamber. He observed his son, sitting at his writing desk. His journal was open, as if he intended to write, but instead, he was concentrating on something he held in his hand. On closer inspection Father could see it was the quartz crystal on a chain that had once belonged to Catherine.

“Ahem.” He cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“Father,” Vincent said quietly, acknowledging him. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Father shook his head. “No, not really. We haven’t spoken much for the last week, and I just thought I would see how you are doing…and how Catherine is getting along.”

Vincent sighed heavily, indicating that perhaps he did need to talk with someone.

“May I come in?” Father asked.

“Yes, Father,” Vincent replied, gently closing the journal, and closing his fist protectively around the necklace in his hand.

“How… How are things going with Catherine?” Father asked. “Is she getting to know young Jacob?”

Vincent sighed. “I don’t know how to answer that, Father.”

“You’ve spent a lot of time together for the last week. I am… that is… we are all… so happy for you… for both of you…”

Vincent didn’t respond.

Jacob had expected to find his son happy, in light of the return of the woman he loved. Upon closer observation though, he could see that Vincent was troubled about something. “Is everything all right… between you and Catherine?”

Vincent stood and began pacing the floor.

Father waited patiently, recognizing that Vincent was trying to work something out in his mind.

Finally, Vincent stopped pacing and sat on the edge of his bed. Looking up at his father, he declared, “I don’t know, Father.” He shrugged, and again said, “I don’t know. If anything, I am more confused than I was the day she returned.”

“Tell me, Vincent. Perhaps I can offer you some… perspective.”

Vincent stood and began pacing again. “It’s Catherine… but she is… different… changed somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we are together… she is right next to me, but I can’t feel her… I don’t know what to say to her. It’s as if we are strangers… as if she is a stranger. Whenever I try to get close to her… she pushes me away, as if… as if the thought of being close to me… is repulsive to her.”

“I doubt she finds you repulsive. If that were the case, I hardly think she would be coming here to be with you every day. You’ve spent the better part of the last week together.”

“Then what, Father? There is a great gulf between us. Each time I feel a closeness between us, it returns, and she pushes me away. It is something I have never felt with Catherine before.”

Father nodded sympathetically. Pulling up a chair he sat down and offered his perspective, hoping it would help. “Catherine has been through something… something terrible. You have been apart from each other for over a year. She has been isolated… for over a year. It may take some time for her to… to recover… to get used to you… to all of us, again. What about your Bond… the connection you used to share? Have you felt it beginning to return? Does it tell you anything?”

“If anything, it’s worse,” Vincent answered, shaking his head. “I can’t read her at all. It’s like she is here… but I can’t reach her. I’m worried, Father.”

Jacob Wells furrowed his brow. “Worried? About what?”

“That after everything that happened… that she is somehow lost to me. If I don’t do something soon, I fear she will slip away from me forever.”

“And what about young Jacob? Does she seem like that with him?”

Again, Vincent expressed his confusion. “She wants to see him. I can see the longing on her face when she is near him. But ever since the first night when he rejected her, she only watches him from a distance. She won’t hold him. Almost as if…”

Father leaned forward, trying to understand what his son was telling him. “As if what, Vincent?”

Vincent sighed and shook his head. “As if she is afraid to allow herself to be close to him… afraid to love him.”

Considering Vincent’s concerns, Father offered a possible explanation. “Perhaps she is trying to protect herself.”

“Protect herself?” Vincent didn’t understand. “From a child?”

Father shook his head. “From loss, my boy.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you recall… the year before Catherine was kidnapped, she had already suffered a great loss, when her father passed away.”

“Yes.” Vincent nodded. “That was a terrible blow for her,” he agreed. “She was in great pain.”

“Yes, she was.” Father hesitated to dredge up bad memories, but he decided he must. “And then after what Paracelcus did… to you… and then your terrible illness… She nearly lost you.”

Vincent was beginning to understand what Father was trying to tell him. Picking up the thread, he added, “And before I was fully recovered, she was kidnapped by Gabriel… and then she lost Jacob.”

“Yes,” Father responded, seeing that Vincent was beginning to understand. “I’ve read the newspaper reports of her testimony in court. What Gabriel did to her was… beyond imagining. He didn’t just take her freedom, Vincent… he took her humanity… She was reduced to nothing… nothing more than a vessel that carried the child he wanted. He stripped her of everything… the essence of everything that made her a human being. And then he stole her child and left her for dead. He discarded her, like so much useless trash.”

Father paused for a moment, to allow Vincent time to ponder what he had said. Jacob Wells couldn’t help but recall his own experience of losing everything he valued in the world, and the many years it took for him to heal.

Vincent was stunned by Father’s description.

Father continued. “Some people lose their sanity after suffering much less than she has, Vincent. The scars can run deep. Some people never heal."

“Are you saying that she may not recover?”

“I don’t know, son. Catherine is a strong woman. She has already survived so much… but at what cost? I’m just saying that she may need time and understanding.”

Yes, Vincent thought. I can give her that. But what about our son? he wondered. He needs the love of his mother now. “But what about, Jacob?” Vincent asked. “She won’t even touch him, Father.”

“Jacob was stolen from her at the moment he was born,” Father reminded him. “They were both robbed of the opportunity to bond with one another. Perhaps all she needs is to gain some confidence. I can speak to Mary and see if she can help.”

“Thank you, Father. But that is only part of the problem. I’m afraid The Bond… the connection we once shared is gone for good. I’m not sure what that means… for us.”

“Don’t despair, Vincent.” He approached his son and put an assuring hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure the two of you just need more time to get used to each other again. Be patient with her, my boy.”

“What about our Bond? Do you think it will ever return?”

“Your empathic powers… they are a gift I have never fully understood. Could it be that perhaps this Bond you shared, was only meant to be temporary in the first place?”

“Why would such a gift be temporary?”

“Well, just that… perhaps… it is unique to… uhm… creatures of your kind… for the purpose of finding a mate.”

“Creatures of my kind?” Vincent’s expression was one of disbelief.

“Well, yes… perhaps once the two of you were fully… ahem… joined… that empathic connection was no longer necessary.”

Vincent just stared at his Father, stunned that he had actually referred to him in such a way. “Is that how you think of me, Father... as a creature?” He was incredulous that Father seemed oblivious to his feelings. “Doesn’t the fact that I fathered a child prove that I am human?”

Father just stared back at his son, realizing his verbal faux pas. “I… I’m sorry, Vincent… that is not what I meant.” Then stumbling to explain, he said, “It’s just that I… I have never really been sure… about what you actually are… what your origins are. In all these years, I never imagined that you would ever… could ever… father a… a child… but yes… yes… young Jacob certainly is proof of your humanity.”

“The night I finally found Catherine on that rooftop… she told me that we had loved. That proves that it is possible for me to have a normal relationship, doesn’t it? That we could have had a normal relationship all along… Doesn’t it?”

Father felt he was treading on sensitive ground. Vincent’s agitation was clear in the tone of his voice. “I suppose… I … well… yes… I guess it does,” he replied.

Vincent opened his hand and gazed at the crystal necklace he held there. Then looking to his Father, he said, “There is a concert in the park tomorrow night. I have invited Catherine to join me. I am considering asking her to marry me, Father. Perhaps that will help us to restore our footing with each other… help her to be able to bond with our son… perhaps if I make it clear to her that I want us to be a real family…”

Father was silent, as he took in the news.

“I would like to know I have your blessing, Father.”

“Well… of course… I… I… I… yes, son… If you are sure that this is what you want, then I will most certainly give you my blessing. After what the two of you have been through, you both deserve every happiness.”

Jacob tried to hide his concern. Even though he had come to realize that he had been mistaken about many things, the years of trying to keep Vincent from this were difficult to overcome. He cleared his throat again, “I should go and speak with Mary now… about what she can do to assist Catherine with young Jacob.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Jacob stood, and turned on his walking stick and left Vincent’s chamber as quickly as he could. Reaching the outer tunnel, he paused and breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he found himself alone. Vincent and Catherine, married, he thought. Will wonders never cease?

Less than thirty minutes later, Vincent looked up as Father returned.

“Is there something else, Father?”

“Yes, Vincent,” Father replied as he approached Vincent’s desk. He placed a small box in front of his son. “This is my blessing. I would like you to have it.”

Lifting the box, Vincent opened it slowly, to reveal an antique diamond ring inside. Vincent looked up, confused. “Father, this is… Where did this come from?”

“It’s the engagement ring I gave to Margaret, the night I proposed to her. For many years, it was all I had left of her. I told myself that if things ever became truly desperate here, I would sell it to buy food or medicine, but I could never bring myself to part with it. Now I know why... It was meant for you, Vincent… for you and Catherine.”

Vincent was overwhelmed with emotion. He jumped up from his seat and threw his arms around his father, catching Jacob of guard.

“Thank you, Father! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, son.”

Chapter 13

Catherine paced back and forth in the familiar conference room at the D.A.’s office. “They’re late. Are you sure they said they were coming today?”

Joe was seated at the head of the table, rocking on two chair legs, and stretching a rubber band absently. “Relax, Cathy… you’re making me nervous. If the Feds say they’ll be here, they’ll be here.”

Catherine stopped and turned to face him. How can he be so relaxed? she wondered. “I can’t help it, Joe. I just want all of this to be over. Haven’t I been living without my identity long enough? Is it asking too much to just give it back and let me get on with my life? How am I supposed to live? Without my name I can’t get a job, or open bank account, or get an apartment! I have no money, no credit card… I don’t even have a driver’s license. I feel like… like I don’t even exist, Joe!”

Joe settled his chair back on four legs. “Of course, you exist, Cathy, your standing right here, wearing a hole in a perfectly good floor. I guess it’s not as easy to bring a person back to life as it is to just make them disappear. It’ll all be over soon, I promise.”

“‘It’ll all be over soon. It’ll all be over soon’… Auuugh!!” she cried out in frustration. “Do you have any idea how many times I have heard that in the last year, Joe?”

Before Joe could answer her, there was a knock on the door, and they turned as the receptionist showed two grim looking men into the room.

Catherine immediately recognized the two agents.

Joe recognized them too. “You gotta be kiddin’ me!” he exclaimed. “If it isn’t Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Frick and Frack, in the flesh.”

“We prefer Agent Bryant and Agent Biggs, if you don’t mind,” one of the agents retorted, clearly unphased by Joe’s insult.

“Good morning, Miss Chandler,” the darker of the two said, smiling broadly.

“Good morning, Agent Bryant.” Catherine held out her hand to greet them, giving Joe a side-eye warning at the same time.

Joe came closer, making it clear, he was ready to defend her if it was needed. “Pardon me, Agent Bryant, but I thought you two were CIA. So, why did they send you?”

Still smiling, Agent Bryant explained, “I’m not at liberty to say. Let’s just say that from time to time, there is some crossover between agencies. They thought Miss Chandler might be more comfortable with us, since we have a previously established relationship.”

“Hah!” Joe laughed. “Well, that’s a fact!” he said, sardonically.

“We heard about your friend, Mr. Burch. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Catherine replied, somberly. “I’m sorry too.”

“Let’s all sit down, and get down to business, why don’t we?” Agent Biggs said, ignoring Joe’s adversarial tone.

Joe sat next to Cathy, on one side of the table. He had a healthy distrust of these particular agents and was clearly determined to advocate for her, if it was needed.

Agent Bryant put his briefcase on the table and opened it. Pulling out a large manila envelope, he slid it across the table. “Miss Chandler, I need you to look at each of these documents and verify that they are correct. It’s your birth certificate, your passport, your driver’s license and a couple of other documents you might find useful.”

Sliding a binder across the table, he informed her, “And this is your will, your father’s will, a list of the contents of each estate and any and all financial holdings you had previous to entering into our custody.”

He gave her a few minutes to inspect the documents before producing three bulging envelopes. Sliding them one at a time across the table he said, “This is the deed to your apartment, and the keys.”

“What apartment? You mean my apartment?” Catherine asked. She looked at the contents of the envelope and saw that, indeed, it had the address of her old apartment on it.

“Yes, Miss Chandler… your apartment.” He slid a business card across the table, and said, “Your furniture and the contents of your apartment, as well as your car, are in storage. If you call this number, you can arrange to have them returned to you at your earliest convenience. Your utilities have been paid through the end of the month. Your phone number is the same. You just need to plug the phone back in and you’re good to go.”

Catherine was stunned as she picked up the card and looked at it. Can this be possible? she wondered. I thought it was all… gone. But what about…

Agent Bryant slid another bulging envelope in her direction, she was clearly confused. Opening the envelope, she pulled out another set of keys and a deed. Catherine gasped. “My father’s house?” She held the keys to her chest. “I didn’t know…I mean, I thought it was--”

“Wait,” Agent Bryant interrupted. “There’s more.” He slid a third envelope across the table.

As Catherine pulled the documents out of the last envelope, she began to cry. It was the keys and the deed to her parent’s property in Connecticut. Embarrassed by her inability to control her emotions, she lowered her head and covered her face.

Joe and the two agents squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. All three men were wise enough to wait patiently until she was able to get a grip on herself.

Joe stood up and retrieved a box of tissues from a small table in the corner of the room, and placed it in front of her, on the table.

When she had calmed down, Agent Biggs asked, “Is there something wrong Miss Chandler? Is anything missing?”

“No, it’s just that… I … I thought it was all… gone… I thought I had lost… everything.”

“That would be illegal, Miss Chandler,” the agent stated. “We are required to return your property to you. If you are satisfied that we have done that, I just need you to sign here, and our business is completed.”

She signed the document and handed it back to him.

“That’s it?” she asked. “That’s all it takes to get my identity back? I don’t need to go to court. I don’t need to see a judge?”

“Technically Miss Chandler, you never lost it. You expressed from the beginning that you were unwilling to relinquish your identity. As a result, you were merely in protective custody. No death certificate was ever issued. Your assets were seized to prevent anyone from attempting to gain access to them or executing your will. We’ve done everything we could to ensure you would be able to resume your life as seamlessly as possible… just like nothing ever happened.”

“Like nothing ever happened?” Joe began to laugh. “That’s rich! And how do you propose she do that? You think she can just move back into her apartment and pretend she hasn’t lost over a year of her life? Like she hasn’t lost her only ch--”

Catherine place her hand over Joe’s and squeezed it, in an effort to calm him. “Joe…”

He turned to look at her.

“I appreciate you standing up for me, Joe… really I do… but it’s okay. They’re just doing their jobs. It wasn’t their fault. None of this was their fault.”

Joe blanched visibly. She’s right, he chided himself, it’s not their fault. It’s mine.

“There’s one more thing, Miss Chandler,” agent Biggs said.

Catherine waited.

“About your baby.”

Catherine gasped loudly.

Joe observed her closely. Her face blanched, her eyes were visibly dilated. He could swear she was about to faint.

“What about my baby?” she finally asked.

The agent looked grim. “Nuthin’…” he said, shaking his head. “The FBI followed every conceivable lead… They searched every adoption agency… the legal ones and the black market … but there was no trace… It’s been 9 months--”

“It’s been 9 months 2 weeks and 3 days,” she corrected.

“Uh yeah…” Biggs was clearly uncomfortable. “So… like I said… it’s been 9 months. The investigation is over. The case is officially closed. I’m sorry, Miss Chandler,” he said. “If your baby is still alive… he’s irretrievably lost. There’s no sign of him anywhere.”

She closed her eyes and nodded, trying not to betray anything. “Thank you, Agent Biggs.” Swallowing hard, she continued, “Thank you for… for trying.”

Agent Bryant carefully folded the document she had signed and placed it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.  Then returning everything else to the briefcase, he left it lying on the table.

Finally closing the door behind the agents, Joe turned to Catherine. “You okay, Cathy?” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She leaned towards him, and he embraced her. He could feel her whole body was trembling. When she finally let go, he grabbed a tissue and handed it to her.

There was a knock on the door, and Joe answered it.

“They’re ready for you two downstairs, Mr. Maxwell,” Joe’s receptionist announced.

“Thanks, Wendy,” he said, before turning back to Cathy.

As she dabbed her eyes, he asked, “You ready for the next phase, kiddo?”

She grimaced at him and asked, “Do I have a choice?”

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “But no, not really. The press has been pretty patient for the last week. I really don’t think we can hold them off any longer.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” She took a deep breath and stood up. “Let’s get this over with.”

Chapter 15

The press room was filled with journalists and cameras flashing. She had postponed her appearance in a news conference as long as possible. But the inevitable day had finally come, and her appearance in front of them couldn’t be put off any longer.

Catherine had always had a difficult relationship with the local press. Coming from a prominent New York family had made her fair game for them from a young age. Every major tragedy or hint of scandal involving her family had been reported in, the local gossip rags, and even occasionally in the society pages of the New York Times. But after having her face slashed and being left for dead, she had learned how truly merciless the press could be. She’d learned that she wasn’t really a person to them, but a commodity, to be exploited for their own gain.

Then the gossip that had surrounded her in regard to her relationship with Elliot Burch had only served to feed their insatiable hunger for juicy tidbits of information, the more scandalous the better. She knew they didn’t care what was true… only what was salacious and titillating, to the people who bought their papers.

As Joe introduced her and invited her to approach the podium, she steeled herself for the onslaught.

“How does it feel, Ms. Chandler to be declared alive?” the first reporter asked.

Catherine took a deep breath and tried to smile. “It feels good. I hope now my life can return to normal.” Whatever that means, she scoffed inwardly.

The questions continued. “District Attorney Maxwell, now that Ms. Chandler has returned from the dead, what role do you intend for her to play at the D.A.’s office? Will she return to the same job she was doing at the time of her kidnapping?”

Joe stepped up to the mic. “We haven’t really discussed it in detail, but since her ordeal was a direct result of her work for the D.A.’s office, it only seems fair that she should be welcomed back with open arms.”

Another reporter followed up with, “Ms. Chandler, do you plan on returning to work for the D.A.’s office after all that’s happened?”

Catherine gave a sideways glance to Joe, appreciating that he continued to stand protectively beside her. “I haven’t made any definite plans.  Things have been kind of crazy lately. I think it would be best to let some of the dust settle a little before I make any big decisions.” This isn’t as bad as I was afraid it would be, she thought, beginning to relax a little.

A young man with his neck-tie askew stood and asked. “Ms. Chandler, do you plan on suing the city for what District Attorney Moreno did to you?”

“I haven’t really considered it,” she replied, “But, now that you mention it, no, I don’t.”

“And why is that?” he countered.

Trying to be patient, she elaborated. “There are certain hazards that are a part of working for the criminal justice system. What happened to me was terrible, but it’s no different than a fireman getting injured, rescuing someone from a burning building or a police officer getting shot trying to stop a robbery. It was hazard of the job. It’s unfortunate, but still, a risk we all take when we stand up for the rule of law.”

“Ms. Chandler, do you feel in any way responsible for the death of your boyfriend, Elliot Burch?”

The question caught her off guard. The truth was she had felt completely responsible for Elliot’s death from the moment she’d heard about it. Of course, I do, she thought immediately. Elliot is dead because he tried to help me. But I can’t say that.

Leaning a little closer to the mic, she answered. “Despite what you may have read in the papers, Mr. Burch was not my boyfriend. He was a dear friend who was trying to do the right thing. His death is a tragic result of the actions of the criminals who have now been brought to justice. I was no more responsible for his death than I was responsible for what happened to me,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Nevertheless, the questions kept coming.

“Ms. Chandler, now that the people responsible are going to spend the rest of their lives in prison, do you feel vindicated? Do you feel that justice has been served?”

Has justice been served? Catherine closed her eyes. They destroyed my life… and the lives of many others. Are they serious?

“I’m not sure how to answer that. I’m thankful to be alive, it’s more than I can say for others they harmed. Can justice ever be truly served for the things they did? It’s probably best for me to leave that answer in the hands of the justice system and higher powers than myself.”

“Ms. Chandler, the papers reported that you gave birth to a child shortly before your purported death. Was it Elliot Burch’s child, and do you have any idea what became of the baby?”

The room was suddenly eerily quiet, as if everyone in the room was holding their collective breath.  Joe looked at Catherine. Her face had gone white, and she appeared too stunned by the questions to respond. He leaned over to the mic and responded for her.

“That’s all, folks. Thanks for coming,” Joe said, abruptly ended the press conference. He turned to Catherine and said, “Come on, Cathy.”

Several journalists raised their hands, clamoring to get in one more question.

He rushed her with a security detail to the elevator, with journalists shoving microphones in her face and yelling questions as they went.

Catherine covered her ears as all the reporters yelled questions at her.

Joe did a good job putting himself between the reporters and Catherine as they made their way toward the elevators. Once inside, they both breathed a sigh of relief.

“Wow, Radcliffe, you were great. I’m glad that’s over,” Joe said.

As soon as the elevator doors shut, she slumped against the wall of the small cubicle and buried her face in her hands.

“You okay, Radcliffe?” Joe asked.

Catherine looked up momentarily. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Joe had the good manners to stay silent. As the doors opened on their floor, he gently guided her into his office and sat her on the couch.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, Catherine leaned forward, resting her face on her knees. Deep breaths, deep breaths, she told herself, as she tried to calm down. They think it was Elliot’s baby? she wondered. It was something she had never considered. When will they stop hounding me? What am I going to do?... Deep breaths… deep breaths…

Joe sat in a nearby chair waiting patiently for her to calm down and collect herself. Her breathing slowly became more regular and at length she finally sat up and looked at him.

“Thank you, Joe… for everything.” Catherine looked at him with gratitude. “I couldn’t have done that without you. Thanks for backing me up.”

Joe huffed a little. She’s thanking me, he thought. That’s rich. I should be thanking her, but ‘thank you’ would be a ridiculous understatement.

“I’m sorry the press conference took a bad turn, Cathy. I was blind-sided by that last question.”

Catherine looked at him in silence, unsure how to respond. She wasn’t actually sure how much Joe knew. She remained silent, trying not to give anything away. She stood and went to the window. Watching the traffic far below her had a way of helping her find her balance. I hate lying to you, Joe, she thought. You of all people deserve the truth. But I can’t… I just can’t.

“So, watta ya say, Cathy?”

“About what?” She responded, hoping he wasn’t referring to the last question the reporters had asked.

“I’m offering you a job here. It’s yours if you want it. It’s the least I can do.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “The least you can do? What does that mean?”

“Just that I owe you, Cathy… big time…”

She hesitated. He owes me? What does he think he owes me for? she wondered.

He took her hesitation to answer as evidence that maybe she didn’t want to come back to work for him. “What? You don’t want to come back to the glamorous world of criminal law?”

“It’s not that, Joe.” She replied, trying to catch up with his train of thought.

“Then what?”

“I don’t think I can do it anymore. I can’t put myself at risk the way I used to. It’s too dangerous.”

“I agree. You’ve earned your stripes here, kiddo. That’s not a problem. My old job is open, Cathy. There is no leg work. You’d have grunts for that. They do all the work, and you walk into court and take all the glory. How does that sound? And you would get a little raise to boot.” He was trying to make a tough job sound as attractive as possible.

“You make it sound pretty tempting… There’ just one problem.”

“What?”

Relaxing a little, she smiled mischievously. “I would have the same boss, I had before. He was a real slave driver.”

“Hey,” he laughed. “I wasn’t that bad? Was I?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Are you kidding?”

“Okay, okay, I was that bad… but I promise you, Cathy, I will try to do better. But you know what they say?”

“I know, I know… ‘Criminals don’t take weekends and holidays off.’” She had heard him say it many times.

Joe smiled at the fact that she remembered his old refrain. Looking serious again, he tried to coax her to answer him. “Listen, Cathy. I know you don’t really need this job. You can pretty much write your own ticket.  You always could. Heck, you could probably afford to retire in Tahiti and never look back. But I would really love to have you back here. Your absence left quite a hole in the office. Nobody works as hard as you did.”

She smiled at the compliment. “I sure wish my Dad had lived long enough to hear you say that.” Knowing that at least professionally, she had been a disappointment to her father.

“You’ve made him proud, Radcliffe…. in spades. So, watta ya say? Can you start next Monday?”

“I really loved working here, Joe,” she said, smiling wistfully.

“We made a great team, Kiddo, didn’t we?” Joe asked.

She smiled, but Joe got the feeling she was about to cry.

“Yeah, we did,” she agreed.

Then looking back to the street below, she admitted, “I’m not sure I’m ready.” She turned away from the window and retrieved the briefcase agents Bryant and Biggs had given her. “Tell you what, Joe… I’ll be here Monday morning to give you my answer. How’s that?”

“Deal!” he replied, as he walked her to the door.

“Thanks Joe…” she said, as they reached the door.

He reached out and hugged her… “It’s really good to have you back, Radcliffe. Really good.”

She smiled weakly, and walked out of his office, and into her newly retrieved life. Whatever that means, she thought.

Chapter 15

Tonight, has to be the night, Catherine resolved, as she prepared for her date with Vincent. She looked at herself in the mirror, as she carefully applied her make up. I can’t keep stringing him along like this. He deserves better than that. After the concert, I’ll tell Vincent it’s over, between us. Then he’ll be free to move on with his life.

Since returning to New York, Catherine had tried to keep Vincent at arm’s length in an attempt to guard her heart against their inevitable separation, but it wasn’t easy. During their time apart, she had come to the conclusion that she must let Vincent go, that he would be better off without her in his life. I’ve caused him nothing but heartache, she had concluded. He is better off without me, especially now.

During the two years of their relationship, before her disappearance, Catherine had stubbornly refused to let Vincent push her out of his life. But over their fifteen-month separation, she had reflected on how much pain her love had caused him, and the part she had played in the illness that nearly killed him. After long and careful thought, she concluded that the best way to prove her love for him would be to let him go. Her illness had played no small part in her final decision. However, since her return to New York, she had found it more difficult than she anticipated.

Having Vincent back in her life had only served to remind her how deeply she loved him… even more now, than she ever had. Each time he had tried to pull her close, she had managed to push him away. But she was unsure of how long she would have the strength to continue.

I have to do this, she resolved. I have to be strong. I have to set him free.

Her thoughts then turned to her son… their son. I don’t know if I can do it, she thought. I don’t know if I have the strength to turn my back on our child. Her heart swelled with love whenever she was near him. She ached to hold him in her arms, but she knew if she did, she might never have the strength to walk away.

As Catherine stepped through the basement threshold beneath Peter’s brownstone, her heart skipped a beat. Vincent was breathtaking, dressed in a blue, double breasted leather tunic, and red, thigh-high boots. He had clearly made an extra effort to look his best.

She looked down, self-consciously at her jeans and pullover sweater. Recalling their past dates in the music chamber, she remembered she had always taken great pains to look beautiful or him.

Immediately seeing her discomfort, Vincent asked. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Vincent. I’m afraid I’m terribly underdressed. I… I would go upstairs and change, but I don’t have much else to choose from, at the moment.”

“You look lovely, Catherine,” he whispered sincerely.

Still feeling self-conscious, she explained, “It’s just that I… I haven’t had much need for evening dresses in the last year or so… I—”

“Catherine, please… You look beautiful. If it would make you more comfortable, I can go back home and change.”

“No… please… please don’t. I like what your wearing. You look… beautiful, too.”

Catherine was quiet as they walked, feeling her resolve wavering.

Turning into the Music Chamber, Catherine could see that Vincent had gone to a lot of effort to create a romantic setting. The memory of other concerts, in this chamber, washed over her, and her earlier resolution was momentarily forgotten.

Vincent was encouraged when he saw a hint of a sparkle in her eyes. Holding out his hand, he invited her to enter.

Seated on several layers of blankets, Vincent uncovered a low table set with mismatched china and napkins, that had been carefully folded in the shape of roses.

Catherine was enchanted by the attention he had paid to every detail.

“Did you do all this, Vincent?”

“Mary provided the table setting from her private collection,” he admitted. “Samantha folded the napkins, and William is responsible for the food.”

Catherine was stunned by the delicious looking meal that lay before her. Chicken cordon bleu, honey glazed carrots, roasted red potatoes and homemade bread with strawberry jam were all exquisitely prepared.

“It smells wonderful. William did this?...  for me?”

Vincent smiled. “William doesn’t get many opportunities to show off his true talents. He was flattered that I asked… and eager to please you. I think he has a secret crush on you, Catherine.” As he showed her to her seat. Sitting across from her he noticed one side of her mouth turned up in a slight smile.

“William is a very sweet man,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I never told him that.” She suddenly looked sad again. “I’m sorry I didn’t say a lot of things,” she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. Then, looking at Vincent again, she asked, “Will you please tell William, ‘Thank you,’ for me?”

Grasping for something to keep the conversation going as they ate, he asked, “How did your meeting with the government lawyers go today?”

“It went… well,” she said quietly. Her expression of sadness only deepened.

“That’s a good thing… isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it is. Not only did they restore my identity, they returned all of my worldly possessions… everything I thought I had lost.”

“Everything?” he asked.

She nodded. “Well, everything except the last fifteen months of my life,” she replied. Everything but my health, she added inwardly. Everything but the one thing I’ve only ever truly wanted… a future with you.

“What’s the subject of tonight’s concert? Do you know?” she asked, hoping desperately to change the subject.

Taking her cue, he answered, “I understand it’s Gioacchino Rossini.”

“Oh… I love Rossini.” she exclaimed. “Especially The Silken Ladder. The oboe solo is something to behold.”

“Yes, it is… The Barber of Seville is also wonderful,” Vincent added.

“I wonder if they will begin with The William Tell Overture?” she mused.

“I rather think that would make a fitting finale, don’t you?”

“I do,” she agreed, feeling a little more comfortable.

Finishing their meal. They settled next to each other under the grate, with their backs against the tunnel wall. As the concert began, Catherine closed her eyes as she listened to the first overture, from The Barber of Seville, trying to forget, for the moment what she had resolved to do before the evening ended. As she let herself become lost in the music, she felt herself relaxing, as the music carried her away.

As the concert progressed, Vincent felt Catherine slip her hand into his, entwining her delicate fingers into his rough hand. He held his breath as she lay her head on his shoulder and leaned her body close to his.

I’d forgotten how this feels, he recalled. How much I have missed this.

Lost in the music, Catherine was unaware that she was drawing ever closer to Vincent. Her earlier resolution to set him free was completely forgotten as the music overcame them and drew them close together.

As Vincent had predicted, The William Tell Overture was saved for last. It was exhilarating as the piece reached its crescendo. Vincent watched how the music affected Catherine. Her face, so serene throughout the concert, changed to a broad smile. She sat up and looked up through the grate.

“Aren’t they wonderful?” she asked, her voice filled with joy.

As the last note faded away, she fell against his chest, laughing.

To Vincent, it was the sweetest music of all. There she is, he thought. There’s my smiling, glowing, Catherine. Without even thinking, he held her face in his hands and lowered his own to kiss her.

Responding to him, Catherine kissed him back, tentatively, at first, and then with more intensity. It felt good. It felt right… It felt like every dream she had ever had for them. It was even more exhilarating than the music had been… until he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her body closer to his. At that moment she realized his hand was dangerously close to discovering her secret.

Vincent was stunned when she suddenly changed. Her body became tense and she said, “No… Vincent…  NO!” She pushed hard against his chest and stood up next to him. With tears streaming down her cheeks Catherine held a trembling hand to her lips.

Confused, Vincent watched, as she backed away from him, shaking her head.

“We can’t… I… I can’t… I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I’m so sorry, Vincent.”

With that, she ran from the tunnel, leaving Vincent alone and confused by what had just happened.

As Vincent sat, stunned in now silent chamber, he had a flash of a memory… of another chamber. Deeper and darker the one he now occupied.

~~~

He was in a rage in a dark, damp cave, overcome by the mental and emotional pain that was tearing him apart. Seeing Catherine enter the cave, he stopped for a moment. Confused about who she was and how she had found him. She called out to him, and his roars reverberated off the walls as he rushed at her with his hand raised ready to strike.

VINCENT!!!!! He heard her scream his name in terror… and then… everything went black.

~~~

Vincent hung his head as the pain of what had just happened washed over him. “What did I do to you, Catherine?” he asked to no one there. “What have I done?”

It was several minutes before he realized that he should go after her to beg her forgiveness… or to at least make sure she was all right.

Chapter 16

Vincent paused at the entrance to the Chamber of the Falls when he saw Catherine standing precariously close to the edge of the cliff, holding her hand out into the misty void in front of her. He feared that one wrong move, one wrong breath, and she would fall into the chasm and be swept away, in the churning waters far beneath her.

“Catherine?”

Without turning she began to recite...

“‘Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! for the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;’”

She paused and Vincent finished the stanza…

“‘And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.’”[1]

“You know Matthew Arnold’s work?” she asked, softly, turning her hand slowly in the void over the cliff.

“I’m familiar with some of his poetry. The Buried Life is one I’m more familiar with. It resonates… with me.”

She seemed more interested in her hand than in continuing the conversation. Vincent was frightened for her. Despite her earlier rejection, he stepped up carefully behind her and put his arms around her, loosely entwining his fingers in front of her waist and drawing her toward him a fraction of an inch from the edge. When she didn’t resist, or try to break free, he lowered his lips to her ears and whispered. “Tell me the truth, Catherine.  What is it you are feeling?”

She lay her head back against his shoulder, drawing the strength from him that she needed, to do what she knew she had to do. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t want to hurt you, Vincent. I don’t want to cause you pain.”

“And you believe the truth will cause me pain?”

She was silent for a moment before admitting, “I know it will.”

“We have never withheld the truth from each other, Catherine.”

She shook her head slightly. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

“Perhaps,” he reluctantly agreed, knowing that he had kept many things from her in the past.

“Maybe it never was,” she acknowledged.

“Will you tell me the truth now, Catherine? Will you tell me what you’re feeling now?” He begged, aching for the time when he never needed to ask her what she was feeling, because he could feel her heart beating so clearly within his own.

She again reached her hand out over the edge. Her voice had an ethereal, haunting quality to it. “I feel like… a ghost… as if… if I stepped off the edge right now, I would just float away and disappear into the mist… forever.”

Her words made him shudder. Vincent tightened his embrace just a little, before she continued.

“I feel… like I’m walking in the shadows of a life that doesn’t belong to me anymore… doesn’t exist anymore… not for me…” Saying it out loud filled her with overwhelming sadness. She turned her palm up and stared at it. “Like it’s just… a dream that’s turned to dust in my hands.” She slowly closed her empty hand and drew it close to her chest.

A few pebbles came loose and bounced against the side of the cliff disappearing in the turbulent water below.

Vincent nuzzled his face in her hair and whispered in her ear. “I’m real, Catherine. This is real.”

“Is it?” She shook her head. “Maybe it’s just me that isn’t.” Catherine allowed him to hold her in his embrace. Let me feel him holding me close this one last time, she thought. One last embrace, before I set him free.

“I thought that coming back would make me feel like myself, again. Then I thought, when my identity was returned to me… that my life would feel like it’s mine, again. But it doesn’t. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m looking for things and people that don’t exist, anymore. Everyone has moved on with their lives while I was gone. They’ve changed. Everything’s changed. Nothing feels like it’s mine.”

“What about me, Catherine? Do I feel like I’m yours?”

“No.” She shook her head, still leaning against him for strength.

“Please, tell me,” he whispered. “What does it feel like?”

“It feels like… the world went on without me… like you moved on without me, and…”

“And what?” he asked, fearing that what she said next might destroy him.

“… and I don’t belong here anymore. There’s no place for me… I don’t fit here now… Maybe I never did.”

She pulled herself out of his arms and moved away from the edge of the cliff.

“We are all very grateful that you have returned to us, Catherine… that you are alive. Has anyone been unkind to you? Has someone said you don’t belong?”

“No… nearly everyone has been very kind… but everywhere I turn, people expect me to pick up, right where I left off… like the last fifteen months was just an intermission, and now I can snap my fingers and resume my life… like nothing ever happened. I’m not the same person I was… before. And neither are you, Vincent. We’re trying to pretend nothing has changed… but everything has changed… hasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Some things have changed. That is true… How could something like that not change us?” he said, thoughtfully. “But I still love you, Catherine. That has not changed.”

“I know you do. Maybe it’s just that even though I… survived… there’s something inside of me… a part of me… that has died.”

“What is it? What has died?”

Turning to face him she finally answered. “Hope…” She smiled wanly. “I guess I finally stopped believing that we could ever have the things we dreamed of… the life we dreamed of… I know now… that it can never be.”

“Do you still love me, Catherine?” he asked, in earnest. “Have your feelings for me changed?”

“Of course, I still love you. That is the only thing that hasn’t changed. I could never stop loving you, Vincent. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t.” Whatever else she might lie about, she couldn’t bring herself to lie about that.

I have to do it, she urged herself. I have to do it now. Get it over with! Without our Bond he won’t know that I’m lying… and then he’ll be free.

“We’re just too different, Vincent,” she said. “I don’t see how we can ever make it work. Not after all that’s happened. We can’t go back to the way things were.” She hoped against hope that he would believe her lies. He has to. He just has to.

“If our dream was meant to be, then why has it always been so hard? Why have there always been so many obstacles in our way?” She stopped and breathed deeply, before admitting, “I finally woke up from the dream. That’s all it ever was, wasn’t it? A dream of a life that could never be. But even the dream is over now… Everything… is over now. We’re just torturing, ourselves trying so hard to get it back.”

Her words cut him deeply. We’re just too different, Vincent.  Her words echoed in his mind. She means me, he concluded. She means I’m too different. I’m too different!

In the past, it had been Vincent who had always insisted they were too different to ever realize their dreams. It was Catherine who had always tried to convince him they could overcome those differences. It had always been Catherine’s faith, her unwavering hope in the possibility of a future together, that had kept their dream alive. She’s finally given up, he realized. Just when I had begun to believe she had been right all along. Now she agrees that I am too different.

And with those words his newfound confidence came crashing down around him.

He had embraced her, even kissed her… After all, we made a child together. It proves it is possible doesn’t it? That I am normal. Then why doesn’t she want me to touch her now? What did I do that makes her shrink from me now?

Without their Bond, he had no way of knowing if she was being truthful or not. He couldn’t shake the feeling that, she was now lost to him.

“Is there another man in your life, Catherine? Have you found… someone else?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, Vincent, there is no one else.”

There will never be anyone else, she told herself.  There will only and ever be… you, my love. But I have to set you free… free of me.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to strike the final blow. She needed to make it clear to him that their relationship was over. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, praying that she would have the strength to let him go, the strength to hurt him so deeply that he would let her go.

“Don’t fight it, Vincent,” she began. “I don’t have the strength to fight for it, anymore. Fate brought us together, three years ago. I don’t know why, but it did. And I’m not sorry… not for one second… What we shared was amazing… and beautiful… but fate swept us apart again, and neither of us could do anything about that, either. I just can’t see how we can ever go back again. We had a chance to make something… and now that chance is… gone. It slipped through our fingers and… We have to find a way to move on.”

“So, you’ve decided… to resume your life Above?”

“Yes. Joe has offered me his old job as the Assistant District Attorney. I haven’t decided yet, if I will take it. Either way… yes, my life is Above.”

Vincent’s heart sank to know that she was considering going back to the dangerous career she had before.

“And what about Jacob? Will you be taking him with you?” Fear gripped his heart at the thought of losing his son, but he knew Jacob needed a mother’s love.

She shook her head, sadly. “No… I wouldn’t do that to you Vincent. Jacob is your son… He doesn’t even know me. He needs you… and you need him.”

“So, you don’t want him, either?” Vincent couldn’t fathom that his son was unwanted by his own mother, just as he had been, so many years before.

“It isn’t about what I want,” she tried to explain. “I’m being hounded by journalists and photographers. I can’t expose him to that. Here he’s… safe. He needs you. He doesn’t need me. He’s done just fine without me. I have no right to show up here after all this time, and take him away from you, and the only home he’s ever known.”

Vincent was silent, trying to absorb the fact that Catherine didn’t want her own child. This isn’t the Catherine I know, he thought. Maybe she’s right. Maybe something in her really has died. Is it because of me? he wondered. Is it because of the way he was conceived? But he didn’t have the courage to ask her.

“My life is Above…” she said, denying his unasked question. “That’s just the way it is… the way it’s always been. We’ve always known that… haven’t we?”

He heard the resignation in her voice, saw the hopelessness in her eyes. He realized that was what he had been seeing in her since the day she returned. The light that had gone out of her was hope. She has finally given up on our dream. It really is over.

“Yes…” he answered with resignation. “I suppose we have… always known.”

At this point, Catherine wavered. I can’t do it, she realized. I can’t turn my back completely on my son. Not yet anyway. I need to hold him… I need to touch him… at least for a little while.

“W-Would you allow me to come Below sometimes and visit him?” she asked. “Would that… be all right?”

“Catherine, he’s your son, of course, you may.  You can be in his life as much as you want.”

“I’ll defer to your wishes, Vincent. I promise, I won’t interfere. I have no right.”

Vincent was somber as he realized she would not change her mind. “You have every right.”

“No… I don’t. He’s your son. Whatever you believe is best for him is what we will do.”

“If that is what you wish,” he replied. He could see that arguing further would be pointless. “I’ll walk you back now.”

At Peter’s Threshold, Catherine turned to Vincent. “I’ll be moving back into my old apartment tomorrow. If you need to contact me, you can find me there.”

“Very well,” was all he replied, before reaching for the lever and opening the door.

She sighed deeply. “Good night, Vincent.”

As the door closed behind her, she leaned against the brick wall and slumped to the floor, resting her forehead on her knees. “I’m sorry, Vincent,” she whispered. “Please forgive me.”

Vincent leaned against the brick and reached into his pocket. He looked at the sparkling diamond ring in the palm of his hand. Sinking to the floor he wondered how the evening had gone so wrong.

“Catherine,” he whispered. “What has happened to you?”

Chapter 17

Catherine and Peter stood in the middle of her empty apartment on Central Park West.

Peter had insisted on accompanying her, to make sure everything went smoothly. After all, if Charles were here, it’s what he would do, he’d concluded.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Cathy?” Peter asked.

“What else am I supposed to do, Peter? I’m trying to pick up the pieces of what’s left of my life. This is my apartment. I have to live somewhere.”

“It’s just that… after everything, I… I just thought that you and Vincent… that you might…”

“Might what?” she asked, her words tinged with more than a little bitterness. “Move Below and live happily ever after?”

Peter was stunned by the sarcasm in her voice but made no reply.

Catherine was already feeling the walls closing in on her. She walked out onto the balcony. Looking out at the waking city, she took a few deep breaths.

Peter followed her and leaned against the rail a couple of feet away. It was clear that she needed the space.

“I once dreamed…” she began. “…that a day would come when Vincent and I would find a way to be together, truly together… and we would live happily ever after.” She spoke softly, and there was great sadness in her voice. “But life isn’t a fairy tale or a dream, Peter. It’s about time I faced reality, don’t you think?”

“What are you saying? That the two of you are calling it quits? What does Vincent say?”

“What can he say?” she replied with a shrug. “The dream is over, Peter. There won’t be any happy ending. Not for us. We finally woke up, and now… we have to find a way to move on.”

“What about Jacob?”

Catherine looked up. Her expression was stony and difficult for Peter to read.

“He’ll stay below, with Vincent.”

“Are you sure?” he asked in disbelief.

“We’ve discussed it, and we both agree, that it’s for the best… for everyone.”

Peter stared at her, trying to understand why she would agree to give up her own child. “Is this because of your illness, Cathy?”

Catherine tensed visibly. “It’s because of a lot of things,” she half-lied. “You’ve seen how the journalists and paparazzi are hanging around your house. Do you think I want my child subjected to that?”

“We all thought you and Vincent were meant to be. ‘Destined.’ Your devotion to each other was an inspiration to us all.”

Catherine turned away, pretending to watch the street below.  “If we were really destined to be together, don’t you think we would have been? It never worked out, Peter. We were doomed from the start. I see that, now.”

Peter was shocked by the sound of hopelessness in her voice. Even in the worst of circumstances, Catherine had always had a way of finding the silver lining in the darkest of clouds. It was a trait she had inherited from her mother. This woman standing before him seemed almost like a stranger.

“Father knew, didn’t he?” Catherine continued. “He said it was a ‘tragic mistake’ from the very beginning.” She shook her head sadly. “It’s time for us to stop torturing ourselves and admit that he was right.”

“Jacob may have felt that way at one time, but I don’t think he feels that way now. Father loves you, Cathy. You must know that.”

Turning to look directly at Peter, she said, “You know how my story ends, Peter. You’ve seen it before. I love Vincent too much to put him through that.”

“Cathy,” he pleaded. “Don’t you think that’s a decision that Vincent should--”

“NO!” Catherine cut him off. “You know as well as I do what Vincent would do. He would sacrifice any chance he might have at happiness, to take care of me. He would feel it was his duty.”

She thought of a once beloved Shakespeare sonnet. “He would bear it out even to the edge of doom,” she whispered, with a catch in her throat. “I can’t bear the thought of that.”

Stepping closer, he hoped he could make her see reason. “Isn’t that what you did for Vincent in that dark cave?” Peter asked.

She looked at him sorrowfully, dashed away a tear that threatened to spill out, then turned again toward Central Park, looking in the general direction of the park culvert entrance to Vincent’s Tunnel home.

“That’s what love is, Cathy,” Peter said softly. “That’s what Charles did for Caroline. That’s what I did for Lillian. Charles never regretted that decision, and I would do the same, if I had it to do again.”

Peter could see his words had no effect. He recognized the stubborn resolve in her straight back and set chin and knew his chances of changing her mind were slim, impossible even. She’s more stubborn than her mother, he thought. And that’s saying something.

As if reading his thoughts, she said, “I saw what it did to Daddy… watching her die… It nearly killed him, Peter… and I know what it did to me. My childhood ended the day she died.” She took a deep breath, in an effort to calm the storm of emotions that raged, within her. “I don’t want that for Vincent… or for my son. They’ve already been through too much. They’re better off if I just… fade quietly out of their lives.”

“I think you’re making a terrible mistake, Cathy. You’re well now. For all you know, you could live healthy, and happy for forty or fifty more years.”

Catherine looked at him doubtfully. “Come on, Peter. You’re a doctor. We both know that’s not likely.”

“But it is possible, Cathy. There’s new research all the time. More and more people are surviving for—"

“Is that what you told my mother?” she interjected.

Peter was stunned. Her words hit his heart like a bullet. He had always blamed himself for not being able to save her.

Catherine regretted the words as soon as the escaped her lips. She had always known that Peter had done everything humanly possible to save her mother.

“Oh, Peter!” She covered her mouth in horror at what she had said. “I’m so sorry… Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have said that! I know you did everything you could for her. I’ve never blamed you. I promise. It’s just that I’m… I’m…” She hung her head in shame and stifled a sob.

Peter could see how lost his goddaughter was. He quickly approached her and took her in his arms.

She welcomed his comforting embrace and wept for a few minutes on his jacket. When she finally got a grip on herself, she looked up as he handed her his ever- handy, starched, white handkerchief.

Catherine accepted it, gratefully. “I’m so sorry, Peter,” Blowing her nose, she added, “I hope you can forgive me.”

“Forgiven and forgotten, my dear.” He gave her shoulders an affectionate squeeze. “Isn’t there anything I can say to change your mind?”

“I’m tired, Peter,” she replied, shaking her head. “I don’t have the strength to fight for it, anymore. If it was meant to be… It would have been. I don’t want to talk about it anymore… please.”

“Do you think it will be that easy?” Peter asked, ignoring her request. “I know you, Cathy. I know you love Vincent, and if you’re anything like your mother, you love that little boy, with all your heart and soul. Do you really think it will be that easy to just fade out of their lives… to stop loving them?”

She shook her head. “I never said I would stop loving them. My love for Vincent and our son is the very reason I’m doing this. I’ll love them with my whole heart… until the day I die.”

He gasped audibly in shock at the admission. “Catherine Rose,” he uttered with sorrow.

Catherine saw the moving van turn into the alley next to her apartment building and breathed a sigh of relief. “They’re here,” she said, grateful to have a reason to stop talking. She nearly ran for the elevator to go down and greet the delivery men.

“Catherine Rose Chandler, what are you doing?” Peter whispered to the empty room. “What are you doing?”

Chapter 18

Vincent was making his way to the silent river deep below the Chambers where his Tunnel family lived. Deeper, even than Narcissa’s chambers. It was his place, a dark, secret place he had discovered as a boy, exploring the world he called home. It was a place where he went to find solace and peace when the circumstances of his life weighed heavy on his spirit. A place he went when he wanted to be alone.

The old woman seemed to materialize out of the mist. Vincent pressed himself into a shallow void in the tunnel wall and watched silently, hoping in vain that the woman’s sightless eyes would not detect his presence. She walked until she was just passed him, and he thought, maybe this time she didn’t notice me here.

“You really let dis old woman pass widout a greeting, child?”

Despite his sadness, Vincent smiled in the darkness, waiting a moment to reply. “I never could fool you, could I, Narcissa?”

“Hee, hee, hee. No, but dat never stop you trying, does it, Vincent?”

He approached her and rested an affectionate hand on the woman’s shoulders. “I guess not. The boy in me still tries.”

They both laughed at that.

“Since I’m here, is there anything I can help you with, Narcissa?”

“Pshaw! Dis old woman can fend for herself. But since you’re here, lend me your arm and let me guide you out of de dark.”

Vincent promptly obeyed, amused at the idea of a blind woman guiding him out of the dark.

She held out her hand as he offered her his arm.

“You are troubled by many tings, Vincent,” she said as they walked. “Do you tink you will find de answers here, in de darkness?”

Deflecting her question, he replied, “Sometimes I think you are not as blind as you appear, Narcissa.”

Narcissa laughed. “And you see more in de dark, child, dan most people see in de sunlight.”

Vincent sighed. “I’m afraid that isn’t so true, anymore.”

“Ahhhh! It tis true, Vincent. You have only forgotten how to recognize it.”

“No, Narcissa, when I was ill… I lost something. I lost part of my sight. The Bond I used to share with Catherine. It was gone, and it never returned.”

“You must listen to a crazy, old woman. Narcissa knows. You have lost no ting. It… tis… not… gone, child. It tis only sleeping… waiting for you to find it again. Like a lost child waiting alone in de dark.”

Vincent stopped walking, shocked at what she had revealed. He had long mourned the loss of his connection to Catherine and would do anything to have it restored. Perhaps then, he would understand what was happening between them now.

“How…How is this possible? What can I do? How can I find it?”

Narcissa looked up at him through, her clouded eyes, and smiled indulgently. “You must conquer your fear, child,” she said, gently. “What is it you fear so much, dat you cannot face de truth? Answer dat, Vincent, and you will find de truth you are seeking.”

“What truth is that?”

She patted his arm with her knarled, arthritic hand. “Only you know de answer to dat, child. But I will tell you dis… many of de answers you seek are in da letters. De truth is in da letters.”

Vincent shook his head, trying to comprehend the puzzle in her answer. “What letters?”

“De letters hidden in de dark, Vincent.”

“I don’t understand, Narcissa. Where can I find these letters?”

“Dey will reveal demselves when de time is right, child. De woman… she will guide you when de time is right.”

Vincent was becoming more confused than ever. “What woman? Are you speaking of Catherine?”

Narcissa was becoming frustrated by his lack of understanding. “De woman wit fire in her heart… De woman wit fire in her hair. She will seek to guide you out of de dark, Vin-cent, and you must let her.” She paused for a moment to allowing words to distill in his mind, then she added, “And remember, child… dere is magic in true love’s kiss.”

Before he could ask her another question, she slipped her hand from his arm and disappeared into a crevice in the tunnel wall.

Vincent sighed, as the silence surrounded him once more and he continued on his journey into the darkness.

Chapter 19

Two days later, Vincent looked up in the dark, at the sound of approaching footsteps. At the far end of the cavern he saw a light at the chamber entrance. The lantern’s light came closer. He could see who it was, but he didn’t speak a word of welcome. Why would he? He had come here to be alone.

The lantern stopped a few feet in front of him.

“Found ya! Good! Better than good.”

Vincent sighed. “Yes, you found me. Is there something I can do for you, Mouse?”

Mouse shook his head. “Nope. Mouse is fine. Worried about Vincent. Came looking. Dark down here. Shouldn’t be alone. Alone is bad. Came to keep you company.”

Vincent poked a stick in the long dead embers of the fire ring at his side. “I don’t want company. I came here so that I could be alone.”

“Vincent’s sad? Sad is bad. Catherine sad too. Something wrong?”

“You’ve seen Catherine?” He was surprised that she had returned Below after their last conversation.

Mouse nodded. “Came to see baby Jacob. Asked Father where you were. Father said, gone Below. Need to think. Need to be alone.”

“Yes, Mouse… I want to be alone,” he said, taking some comfort in knowing she had come to visit their child.

“Vincent’s alone…Below. Catherine’s alone…Above. Why?”

Vincent sighed again. “I’m not sure how to explain it, Mouse.”

“Mouse is glad Catherine’s back. Glad Catherine’s not dead.”

“Yes… yes I’m very glad too.”

“But Catherine’s different. Not the same. Something’s wrong. Catherine’s sick?”

“What makes you think she’s ill?”

Mouse shrugged his shoulders. “Used to smile… used to… shine. Eyes shined, hair shined… You know… like a birthday candle. Smelled like… flowers.” Mouse frowned. His scowl was exaggerated by the light and shadows cast by the lantern he carried. “Now… hair doesn’t shine… eyes don’t shine… candle’s out. Poof. Doesn’t smile anymore. Even smells different.”

Yes, Vincent thought. She was the light in my life from the moment I found her. He recalled how it had intrigued him that it shone from her even as she lay in his chamber wrapped in bandages. Some indefinable light that seemed to emanate from her, always. And then he recalled how he had noticed her eyes the first night he saw her in Peter’s living room. Her eyes looked dead. The light had gone out of her.

“Yes,” Vincent nodded in agreement. “I suppose that’s true. Catherine has been through a great deal in the past year.”

“A lot of… bad?”

“Yes, Mouse… a lot of bad.”

“Bad… changes people?”

A lot of bad has happened to Catherine, Vincent thought. And she certainly has changed. Perhaps she is right, that I have changed too.

“Yes…Sometimes, bad changes people,” he replied to his young friend.

“Bad happened to Vincent. Bad people shot Vincent. That bad man…took baby Jacob, hurt Catherine, trapped Vincent… hurt Vincent.”

Vincent nodded. “Yes.”

“Changed Vincent, too?”

Mouse was clearly concerned about both of his friends. Vincent recognized that his questions, though difficult, needed to be answered.

“I suppose it did change me, as well,” he said. “Sometimes when bad things happen, it leaves scars.” Vincent looked down at the burn scars on his palms that were caused by Gabriel’s electrified cage. “And sometimes… it leaves scars on the inside… scars no one can see,” he said, thoughtfully.

“Catherine has scars… inside?”

“I believe so.”

“Catherine’s… bad?”

“No, Catherine is definitely not bad. She’s just… different now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing his chin trying to understand what Vincent was telling him.

“Catherine still loves Vincent?” he asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Yes, she does.” It’s the only thing I do know for sure, he acknowledged to himself. I know Catherine still loves me.

“Vincent still loves Catherine?”

“Yes, Mouse,” Vincent said, trying to be patient with his friend.

Mouse was confused. “Don’t understand,” he said, “Vincent loves Catherine… Catherine loves Vincent… so everything’s good. Right? Better than good?”

Vincent sighed. “Mouse… please… some things aren’t that simple. I need to think… I need to be alone… so that I can think.”

“Alone is bad.”

“Sometimes… yes… but right now… I need to be alone so that I can sort some things out. I need you to go back home. Please tell Father that I’m fine and I’ll be back in a few days. But promise me you won’t tell anyone where I am. I don’t want anyone getting lost trying to find me.”

“Okay good… Okay fine… Go back… tell Father… don’t tell anyone. Mouse can do that.

As the light from Mouse’s headlamps disappeared in the distance, Vincent felt the cloak of darkness enfolding him once again. The silence ringing in his ears was deafening, as he felt the weight of the world Above begin to press down on him. His eyes darted to and fro, barely able to make out the shapes of the rough, cavern walls. There was the occasional sound of water, dripping from the stalactites far above him, and he wondered if it was raining in her world.

He sighed, pulling his cloak protectively around him, and tried to make peace with the return of his aloneness. The aloneness, once banished by Catherine’s love, had returned, and the weight of it was almost more than he could bear.

As the darkness embraced him, he recalled an old poem that had once brought him comfort…

“You darkness, that I come from,

I love you more than all the fires

that fence in the world,

for the fire makes

a circle of light for everyone,

and then no one outside learns of you.

But the darkness pulls in everything:

shapes and fires, animals and myself,

how easily it gathers them! -

powers and people -

and it is possible a great energy

is moving near me.

I have faith in nights.”

― Rainer Maria Rilke

…but even in this, Vincent found no solace. A part of him felt as if even the darkness, that had once brought him peace, was mocking his pain.

~~~

Always remember, that everything turns out okay in the end. So, if it isn’t okay, it isn’t the end.

~~~

One Down and One Up

Two Stories by Nan Dibble

**Please note: These stories have been edited for foul language. If you would like to read the unedited versions, you will find them on Nan Dibble’s library page on Treasurechambers.com https://treasurechambers.com/FanFiction/NanDibble/NanDibbleLibrary.html

~~~

One Down

by Nan Dibble

~~~

At the end of the second week after Catherine returned, Diana chalked a mark then continued following the beam of her flashlight down what she hoped would be the last black, crooked passage before the lake. Mouse’s directions had been none too precise, and she might already have gone wrong fifteen crossways ago. But she thought she could smell water, and that kept her scuffing patiently along. That… and other things.

She almost walked straight into the water. Backing hastily, she checked the alternatives, then took a bound against, then off, the end of the passage wall, clunking safely onto the smooth, dry shore.

“No wonder nobody ever comes here,” she muttered, rancorously rubbing a banged knee. Straightening, she swung the flashlight beam in a vain attempt to locate any roof. Then she panned the beam level, but the horizontal dimensions defeated it too. The cavern was too vast. All she could see were still, black water, and grey rock, and only about a hundred yards of them.

The flashlight would be like a spotlight: she’d be advertising her presence for miles, or however far a clear line-of-sight might go. But she had no least intention of snapping it off, any more than she tried to hush the already soft sounds of her jogging shoes on the smooth, slanted stone.

She knew better than to try to sneak up on him. If he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. And if he did… that would tell her something, all by itself.

A week, she would have understood. A week for greetings, adjustments, tentative approaches and retreats, telling each other how horrible it had been, reconnecting, counting baby toes and fingers. That sort of stuff. But more than a week without a visit, an invitation, or a word… and then finding, first crack out of the box, from Father that nobody’d seen him in the last four or five days (it was hard to be certain, since he moved around so much), that sent her alarms into high gear.

She could be making an even bigger fool of herself than usual. It might be no more than Father said—that after prolonged stress, even happy stress, sometimes Vincent had to get off by himself for awhile to get settled, centered again. Maybe that was all it was, and she was being an utter jerk.

If Catherine wasn’t upset, setting up in her old digs in the D.A.’s office, reclaiming her high-rise condo, why should Diana be?

Which of course made no difference at all.

If he’d built a fire, she’d know, and back off as gracefully and as fast as she could. If he hadn’t, if he’d been hanging around here in the dark for a few days, then she’d know that other thing and know her hunch had led her true.

She’d seen no sign of a fire when a shadow moved and said her name, “Diana,” in a voice as resigned as a sigh.

She swung around. Too polite to poke the beam into his face, she could make out only a dark outline. “Yeah, well, I figured I had an update coming, you know?”

Vincent ignored her blithering, as he always had. “However, did you find me?”

“Yeah, well… will you think less of my detecting skills if I admit this is the third place I tried?”

“And if you hadn’t found me here?”

She shrugged, vaguely embarrassed. “Well, you know…”

“I believe I do. Which is why I knew I must greet you. Or you’d continue searching. It’s not a place to be wandering alone, Diana.”

She shone the beam on her feet, then abruptly clicked it off. “You do.”

“But I am different,” he commented flatly, in what she considered a real peculiar tone of voice. And there’d been no fire. So she guessed she knew.

“Big deal. Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, nobody’s making you. But I thought we were friends, anyway. And friends don’t gotta go by manners. If you don’t come tell me, I come ask.”

He ignored the hint, too. He’d always been real good at that. “Have you enough power to light your return?”

“That’s not why I turned it off. I thought maybe the dark was better. I mean, you didn’t make a campfire or anything…”

“I see very well without one. I’m—”

“—different, yeah, we been through that. So, yeah, I always carry spare batteries.” She patted a jacket pocket. “I’m fine, you don’t gotta signal somebody down to guide me out, I can manage. Besides, I chalked my way.” Displaying the chalk as proof, she added, in the most unemphatic, casual tone, “So she won’t sleep with you, huh?”

Her eyes were dark-adapting a little: she caught the glint of his eyes as he swung and stared at her. Then that disappeared as his head bent. Then all of him went down, boneless as a puddle—arms across his shoulders. He was crying, of course. Who wouldn’t be?

He didn’t ask how she knew. He didn’t care, she figured. He was still too caught up in the fact of it to feel much beyond himself right now, and he’d already used up all the politeness he had to spare. That was OK. She’d never been much interested in his politeness.

When he finally shut the crying down to occasional wheezes, he got out, “It would be unconscionable to speak of such a thing… with you.”

“Says who?”

“It would be an imposition.”

That accounts for the extra week, she thought. She said again, “Says who? Look, don’t you know by now there’s nothing you can’t say to me? No matter what it’s about? Nothing in this world.”

He said, “I thought that, once.”

“Then you d*** well better think it again, because it’s true.”

He didn’t answer. He sat up straight, not leaning even a little. Taking the hint, she eased off, tucking in all the elbows and edges so she wasn’t touching him at all anymore. Now the question was, would he stay or wouldn’t he? If he didn’t, that was it, because the game was always played on his terms and she’d always known that. She’d always find him, but never hold him unless he was willing to be held.

What he finally said was, “It shouldn’t matter.”

So he was going to stay. So far, so good.

She retorted, “Like you looking different shouldn’t matter. But it does.”

“But this isn’t a matter of topside ignorance. This is Catherine. And me. And it shouldn’t matter.”

“B***s***.”

“It’s no different than it was, than I’ve lived with all my life. It shouldn’t matter. I should be content. It’s everything I wished for. She is returned to me, safe. We can go on now. As we were. We can!” he insisted, as though hearing her unspoken disbelief. Or denying his own.

“Then how come she’s having triumphant press conferences at the D.A.’s office and you’re way down here being about as miserable as I’ve ever seen you, which is saying a lot?”

“I’ll learn. It’s been a long time. I need to learn… or perhaps unlearn… I don’t know,” he trailed off, and he had to be really distraught not to finish a sentence.

“So what’s the bottom line here? Doesn’t she love you anymore?”

He shook his head. “She does. She says so. Just as before.”

Dianna heard the slight emphasis in says and drew her conclusions. “The bond hasn’t come back, huh?”

Again, he shook his head—this time, a slower, heavier motion. “Father theorizes, after the fact, that it was a bonding mechanism… for partners to be mated. For… creatures of my kind. Which probably are empaths. If there are. Creatures of my kind.” Big, deep breath. “He conjectures that after we… When it was replaced by a full joining, it attached itself to the unborn child. I remained unaware of it until the child was developed enough… aware enough… to return it. Shortly before birth. And now, even that is fading. As Jacob grows, needs less immediate, constant care, yet cannot yet shut out all the inappropriate emotions that reach him… It diminishes. So I am losing him too.”

“Hey. Hey.” When his head finally came around and she figured he might be looking at her, she said, “So romance isn’t marriage. Everybody learns that, sooner or later. It’s just more dramatic for you because you had no warning, didn’t know what to expect, and being you, probably figured it was your fault and if you’d just done something else or something more, it wouldn’t have come out that way. So: am I right, or am I right?”

“I’m sure you’re always right, Diana.” Vincent replied wearily. “Now if you have all the answers you require, perhaps—”

“Not a chance. Not even half a chance. Because a little dose of reality wouldn’t have sent you into a tailspin like this. You may be the widest-eyed blazing idealist I’ve ever known, but I got great respect for your common sense, not to mention your overall smarts. And I’m here to help you sort this all out as best it can be sorted. Sometimes it helps to have somebody else listen, you know?” Before he could deflect her into a discussion of that, she said, “So tell me about the bond. Is it gone gone? Or only semi gone?”

“No… Only diminished to… what is normal for me. Close presence. Touch, especially. And strong feeling. Those reach me… as they always have. Except… during my illness. As with Father. Or anyone. No… particular or constant connection.”

That would have been the first week continually renewing his starved sense of her. Learning what touch could tell him—whatever touch he’d risk, and she’d allow.

Diana had a sudden image of a moth battering itself against the glass that kept it from the flame.

“So: does she love you?” Diana asked, very softly.

“Yes,” he replied, even softer. “As before. And it didn’t matter to me then. It was enough. I was glad simply at her presence, her company, her acceptance of my love. It was enough.”

“But it’s not, anymore. Because—”

“But it should be! It’s more than I’d ever hoped for—a woman of noble character who yet would love such a thing as I am, and what—”

This time, she was the one who interrupted: by clapping a palm, with a certain blind care, over his mouth. It surprised him enough to stop that particular speech, which she’d never heard spoken aloud in so many words, but felt that she knew by heart all the same. That conviction of personal worthlessness, of apologizing for the mere fact of being, permeated everything he said and did.

Lifting her hand away almost as carefully as she’d set it, Diana said, “I’m not disputing the noble character part. Just the part that takes for granted that you’re trash. ‘Scuse the interruption, but I’m not gonna listen to that from you or anybody. Never. Sorry about that, but you’ll just have to put up with it.”

“I’m sorry, Diana,” he responded humbly. “I knew it was not a thing I should bring to you. I knew you’d want, and try, to find answers, and there are none. I knew it would only be a sadness and a frustration to you. Because you cannot help. No one can. I must learn… or unlearn… But I don’t know how.”

She had the feeling that if she just kept after him, didn’t give him any space, he’d break down in tears again. Maybe even walk off on her, though that wasn’t likely now. So she hunted around in her mind for a neutral topic (Jacob was out: no longer neutral) and asked, “How’s Father been bearing up through all this?”

“Quite well, actually,” Vincent replied, as though it surprised him a little, now that he’d come to think about it. But some of that deadly heaviness had come out of his voice, too, so maybe it’d been a good switch. “Better than I, certainly. He… he’s delighted, of course, to have Catherine back with us, even though she will continue to work Above, of course. And of course, he now hopes and expects—”

“—that everything’s finally gonna go back to normal, right? Oh, ‘scuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I could just imagine his face, saying that kind of thing, and looking at you very hard while he was saying it so you’d be sure to know who he meant.”

“You’ve come to know us all very well. Yes, that was the expression…” He fell silent, but it felt like a thinking silence to Diana, so she let it alone and waited until he commented, “Father has lived without a partner and celibate virtually his whole adult life. When there was no need, except that he would not impose on me, and require me to keep, restraints he would not abide himself. He once told me so. So that, in that respect, at least, I would not feel myself utterly alone and alien to all of humankind. Yet his is not a monkish nature. After Jacob was returned to us, and Father finally knew, of his own knowledge, that the child was mine, he immediately took advantage of an opportunity to renew and old relationship. You remember Jessica?”

“Distinctly. The photographer.”

“Yes. They were… close friends. When I was young. The connection of the two events is inescapable. Therefore, so is the conclusion.”

“If the rules had changed for you, then they’d changed for him, too. You both were off the hook.”

“But when he found he could not tolerate living Above, and Jessica couldn’t tolerate coming Below, he returned to his life as it had been before… much to Mary’s disappointment, I might add.”

Diana wondered if it’s been just her nasty, cynical ears, or if there’d been the faintest edge of dry, resigned amusement in his comment. Just as a push to keep him rolling, she said, “I bet.”

She thought his head lifted staring out into the blackness that to him was half-sight, distances she could only guess at. “Father seemed… almost relieved. It would have been a great change for him, after all. And returning Above would have had… ramifications. He would have found it difficult to… to split his energies and his care between the worlds Below and Above. And his hope that I would rise to the occasion, and lead the community, were at least premature. Without your help…” He didn’t feel like finishing that thought either and retreated to more impersonal ground. “He felt he had to come back. And I confess I’m glad he did. I would have missed him most dreadfully. He’s been… he’s been the only one who hasn’t left.”

His head bent again: back to desolation.

Diana said, “But the bottom line is, he’s stepped back into the role of monk/priest, and doesn’t think there’s any reason you can’t do it too, just as easily. Or does he even know there’s a problem?”

A headshake. “Father and I… do not speak of such things.”

“So, he thinks you should be delighted with the status quo, Catherine thinks everything’s great, and even you’re beating yourself up for not living up to your ideals, which say a h*** of a lot about romance but not a whole lot about sex, am I right?”

That was blunter than she’d ever been to him, but she thought it was time. Probably past time. Better, probably, if it had come from somebody else. Preferably a man, at that.

She added, “Can’t you talk to some man about this? Somebody you trust, feel comfortable saying things to?”

“Mouse?’ he countered. “Pascal, the most monkish of us all? Once, Winslow…”

She’d never heard the name, but the way he said it made her conclude that person was no longer an option. “So what about your brother? Didn’t you tell me you had a brother?”

He sighed. “With luck, we might see him in another twenty years. He stays nowhere long. And… I don’t think it’s something I could entrust to a letter. A reply would be dubious. And… we never really came to know one another as adults.”

“He still thinks you’re a kid too. And the whole problem is that you’re not.”

A slow, heavy nod, and another sigh. “You speak slightingly of my ideals. But I must follow them. They’re my best guide to… good behavior.”

“Good human behavior, you mean, right?”

“That, and Father’s instruction, and what I observe in those around me, are all I have to judge by. And I wish so very much to do well…”

“I know you do, Babe.” She took his hand: she couldn’t keep herself from it. Damn, it hurt, how bad he hurt, and how well he always meant, and it damn well wasn’t fair!

He didn’t pull his hand away or pry her fingers off. She felt him looking at her. After awhile he said, “It’s not right to inflict my problems on you.”

“Why quit now?” she quipped, then regretted it because it was too near the truth and sounded too much like a complaint. “Never mind, scratch that. Just a dumb joke. What’s right or wrong for me isn’t your judgment to make. Going off and shutting me out would hurt worse, though you’ll have to take my word for it. My hurt’s my business. If you pick up on it, that’s just tough. And if you pick up on some of the rest of it, too, then that’s just double tough. I can’t rearrange myself to make life easy for you. Or for anybody. Never could. Never will. Comes with the package, take it or leave it. People with big ears sometimes hear stuff they don’t like, don’t want to know. Too bad.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t known for a long time now. And what I notice most is the kindness. The limitless, ferocious kindness that never lets go and gives no quarter. It’s one of the first and strongest things I ever knew of you.”

“Then you gotta know, whatever the problem is here, I’m on your side. Sure, I’m glad Catherine’s OK, and everything. But if you’re hurting, that’s what’s important to me. So even if there’s nothing to be done about it, tell me. Is it you? What you are?”

Slowly, quietly, he responded, “I used to think that. Assumed it, actually. When… we were new to one another, Catherine and I. I had fought so long against… the rages, and what went with the rages. You know.”

“I knew all that must be shut away if I was to live, as I must, isolated and yet among a community, in a civilized community where rage and other promptings must be formally controlled, regulated, supervised… Where no violence must be done, except in defense. Where no violence must even be desired… because the consequences would be so great, so tolerable…”

“So you never let yourself get truly angry at anyone. Ever. Or ever—”

“Yes. And the one time that impulse escaped my control, it almost meant my death. Before I could again shut it away, and be as I had been before… As I must do again now, somehow. But I don’t know how I am to do it.”

“Before, you doubted everything. That it was physically possible. That anybody would accept you, much less want you… that way. That you could ever hope for anything as normal as a girlfriend, much less a lover or a wife. Hoping for what you can never have just means being miserable all the time.”

He hung his head. “And yet… I did hope. I didn’t seem able to help it. Though with the years, it grew easier… and yet harder. Because instead of peace, surrendering hope meant… despair. And then… I found Catherine.” He took a sharp, long breath. “I don’t believe I’ve told you, because I’ve never told anyone. Some know the fact of it, but not what it meant to me. After she returned home to complete her healing, for eight months Catherine gave us no sign. No message. NO greeting of any sort. Though she knew perfectly well that there was a threshold in her basement – a way into the tunnels. She could have rapped on the pipes: she knew we listened. She could have left a note, too large to be missed by a patrolling sentry. There were many ways. But she did nothing. At last I went to her. I… had to. Father was very angry – at first, and for a long time. But the bond had formed. I felt her continually with me and yet as the time passed, I could have no expectation of ever being in her company again, and… I could not do otherwise.”

“Sure, I understand. I really do. I know from mountains and Mohammed. But that left you in a one down position to begin with.”

“One… down?”

“As opposed to one up. Top dog. Boss in a relationship.”

“If you say that, you do not understand. It has never been a question of who was ‘boss’ between Catherine and me.”

“Sure, it’s nice to think so, and a lot of times the lead is situational. Boss in one context is follower in another. But there’s still the boss and the follower, even if who wears the hats changes from time to time. Who called the shots of when you met?”

“Except for special events Below, formal invitation, it was Catherine. But our possibilities were so much more constricted than that of… other couples. I could not go Above in daylight hours, and she needed her rest.”

“Granted. But the fact remains, she called the shots. Who called the shots on your visiting at her place – when and how long?”

“If you mean her balcony –”

“No: I mean her condo.”

“I suppose I did,” Vincent responded, which surprised Diana. “She invited me in a number of times. But I could not accept that invitation.”

“What – never?”

“Once. To protect her. Once in madness. And then once again… when I took her home. When… I believed her dead. Never… socially.”

“Why?”

“She trusted me. She believed I would not impose on her trust in… that more private setting. I didn’t believe I could continue to be worthy of that trust. The balcony presented… less of a temptation. And now, she trusts me again. And I wish to heaven she did not!”

Diana let the echoes of that outburst die down in the cavern before she said anything more. “So, is it you?”

“She trusted me to be… safe for her. And I did try to be. All the poets… almost all… name as the highest form of love that which seeks no return, that which is spiritual, not carnal, free of the baser animal impulses –”

“Blake,” she said. “Donne. Whitman.” She’d done her homework, hunting ammunition.

“There are exceptions,” he admitted. “But books with explicit sexual content – and I have read a few – are still termed ‘dirty,’ and an unhealthy or excessive interest in the subject is deemed prurient. The consensus is none the less strong for the exceptions. Gandhi was a truly great and noble man who abstained from sensual pleasure to help him concentrate on spiritual matters he deemed of far greater importance, eliminating a powerful distraction. Voluptuaries are everywhere condemned as self-indulgent. Nowhere are prostitutes held in high esteem. Self-denial, in matters of the flesh, is everywhere praised. Chaste relationships are deemed ‘pure’ and of greater worth than those of sensual indulgence. I do not draw my ideals idly or at random, Diana.”

“Never said you did.”

“But you find them outlandish.”

“Only because nobody even tries to live by them anymore. You might as well tell me you were a druid, or building shrines to Odin.”

“That others do wrong doesn’t make it right. I try to do the best I can, as best I know. What else am I to do?”

She held his hand a little harder. “That’s all any of us can do. But it gets harder when you’re coming down with fits of base animal impulses and nobody, not even you, will sanction them. Me, I like St. Augustine.”

Trust him to know a quote. Any quote. “’Lord, give me chastity. But not yet.’ Yes, I suppose… But now is when I do need it. And the poets and philosophers I admire bid me be content.” His hand stirred aimlessly within hers. “But I am not. I feel excluded. Rejected. As though there is no longer any hope.”

“Back to the original question, if you’ll listen to me this time: is it you?”

“I’m… less certain of that than I was. I’ve been thinking, here… and I’ve come to think… she was drawn to me because she considered me safe. Because she believed that, considering our differences, any relationship that wasn’t platonic was utterly out of the question. The prospect simply would never arise. In being courted by Elliot, she had no least suspicion I would be jealous or hurt, or that even her loving that man would make any difference to what we were to one another. How could it not make a difference? But she didn’t imagine it could. And that she couldn’t even imagine it… told me all I could bear to know.”

“One down again. You weren’t even in the running, in the boyfriend department.”

“Stronger, she once said, than friendship or love. Which I must assume meant not friendship or love. I truly never knew what she meant. I didn’t care. It was love to me. I wished so not to… frighten her… as I’d once frightened someone else. To do nothing to hurt or offend her in any way. Nothing but what would please her. And what pleased her—”

“—was to be safe, and out of the dating market. So, double safe. Attached, but with no commitments except on her terms. One up all the time, calling all the shots.”

“I began… to grow more hopeful. Bolder. She encouraged me. Told me, many times, that I deserved… everything. What was I to think? And yet, when I would reach out… in any but the ways that had become customary between us, I would feel her distress. And a sadness. And a disappointment. Many things. But not gladness. Not… welcome. And so, I would draw back and believe I had misunderstood her somehow. I doubt it was anything she had thought out, decided. It was merely… not what she wanted. With me. Or perhaps at all – with anyone. But she hadn’t fully realized or accepted that, and so gave me contradictory signals. She said once… she wished I had kissed her, rather than receiving that kiss from Elliot. I assume she believed it at the time. But she kissed me only once, in thanks, chastely, and then quickly left me to wonder what it meant. It meant thanks. Nothing more. But I would not believe that, so I looked for all the signs she wished greater closeness and tried to ignore or set aside the much clearer and more consistent indications, in all her emotions, all her reactions, that just the opposite was the case.”

“Must have confused the hell out of you,” Diana commented.

“It drove me mad,” Vincent replied steadily, grimly. “I was quite mad for a time. Far too dangerous to be near. Though you discount it, I am dangerous when not in full control of myself. I absented myself from the community. I believed, insofar as I was capable of believing anything in that state, that I would die. And then she came to me…”

“And gave you everything you’d wanted when you were in no condition to enjoy it.”

“I must assume it was a great sacrifice on her part. I don’t know. I still remember nothing of it. Only the fact of Jacob persuades me of what passed between us. And her own word, of course.”

“It’s really the pits, having people making enormous sacrifices for you, isn’t it?”

“She never spoke of it. Never, in the weeks afterward. All was as before. Except that the bond was lost, and I didn’t know why. Probably she didn’t either, although she may have suspected since she alone knew… what had happened in that cave. Something had been broken between us, in any case. And I was distraught about it. And then, before any of that could be resolved, she was gone. But you must not speak or think any ill of her sacrifice without it, I surely would have died. Which, I must assume, is why she did it. In extremity. As a last resort. Truly, out of love. But not out of passion, any more than ‘the Kiss of Life,’ so-called, is a kiss in anything but name…”

“The pity is, that it had to be a sacrifice at all.”

“I didn’t know it was… until I reached out to her again, in hope, soon after her return, thinking matters must have altered between us, because of Jacob, or, because of withdrawal, the same profound disappointment as before. Stronger, if anything. Revulsion, I was holding her. I felt it, as clearly as though there were yet a bond between us. It struck like a blow. I had not been mistaken.”

“What did you do?”

“We turned away… and spoke of other things. I cannot bear many more blows like that, Diana. I am ill defended against them. Yet I love her still. But the hope… that hope… is finally dead.”

“So, let’s get practical here. Even supposing you could go back to being a priest/eunuch/monk whatever, which is highly dubious at this point – it’s damn near impossible to get that particular genie back in the bottle, once it’s out – could you put up with the consequences?”

“What are the consequences, as you visualize them?” Vincent responded cautiously.

“Being her very most favorite buddy… and pet. And never asking to be more. Could you live with that?”

“I never thought to be even that… to any woman.”

“Ever isn’t now. Could you stand it now? Maybe you could. There’s people who seem to get along like that just fine. Elsa Lanchester and Charles Laughton, each as gay as a tree full of monkeys, got married and had a hell of a good relationship, by all accounts. Lots of good times, lots of laughs. Loved the daylights out of each other. Just no sex. With each other, anyhow. And there’s always Heloise and Abelard, and –”

“Lovers who never met, except by correspondence. You’ve been researching.”

“Yeah, well. It happened to come up.”

“I will pose you the contrary question, Diana. You know you have become dearer to me than any other woman, save Catherine herself. And I know, though you have never said it, your attachment for me… is beyond the ordinary. It’s been impossible to mistake. You have given, and given, and asked no return at all. You are giving now, even though, if you succeed, it will put yet a greater distance between us. Exactly the selfless behavior my poets so commend. Let me ask it of you, and I truly want to know the answer. If you were certain there could never be anything more than this between us, would you end the disappointment and pain you must sometimes feel and separate yourself? For you must know it would be the prudent thing to do. You must have known that for a long time now. I also am uncomfortable at those who make great sacrifices. Though I admire them.”

“Yeah, well.” Diana took her hand back. She hadn’t expected a therapeutic talk to take this direction. But it was a fair question. Just blunter than normal, especially from him. He was so considerate, nearly all the time, she often wanted to punch him out, or hug him hard, or something like that, just to get one unconsidered reaction. That was, of course, when he wasn’t wrecking furniture or tearing somebody messily apart, which was also very much in his repertoire, as she had good reason to know.

She didn’t really know how much there was, between those two extremes. Not much, he’d contend. Almost everything, she firmly believed it on faith. Hope, maybe. The same kind of hope that, even blind and undirected, had kept him going for so long.

What would she do if that hope were truly gone?

“It’s easy to theorize,” she said finally. “First, I’m gonna duck a little and throw it back at you. Then, if you still want me to, I’ll take a crack at it. It comes down to the difference between can’t and won’t. If Catherine had come back, say, paralyzed or in some other condition that made it literally impossible for you to get together—”

“For instance?”

“For instance bisected at the waist, I don’t know – just pretend a minute, OK?

“I don’t like imagining that.”

“Just pretend one second more, OK? The question is, would the problem seem to you then the same way it does now?”

She thought he’d folded his hands over his knee, in that strange, prim way he had of controlling them. Eventually, he said, “No. I think not. I would not wonder, even for a moment, if it was my own lack, my own difference. That choice would have been taken from us. A sadness, but less than that of her condition itself. I could attend her, and be content to be whatever we could be, and be glad to be of service to her. Everything would have changed then. Everything would have to be discovered anew. But as it is, only I have changed. And that’s not enough. I take your point, I think. I still,” he added “wish to hear your answer.”

Yeah, OK. So if some big rock fell on you, disabled neck-down, I’d come visit you till you were sick of me, years and years, not for charity but because you’re great company and I like how you think. Even Steven Hawking got married. Twice, I think it is. Neck down and neck up. Lou Gehrig’s disease. Something. Guy can’t even talk.”

“I’ve read one of his books. The Brief History of Time.”

“I figured. And that Irish guy, Christie something, who paints with his feet. Married a couple of his nurses. One, anyhow. So there’s things besides sex keeping people together.” She wrapped both arms tight around her and shivered. “And imagining you like that is so awful I don’t even want to think about it anymore, OK?” Leaving out can’t, all I can truly say is, Try me. What I believe is that… this fits. This is right. This is what I belong to be doing. Which is worrying about how you’re doing. I couldn’t stop if I tried. Can’t even stand an extra seven days of not knowing how you’re doing when I had every d*** reason to believe you were happy as a clam at high tide. It might be sensible to do something else. I don’t know. Don’t really care. This is all I can do. And it’s what I want to do. What you make of it doesn’t really signify, sorry. It’s what I do that I gotta account for, make sense of. And this makes sense to me. So even if I make a nuisance of myself, which I probably do already, I’m in for the duration. Always have been.”

She could really have used a hug at that point, but she didn’t get one. Instead, he said softly. “I don’t deserve such faith.”

“Doesn’t it get through to you? You deserve everything, and I know precisely what I mean by that, and so, do you. But it’s not a matter of deserving. It’s… more like making sense of the world. And without you, nothing makes a scrap of sense at all. With you, it mostly does. That’s just how it is. None of its up to you at all, so you don’t have to feel obliged. It’s no sacrifice. It’s absolutely what I want to be doing.”

“Would it matter to you,” he asked, “if Catherine and I were together again?”

“Matter? Of course it will matter! It’ll hurt like h***, and if it’s what’s gonna make you happy, I’ll move several moderate-sized skyscrapers to help you get it. You said if,” she suddenly realized.

“If you are capable of facing such a prospect, why do I find it so impossible to resign myself to it?”

She dragged herself out of her retroactive fog of astonishment. “Because… because in some ways, I’ve already been there, done that. Compared to you, I’ve been a grownup a long time. Fifteen years, or thereabouts. I’ve got a good-sized file in my head labeled SEX and it’s got contents, and probably a lot of useless baggage and a fair amount of nonsense and plain stupid stuff. But it’s there. I have it. You just found you got a file like that, and it’s so empty it aches. Pretty near all the time, by what you’re telling me. Can’t quit banging against the glass.”

“Like a moth.”

It always startled her how quick he picked up on some hints, considering how oblivious he was to others. She nodded, then went on, “Everybody wants you to go back to what you were, because it was easier for them. Likely easier for you, too, if you could do it. But there’s a good chance, I gotta warn you, that you can’t. Because now you don’t have just hope: you have knowledge. You know it’s possible… only not with Catherine, it seems like. Not can’t – won’t.”

“Or perhaps only shouldn’t. Perhaps a passionless life is best, and all else is madness and delusion. A mere appetite, better denied.”

“Are you seriously gonna put down the strongest drive any species has – to reproduce, to survive as a species – as crude bestial promptings the very best people shouldn’t feel at all, or shouldn’t give in to, if they do?”

“It can be argued. And has been.”

“Yeah: by the time-honored voices of sour grapes!”

He sighed. “Diana. There are many instinctual responses which, however natural, must be denied if one is to live harmoniously in one’s community. However much the moth desires the flame, it would be his death to achieve that desire. Many would commend Catherine’s sense that … that sort of intimacy is inherently repellent. Lust remains on the list of deadly sins, that kill the soul. St. Paul approved even marriage only grudgingly—”

“Yeah: Better to marry than to burn. ‘In hell,’ my priest always added. But St. Paul wasn’t such a dingbat prude as all that. I always thought he meant burning in the regular way. Wanting real bad. Needing and not having. Marriage is for the preservation of chastity, if you been reading the same books I have. So chastity doesn’t mean no sex: it means socially acceptable sex, generally with one partner at a time in our culture, but within the agreed structures of a given society. Not much polygamy going on Below that I’ve noticed…?”

“No. Nor polyandry, either.”

She was almost certain she’d gotten a smile out of him with that. “Polyandry?”

“A wife with multiple husbands Though I don’t know that Father or the community would particularly object, since all the participants would presumably be known. Family, as it were. As it happens, the question has never arisen. We’ve had some bigamous couples, one or another of them having a living spouse Above. We usually decided to consider them informally divorced, on the legal grounds of desertion, though it was uncomfortable and irregular at times.”

“So chastity is pretty much what you make of it. If you make anything of it all. Tell me – is Catherine a candidate for sainthood anytime soon?”

Maybe another slight smile. “I do love her; but no. Not anytime soon.”

“Even saints gotta rule out all the other possibilities. Not everybody who hears voices has a direct line to God. Nine thousand, nine hundred, ninety-nine of them are just bats. Except for the occasional Catholic and High Church Victorian bluenose matron badmouthing what she ain’t got none of herself, short of sainthood, feeling that sex is repulsive, when you really love your prospective partner, is generally considered a handicap, not a higher plane of being. A failure of normal function, normal emotion. A clinical dysfunction, with a name. Maybe treatable. Maybe if Catherine knew how unhappy you are, she’d be willing to see somebody about—”

“She knows. Now, she knows. That’s what makes her sad. Because she believed better of me than this… Diana, I’m not a saint either, nor ever likely to be. Not even one such as St. Augustine.”

“You know, somehow, I’d never thought of you in that context.”

“Somehow, I’d suspected you hadn’t.” She was startled to feel her hand taken and firmly enfolded. Vincent went on, “Make no sacrifices for me. But see me through this time. Please. At least that long, promise me you won’t leave.”

“No,” she said, and felt her hand as abruptly released. “No promises. Some things, you just gotta take on faith.”

He was messing around with something. When the match flared, she realized he was lighting a candle stub.

“I’m remiss,” he apologized, not like it was really bothering him a lot. “It must be very dark for you here.”

“That’s OK. I can see what I need to. But keep the candle,” she added hastily, when he glanced up at her inquiringly. The candle, she was prepared to take as a good sign. That he was at least capable of thinking about somebody, something, besides how miserable he was himself.

The small light picked out certain points of metal – his shirt ties, the utterly useless pocket studs of his quilted vest, and his belt buckle, which had always looked to her like part of a bridle for a hippo or something. Ostentatiously large, considering how little there was to hold in: no flab on the man, not anywhere. Probably symbolic, she’d guessed. Massive, high-tensile restraint at the waist. It could strike him like that. It would have been wearing it lower that would have been ostentatious. And appropriate. She thought of it as his chastity belt.

He settled back onto his heels, still looking at her. By the up-slanting, flickering light, his face was drawn and exhausted, but composed. “by your own formulation, you must be one down. Is that fair to you?”

She began shaking her head emphatically before he’d finished. “Nope. Not one down.”

“Why?”

“Because I draw the lines of what I’ll put up with and what I won’t. As long as I do that, I’m boss of my own life. I’m calling the shots – making the choices.”

He tilted his head, the way he did – thinking about it, she supposed. “I’ve always known there were certain things beyond changing. My appearance,” he explained, with a slight downward gesture at himself. “The separation between the worlds Above and Below. The beauty I find in music, and in poetry… and in other things. The day. The night. The absolutes of my existence. They merely are. There is no choice about such things. The choices in what one does about them. One cannot be ‘one down’ to the dark. Or to a symphony. Or one up, either. I’ve never believed my appreciation affected the rising of the moon one whit. So, I must believe you are right. Some things, one must accept as merely given, and do what one may… We cannot be other than what we are. But we must each try to do the best we can with that, that we can.”

“This got a point to it somewhere?”

“Do you… do you truly believe it is not me – the way I am?” That’s the cause of Catherine’s… reluctance?”

Even by candlelight, she could tell his face had gone about two shades darker: blushing.

“I can’t answer for Catherine. There’s people who think Robert Redford – he’s a movie star – is smarmy. Repulsively pretty. Maybe not a huge majority, but they’re there. Hell, I’ve seen published letters from women who claim to find some actor named Daniel Benzali sexy. Bald, fifties, fat, face on him like a sulky balloon, teeny little accountant’s eyes like some nasty Commissar –” Catching Vincent’s blank, waiting expression, she hurried on. “What I mean is, there’s truly no second guessing how one person looks to another. You wouldn’t think Steven Hawking or the foot-painter would be real hot items, either, but they each found somebody who thinks they make the day light up. I can only answer for me. And if you’re in serious doubt about that. I really been going about this all wrong.

“This isn’t a matter for joking.”

“I know. Sorry. Except that I figure it would screw your head up real bad right now, if you so much as wiggled the least little finger in that direction, I would definitely not try to beat you off with a stick or run screaming to the nearest cop. There: that good enough for you?”

His reaction was to bend his head, not look at her, and say, “Please.”

He needed reassurance so goddam bad, he’d even come right out and beg for it. That was plain enough. What she couldn’t figure out was why.

Comfortable understatement plainly wasn’t going to do it. Nor generalizations and blather about total strangers. OK, then: down and dirty, like they said in poker. Diana hitched herself close against his ear, she said. “So, how about if I tell you a few of the things I’d really like to do with you?” And then she whispered. And then she quit whispering and just imagined. Recollected actually. From several of her more satisfactory dreams. With all the emotions that went with them. So he couldn’t help but feel them, unless he shut her out entirely. Which he did sometimes. But not now, she was somehow certain. So she gave it to him straight. He’d asked for it.

This close, she could tell when his breathing changed.

She had some sympathy. Right now, he was all raw nerves, desperation, and hormones. More would have been mean – like teasing a teenager. So urgent… and so pathologically hypersensitive. When he tensed with a jerk, like somebody had just kicked him someplace very personal, she eased up at once, sitting back, smiling at him, willing to laugh about her dumb, improbable, erotic fantasies and let it go at that. Or willing to say nothing at all.

He was staring at her with eyes dilated just about black, despite the candlelight. Maybe she’d shocked him. Maybe it had been a real dumb idea. Maybe she should apologize.

Before she could make up her mind, he murmured hoarsely, “Theory is all very well…” Then he leaned forward, very fast, and kissed her hard. And she was never, ever going to let a chance like this go by. She kissed him back, grabbing two handfuls of hair for anchors, knuckles into the back of his neck, thumbs practically hooking his ears, and she hadn’t really planned on breathing again this century anyhow. She gave as good as she got, and he let up before she did, resting his forehead against hers., pulling in quick, shaky breaths like he’d just run fifty miles or so. Or thirty years or so. Her breathing wasn’t too steady, either. Scratch the imagined teenager.

Pretty good for desperation.

She’d have settled for a lot of things. But not for desperation. So she didn’t ask if he’d like some more proof, or if that taste of what could be was enough to keep him steady for now.

He muttered, “There was Lena. But that was gratitude. And she mistook it.”

Diana nudged him with her forehead. Lifting his head, he blinked at her. Then his clouded eyes cleared. She waited, sure he was going to apologize, which would be awful. But he had some fundamental manners, even though he didn’t know the rules. He only said, “You don’t find me distasteful.”

It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer it. Instead, she asked, “You gonna tell me what your were scared of?” Because she figured out part of it: he was gathering ammunition. But she still didn’t know why. And then she did. “No matter what you do, she’ll say it’s you. Because if it’s her with the problem, she’s permanently one down. She’d say it’s you. And believe it. And you can’t let her make you believe that again! Vincent, you can’t!”

“No. But it will be so hard…” He bent his head again, wearily. This time, onto her shoulder.

“And I’m still not promising. I don’t do promises. I just do. If that was a bribe, it wasn’t nearly enough for even a down payment.”

He made a noise slightly like a laugh. “Perhaps. I’m sure of so little anymore. Perhaps what you imply also was a reason. But for me, that is the only true knowing. I have very little left by the way of faith, either.”

“Then trust what you know. What you feel. Not what somebody claimed people ought to feel, two hundred or two thousand years ago. Take my word for it: you’d make a lousy monk, and you’re real low on my sainthood list. Some other lists, though, you’re right at the top. You may be an acquired taste, but then again, so am I. So is most everybody. Definitely not disgusting. Never doubt that. Not even for a second!” She still held two fistfuls of his hair. She shook them, rocking his head, for emphasis. When he just looked at her in placid bemusement, she let go the hair and rested her wrists on his shoulders, hands hanging loose.

“You’re telling me,” he remarked, dubiously and carefully, “that I must follow my heart.”

“Yeah. Exactly. I guess. There something funny about that?” she demanded, trying to read his face. “Something dumb?”

“Nothing dumb. I can only say to you again that I don’t know what will happen. Or what will become of us. Any of us. All I know now is that I will leave this place with a heart much lighter than when I came.”

Leaning, he blew out the candle and then moved again, becoming no more than a guessed-at, towering blur to her freshly blinded eyes. His hand came to hers and lifted her.

“Come,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

It wasn’t a question. So she guessed it didn’t need any answer.

One Up

by Nan Dibble

~~~

When the elevator doors opened, Diana chickened out. She stood so long that the doors closed again. After a buzz dropped her to six and then to the lobby in the company of strangers who looked at her oddly when she didn’t get off, she punched the button for the roof, banged out the metal door, and paced awhile among the vent pipes and air conditioner housings.

It was a terrible idea. She’d probably make things worse or leave a humiliating mess for Vincent to deal with. What business did she have, thinking she could get between and have it be anything but a disaster? Hadn’t a dozen instances of being asked for advice by one or another side of a couple on the outs, giving it, and then having both of them madder at her than they were at each other – hadn’t that taught her anything?

Scuffing to the parapet, she thought, So what? What if I do lay an egg? At least it’ll be a d*** big egg, too big to ignore, keep walking around. Maybe then they’ll have to talk about it anyhow. The h*** with it. The h***with it.

She slammed back through the door, slapped the elevator button, and marched out on eighteen the second the doors parted for her.

“Hi,” she said to the peephole when a voice inside cautiously said, “Yes?” in response to her leaning on the buzzer. Putting on her best, inoffensive smile, she added, “Diana Bennett. You recall? Vincent introduced me.”

The chains got pulled, the door opened, and she was dragged inside in what must be record time, as if to prevent her from saying anything else incriminating out in the public (but empty) corridor. But there were a couple thousand Vincents in Manhattan, and Diana had never made a big deal of avoiding the name – except around Maxwell, of course. And she didn’t see all that much of Maxwell anymore, anyhow. So no need to treat the mere name like a state secret, burn before reading, gulp the arsenic pill before They torture it out of you sort of deal.

Turning from shutting the door, Catherine said warmly, “Of course. Hello,” in a way that still conveyed a question about what Diana was doing here anyway. Surprisingly, Catherine was in sweats (pink, with discreet lace edging – Diana’s were Army grey) and sneaks, with a pink paisley bandanna twisted into a headband to keep her longish, light brown hair away from her face.

The briefest glance at the condo told why: cardboard boxes everyplace, sealed or opened and lying on their sides with miscellaneous stuff mounded out on the floor; rolled rugs; a table on its side against one wall and the chairs stacked beside it; bigger furniture ranked along the back wall except for two little beige couches doing a nose-to-nose in front of the fireplace.

Improvising on the spot, Diana commented, “Looks like you could use a hand with this. And I’m a certified helper.” Diana pushed up her sleeves. “What’s first – the rugs, right? Get the back half down, anyhow. Then move everything, get the front down. Which one goes out here?”

Down on her knees next to the stack of rugs, talking over her shoulder without fully looking around, Diana didn’t leave much room for argument, and she didn’t get any. And toting, then unrolling, the smallest carpet, the one that went in the bedroom, was all the ice-breaker they needed.

The big double bed was already up and made, and a few clothes hung in the open closet, Diana noticed. Some cosmetics, a brush and comb, on the back of the bathroom sink. The minimum.

Wiping an arm across her forehead, Catherine remarked. “It’s all been too much. It’s taken this long for me to work up the courage to tackle the rest of it.”

Patting the rug’s corner flat, Diana sat back on her heels. “You could have hired some movers, something. So I guess you didn’t want to.”

Catherine shook her head – an agreement. “They’re my things. I want to put them back myself. Guess it’s important to me to take back control of my own life. Dumb, huh?” She smiled – a really warm, engaging grin. A little embarrassed, a little self-mocking.

Much to Diana’s surprise, she found herself liking the living woman, whereas she’d felt only the usual sadness and pity toward the supposed-dead one.

“Maybe,” Diana said frankly, “you’d really sooner not have me messing with it but are too polite to say so?”

Another head-shake. “No, that’s Vincent, not me.” Unexpectedly, they were both grinning then. Catherine went on, “My manners are really awful – not like his. I appreciate the help. I was nearly ready to give up. Now, maybe there’s a chance of getting this place in some kind of shape before I run out of steam again. How about if we tackle the kitchen stuff next, with a bribe of coffee when we find the pot and some cups?”

“You got a deal.”

While Diana sat on the kitchen floor next to successive boxes, handling plates, bowls, and bouquets of silverware up for Catherine to put away, Catherine remarked, “I’ve been making do with instant and hating myself every minute for being so lazy, not getting everything unpacked. But I just couldn’t face it, at first. Just the essentials. Bought a toothbrush, some shampoo, a towel.” Swinging open another cabinet, Catherine shrugged.

“Camping out. Yeah!” Diana was holding out the plastic stand of a Mr. Coffee. Catherine snatched it, gleefully slammed the plug in a socket, and started hunting for the rest of the coffee makings. “Or maybe you like tea? I’m sorry, I don’t have any –”

Almost, Diana said back to her, That’s Vincent, not me, but restrained herself. Because there was a very pointed reason why Catherine wouldn’t have any tea in her apartment: Vincent never came in to be offered any. Not social, echoed in Diana’s mind.

“A confirmed coffee addict,” she responded. “The stronger and blacker, the better.”

“A reward for our hard labor,” Catherine declared lightly, sipping hers, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

There was a thereness about her. She was never incidental. As though a light or an invisible camera was somehow always focused on her, to make her the center of whatever space she occupied. Charisma, Diana thought, trying out the word. Self-assurance, she thought, trying out another. Confident. Complete….

“If I had a nickel for every cup of tea I’ve drunk out of politeness,” Catherine went on, and grinned ruefully, leaving Diana to draw the obvious conclusion.

“Yeah, I’ve had a few myself.”

“Vincent,” said Catherine, with an expression so intent it was almost fierce. Then she looked over at Diana sharply, smiling like sunshine. “Vincent: I can say it! Vincent! Vincent! Vincent! And his formality, and his dear silences, and his shyness, and the way he smiles with his eyes, and – everything! I can really say it! Because you already know, and I can say it to you. Do you have any idea what a relief that is, Diana? How long I’ve wanted to do that, and couldn’t?

“There are other helpers,” Diana commented, a little uncomfortable with the blaze of jubilation, that seemed to declare Diana had given some great gift.

“Sure: Peter Alcott, who delivered me,” Catherine replied with a dismissive tilt of her hand. “Or old Mr. Long? Do they strike you as the sort of people one runs to with one’s girlish vaporings?”

“Not hardly. Assuming I knew a girlish vaporing if it bit me on the ***.”

Catherine made a face at her. Actually scrunched up her nose, scowled and made a really repulsive, silly face. Diana nearly choked on a swallow of coffee. Whatever she’d expected from the reported Park Avenue princess, it hadn’t been this. It was so… unladylike!

And yet it wasn’t. It was just as right as anything else Catherine did, because she did it, and it was impossible that Catherine Chandler could lose the least ounce of dignity, even by the most blatant silliness. Not by airs or pinkie-extended formal manners, but by the absolute conviction that whatever she did was appropriate and seemly did Catherine’s privileged upbringing show itself, Diana thought. Catherine might sometimes be mistaken, but never deeply ashamed, wish-you-were-dead wrong, the way Diana often was. Or if Catherine ever was, she’d never, never concede it, admit it. The possibility simply didn’t exist.

Permanently, perpetually one up on – so much so that no pains need be taken to maintain some created image. The ingrained assumption of superiority was just there – bone-deep, beyond questioning.

Diana thought she might be beginning to understand.

She thought, “A woman of noble character.” And so sure of it that nobody can even come close to shaking her in that conviction. And the trouble is, now, this once, she’s so wrong that Vincent’s practically bleeding from the eyes with the hurt of it and she doesn’t have a clue. And what chance do I have of making her see that? Much less admitting to it and doing anything about it?

Struck by pity and sadness, Diana stuck her nose in her mug and kept still until Catherine announced cheerfully, “Break time’s over. If you’re still willing?” Hopping up, Catherine grabbed a stack of cups waiting on the counter. So Diana leaned into the box to collect the stack of saucers.

“Royal Doulton,” she remarked, holding them up carefully so they couldn’t tip. “Nice.”

“A matched set,” Catherine agreed, handling them like dime-store crockery, as though from the awareness that she could replace the whole shebang anytime she felt like it. “Complete place setting for sixteen, including finger bowls, in case I decided to invite the Mets to supper. And heaven forfend I serve them hot dogs off mismatched china. Like the kind they serve supper in, every night, Below. I used to be such a jerk.”

“Come again?” said Diana, deeply startled.

“Nice of you to be surprised, but it’s all too true. With the people I used to know in college, I’ve barely lived it down yet. ‘Majoring in fashion law,’ is one of the kindest ways it’s been described. A genuine card-carrying, empty-headed twerp.” Catherine shrugged, seeming, and the worst, fondly amused at her past self. “Everybody seemed to approve of me that way. It was expected. And if I was miserable and worthless, not even I knew it. Until…”

“Until Vincent,” Diana guessed.

“No. Until something really awful happened and I thought I’d lost any chance of being that person anymore. Ugly. Slashed, thrown away. When the magic circle of privilege and security I’d taken for granted all my life stopped working. And then Vincent.” Catherine nodded soberly as though she’d been trying the formulation out on herself and was satisfied it fit. “Then Vincent. He rescued me, not just from death, but from life. That life. He made me see how unimportant and trivial it had been – how the only thing that mattered was making a difference to other people. Helping them. But it took that… horror… to make me able to see it. Believe it. After that, everything was different.” Lifting her head, Catherine looked at Diana – a steady, level look like Vincent’s, that seemed to see all the way down, as deep as you went. Diana tended to blather whenever she found Vincent looking at her like that. From Catherine, the effect was even more disquieting because Diana knew there was so much Catherine didn’t see and wouldn’t like much if she did. Catherine said, “You rescued him like that, didn’t you? He would have died, except for you.”

“I guess he would. The one way or the other. At least I thought so. Anyway, it’s no big deal. I had to.”

“Somebody had a gun to your head? He startles people, at first meeting. Me, I threw a headlight reflector at him. But I bet you didn’t even blink.”

Diana folded her arms tight. “I already knew… he was different. Just didn’t know what particular flavor the difference came in. Knew about the claws, of course. From… what was left. The photos. So that, I knew. And the rest – well, it didn’t matter. I was too busy trying to figure how to get him out of there, get him home, without getting caught. I had more important stuff on my mind than… the rest of it.”

“Yeah,” said Catherine softly. “That’s what I thought. You were a true friend, right from the start. Had your priorities straight. Me, I took… longer.”

“Eight months,” Diana blurted, thoughtless form tension, and then wanted to bite her tongue off.

Catherine’s eyes drifted. She didn’t seem offended. “Yes, I suppose. I had to get my own life in order before I could think of sharing it with anybody else. At least make a start. On my own terms. Not worrying about what anybody else might think of it. Of me. Not even him… I hoped he’d approve, though. I dreamed, sometimes, he’d feel I was doing the right thing… And then he came. So I didn’t have to dream anymore. I knew. Diana, has anybody thanked you for saving his life?”

Diana made a face. “For other things – till I wish they’d quit. Not for that, actually. Not that I recall. Don’t say anything, though, or he’ll start in. Things are bad enough without that.”

“Bad enough?” Catherine repeated, inviting confidences Diana had no intention whatever of giving.

“It’s been rough for him. Still is, in some ways. It’ll take awhile to get it all sorted out.” Diana stuck her face in the carton seeking something else to hand off.

Is this where I say it? Are we chummy enough yet for me to say something like, Look, sister, fair warning: whoever sleeps with him gets to keep him because that’s how he is?

Taking a safer course, she clutched some silverware. Surfacing, holding up the offering, she added, “Like you, I expect. Take awhile to face tackling all the changes.” She waved vaguely at the boxes. “Not up to more than the minimum, the essentials, just yet. That you’re alive. Back. That… you’ve had a child together.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s going to take some adjusting to,” Catherine commented, then poked head and shoulders into a low cupboard as abruptly as Diana had ducked into the box. So Diana put the silverware away herself, having seen what drawer it lived in.

By common consent, they kept to neutral talk while putting the rest of the kitchen to rights. That Diana had only one sister but a huge extended family of uncles, aunts, cousins, whereas Catherine was an only and now an orphan, to boot; that Catherine planned to concentrate on trial work now, leave the street stuff to the grunts and the newbies who were generally assigned it anyway, in the ordinary way the office was run.

“I have the seniority for that now,” Catherine remarked as though half expecting an argument, a suggestion that she’d pulled strings, claimed privilege to get that change of assignment.

Which of course she had. But it was a privilege she’d earned, strings she’d woven with Maxwell over the years in the D.A.’s office. Just like Diana had earned her place with the 210, her right to choose which cases she took on. Same thing. Diana wasn’t about to criticize.

“Bet he’s relieved about that,” Diana commented.

“He was,” agreed Catherine, then did a double-take. “Oh, I thought you meant Joe. I suppose he will be. Vincent. When I tell him.” Again subtly defensive, she added, “He’s been somewhere, the last few days. And it’s been so hectic, the red tape and paperwork of getting myself declared legally alive and everything…”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Diana, thinking, Been somewhere. Yeah. So she didn’t do it for him, or because he asked her. And she didn’t tell him beforehand that she was planning on it. She thought I meant Maxwell. Whole separate deal. Why is it a whole separate deal?

No bond, her hunch told her. And then she was horrified to realize she’d said it out loud. Catherine’s face told her.

“I suppose that’s part of it,” Catherine commented steadily, pushing a wing of hair back from her cheek. “That it’s up to me now to create my own security. I can’t depend…on anyone else to do it for me. Should never have expected them to. When it comes to that, I’m on my own.” Catherine’s expression had turned meditative… and downright grim. She looked ten years older.

Is that why she pushes him off – to punish him for not rescuing her from that creep, Gabriel?”

But this somehow wasn’t the time to say It, or anything that would lead so directly to It. It would have been better, Diana now thought, to have blurted it out the first second she got in the door, a stranger. Said, At bottom, he’s a simple guy: just wants somebody to let him love them up one side and down the other, every way he can. Just like fifty million other ordinary joes who love somebody till they’re half crazy with it. No different. So why can’t you just lean back and let him? But she couldn’t say it now. Dianna had gotten too close or not close enough – somewhere in the between place where you could talk frankly about a lot of personal stuff… just not about the extremely personal stuff that really mattered. It somehow wasn’t possible. Like Vincent, with Father. It just wasn’t possible anymore.

She said, “How about we tackle the big rug next? Can’t do much of anything until that’s down.”

“Good idea,” said Catherine, seeming as relieved as Diana to go back to work.

The glass -topped oval table and its chairs went up on the raised area in front of the dark balcony doors. With them out of the way, enough of the living room floor was clear to manhandle the roll of carpet down to the foot of the stairs and then unroll it as far as the couches in the middle of the room.

“Up and over?” Diana proposed, sitting on her heels to judge how far they’d have to lift.

“Get the roll smaller,” Catherine decided, bending to shove at one end of the nearest couch. So Diana got up and started shoving the other end. It wasn’t too hard: the legs slid pretty smoothly on the bare floor, once they got it started. When the couch was as far as they could get it, up against the desk and the glass-fronted entertainment center against the far wall, they flopped down on it, legs stretched, puffing.

“One down, one to go,” Catherine observed, not moving.

“In a minute. I never learned the Zen of couch moving. All focused and everything. Yell to center your ya or wah or whatever it is.” Diana slapped away floating wisps of hair. The braid was coming undone. It always did.

Catherine smiled. “No chop-sockey garbage. That’s what Isaac would say. He taught me street fighting. I should look him up again sometime.” She swung a foot idly. “That was what was worst about it, you know? Being imprisoned that way. That nothing I did could make any difference. The helplessness. After the first few days, I wasn’t being tortured or anything like that. Treated pretty well, considering. Enough to eat, shelter, medical care… Just left alone. To ripen. Spill my guts a different way.”

Though the tone was quiet, reflective, the words themselves were violently harsh; and the imagined glimmer of charm, or whatever it was, was wholly gone. The inner light had gone out. Diana sat very still.

Like somebody summarizing case notes, Catherine said, “It was like being in that van. Month after month after month. They didn’t do anything to me. But I knew they could. Anything. Any time at all, for any reason they pleased, and there’d be nothing I could do about it. Helpless. They didn’t intend to hurt me. After awhile I realized they didn’t care anything about me at all. The man in charge, I never saw him. Not until the last.”

“Gabriel.”

“Was that his name?” Catherine responded indifferently. “I never knew. Only the voice. Sometimes when the doctor was examining me, the voice would come over the speaker, asking questions: She, that flat voice would say. Her. Never talking to me, I didn’t matter. Didn’t have a name. The Vessel, the voice said a couple of times, and he was talking about me. Like some big fat pot. I didn’t matter at all – only what the vessel held. Toward the end, if they’d left the door open, it wouldn’t have made any difference – I couldn’t even have run. I could barely walk, I was so huge. I thought I’d have longer. Nine months, at least. But it was sooner. Because it was his, I imagine. But I thought I’d have longer – I wasn’t ready.” Catherine meditated a minute or two, swinging a sneakered foot. Then she commented, almost casually. “That’s not going to happen ever again.”

Listening, Diana wondered exactly what Catherine was prohibiting by personal fiat – another captivity… or another pregnancy, apparently experienced mainly as another facet of being trapped, helpless, choiceless. Out of control. Depersonalized into a vessel that no longer held any light.

“All my life,” Catherine continued with a vague gesture, “they’ve done that to me. Built me a comfortable prison and expected me to stay in it. And for a long time, I did. Didn’t even recognize it as a prison. My dad loved me, so he protected me. And that was the prison, and I lived in it. And bursting out of one prison, I’d fall right into another. Somebody who wanted to control me, tell me what to do, who to be. Stephen. Henry. Mike. Tom Gunther. Elliot Burch. Right up to the monster with the video screen and the voice. That time, I knew it was a prison. Every minute. So maybe I’ll be a little smarter, the next time. At least I intend to try, believe me.” She pulled a little tense, unconvincing smile as if hoping to take some of the edge off what she’d said.

Carefully, Diana asked, “Have you talked to anybody about this?” and Catherine rolled her head around on the couch back, looking wearily amused.

“Who would you suggest: Peter Alcott? Mr. Long?” Catherine’s tone again dismissed those possibilities. “Because it all turns on the child. And therefore on Vincent. And that makes it impossible. I tried talking to a psychologist once. Or was he a psychiatrist? I forget. Anyway, I realized soon enough it was no use because the only things I really wanted to say were the things I couldn’t say. That’s been the price. Anyway, now I’ve told you.” Catherine commented cordially, as if that should settle everything.

“How about Father?” Diana persisted, but Catherine shook her head. “Or how about Vincent?”

“Never,” Catherine shot back. “He wouldn’t listen. He’d only… take it personally. I’ll deal with it. Myself.”

“Look,” said Diana uncomfortably, “it’s getting late, I should go –”

She knew now she was never going to say It. It’d been a stupid idea from the start. Catherine had her own take on the matter and it didn’t include high-minded poets or ascetic philosophers. It was a question of control. Rekindling the inner light and keeping it going no matter who came to batter against the glass. Get her own life, her own place in order – her order, her choices, her things exactly where she wanted them and no compromises wanted or maybe even possible. Like before: the eight months. That seemed to be her pattern. A fundamental survival mechanism, regrouping after trauma. It was damn near impossible to talk somebody out of that. Likely nobody had any business even trying.

“You don’t get out of couch moving that easily,” Catherine retorted gaily, bouncing to her feet. “The bribe is supper. You like take-out Chinese?” She headed toward and answering machine and phone packed in a box. Receiver tucked into her shoulder, Catherine punched the number from memory, remarking to Diana, “That’s my answer to all social awkwardness – take-out Chinese. Yes,” she said to whoever answered, “I’d like to order for delivery, please.” Naming items, Catherine’s eyes checked for Diana’s agreement, not that Diana really cared.

She felt awful. Hopeless.

That was when the tap came on the glass of the balcony doors.

Phone still in hand, Catherine immediately swung around. An unexpectedly revealing sequence of emotions flashed across her face. First, comprehension, gladness, welcome, that let Diana know what, or rather who, that tap announced. And before Diana’d had the chance to take in the potential awfulness of that, Catherine’s glance swung ruefully around the stacked furniture, the still opened boxes: recognizing that the place was a mess. Then a sigh, eyes cast downward as she reached to set down the phone, because it didn’t matter if the place was a mess because Vincent wasn’t coming in. He never came in.

And Diana found herself springing to her feet and beating Catherine to the French doors behind the glass-topped table, yanking them wide, and seizing Vincent’s wrist, lifted for another hesitant tap. “Great,” she announced, turning and starting back into the room, still battened onto his wrist. “Great timing, babe: just in time for the furniture. Just what we needed!”

Of course he didn’t move with her pull, so she was hauled up short, not as surprised as she let on, by his immobile, braced weight. His eyes, when she swung back to face him, were wide and somewhere between frightened and questioning. She set her hands on her hips, then changed her mind and folded her arms, staring right back at him. “You are not gonna get out of this, Vincent. You are gonna have a nice social visit out on the balcony when there’s all this heavy junk to be put away. I mean,” she added, glancing back at Catherine, “it’s nice junk, and all, but it weighs a young ton and we’re never gonna get done tonight at this rate, right?”

And while Catherine looked on, blankly bemused and skeptical, Diana reached out and took another good hold on him – his upper arm, this time – and gave him another yank, just as though she didn’t know he never came in, that this apartment was The Forbidden. Just as though she had no least question he was going to come help with the heavy stuff like any civil male co-opted into such a situation by what were at least friends! Like any normal guy.

If she made a fool of herself, what the h***, she’d tried, and somebody had to break this wretched stalemate—

And Vincent took one hesitant step in response to her pull, and then another, and was inside.

Just as though she’d expected nothing else, Diana kept hauling and once the reflexive, habitual refusal had cracked, he kept coming: carefully avoiding the glass-topped table, carefully watching the few broad stairs when he came to them. But coming, because she’d pretty much made it impossible for him to do anything else, and there was a singing triumph in her that he’d do for her what he’d never done for Catherine.

That wasn’t what was important. But it was there.

“We were just up to the hard part,” Diana announced, letting go without looking at him, waving at the couches. “Gotta lift those suckers over the part of the rug that’s not down yet. You take that end. Catherine, where do you want them to end up?”

They were looking at each other, Vincent and Catherine, and Diana couldn’t read either of their faces. She was making a thundering fool of herself! She should never have intruded never have insisted, she was only making it worse –

“Where they used to be,” Catherine told Vincent, who nodded and went obediently to the end of the couch Diana’s wave had designated as his. Hastily, Diana scrambled to the other end, and Catherine assigned herself to getting as much as possible of the rug out of the way as they lifted it crookedly over what remained of the roll. In no time at all, the couches were in place, making a sort of corner angle by the fireplace.

Diana rocked back on her heels from smoothing out rug wrinkles. “Great,” she said with fierce, determined heartiness that dared anybody to argue. “Now we can tackle getting that dressing table and stuff into the bedroom. Vincent, you get the mirror: I’m scared I’ll drop it, and wouldn’t that be a mess?” She barged over to the last remaining huddle of furniture to check out the dressing table, that it didn’t have any drawers open that could fall out or catch on anything, or like that.

Vincent came to stand behind her. She could feel him there. She checked more drawers.

He said, “Diana, how is it that you’re here?”

She glanced up at him wildly, trying to think of some acceptable excuse, but didn’t have to because Catherine said at once, “She volunteered to help me settle in. Wasn’t that nice of her?”

Diana wasn’t sure she wanted to understand the expression in Vincent’s eyes. Wary, maybe… and even suspicious. Almost certainly wanting to know what she’d said to Catherine about what had passed between them this morning at the lake.

Setting hands on her knees, Diana stared right back at him, intending to convey without words, What kind of jerk do you think I am?  I didn’t say word one about it, buster – It’s all just simple if you’ll let it be.

And apparently he took enough of her reassurance to turn aside and find a good way to hold the big, heavy mirror that would attach to the back of the dresser, lift it (facing outward – away from him – she noticed) and walk away with it, slow, steady paces into the Utterly Forbidden: Catherine’s bedroom. He knew just where it should go. Diana would have bet he could have drawn as good a map as she could, having memorized every single detail of the place early in the investigation.

Good for you! she thought, gazing at his back disappearing through the louvered doors. Good for you, taking it a step at a time, letting us play out the game of visiting boyfriend, normal guy helping out – not all the terror and the blood sweat just at the thought of doing what you’re doing, being where you are. Letting it just be simple, uncharged, the terrible past grounded out into the everyday, ordinary present like I’m the lightning rod that drains off all the stalemate, all the impossibilities…

He came back, standing between the folded-back louvered doors, waiting for further instructions.

Brushing a negligent hand through her hair, Catherine drawled, “Babe?” And Diana felt her face going absolutely incandescent.

“Pardon my New York mouth,” she mumbled, heartily wishing that familiar endearment hadn’t gotten past her teeth. “I –”

“The dressing table next, I assume?” Vincent put in, deflecting her babble, calmly waiting for Catherine’s answer. Requiring it, by his waiting silence. Nobody could be still as commandingly as Vincent could when he wanted to.

Protecting me, Diana realized, with astonishment. Protecting ME from awkwardness, embarrassment, Because that’s who he is. What he does. Absolutely and always. And that’s what Catherine no longer needs or can tolerate from him. Or from anybody. And so that’s the name of this game.

She felt practically punched in the gut, seeing in that moment how it all fit. She probably was gaping like a moron.

“Sure, babe,” responded Catherine cheerfully, with a wicked edge of a grin at Vincent. Teasing. Easily. As though it meant nothing and she was glad it meant nothing: as if it was a relief that another potential charge had dissipated, gone into the ground. Kneeling down beside Diana, Catherine asked, “What do you think – should we take the drawers out first?”

“They should be all right if we don’t tip it. Let’s try it first that way, anyhow.”

“Okay. Shouldn’t be too bad: the legs have rollers.”

“Let’s go for it, then.”

They wheeled the dresser into place near the closet, and Vincent saw to getting the mirror in place and attached before they pushed it the rest of the way against the wall. They’d just finished with the chest of drawers (its drawers had to be removed and hand carried: it was too top heavy otherwise) when the doorbell sounded.

Vincent froze, head lifted. As Catherine swung by to get her purse, Diana explained, “Supper. Chinese take-out. Probably enough for three.”

He settled, still listening and alert, still listening and alert but no longer alarmed. Against the safely distant doorway exchanges between Catherine and the delivery person, Vincent looked around. “Diana. Why are you doing this?”

“Because it needs doing and somebody’s got to, and I’m the only one who will. There: that satisfy you?”

“Why are you angry at me?”

“Is that what it seems like?”

He nodded.

“And you still have the guts to come right out and ask me?” she challenged.

Smiling faintly, he nodded again.

“Why” she demanded.

“Because…” he began, and then his eyes when distant.

“What?”

He bent his head a little. “Because I’m not afraid of the answer.”

Catherine passed by with the sack then and gave a head-jerk (her hands being fully occupied) to summon them out to the glass-topped table where they found her opening a series of take-out containers and lining them up next to a stack of Royal Doulton plates.

“Forks,” Diana decided, and went off to the drawer where she now knew tableware was kept. As she returned with a handful of forks and serving spoons, she saw how tensely Vincent was standing, looking down at the food. Or maybe at the chairs. Steel, probably, but delicate-looking: as though: as though they might break with a heavy person’s weight. Diana promptly plopped herself down on the top step. “Pass me one of everything,” she requested, holding up the spoons and the extra forks so Catherine could take them.

Vincent slowly settled onto a step a little way distant. After a minute, he commented, “I’ve already had supper. And you weren’t expecting… company. Please: enjoy your meal.”

There was something in his manner, his voice, that told Diana something was wrong that he was trying to pass over, but she didn’t know what.

“Doesn’t he like Chinese?” she asked Catherine, who look around from dishing rice onto plates. Two plates.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Catherine said, then asked Vincent, “Do you?”

“I’ve already eaten.”

Diana watched them both, trying to puzzle it out. She figured if she really made a noise about it, she could make him join them – just as she made him come in. But proving it, making him do it, would just be a power trip and actually pretty unkind, considering how plainly he didn’t want to. But he would, if she required it of him. However much he hated it.

Just knowing that was enough, she decided. She didn’t have to prove it – that in this, too, she could be one up on Catherine if she wanted to. That wasn’t what this was about. But it was still nice, knowing it. She bent to the plate Catherine passed her and was aware of Vincent relaxing when he was sure she was going to let the matter rest.

Holding a piled plate and chopsticks in a practiced V, Catherine started to sit down cross-legged on the rug, facing them both, then immediately set her plate aside and jumped up again. “There’s probably still coffee left, if that’s okay?” she asked Diana. Then her eyes slid uneasily to Vincent. “But no tea, I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to really stock up at the store…”

Vincent shook his head, and Catherine seemed relieved to find her social lapse of being so certain she’d never need tea because he’d never come in had been so easily dismissed.

While Catherine was in the kitchen getting coffee and fresh cups, Vincent pointed to Diana’s plate. “What’s that?”

“That? It’s a fortune cookie. It’s dessert, sort of, with some dumb message inside, like ‘You are going to meet a tall blonde stranger and—’” She muffled the rest of that with a mouthful of very good moo goo gai pan.

“May I see?” the large, furred, clawed hand hovered.

Diana swallowed hastily. “Sure, take it.”

The fingers dipped and delicately removed the folded cookie form her plate. Vincent was examining it when Catherine returned, put a cup on the bottom step by Diana, then settle herself where she’d been before.

“It’s a fortune cookie,” Catherine explained, watching him carefully turn and study it.

“I know. Diana told me. I’ve heard of them.” He looked at Diana. “Would you like to find out your fortune for yourself, or may I discover it for you?”

“It’s your cookie, babe –” Diana bit her lip when they both looked at her like two amused cats. She busied herself with her food. “Take the cookie, take the fortune. Never liked ‘em much anyhow. The cookies or the fortunes. Tasteless. In all senses of the word.” She wondered what in the world had gotten into him.

He cracked the cookie at the fold, just as if he knew what he was doing, and removed the tiny strip of paper with clawed forefinger and thumb. So serious. So intent. He offered the strip to her, but she waved it off. He smoothed the strip down against his knee. Then he recited, “‘Your wishes will come true, but not as you expect.’” Putting the flat of his hand onto strip and knee, he added, “Brooke has volunteered to care for Jacob during the day. She’s fascinated with young children. And it helps take her mind off her own loss… Stephen; and the plans they had together.”

The was a charged silence in which Diana realized that was the first word that had been said about the baby. That Vincent had brought it up because Catherine hadn’t. The silence demanded a response, a comment. Diana bent her head and hunched her shoulders to sit smaller, chewing with great intentness.

Vincent continued, “Of course, Mary keeps the day nursery, and it would not do to seem to slight her. To give one child… special consideration. So Brooke assists Mary, with the youngest children as her charge. Anything beyond that… is merely our understanding. Mine, and Brooke’s. Mary has consented to the arrangement. Father approves. So that’s how it’s been arranged.”

Catherine was being informed, not consulted. And a glance Diana couldn’t resist, at Catherine’s face, told her Catherine caught the nuances: she was staring at Vincent, who wasn’t looking back. Catherine’s face was stiff and unhappy. Then Catherine lowered her eyes, bent and turned her head so that a wing of hair partly concealed her profile – something she’d probably picked up from Vincent, who did that a lot. The chopsticks selected and delivered a sliver of food. “It sounds like a good arrangement.”

Vincent nodded. “Jamie’s help has diminished the number of security patrols I must see to personally. When I am teaching or similarly occupied in my chamber, or Father’s, I can keep Jacob with me. And most nights. On those occasions I am away during the night, there is the night nursery. Mary assures me that one more sleeping charge constitutes no additional trouble worth mentioning. So… that’s how it’s been arranged.”

Finally, at the last, stress showed in his calm, unemphatic voice – announcing the arrangements that absolved Catherine of all parental duties and requested her blessing on none of them.

For all his politeness, Vincent knew how to go straight for the bone when he wanted to. And Diana thought that this was his equivalent of saying It – what, in fact, he’d come to say, before he’d had any thought of finding Diana here.

“Yes,” said Catherine softly. “I understand.” The chopsticks selected, rose, descended. “I start back at the office on Monday.”

“I thought you probably would,” Vincent responded.

Tell him! Diana’s mind blurted. Tell him about switching to trial duty, not being out on the streets tracking down snitches anymore! No more midnight depositions! Tell him!

But Catherine said only, “I’ll come when I can. Weekends, mostly. It’s going to be pretty hectic for awhile. There’s such a lot to catch up on.”

“Yes,” said Vincent.

Diana found it hard to sort all the implications of that brief exchange. It took so much for granted, unspoken. Dismissed so many possibilities. As if the furniture-moving had left any doubt. Catherine wasn’t going to move Below. Jacob wasn’t going to live above, except maybe for occasional visits. Catherine was surrendering all responsibility and rights concerning their child. Vincent was the one who’d make “arrangements.” Maybe he’d inform her about them from time to time. But neither invite nor require her consent about them. Any more than Catherine meant to ask his consent about her personal arrangements. Or, plainly, even inform him of them until they were already in place. Until she was ready to tell him.

Catherine, Diana thought, didn’t look happy about it. But she wasn’t arguing. What she looked, when that shielded profile lifted, was relieved.

“I’m glad,” Catherine mentioned, with a small smile, “you finally decided to come in. See? It’s not so scary, is it?”

“No,” Vincent agreed, vaguely looking around at the apartment, Catherine’s things mostly back in place, where she wanted them – where they used to be. Back to normal. “Not frightening at all… now. I’m glad I chanced to come when I could be of help.”

“Maybe next time,” Catherine suggested, “you’ll come right in without needing to be dragged.”

Vincent gave her an opaque look. Then his eyes moved slowly to Diana and stayed there. One of those long, still looks that generally made Diana feel she ought to duck, hide, disappear into the floor. “Perhaps,” he said. His hand moved, and the forgotten little strip of fortune-cookie paper drifted to the floor. The both reached for it at the same time. Instead of withdrawing his hand, letting her get the scrap, his hand closed around Diana’s. Hard. They were sitting right there on the step, right in front of Catherine, holding hands. Suddenly Diana could find no air to breathe. She tried to swallow the current mouthful and choked on it. Started coughing. Had to be pounded firmly on the back and her shoulders held until she could get her airway clear. It was Vincent holding her shoulders, an arm around her back, regarding her solicitously. Sitting right next to her now on the step, hip against hip, thigh against thigh, and all she could manage was astonished wheezes, intensely aware of his closeness, the smoke-and-candle scent of his clothes – of him; the warmth of being tilted to lean back against his chest, his hair brushing her forehead as his free hand collected her coffee cup from the floor.

“Drink some,” he directed.

While he held the cup, she managed to slurp a little and get it past the blockage in her throat. He waited until she’d swallowed, then raised the cup again. She obediently drank.

“Now,” he said, letting her sit straight, and as she figured that was it, end of impersonal first aid, he cracked one of the two halves of fortune cookie shell and held it in front of her face. For her to eat it from his fingers. No expression… but his eyes were smiling a little, quite aware of her discomfiture. Leaving her no option – just as she’d left him none about coming in. And his eyes said he knew it, and knew she knew it. And figured turn-about was fair play.

Calling the tune, that he required she dance to. Consciously and deliberately one upping her – and confident that she’d play along. Not afraid of the answer.

There was nothing else to do. She shut her eyes, opened her mouth, and let him feed her the piece of cookie. It was warm from his hands. It crunched. She felt she was going to cry or explode. She chewed it small enough to swallow. The cup was back, waiting. She sipped a little, thinking in undiminished astonishment. *He’s flirting with me! Right in front of her! What does he think he’s doing? What does he expect me to do?

“Better?” Vincent inquired blandly, setting the up down but not otherwise moving. Still right next to her.

“Are you OK?” Catherine chimed in.

Diana bobbed her head. The recovered twist of paper was still clutched in her fingers. She pulled it flat. It said, When journeying by water, steer by the stars. She blinked at it stupidly for a second. Then she crumpled it and stuck it hastily into a pocket.

Every breath he took, she felt. As he must be feeling hers. And whatever else she was feeling, this close. Touching. It was so unlike him. He’s sitting by me for a reason, she thought.

Vincent folded his hands tightly between his knees. He sat that way for a minute. Then he said, like asking about what they should move next, “Catherine, will you marry me?”

Diana stopped breathing again. This time, though, she didn’t choke. She sat very still. Letting it be between the two of them. As it had to be.

Catherine looked startled right down to her toes. Her mouth tightened, and that was the answer. Setting the chopsticks and plate aside, Catherine knelt forward, reached out a hand, and placed it on his knee, looking up into his face, blinking fast. Anxious. Unhappy. Wanting not to hurt. “Must you ask?”

“I feel I must.”

“Then I suppose I have to answer. I suppose… My dear love, no. It’s impossible. There will never be anyone else who’ll be to me what you are. But – no. That, we cannot be to one another. The world won’t let us.” Catherine lifted her other hand – a gesture of helplessness. “I thought… I believed you knew that. Always knew that.”

“Perhaps I did,” Vincent responded in a soft, hoarse voice. “I know it’s what Father has always believed. And dreaded. That someday, I would come to the end of the possibilities.”

“Yes,” said Catherine. “I know. But we have so much, Vincent! So much more than most people dream of already! You mustn’t blame yourself.”

“I don’t,” Vincent replied, and Catherine was surprised, slowly withdrawing her hand, sitting back, obviously having expected a different response. Vincent added, “You being what you are… and I, what I am. It’s not possible.”

Catherine was nodding. “But it’s not your fault–you never asked to be born different—”

“I find,” Vincent interrupted quietly. “I am more ordinary than I imagine anyone supposed.”

Diana thought, She’s doing it! Claiming it’s all him – how he is. And he’s not backing down. Hot d***! She leaned against him a little harder, to help give him the courage of her convictions. Which was why he’d contrived to sit so close, she was now certain. Without her there, without that new angle in the habitual dynamic between himself and Catherine, he couldn’t have said It.

Because he was no longer afraid of the answer. That’s what he’d been telling her, and realizing for himself before. That was when he’d decided to say It. All of It. Impassively spelling out the limits they would live within, hereafter – he and Catherine. And Jacob. And me, Diana realized, with enough of a shock that Vincent tilted his head and looked at her inquiringly though she’d made no sound nor moved a muscle.

“It’s all right,” Vincent said – to Catherine again. “And if it should happen… that our circumstances change, we will not change. Should you find someone Above… to be a part of. It will make no difference to what we are to one another.”

Almost, it was a question. Almost, she could believe he was really talking about Catherine, rather than himself.

Catherine smiled. “No. Of course not! Not that it’s likely, of course. I’m not exactly eager to start dating again, let me tell you! Much less get married – to anybody – or start a family. My life is complicated enough as it is!”

Start? Diana thought indignantly. Start? What’s Jacob, then – and end? An accident?

Then she immediately thought, Jacob’s slipped her mind. She’s simply forgotten him. He doesn’t count.

If Vincent was thinking the same thing, he gave no sign. “Of course. I understand that better now.” He stirred, unfisting his hands pulling his bootheels in against the step. “Now, if the heavy labor is done, I believe I must go.” Rising, he stood waiting for permission to leave.

“Not social,” Diana muttered, and got a sidelong glance down from the top of that blond tower.

Catherine jumped to her feet, blurting hostess of course and trailing him to the balcony doors – still worried, Diana thought, that he’d be upset about what had passed between them; trying to reassure herself he wasn’t going to go and mope on some rooftop like a gargoyle at having his proposal turned down so decisively, with no need for consideration. Catherine didn’t want him hurt. But she didn’t want to marry him either – which they all knew, now. Which maybe was all that mattered.

Shutting the balcony doors, Catherine turned and set her back against them. She puffed out a breath. Then seemed to notice Diana, sitting so still on the step, on the far side of the glass table. “Well,” Catherine remarked, “that could have been worse. Lots worse. I’ve been dreading something like that, to tell the truth. But... it seemed… He seemed…”

“He’ll get over it,” Diana commented offhandedly.

“I guess he’s had some practice. While I was away. Time to become a little more independent. Accept things. I’m glad you were here, though – that would have been… hard to get through, otherwise. It helps, sometimes, to have an audience. I hope you weren’t too—”

“Yeah, I guess.” Diana got up and looked around. She’d decided against begging off too soon – that would have been too obvious. She could be generous with her time, she thought. She had time now – all the time in the world. “So – What’s next? Finish up the kitchen, or start on the knick-knacks?”

Catherine brushed back her hair and absently adjusted her headband. “Knick-knacks?” she inquired, mock-haughty.

“Whatever.” Diana smiled and shrugged.

Catherine opted for shoving the entertainment center into place, locating the box of CDs, records, and tapes, and putting them all in their appropriate cubbyholes or shelves. When the plug was put in, the receiver came on, filling the place with Classical music. Looking around, Catherine slapped a button. The receiver switched over to an “easy-listening” station. Wallpaper music. Catherine hummed along, cheerfully pitching little pillows onto the couches like somebody shooting baskets. Afterward, she went and straightened them, setting each at exactly the angle she wanted against the couch backs or the armrests.

Another cup of coffee and a box of heavy, waterless cookware, unstained by use, put away before Diana figured she could gracefully call it a night and take her leave. They wandered together to the door, Catherine hoping she’d visit again – soon. Outside, Diana heard the chains being reset and the deadbolts snapped home as she went in lengthening strides to the elevator.

When the doors slid open, she slapped the top button hard.

Reaching the top, she slid out at speed, hit the roof door, dashed up the short flight of steps, and slammed the door at the top back against the bricks. And plunged directly into Vincent’s arms.

“I couldn’t just leave—” she blurted, face tight against his neck.

“I knew you’d come,” he was saying at the same time, holding on hard. He took a step, and she stepped with him, not going anyplace, just around in a circle – like a dance. Like a dream.

“Oh, babe,” she said. “Oh, babe. I thought you were gonna tell her. I was scared to death you’d think you had to tell her.”

“It’s not necessary. She’ll see. Eventually. No need. And she’ll be reconciled to it. To us. Perhaps even relieved.”

“Gonna give her a h*** of a shock, though.” She gazed up at him anxiously. “When she notices.”

“It can’t be helped. She has chosen her way. Set the limits. Not I. The consequences of those limits… No need to say anything. Let her be one up, if her pride requires it.

“Saving face, you mean.”

They did another little dance turn, around and around, his cloak billowing and blowing.

Vincent said, “This is all the up that matters to me. Nowhere is higher than this. I am so blessed. Except for you –”

“Leave it. Don’t gotta say it. Leave –”

His mouth on hers stopped all the talk quite effectively for quite a long time.

She’d never been happier in her life.

Patting the soft, fine fur of his jaw, she said distractedly. “You fibber.”

“What?”

“You fibbed. About the fortune. From the cookie.”

“I told the truth. All the truth that matters.”

“Yeah. I guess you did, at that. ‘Steer by the stars’ – that’s good advice, too, I guess. But I’m not planning to go anyplace by water anytime soon.”

Conversation stopped again for awhile – exuberantly. Passionately.

Trying to catch her breath, laughing, Diana inquired dryly. “Just how much reassurance did you have in mind, babe?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. She could see the stars reflected in his eyes. After a minute, he said, “None. All.”

Sobering, studying his face, she asked, “Do you think this is the right time? There’s such a thing as rebound. I wouldn’t want –”

“I think now is precisely the right time. If you won’t promise to stay with me – either – I must offer you an inducement. Not to take long ocean voyages. Not … to go away.”

“Oh, babe, don’t you know that’s never going to happen?”

“You cannot imagine… how I hope it will not.”

“And do you really think a bribe’s gonna do it? Inducements?”

“I –” he began, and then bent his face against her head. His breaths shook him. He said. “Please. Call it what you will. But please.”

Sometime, he’d learn he didn’t have to beg. But begging was OK too, for now: she figured he really meant it. No other considerations she need take into account, warn him against, hold herself back from. No ghosts hovering at his shoulder, demanding a rite of exorcism.

“Sometimes, you really need somebody close, who loves you.”

He nodded several times.

She asked, “Can you hold out as far as my place?”

“If I must.” Lifting his head, he chuckled at the scandalized look he found on her face.

She punched his arm lightly. “Bet I beat you there.”

“Bet you don’t.”

He was off toward the building parapet. Diana wheeled to the roof door and started pounding down again.

She didn’t live on the subway line. And she knew shortcuts. So she hit the roof of her loft at least a minute before Vincent’s big dark outline swung over the top of the fire escape.

“I win,” she announced, the second before she was swung again into the dance of embrace.

Vincent wisely said nothing. Or the answer his mouth made didn’t consist of words, which was probably just as well. She didn’t quite melt into a puddle there on the roof. They made it downstairs and as far as the couch before the necessary minimum of clothing had been discarded. The rest got removed afterward, during more leisurely intervals. There was time.

Necessary Sacrifices

by Barbara Anderson

Season 3/SND

~~~

The poor man is not he who is without

a cent, but he who is without a dream.

-Harry Kemp

~~~

Chapter 1

Catherine thought Diana would never leave. Finally finding herself alone, she locked and bolted the door then rushed out onto the balcony. The walls of her apartment had been slowly closing in on her all evening, and the cool night air felt good on her flushed cheeks.

It’s finished. You’re finally free of me, she thought, taking a deep, shaky breath and slowly releasing it. Be happy, Vincent. Maybe now you will find some peace. She wiped a lone tear from her cheek, firm in the conviction that what she had done was the right thing.

“Though lovers be lost, love shall not,” she whispered to the night. “While I live, you live…Vincent… with me… in me… Always.”

She stiffened suddenly, looking up toward the roof. One hand covered her mouth as she realized Vincent and Diana were up there… together... holding each other… kissing each other.

It took only seconds for her to rush back inside, latch the French doors and close the curtain. Shaking, she sank to the floor, as great sobs escaped her chest, unhindered, and unheard by anyone but herself.

It was only a few minutes before the phone began to ring. Catherine had a feeling she knew who it was, but she didn’t answer. She couldn’t bear speaking with anyone in that moment.

When the answering machine picked up, she heard what seemed like a stranger’s voice cheerfully say, “You have reached 555-8291. Please leave a message after the beep…”

I need to change that message, she thought, making a mental note.

“Cathy? Are you there? C’mon Cathy pick up the phone… Please pick up the phone, Cathy…” Jenny pleaded.

Jenny hung up, and called again, repeating her plea into the machine. She then added, “You’re scaring me, Cathy. If you don’t pick up, I’m coming over there.”

Catherine rushed to pick up the receiver. “No, Jenny. Don’t.”

“Cathy, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted unconvincingly, as she sniffled loudly.

“Yeah, right,” Jenny responded doubtfully. “Can you say that again? Only this time, with more conviction,” she quipped sarcastically.

Catherine tried to laugh, but all that came out was a sob, and she began to cry again.

Jenny’s voice was firm. “I’m coming over there right now.”

“No,” Catherine managed to say.

“Are you there alone?” Jenny asked.

“Y-yes,” Catherine hiccupped.

“I’ll be right over… and if you don’t answer the door, I swear, I’m calling the cops,” Jenny threatened. She hung up the phone before Catherine could manage an objection.

Twenty minutes later, there was a loud knock on the door. “Cathy, it’s me, Jenny. Open the door.”

Catherine unbolted the door and slowly opened it.

Jenny entered the apartment and re-bolted the door herself. She took one look at her dearest friend and threw her arms around her. “Oh, Honey. What can I do?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing anyone can do.” Catherine replied, weeping afresh.

Jenny guided Catherine to the couch and let her cry on her shoulder.

Finally coming up for air, Catherine apologized. “I’m sorry, Jen.”

“Don’t be sorry. This is what friends are for. I wasn’t planning to sleep tonight anyway.”

Catherine smiled faintly.

“So, Kiddo… you wanna talk about him?”

“Who?” Catherine asked, knowing she couldn’t betray anything to her friend.

“Who?” Jenny asked, incredulously. “The mystery man, of course… The one who just broke your heart? The one you’ve been over the moon in love with for the last three years.”

Catherine looked up at Jenny, shocked.

“What?” Jenny asked. “I’m not an idiot, Cathy. And besides, I have ‘the gift,’ if you know what I mean.” Shaking her head, Jenny continued. “He must be a real piece of work if he can do this to you. And after everything you’ve just been through? Give me his address and I’ll go over there and strangle the guy, myself.”

Catherine shook her head. “It’s not like that, Jenny. I’m the one who broke it off. I made him think that I didn’t want to be with him anymore. I drove him into the arms of… another woman.”

“WHAT?” Jenny asked, unable to hide her shock.

Catherine glanced over at the remnants of their meal. “I served him up on my Royal Doulton china, with a side of Moo Goo Gai Pan. I even threw in a fortune cookie!”

“Oh, Cathy! What did you do that for?”

“Because I… Because he… Because loving me has caused him nothing but pain… and I have nothing but pain to offer him in the future.”

Jenny sighed. “I don’t believe that for one minute…” she said, shaking her head.

“Believe it,” Catherine assured her. “It’s true, Jen… trust me… it’s true. He almost died because of me… Loving me was a complete… torment for him. But he never would have ended things… He loves me too much to ever…” She paused to stem the flow of fresh tears. “So, I had to do it. I had to be the one to set him free.” She gulped in a great breath of air. Burying her face in her hands, she began sobbing again.

All Jenny could do was hold her friend and say, “Oh, Honey… It’s going to be okay.” Even though she was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be okay for a long, long time.

Jenny let Catherine cry. She could feel the grief pouring out of her, as the minutes went by. Jenny gave her friend all the time she needed. Finally, Catherine came up for air and sat staring off into the distance in exhaustion.

“Can I get you some water, Kiddo? You’ve got to be dehydrated after all that.”

Catherine replied with a sad chuckle and rested her head on Jenny’s shoulder. “Thanks, Jen, that would be nice.”

Handing Catherine a glass of ice water a few minutes later, Jenny picked up where they had left off. “I know you’ve kept this guy a secret all this time, Cath. But if you wanna talk about him, I’m your girl. Who knows? … It might even help,” she suggested hopefully.

Catherine took a deep breath. She had wanted to confide in her dear friend many times, always concluding that it was impossible. But Catherine had never needed to talk to someone as much as she needed to now. Maybe it was because she was exhausted. Maybe it was because she was overwhelmed by grief. Maybe it was because she just needed help sorting out all that had happened to her.

Diana was right, she thought. I do need to talk to somebody. But a professional therapist is out of the question.

Whatever the reason, Catherine decided to confide in her oldest and dearest friend. Her voice was soft, as she spoke. “What I’m going to tell you, Jen, you can never share… not with anyone. Not another living soul. Do you understand?”

Shocked, Jenny sat up straight. She made a symbolic “X” across her chest, held up her right hand, and quickly said, “I solemnly swear that what you are about to tell me, I will never share with another living soul. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye!”

Catherine smiled as she envisioned them at the age of twelve. Cathy, Jenny, and Nancy were the three musketeers. It was the most solemn of oaths they knew in the sixth grade, and never in all the ensuing years had any of them ever broken an oath sealed by those words.

She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully, knowing that there were things she could not say. After all, she still had promises to keep.

“Do you remember when I was attacked, and my face was slashed?” she began.

“Do I remember?” Jenny responded incredulously. “How could I ever forget it? Everyone was so worried about you. Your Dad was beside himself with worry. We were all afraid that you had been… well… you know… and the dreams I had. It was awful! Of course, I remember!”

“When those men were… finished with me… they dumped me in Central Park. They left me for dead.” She spoke haltingly as she recalled the events that she had tried so hard to forget.

Jenny waited patiently.

“It was Vincent who found me. I was unconscious, and bleeding in the grass. He picked me up and took me to his home. He saved my life.”

His name is Vincent. Jenny held her breath, as she made a mental note. “Why didn’t he call an ambulance or take you straight to the hospital?” she demanded.

“He was afraid there wasn’t time. His father is a doctor, so he took me to where he lives, and they stitched my face back together, and wrapped my broken ribs.”

“Then why didn’t they take you to the hospital after that? You were missing for ten days, Cathy… ten horrible, excruciating days!”

“Vincent and his… his family… they don’t want to be known. They live in the shadows, Jen. They couldn’t take me to a hospital without exposing themselves. I wasn’t strong enough to do anything for myself… so they took care of me until I was. And then Vincent brought me home.”

“What do you mean, ‘they live in the shadows?’ Are they criminals?”

“No, they aren’t criminals.” Catherine shook her head. “They’re good, decent people who have been cast off by society… by our world. They’ve made a community together. They help each other.”

“So, they’re… homeless people?”

“They’re not homeless, Jen. They’ve made a home together, a community. But they live apart from us… different than us. They live in the dark, forgotten places of the city. Places most people don’t even know exist… places people like us would never go, even if they did. They help each other, and they live with dignity, the best way they can.”

“So, you’re saying, this guy who broke your heart is a street person? He’s a bum?”

“NO! No, Jen. He is not a bum. It’s true that he is poor… at least… in the way you and I have been taught to measure wealth. But he’s well educated, he’s gentle, and kind, and so considerate of the needs of others. He’s actually the ‘richest’ person I’ve ever known… and the most beautiful.”

“Wow, Cath, you’ve really got it bad,” Jenny said, sympathetically.

“Knowing Vincent… knowing his family… made me realize how poor I really was.”

“‘Poor’ isn’t a word I have ever associated with you, Honey,” Jenny admitted, amused by the very thought.

“Me neither,” Catherine agreed. “But after what happened to me… after spending those ten days with them… I took a long hard look at myself… at my life. I didn’t like what I saw, Jen. And I’m not talking about the horrible gashes on my face.

“For the first time in my life I became painfully aware of how truly selfish, and shallow, and superficial I was… and how utterly meaningless my life was. Knowing him made me want to be a better person… a more complete person. He showed me how to look outside of myself… He made me want to do my part to make the world a better place… to make my life mean something more than cotillions, and cocktail parties, and wearing the latest fashions.”

“So that’s why you quit your Dad’s firm and went to work for the District Attorney’s office? That’s why you broke up with that loser… was it, Tom? That’s why you practically dropped out of the New York high society circles?”

Catherine nodded. “Yes.”

Jenny sat back and assessed her friend. “I must say, in a way, I’m relieved,” she declared.

“Why?”

“I’ve had a lot of really crazy dreams about you in the last few years, Cathy. I mean, I get that they’re just nightmares, or dreams, or whatever, but if I took them all literally, I would believe your mystery guy was some hulking, disfigured, maniac who runs around New York ripping people to shreds with his bare hands, and then throws you over his shoulder and carries you off to his lair in some cave deep beneath the earth, to read you poetry.”

Catherine spewed a sip of water out of her nose and began to cough. It took Jenny pounding her on the back before she was able to speak. “JENNY!... WOW! I… I’m speechless!”

Jenny laughed. “I know! Crazy, huh? Maybe I’ve seen Phantom of the Opera a few too many times. Do you think? But it’s so good!”

Catherine laughed nervously. Jenny had come closer to the truth than she could possibly know. Catherine needed a minute to compose herself, so she got up and began clearing up the remains of the Chinese takeout.

Jenny jumped up to help her, hoping that Catherine was not finished confiding in her.

“Hey, you’ve got leftovers! Do you mind?” Jenny asked, holding up the takeout box of fried rice.

“Yuck! Jenny, it’s ice cold.”

“So what? I’m hungry. Anyway, you have a microwave, don’t you?”

“You’re always hungry,” Catherine observed, managing a slight smile. “Knock yourself out.”

Catherine puttered in the kitchen, washing dishes and putting them away, while Jenny polished off the last of the Chinese takeout. It gave Catherine time to gather her thoughts. Although she realized that talking to Jenny had already given her some level of relief, she also knew she needed to be careful about how much she revealed.

Finally, they settled again on the couch.

“Here you go,” Jenny said, holding out the last fortune cookie.

“I’m not hungry. You eat it,” Catherine replied.

“C’mon, Cath, you’re due for some good fortune, don’t you think?”

Catherine was too tired to argue, so she reached out for the cookie. “I’ll split it with you. That’s my final offer.”

“Deal,” Jenny said, smiling at her small victory.

Catherine carefully broke the cookie in half and handed the larger piece over to Jenny. She slowly opened the small strip of white paper and read it. She crumpled the paper tightly in her hand and began to cry again.

“Oh, Honey,” Jenny said, reaching out to comfort Catherine again.

Catherine soon got control of herself. She sat up, wiping away the tears with irritation. “I’m sorry, Jen. I’m such a mess.”

“What did it say?” Jenny wondered aloud.

Catherine handed over the tiny, crumpled slip of paper.

As Jenny opened it up, she read, “‘With love, all things are possible’…. That sounds nice,” she said, hopefully, not knowing what those words meant to Catherine and Vincent.

Catherine looked toward the balcony and began chewing her lip. Shaking her head, she said, “It’s not true. Nothing… is possible, Jenny. Love is… a lie. It’s just another word for pain.”

“I still don’t understand. Why did you break up with him? He sounds wonderful.”

“It’s complicated,” was all she said.

Jenny shrugged. “I’ve got time, Cath. I haven’t got anything better to do. Anyway, it’s been a while since I pulled an ‘all-nighter’ with you.”

Catherine managed a slight smile. “You’re a great friend, Jen.”

“He sounds pretty great too, Cath.”

“He is.” Catherine nodded. “During those ten days when Vincent was taking care of me, we developed a… a Bond… a connection. Those months after I came home… whenever I began to doubt myself, I could hear his voice in my head, telling me that I had the strength to overcome what happened to me. When I would wake up in a cold sweat from the nightmares, I could hear his voice telling me that I was safe.

“I thought I would never see him again. But he came to see me several months later, and told me about this connection we had… that he could actually feel my emotions… He said, he knew when I was happy or sad… He could even find me… anywhere in the city, if I needed him.”

“You mean he claimed to have ‘the gift?’” Jenny looked skeptical. “And you believed it?”

“It’s true, Jen. I can’t tell you how I know that, but I do know it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. I know.”

Jenny was convinced. After knowing Catherine for so many years, she knew that if Cathy said she knew something, she definitely knew it.

Catherine sighed and shook her head. “Even with the connection we shared, he always believed that our relationship was an impossible dream. That the dream we shared of a life together was something that could never be. We come from such very different worlds. He never believed we could overcome our differences and the obstacles that stood in the way of our happiness. As time went by, it began to weigh on him. Not long before I was kidnapped by that… that monster, Vincent became very ill. I think it was, at least in part, because of the hopelessness of our relationship. He nearly died, Jen. He did die… he stopped breathing in my arms. His heart stopped… and… I…”

“Wait? What?”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of living without him, so I… I kissed him and begged him not to die… I tried to give him CPR.”

“Oh, Cathy!”

“I’ve never prayed so hard in all my life… not even when Daddy was so sick. And then… by some miracle… he started to breathe again. He came back to me, Jen, but he… we… things were different after that.”

“How? How were things different?” Jenny asked, fascinated by everything Catherine had shared with her.

“He… he couldn’t feel me anymore. He couldn’t read my emotions anymore. He couldn’t feel my love through The Bond we shared. He thought it was broken… that it was lost to him.”

Jenny was breathless, wide eyed, and attentive as she began to realize the importance of what Catherine was telling her. “But it wasn’t broken, was it, Cathy?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Catherine shook her head. “Something had happened…”

“Don’t tell me,” Jenny said, taking hold of Catherine’s arm. “It switched, didn’t it? It wasn’t broken at all. It just switched to you. Now you have ‘the gift’… It’s you who feels him. Am I right?” she asked breathlessly.

Catherine was dumbfounded. “How on earth did you know that?” She stared at Jenny in disbelief. “You mean, you believe me?”

“Of course, I believe you! This is me… JENNY… the woman who has crazy dreams and premonitions. How can I not believe you? Do you know what this means?”

“I… I’m not sure,” Catherine replied, unsure of what Jenny was trying to say.

“You’re soulmates, Cathy. SOULMATES! When you kissed him… when you gave him the breath of life, your souls touched. You are permanently linked together. You have most likely been searching for each other all your lives… maybe even longer! Do you know how rare this is? You’re destined to be together. Perfect for each other in every way…”

Jenny was excited by the revelation. Catherine, on the other hand, seemed unimpressed.

“No, Jen,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re wrong.”

“Yes, Cathy. I’m sure of it,” Jenny insisted.

But Catherine was equally sure. She shook her head emphatically. “No, Jen! We’re not soulmates! Believe me… I once thought that, too. But I’ve come to realize that that isn’t what we are at all. What we are is … Star-crossed… doomed… forever…  to be apart.” She sighed heavily, before continuing. “Whenever our relationship would move toward love… something terrible would happen. Really, really terrible things.”

She stopped speaking and pulled her knees up to her chin. Curling herself into a ball, she recalled some of the horrific events that had led to his illness.  “It was destroying him. The pain of… of… us… was killing him, Jen. Our Bond…  our connection… our love…” She sighed again. “I… was killing him.” She rested her head on her knees and looked forlornly at the French doors that led to the balcony. The tears ran down her cheeks as she quietly sobbed.

Jenny wasn’t sure if she should continue to push Cathy for information. She was worried about her. But she was also dying to know how much in her dreams had been true, and how much was just the invention of an overactive imagination.

In the end, Jenny’s curiosity won over her concern for her friend. This could be my only chance, she decided. And I have to know!

“Saving Vincent’s life wasn’t the only thing that happened in that cave, was it, Cathy?” she tentatively asked.

Catherine turned back to her friend with interest. She was beginning to fear that Jenny knew more than she was comfortable with. “What did you say?” she asked slowly.

“Saving Vincent’s life,” Jenny repeated. “That isn’t all that happened in that cave, is it? Something else happened, didn’t it? … Something amazing.”

How much does she know? Catherine wondered in a panic. Squinting suspiciously at her friend, Catherine replied, “I never said anything about a cave.”

Jenny couldn’t help but gloat a little at her small victory. “Well, you have now.”

Catherine straightened up, fearing that Jenny had actually seen what had occurred between her and Vincent in that dark cavern. “What exactly did you see in your dreams, Jen?”

Jenny was quick to put Catherine’s fears to rest. “Don’t worry, Cath. My dreams are metaphorical… not pornographic. Let’s just say I saw a lot of… fireworks, and… roses.”

Catherine seemed to drift away for a moment, as she recalled that terrifying and wonderful night. At length, she began to speak. Her voice had a distant, dreamy quality. “About the time I began to realize that our Bond had… shifted… that now I could feel his emotions clearly… I also found out that I was… I was…”

“Pregnant?”

Catherine’s jaw dropped. “OH MY GOSH, JENNY! Why did I ever bother trying to keep this a secret from you? You already know everything!”

Jenny shrugged. “No… not really. Up until tonight I was just guessing. You’ve confirmed a lot. Anyway, some of the papers said you gave birth to a baby just before your… uhm… your death.” Then, getting back to the subject of interest, she asked, “What happened to the baby, Cath? Do you have any idea what happened to him?”

She even knows it’s a boy, Catherine noted. Why am I surprised?  “He’s safe. He’s with Vincent and his family.”

“Why? Why don’t you have him? Do the police know that he’s alive?”

“When he was born… that man… that monster… Gabriel… He took him away immediately and left me to… to die. It was Vincent and Diana Bennett who eventually found him and rescued him.

“All those months, when I was in custody… in witness protection… he’s been with Vincent, and his family.”

“But surely… I mean… Now that your back… Vincent will give him back to you… Won’t he?”

“Jenny… our son barely knows me. I only saw his face for a couple of seconds, just after he was born. He’s been with Vincent all these months. They’ve bonded with each other. I never even held Jacob until two weeks ago. I have no right to just swoop in and take him away.”

“You have every right! You’re his mother. Anyway… it’s not like you abandoned him. He was stolen from you and then you almost died.”

Catherine was quiet for a moment. Jenny could see the fear on her face.

“What, Cathy? What are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid I… I’ve lost my chance… to be his mother. That he won’t be able to … bond with me. What if he thinks I abandoned him?”

“He’s just a baby, Cath. Of course, you’ll be able to bond with him. He’s your child. There is no stronger bond than that. You could put a crib in the bedroom, or over there. Or you could move into your Dad’s brownstone, and hire a nanny.”

“No, Jen,” Catherine said, cutting Jenny off. “I’m not going to do that. He’s staying with Vincent.”

“But why, Cathy? You would be a wonderful mother. Don’t you want him?”

Catherine’s expression of longing was answer enough. “Of course, I want him. But I’m a complete mess right now. After all that’s happened. I’m not sure my life will ever be normal again… I’m not even sure what that means. I’m such a basket case. I have to force myself just to go outside and walk in public. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. I’m terrified of getting into elevators or being in a parking structure. Some nights I wake up in a cold sweat. I can’t even get all this stuff unpacked,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air and indicating the boxes scattered around the room. “How can I possibly care for a baby? With Vincent and his family… Jacob is surrounded by love every minute of every day. It would be selfish of me to deprive him of that… to deprive them of him. Anyway, I don’t want anyone to know about him.”

“What? What are you saying? No one knows about him? Not even… Joe?”

“Joe knows there was a baby. That was clear when they originally rushed me to the hospital. The doctors knew right away that I had just given birth… And they found Jacob’s crib when they raided Gabriel’s compound. But they never found the baby. They’ve stopped looking for him. They’ve concluded that the child must have died or was disposed of, somehow.”

“And you just let them believe it?” Jenny asked incredulously.

“Think about it, Jen. If I suddenly show up with a baby, there will be a lot of questions. Not to mention the gossip. I don’t want my child subjected to that. People would be speculating about who the father is. No doubt, they would assume it was Elliot Burch. They might want to examine him or make me prove that he’s actually mine. Just thinking about it makes my head spin. If he stays with Vincent, I know he’ll be safe.”

Besides, she thought, how will I explain to him when he’s four, or eight or ten years old that I’m sick, or even dying? No, she told herself for the hundredth time. It’s definitely better this way.

“Will you be able to see him?” Jenny asked. “You know, since you and Vincent aren’t together anymore?”

Catherine nodded. “Yes. I’m sure Vincent will let me see him whenever I want to.”

Jenny thought for a moment. “But Cathy, I still don’t understand exactly why you dumped Vincent. You obviously still love him. Are you sure you couldn’t have worked things out?”

“When I was being held hostage for all those months. I could feel how desperate he was to find me. I could feel his fear for me. During all that time, he never gave up believing that I was alive and that he would eventually find me. He never stopped searching for me. Being able to feel that… to feel his determination… his love… it comforted me… it gave me strength.

“But after I… died… his anguish was overwhelming. I could feel that too, but I couldn’t do anything to ease his pain. It nearly destroyed him. It was unbearable to feel his suffering. Then, when he rescued Jacob and brought him home, I could feel him beginning to heal. I think having our son to care for was the only thing that kept him alive.”

“But Cathy, why can’t you be together now that it’s all over?”

“He believed I was dead, Jen. While I was in seclusion, waiting for the case to be brought to trial, he believed I was dead.” Catherine hung her head, sadly. “After a while, I could feel him… beginning to open his heart to… to someone else. Beginning to care for someone else.”

“Oh, Cathy!”

“He was finally beginning to be at peace. That’s when I realized… he never felt that kind of peace with me. We were always either blissfully happy or in incredible turmoil. We endured the pain and tried to savour every moment of joy. But he was always tortured by our love. It was a source of great pain for him, even when things were good between us. So, I decided that if I ever did come back, I would let him go… so he could be with her. When I came back, he tried to reconnect with me. I could tell he still loved me… but I could feel how torn he was too. He even asked me to marry him, but I could tell he was only doing it because he felt obligated… because we have a child together. He doesn’t even remember what happened that night… the night our son was conceived. I decided it would be best if… if I just let him believe I was no longer interested. Otherwise, I know he would be wracked with guilt, no matter what he did. If he chose me, he would feel guilty for hurting her. And if he chose Diana, he would eat himself up with guilt for hurting me. So… I made the choice.”

“Diana? You don’t mean Diana Bennett, the special police investigator that brought down that whole network of criminals?”

“That’s her… the woman I… the woman he’s… with now.”

“Oh, Honey. I’m sorry. Are you sure you’ve done the right thing?”

Catherine stared off into the distance and nodded slowly. “They’re together, right now. I can feel that too.” She quickly dashed away a tear. “I can feel that, at this moment, he is happy… and relieved that it’s… settled.”

She squeezed her eyes tight, refusing to give in to any more weeping. She took deep breath and continued. “As much as it hurts, Jen, I am sure. We had our chance, and we missed it. Setting him free was the right thing to do. I don’t want to cause him any more pain. I just want him to be happy. As much as we loved each other, he always believed that our dream could never be. Nothing I ever said or did could convince him to believe otherwise. But somehow, he has been able to believe it with her.”

“But what about you? Don’t you deserve to be happy?”

Catherine was silent and thoughtful. “Do I?” she finally asked. “I’m not sure that I do.”

“Cathy, how can you even think that?” Jenny asked, horrified that Catherine would say such a thing.

Catherine shrugged. “I’ve lived a charmed life, Jen. I’ve had everything I’ve ever wanted… and more, since the day I was born. Maybe I’ve reached my quota… you know? Right now, I just want to give all the love I have to my son, and hope that that will be enough. Making sure that Jacob has a happy life is all that matters to me now.”

Glancing at the clock on her mantle, Catherine was shocked at the time. “It’s late, Jen. You should go home and get some sleep.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, and I don’t need to be anywhere,” Jenny protested. “But you need to sleep, Honey. You look awful. You go take a shower, and I’ll tuck you into bed before I head home.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Catherine looked toward the bedroom with concern.

“What’s wrong, Cath?”

“Can I tell you something? Promise you won’t think I’m losing my mind?”

“Sure, Kiddo. You can tell me anything.”

“I haven’t been able to bring myself to sleep in there… in the bedroom… on that bed. I’ve been sleeping on the sofa.”

“On this dinky little sofa? Why?”

Catherine chewed her lower lip, before replying. “Did you know that’s where they found me… after I… died? In there, on the bed where Vincent left my body. They put bags on my hands to preserve evidence.  They carried me out of here in a body bag, Jen. But I… I wasn’t dead… I was aware of… everything… I felt them lifting me into the bag… I can still feel that cold rubber against my skin. I can still smell that awful odor. I can still hear the sound as they zipped it shut. In my head, I was screaming that I wasn’t dead, but I couldn’t talk… I couldn’t move… I couldn’t do anything.

“Oh, Cathy,” Jenny whispered in horror.

“I’m not getting much sleep. I still have nightmares about it.”

The room felt suddenly cold, and both women rubbed the goosebumps on their arms.

“Sometimes, when I’m here alone,” Catherine went on. “I… I feel like I can’t breathe… The investigators… they went through all of my personal things. They touched everything, Jen… my books… my private letters… my lingerie… searching for clues. Some of my most personal belongings are still missing. I don’t know where they are… It just feels like everything is… dirty… contaminated… I’m not sure I can live here anymore. I guess that’s why I’ve been dragging my feet about unpacking everything. It’s like these things aren’t even mine anymore… this isn’t my life anymore, but I… I don’t know what is.”

Jenny gasped at the recollection of the horror Catherine had somehow managed to live through. She was quick to respond. “You’re right. You can’t stay here. Too much bad has happened here. You’re coming home with me, Cath.”

“What?”

“I know you like your privacy, Cathy. And I know you want to be strong on your own. But I don’t think you should be alone. I have a pull-out sofa bed. Come home with me… right now… You can figure out what you’re going to do in the long run after you’ve had a chance to get your bearings again.”

Catherine hesitated. Jen was right, she did like her privacy. She was trying to prove to the world, and even more, to herself, that she was strong. Even though, what she was feeling, at the moment, was anything but.

“Are you sure, Jen?” she asked, still hesitating.

“I’ve never been so sure. I won’t take no for an answer, Cath. Stay as long as you need to. Come and go as you please. I just want to be sure you’re okay. I really don’t think you should be alone.”

“All right, but just for a few days. I’ve been thinking of moving back into the brownstone. Daddy left it to me, and all of my childhood memories are there.”

“Isn’t it kind of big for just you?”

“It is. But it’s where I grew up. I have a lot of good memories there. I think it might do me some good to be there again.”

“As long as you know you can stay with me as long as you want to. Okay, Cath?”

Catherine nodded. “Thanks, Jen. You’re the best.”

Jenny threw her arms around Catherine and held on tight. When she released her embrace, she let her hand rest gently on Catherine’s shoulder. “The Three Musketeers have to stick togeth—”   She stopped mid-sentence when she felt it, something under Catherine’s shirt. She reached to lift the collar of her shirt.

“What is that?” Jenny demanded.

Catherine closed her eyes and sighed but remained silent.

“Oh My Gosh, Cathy! You’ve been sick? Really, really sick… haven’t you?”

“Yes…” She nodded reluctantly. “But it’s over, Jen. I promise. I’m better now.”

“You don’t look better.”

“Trust me, I am.” For the moment, anyway, she added inwardly.

“Then why is that … that thing… still there?”

“It’s just a precaution. The doctors want to leave it there in case I get sick again. They’ll take it out after a while.”

“Oh, Cathy,” Jenny exclaimed. “After all that happened to you, and then this too? Does Joe know?”

“I don’t want people to know, Jen. Everyone already looks at me like I’m a freak. The press and the paparazzi are hounding me every day. The last thing I need is to be pitied. I may have to tell Joe on Monday though, when I go into the D.A.’s office. I haven’t decided if I’m going to take the job he’s offered me. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do it. I don’t have the energy I used to.”

“Well, that’s it, Cathy… you are definitely coming to stay with me. At least until I’m satisfied that you’re okay.”

Catherine didn’t want to burden anyone with her problems, but she was too tired to argue about it anymore. Within the hour, they were stuffing two suitcases into the trunk of a taxi.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, Catherine took a deep breath, feeling as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders.

Chapter 2

Vincent stood on Diana’s rooftop balcony, looking out at the pre-dawn sky. It had been an amazing night. Something he had never dared to imagine. At least not with Diana. In his dreams, it had always been with Catherine.

He shook his head violently, to try and purge the thought. If I am with Diana, he told himself, I have no right to think about such things. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. At any rate, he reminded himself, Catherine has made it clear that she no longer wants me. Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had betrayed Catherine in some deep, unforgivable way.

Diana quietly took a spot next to him on the balcony and looked out at the city. She was wrapped in an oversized, terrycloth bathrobe to keep out the pre-dawn chill. They stood there quietly for a while, each with their own private thoughts. It was finally Diana who broke the silence.

“Are you sorry?” she asked.

Vincent looked at her, unsure of what exactly she meant. “Sorry?” he asked.

“That you came here last night. Are you sorry that you… that we…?”

“No… are… are you?”

“No, Vincent.” She shook her head.  “I am not sorry.” She said the words slowly and deliberately, to make sure he understood her completely. “But you do feel guilty.” It was an observation, not a question.

He sighed heavily and looked away. “Am I that transparent?”

“No.” Diana laughed, a little. “’Transparent’ is definitely not a word I would use to describe you… ever.”

“Then how did you know?”

“It’s what I do, Vincent. I read people. I make logical leaps using the information that I’ve been given.”

“I’m sorry, Diana. I don’t ever want to make you feel--”

“Stop! You haven’t made me feel anything. You’ve never made a secret of your feelings for Catherine. I understand. After all you’ve been through in the last year… in the last couple of weeks… I would be surprised if you didn’t have those feelings. You’ve probably got some pretty severe emotional whiplash right about now. Maybe it’s me who should be feeling guilty… but I don’t.”

“You? Why should you feel guilty?”

“Because I… I knew how vulnerable you were last night. That was obvious from our conversation yesterday. Then when Catherine turned your proposal down flat I… I saw my opportunity.”

“Is that what you did? You seized the opportunity when you thought I was weak?”

Diana cringed a little and turned from his piercing gaze. “It sounds so cold and calculating when you say it out loud, doesn’t it?” Then looking back at him, she declared, “But I love you, Vincent… I think you already know that. I didn’t think you should be… alone… not after…”

“After Catherine’s rejection?”

She looked back at him. “I wanted you to know that you’re…”

“Desirable?”

“Yes,” she said, flushing deeply.

Vincent looked at her thoughtfully, recalling something that Narcissa had said to him, something that hadn’t made any sense at the time.

“What are you thinking?” Diana asked. “You have the strangest look on your face.”

“Narcissa found me down there…Below… before you did,” he replied. “She said something to me, that is beginning to make sense.”

“Narcissa? Who’s that?”

“She’s one of us. She lives alone, below the main tunnels. Some believe she’s a crazy, and superstitious old woman.”

“What do you think?” Diana asked, suspecting that Vincent had a much different opinion.

“She is eccentric… and blind, but… she sees more than most sighted people do. She is very wise.”

“What did she tell you?”

Vincent smiled. “She said that the woman with fire in her heart, and fire in her hair, would lead me out of the dark… and that I should let her.”

Vincent reached to pull Diana into the circle of his arms. “Thank you, Diana,” he whispered, bending his head to kiss her disheveled red hair. “Thank you for leading me out of the dark.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, unconvinced that she had done any such thing.

He looked out at the changing shades of gray on the horizon. “It will be dawn soon. I should probably go.”

Chapter 3

Late the next morning, Catherine made her way into the Tunnel portal in Central Park. She hadn’t seen the sentry, but clearly the sentry had seen her, and alerted those Below that she was coming down. She heard the message on the pipes shortly after she closed the sliding door and began making her way Below. It wasn’t long before Vincent appeared on the familiar path to his Tunnel home.

“Hello, Catherine.” Vincent greeted her awkwardly.

Catherine could feel his discomfort clearly. He feels guilty, she noted. Like he’s done something wrong.

“Hello, Vincent. I appreciate you meeting me, but I could have found my way,” she assured him. “You don’t have to meet me every time I come Below.”

“The ways change, Catherine.” He looked at her oddly. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

“I told you I would come on the weekends to visit Jacob. If you don’t mind, I would like to come to see him more often than that if I can.”

“He’s your son, Catherine.” He spoke stiffly. “You can come to see him anytime you wish.”

“He’s our son,” she corrected.

“Yes.” He nodded in agreement. “Our… son.”

They walked in awkward silence to the rest of the way, careful to keep a safe distance from each other.

As they neared Father’s chamber, he finally spoke. “I have a council meeting right now, and then later I… I have plans to—"

“Vincent, please,” Catherine interrupted, sensing how uncomfortable he was. “Do what you need to do. I can find my way to the nursery. I’m here for Jacob. I don’t need an escort,” she repeated.

“Very well, then,” he said, with a nod. He turned on his heel and was gone before she could say anything more.

Is this how it’s going to be with us now, she wondered. Always painful and awkward?

She’d hurt him, that was clear, but she could also feel his relief at escaping the awkwardness between them. “I’m sorry, Vincent,” she whispered aloud, acknowledging, if only to herself, that she too, needed space from him to ease her own pain.

“Sorry about what?” Mouse asked from behind her.

She gasped, and turned quickly. “MOUSE! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry. Sometimes too quiet.” He shrugged and gave her his uniquely Mouse grin. “Where ya goin’?”

“I’m on my way to the nursery to see Jacob. Would you like to walk with me?” she asked, slipping her arm in his.

“Okay, good! OK FINE!” Mouse glowed with delight. “Mouse likes Jacob. Looks like you. Has Vincent’s eyes, though. Glad you’re back, Catherine,” he said, continuing to chatter as they walked through the tunnel. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, Mouse,” she replied, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze. She was grateful that there was at least one person in the Tunnel world who still made her feel comfortable.

As she tentatively entered the nursery, she could hear Samantha singing with the children.

Mary saw her first and greeted her warmly. “Catherine, welcome. How are you?”

Catherine tried to smile but found it difficult. “Hello Mary. How is Jacob today?” She asked, deftly avoiding Mary’s question. She was far from fine. If she were honest with everyone who asked her how she was, she would tell them she wasn’t sure she would ever be fine again. But saying it out loud would make it true, so she continued to dodge the subject.

As if on cue, Brooke appeared with the child on her hip. “Look, Jacob! Look who’s here to see you. Is it Mama?” she said, in a sing song voice that people tend to use when speaking to babies. “I’ve just changed his diaper. He’s fresh as a daisy,” she said to Catherine, as she attempted to hand him over.

Catherine backed away. “That’s okay, Brooke. I’ll just stand back here and watch, if that’s all right?”

Unwilling to take “no” for an answer, Brooke thrust Jacob at her, giving her no choice but to catch him. “Sorry, Catherine. We’re shorthanded today, so he’s all yours.” She turned and walked away before Catherine had a chance to hand him back.

Up until now, Catherine had been successful at avoiding holding the child, worried that it was too late to be his mother. Maybe too much time has passed, she feared. The times she had seen him since her return, she had been content to stand in the background, observing him from a distance. But Mary and Brooke had caught on to her and devised a plan to help her get better acquainted with her son.

Catherine held him out, away from her body, as if she was unsure what to do with him. She looked desperately at Mary. “I … I don’t have much experience with babies. I’m afraid I—”

“You don’t need to be afraid of anything, Catherine,” Mary interrupted. “You’ll be just fine. Brooke is here and you can ask her anything. Now, why don’t you sit right here in this rocking chair, and you two can get to know each other a little better. I’m late for the council meeting. Will you stay and give Brooke and Samantha, a hand until I get back?”

“Of course. If that’s what you want,” Catherine replied, unsure how much help she could be. She cautiously drew Jacob closer.

Mary sat her down and made sure little Jacob was safely settled on his mother’s lap. She bent down to his level, and said, “Jacob, do you know who this is?”

His crystal blue eyes were riveted on her, as if he understood every word she spoke.

“This is your mama, Jacob. She loves you sooooo much! She’s come to see you. Can you give Mama a kiss?”

“Oh he… he doesn’t have to…” Catherine began. She didn’t want to push herself on him too quickly. But before she could finish her sentence, he puckered up his mouth and blew her a kiss with his chubby little hands that melted her heart.

Catherine laughed and Jacob laughed with her. Maybe, she let herself hope just a little. Maybe it’s not too late.

“He likes to be read to,” Mary said, handing her a battered, old volume of nursery rhymes, and turning toward the door. “I won’t be long,” she called, as she rushed to her meeting.

Catherine opened the book and began to read.

Hey diddle, diddle,

The cat and the fiddle,

Do you see the cat? Can you say cat?” she asked, pointing to the cheerful illustrations.

The cow jumped over the moon;

The little dog laughed

To see such sport

And the dish ran away with the spoon.

“The dish ran away with the spoon?” she asked, looking surprised at her audience of one. “That’s so silly!”

Jacob laughed on cue, and bounced in her lap, slapping the book for more. Catherine began to relax as the squirming little boy settled in her arms listened to her with rapt attention.

Mary had a little lamb.

Its fleece was white as snow.

And everywhere that Mary went…

Brooke smiled with satisfaction. Their plan was working. In the next hour-and-a-half she observed Catherine playing pat-a-cake, and peek-a-boo, successfully change a messy diaper, and feed Jacob his lunch.

Chapter 4

As the council meeting was about to adjourn, Vincent stood to leave.

“Ah-ha-hem. We have one more order of business, Vincent,” Father said.

Vincent looked surprised, and slowly took his seat. “I’m sorry, I thought we were finished. What is it, Father?”

“The council… and several members of the community, would like to have a small gathering… to officially celebrate Catherine’s return. We feel that it might be an appropriate way to show her how happy… how relieved we are, that she is all right and that she has returned to us… returned to you.”

Vincent sat in awkward silence. He hadn’t had an opportunity to apprise Father, or anyone else, about the recent developments in regard to his relationships with Catherine, or Diana for that matter.

Father continued, “Is it possible that we might be hearing any special announcements soon? Should we also be planning an engagement party? Or perhaps a joining ceremony?”

The room was uncharacteristically silent. Vincent could feel all eyes on him. The Council waited expectantly for an answer.

Vincent finally stood and faced Father and the others. “I don’t think a gathering, small or large, would be… appropriate,” he said softly, repeating Father’s vernacular.

Father looked confused. “Do you care to explain why?”

“I want to know too,” William declared loudly. “I’ve already got the menu planned. The grand finale is going to be my famous chocolate fudge cake.”

“Catherine and I… we… uhm…” Vincent took a deep breath. “Catherine and I… we will not be resuming our previous relationship. I believe a party would be awkward, even uncomfortable for her… as well as for Diana.”

“What does Diana have to do with this?” Mary asked, eyes wide in shock at Vincent’s bombshell announcement.

The Council members exchanged bemused glances with each other.

“Diana and I… well… we are… we have…” He paused, trying to think of an easy way to say it. “All you need to know is, a party is not a good idea. Trust me. It would be unpleasant… for everyone.”

He looked around the table filled with stunned expressions. “If that is all, I hope you will excuse me.” He turned and left the room, bounding up the steps by twos. He didn’t stop until he reached his chamber. Overwhelmed by emotion, he gripped the sides of his writing table as he attempted to gain control of himself.

~~~

Catherine had just put a sleepy Jacob in his crib for his afternoon nap, when she felt it. Vincent’s emotions exploded through her like lightning. She stood up and looked toward the nursery entrance, wondering what had happened.

Mary arrived only moments later. “How did it go?” Mary quietly asked.

“It went wonderfully,” Brooke answered in a low tone, so as not to disturb several dozing toddlers. “Catherine didn’t need any help at all. She knew exactly what to do. She’s a wonderful mother.”

“I knew you would be,” Mary said addressing Catherine. “You’re a natural, Catherine. Jacob is a fortunate little boy to have you.”

Catherine wasn’t sure if Mary was right, but she knew she wanted to live up to the opinion Mary had of her.

“Thank you… both of you,” Catherine said, reaching for her jean jacket.

“Thank you? For what. I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Mary said.

“Yes, you do,” Catherine said, smiling again, as she reached out and hugged the quiet woman. “You made me face my fears, and you gave me the confidence I needed today.”

“Well, it certainly didn’t take much to do that. You know you can come here anytime you want to, don’t you, Catherine?”

Catherine looked doubtful. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother or—”

“Anytime, Catherine, night or day,” Mary assured her. “Jacob is your son too, and you’ve missed a lot. Come Below, whenever you want to see him.”

Catherine heard something in Mary’s voice and looked closely, seeing Mary’s concerned expression. “You know, don’t you?”

Mary nodded, unsure of what she should say. “Are you all right, Dear?” Mary finally asked, squeezing Catherine’s arm affectionately.

Catherine sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was to cry in front of any of her Tunnel friends. She was sure it would only make matters worse. But she couldn’t bring herself to lie anymore. “It’s been a very long time since I was ‘all right,’” she confided, still speaking in a whisper. “I’m not even sure I know what that is anymore.”

“What can I do, dear?”

Catherine smiled wanly and shook her head. “There is nothing to be done, Mary. It is… what it is… but, thank you.”

Needing to change the subject, she said, “I’ll try to come back to see Jacob again tomorrow, if that’s convenient. I’m sure I can come down most weekends. If I can find time during the week, I’ll come Below more often.”

“Like I said, Catherine, anytime… night or day.”

Catherine hugged her again and turned to leave. He must have told them, she thought, as she walked away. They know… they know… they know. The words repeated over and over in her head. Soon, they will all know.  She suddenly felt the need to get Above as fast as she could. As she neared the Park entrance, she began to run.

Finally stepping out of the culvert, she leaned against the cement wall, and took great gulps of fresh air.

It hurts so much to have everyone feeling sorry for me, she realized. It hurts to do this to all of them. I’m sorry Vincent. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you… but I know this is for the best… it has to be…

Chapter 5

Father hobbled tentatively into Vincent’s chamber. “Vincent are you in here? May I come in?”

“You may come in, Father.”

Entering the room, Father saw his son sitting at his writing desk with his head resting in his hands. He was unsure how to begin the uncomfortable conversation he knew they could not avoid.

Vincent knew why Father had come. How can I explain this to him? he wondered, when we have never been able to speak of such things.

“Vincent, I… I uuuhm… I just want to be clear… about what you said in the council meeting.”

Vincent looked up to face his father. There’s only one way to say it, he thought. “Catherine no longer believes in the dream we once shared. She is not interested in renewing what we once had between us, Father. There will be no announcements, now or ever. Diana and I… we are… we are now in a relationship. We are a couple.” Now please go away, he begged inwardly, even though he knew that would not happen.

“In a… a… relationship? You and Diana are… a… a couple? What exactly does that mean, Vincent?”

Vincent threw his head back and let out a loud groan. Do I have spell it out? he wondered in extreme discomfort. “Father…” he said in frustration, throwing his hand out as he spoke. “Diana and I are a couple… in every sense of the word! We have an intimate relationship.”

Father’s mouth dropped open in shocked surprise.

“Do you understand what I mean now?” Vincent asked, sarcastically. He was well beyond his comfort zone and hoped against hope this conversation would come to a swift conclusion.

Father, however, was definitely not satisfied. “How do you know Catherine is not interested?” he demanded. “Good Heavens, Vincent! She is the mother of your child!”

“Last night I… I asked her to marry me, and she refused me. She was very clear.”

“Last night? You proposed marriage to Catherine… last night?” Father was still confused. “And just how long have you and Diana been in this… this… intimate relationship, My Boy?” He could barely bring himself to say the word. How could I have missed all this? he wondered. You must be slipping, Old Man, if you didn’t see all this happening, right under your own nose.

Vincent exploded out of his chair. “If you must know, Father! Since last night! Must you know every detail?” Vincent’s discomfort with the conversation was painfully clear.

“Vincent! Please! I am trying to understand. Considering the timing, I must wonder just how sincere your marriage proposal could have been if you were so eager to jump into bed with the first woman who crossed your path! NOBODY bounces back that quickly! Does Diana know that… that you came to her on the heels of Catherine’s rejection?”

“Of course, she knows. She was there when I proposed!”

Father’s jaw dropped open again.

~~~

In the shadows of the tunnel above Vincent’s chamber a quiet Mouse sat wide-eyed, in shock at what he had overheard. “That’s bad,” he whispered. “Worse than bad. Worse than worst...”

In the Tunnels, very few things could remain a secret for long. News of Vincent’s complicated personal life was soon common knowledge among the close-knit

~~~

Tunnel community. In the days that followed, it became clear to Vincent that everyone had an opinion on the subject, and most of them felt compelled to share it with him.

Seeking someplace where he could find some respite from the disapproving looks and unsolicited opinions of his friends, Vincent found himself in the Pipe Chamber.

Pascal was one of the few who had not expressed his opinion in regard to the recent choices Vincent had made in his life. And oddly, he was one of the few whose opinion Vincent truly valued.

Finding a corner of the chamber where he could be out of the way, and quietly observed Pascal navigating his beloved pipes. He resembled an eccentric symphony conductor as he carefully listened and relayed messages throughout the community.

When there was a lull in the pipe music, Pascal finally turned to his friend. “To what do I owe this visit, Vincent? Is there a message you would like me to send for you?”

Vincent sighed. “Truthfully, I just needed a place to find a little peace.”

Pascal chuckled. “My Pipe Chamber isn’t well known for that. The mirror chamber maybe. Even the Chamber of the Falls. But the Pipe Chamber?”

“It is not the silence I am seeking so much as refuge from the advice and opinions of my friends. I believe you understand.”

“I suppose I do. I take it you’ve been on the receiving end of a lot of unsolicited advice lately?”

“You have no idea,” Vincent replied. “You are one of the few who have remained conspicuously silent in regard to the matter, my friend.”

“I’m always quiet, Vincent. You know that.”

“Even about this? Everyone else seems to have an opinion. You are one of the few whose opinion I truly value.”

“Trust me, Vincent, you don’t want to hear my opinion.” He jumped from pipe to pipe, listening for any messages that might need to be sent along the system.

“We’ve been friends all of our lives, Pascal. Trust me, I do want to hear it. There are precious few men in these tunnels whose opinion I value m—”

“I keep thinking about Winslow. I wonder if anyone else is? It makes sense, I suppose. Don’t you think? Considering…”

“Winslow? Vincent asked, unsure of Pascal’s meaning.

“It’s just that… if you and Catherine call it quits,” Pascal began. “Then Winslow died for nothing. Ya know what I mean?… I’m not saying it’s your fault or anything. It’s just that… well…he died helping to rescue Catherine and now… I don’t know.” Pascal shrugged and sighed sadly, as he leaned against a pipe. “It’s just the way it is, I guess. So… do you still want to hear my opinion?”

Chapter 6

Catherine had wrestled with her decision about Joe’s job offer for days. On one hand, she knew she had to try and get her life back on track. She wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to do that, but she did know she didn’t want to go back to being the socialite with no direction, who lived off her father’s trust fund. That Cathy was long gone, and she had no interest in reviving her. On the other hand, even though the work for Joe had been dangerous and exhausting, it had also been challenging, fulfilling, and exhilarating. Not to mention she had loved working with Joe. He had been much more than a boss. He had become a treasured friend.

By Monday morning, Catherine was frustrated that she still hadn’t come to a firm decision about the job Joe had offered her. The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him. It’s best if I get there early, she told herself. Maybe Joe can help me sort it all out.

The moment Catherine stepped out of the taxi at the State Office Building, reporters and photographers descended on her. She found herself surrounded before she even had a chance to close the taxi door.

“Miss Chandler, does the fact that you’re here mean that you are returning to work for District Attorney’s office?” someone yelled to her, as she attempted to make her way through the crowd.

Cameras flashed in her face, so that she couldn’t see who the questions were coming from.

“Is there a reason you won’t tell anyone who the father of your baby was?” someone asked.

“Do you have any idea what happened to your baby, Miss Chandler?”

Beginning to panic, she turned back toward the taxi, but it was too late. The cabbie already had another fare and was pulling away from the curb. I’m trapped, she realized, just as she felt someone grab her firmly by the arm.

Looking up to see who was manhandling her, she realized with relief that it was Joe.

“Common, Kiddo, let’s get you outta here.” He steered her expertly to the building entrance, and to a mercifully waiting elevator.

“Did you have a secret lover, Ms. Chandler? Was it Elliot Burch?” a reporter hollered, as they entered the first available elevator.

“If it wasn’t Elliot Burch, was it District Attorney Maxwell?” Someone else asked loudly.

“That’s it!” Joe exclaimed, sticking his arm between the closing elevator doors. He stepped out and got directly in the face of the nearest reporter. It was all he could do to keep from punching the guy in the face.

“If you have a legitimate question, then ask it! All the facts came out in court. If you want to know the facts, then go read the court record. If you’re interested in salacious rumors and gossip, then you can go publish your rag and say whatever you want. Just know that Miss Chandler has the resources of the District Attorney’s Office behind her, so you’d better make sure you can afford a libel suit. But don’t come here and abuse someone who has already been brutally victimized, and almost killed trying to bring criminals in this city to justice. I suggest you all get outta here, before I call the cops and have you charged with harassment and causing a public nuisance! And if I catch any of you harassing her again, I’ll have restraining orders slapped on all of you so fast, your heads will spin.”

Momentarily shamed into silence, the scrum of reporters began to slink away.

“Sorry, Mr. Maxwell,” the last reporter mumbled, as the elevator doors closed.

~~~

As they reached Joe’s office, he stopped to speak to his secretary.

“Good morning, Mr. Maxwell,” she said, cheerfully. Her smile faded when she saw the angry expression on his face. “Is there something wrong, sir?”

“Wendy, I need you to contact every newspaper and magazine in the city.”

“Yes, Mr. Maxwell,” she said, reaching for the rolodex on her desk.

“Tell ‘em they’d better call their dogs off Catherine Chandler, or I’m gonna to get restraining orders against all of them and have their rags barred from the building. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Maxwell.”

Safely in Joe’s office, Catherine turned to him, apologetically. “Thanks, Joe. It seems I’m forever in need of rescue. How did you know?”

“Security alerted me as I entered the building. They said there might be a problem out there. I guess I got there just in time, huh?”

Catherine let out a shaky breath. “They’re never going to let this go, are they?”

“I think ‘never’ is a bit of a stretch.”

“Hah, not by much!” she scoffed. “Believe me, I’ve had some experience with reporters, before.” She moved to the window. Looking down to the street, she attempted to see if any of them were hanging around. Without looking back at Joe, she said, “You know, every time I try a high profile case, the headlines are going to be about me… and what happened to me. The defense attorneys will use it against me… against us. It may even prejudice a judge or a jury or two. Every case I try will be appealed. You know how it works.”

“Yeah, I know.” Joe slumped, clearly unhappy about the situation. “You can’t seem to catch a break, can ya, Kiddo?”

Catherine looked at him and shrugged. “I dunno, I’m alive, that’s a pretty big break. It’s more than some people got.”

“Hmph,” Joe replied. “You deserve more than that, Cathy.”

Looking out the window again, she replied. “I’m not so sure about that. The people who died deserved more than that too, didn’t they?” Not really expecting an answer she continued. “What I do know is, that it’s clear I can’t work here anymore. I hadn’t made up my mind when I climbed into the taxi this morning. But now I know that it’s just not possible. You already know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I do…” he said, reluctant to admit what was so glaringly obvious. “But I owe you, Radcliffe. I owe you big time.”

Not understanding what he meant, she argued. “It wouldn’t work, and you know it. I’m too much of a side show now to be of any use to you. As far as the tabloids are concerned, I might as well have been abducted by aliens and come back with two heads. This will always follow me.”

Joe was clearly disappointed. “I’m sorry, Cathy. I could’ve really used you here. We were a great team.”

“Yeah, we were.” Catherine continued looking out the window at the pulse of the city below. “But you’ve managed to get along without me for the last fifteen months. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Life just goes on, she noted. No matter what happens to me. But now what am I going to do?

“Are you going to at least tell me?” Joe asked.

“Tell you what?” she asked, unsure of what he was referring to.

“Who the father of your baby is.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could feel her palms beginning to sweat, and her heart was beating in her throat.

When she seemed to ignore his question, he asked, “Elliot Burch wasn’t the father… was he?”

Catherine had observed him in court many times. She could tell by his tone that he was asking a question he already knew the answer to. At least he thinks he knows the answer, she thought. Catherine felt completely off balance. I’m so tired of keeping secrets from people I care about, she thought.  “I don’t have the energy to play this game with you, Joe.”

“I’m not playing a game, Cathy. Those reporters have thrown me into the mix as the possible father, so I think I have a right to know… because I sure as heck know it isn’t me. Just answer the question.”

“No,” she answered softly, without turning from the window. “Elliot is not the father.”

Joe took a deep breath and loosened his tie. He wasn’t sure how much he should push her, but there were things he needed to know. Questions that the investigation hadn’t answered.

Running his fingers through his hair, he took a chance. “Was it Vincent?” he asked.

She swung around and looked at Joe. He could see the fear in her eyes. The kind of fear he had only seen in her eyes once before, when she was being stalked by a man who nearly killed her.

“Come on, Cathy. It’s me. Have you told Jenny? She told me you’ve been staying at her place, the last couple nights. She said you needed someone to talk to.”

She looked at him, wondering if Jenny had betrayed her confidence.

As if reading her mind, he quickly added, “Don’t worry. She didn’t tell me what you talked about. I’m actually glad you have someone to talk to. You’re lucky to have a friend like her.”

“That’s the truth.” Catherine sighed heavily. “I told her about him a couple of nights ago,” she admitted. “Before that, she didn’t know anything… except for her dreams and premonitions, of course. And before you get mad at her for keeping it from you… I made her swear she wouldn’t tell anyone… not even you.”

“You know, you can trust me too, Cathy,” he said. But even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew that she didn’t. Why should she, Maxwell? he asked himself. After what she’s been through, how can she ever trust anyone?

She looked at him intently. How much does he already know? she wondered. How much can I trust him with?

Well, if she’s not going to talk to me, he decided. I’ll have to fish for it.

“What did this guy do to you, Cathy?” Joe demanded, approaching her. “Did he rape you? Because if he did, I swear--”

“NO!” she exclaimed. “NO, JOE!” The air between them was charged as they stood face to face and stared at each other. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. “He didn’t hurt me,” she insisted. “I promise you, he would never… ever… hurt me.”

When she didn’t say more, he pushed her further. “Come on, Radcliffe. You gotta give me more than that. What does this guy have on you?” His frustration was clear.

Catherine stood firm and unflinching. “I can’t give you more than that, Joe. Please, don’t ask me to. He doesn’t have anything on me. I promise you.”

“But he has your baby, doesn’t he?”

He saw the fear in her eyes ratchet up a bit. “Bingo,” he said grimly, regretting using his years of courtroom experience against her.

She closed her eyes, trying desperately to figure out what to say to him. Every impulse in her said to run. But where would I run to? she asked herself. The press is probably still waiting for me in the lobby.

She began trembling, wondering what to do. Feeling her knees growing weak, she sat down on his couch, and buried her face in her hands.

Joe’s heart went out to her. He could see how distraught she was, and he knew that he was the cause. But there are things I need to know, he told himself.

He sat in a chair nearby and leaned toward her. “I’m sorry, Cathy,” he said, softly. “Listen, I know you’ve had it pretty rough, but we need to talk about this. I’m on your side. I hope you know that.”

She sat up and leaned back against the couch and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Joe, I do know you’re on my side. But there are things… things I don’t share… things I can’t share… with anyone… not even Jen.”

“Fine,” Joe said, in frustration. He pulled some keys out of his pocket and walked around his desk to open a locked drawer. Returning with a yellow legal sized envelope, he dropped it on the coffee table in front of Catherine.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“You tell me… Go ahead… open it.”

Reaching for the envelope, Catherine removed an 8x10 photograph of Gabriel. He was clearly dead. There were three bloody gashes across his face. She knew immediately that they were from Vincent.

With shaking hands, she put the photograph on the table and pushed it away from her.

“Do you know who that is, Cathy?”

“It’s him…” Turning her face away from the picture, she nodded. “The man who took my baby. The man who ordered the doctor to give me the injection that was supposed to kill me.”

“Gabriel,” Joe said. “His name is Gabriel.”

“Yes.” She was beginning to feel a little nauseous. “Why did you show me this?”

“Because I have a hunch you know who did that to his face.”

Catherine looked up at him. “Why don’t you tell me, Joe.”

“All right… I think it was Vincent. I think… somehow… he found out where Gabriel was keeping your baby, and he went there to get him back… and he left his calling card.” Joe lifted his hand and dragged three fingers down his cheek.”

“Do you mind if I ask you how you know that name?”

“When you were kidnapped, we went through every inch of your apartment. Searching for any clues we could find about your life. There were a couple of inscriptions in books, a note… signed with that name.”

Catherine covered her face again. I’m sorry, Vincent. I said I would never betray your trust and then I left things behind that did just that.

“They were pretty slim clues, I’ll admit,” Joe said, “But they were all I had to go on, and they seemed important… Then after you were… found… I pulled in a special investigator, and she went through everything again.”

“Special investigator?” Catherine looked up and tried to sound as if she didn’t know about Diana, and the role she’d played in everything.

“Yeah,” Joe nodded. “Her name’s Diana Bennett. She’s the best there is. She’s actually the one who killed Gabriel in the end. In the beginning, she seemed to think Vincent was some kind of protector… That somehow he knew when you were in trouble and he would come to your rescue…”

Catherine held her breath.

“But that theory didn’t pan out.” Joe shook his head. “If that was true… then why didn’t he rescue you during all those months after Gabriel took you?” He sat back and watched her for a minute.

Catherine tried her best not to let her demeanor betray anything more than he already knew.

She’s good, he thought. She isn’t giving me much to work with here. “There are a lot of questions I never got answers to. Things I’ve been wondering about all this time… You wanna know what else I think?”

“What else do you think, Joe?” she finally asked. Hoping he didn’t have any theories he could actually prove.

“I think Vincent is the father of your baby… and he’s been keeping him safe… and I think you’re okay with that. I think he must have gotten to Gabriel shortly before Diana got there, because those wounds were fresh… and I think that picture of Gabriel looks an awful lot like the pictures we have in the subway slasher case.”

“Have you shared this theory with anyone?”

“No… I haven’t.”

“Why not?”

“Believe it or not… I’ve been conflicted. I still am.”

“Conflicted?”

“Before you showed up in court… in the flesh… I figured your kid already lost his mother and if I pursued my hunch… well, I know you have no family, so your baby would most likely end up in foster care. I didn’t think you would want that. I didn’t want that. On the other hand, my gut tells me if I pursued this, I could close the subway slasher files… get a vigilante off the streets. It would make me look pretty good when I come up for election.”

“He’s not the subway slasher, Joe.”

Bingo, Joe thought. At least she’s admitting that he exists. He decided to push her a little more. “He sure fits the description of the slasher. How do you know he’s not?”

“Because, Jayce Walker was…” She winced, realizing that she had said too much. “...the slasher,” she finished.

“Jason Walker? And just how do you know that?” Joe squinted, when he realized her statement was unequivocal. “Wait… What do you mean… was? Do you know what happened to Walker?”

“It’s a long story… but what I do know… without a doubt… is that Vincent is not the subway slasher.”

“Are you telling me, he’s never killed or maimed anyone? Because that photograph is telling me something different.”

“He’s a good man, Joe,” she insisted. “Please… I need you to believe that.”

Joe could sense how desperate she was. He could see the pleading in her eyes. Joe decided it was time to let her off the hook. Sighing, Joe admitted, “Yeah… well… that’s the thing… I do believe that. I think he’s a good man too.”

“You do?”

Joe nodded. “He could have killed Gabriel, but he didn’t. That shows more restraint than I might have had if I’d come face to face with the monster who killed you. But Diana Bennett beat me to it.”

Catherine was shocked to hear that Joe’s tone in regard to Vincent sounded a lot like admiration.

“He doesn’t go looking for trouble, Joe,” she explained. “He only does that when he has no other choice.” She looked at him, pleading with her eyes. “When he does… what he does… he’s defending helpless people… victims… who can’t help themselves. Isn’t that what we try to do?”

“There’s a difference between being in law enforcement and being a vigilante, Cathy.”

“I know that…” she replied. “But like I said, he doesn’t go out looking for trouble. He just helps people who need help. When most people in this city would just walk by and pretend they don’t see anything… he steps in, and does what he can.”

Joe chewed his lower lip, as he digested her words.

“Not long before you were taken, you told me there was someone that you loved… someone who’d been ill. I’m pretty sure that person was Vincent. I figure, if you love him, Cathy, he must be a good man. I know you wouldn’t trust him with your baby, otherwise.”

Feeling a flicker of hope, Catherine asked, “So, what are you going to do?”

Joe picked up the photograph and walked over to his paper shredder and dropped it in.

Catherine was stunned.

Reaching into the bin under the shredder, he pulled out what was left and stuffed it into the envelope and returned to his seat near Catherine.

“I figure you know what to do with this,” Joe said, holding it out to her. She accepted it gladly, folding it and stuffing it into her purse before he had a chance to change his mind.

Looking at Joe searchingly, she asked, “Why are you doing this for me, Joe? I don’t understand…”

“Because I believe you, and I… owe… you.”

“What do you owe me? Why do you keep saying that? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve never said it, Cathy, but what happened to you… what Gabriel did to you… I know it was all my fault.”

Catherine raised a curious eyebrow. “And just how did you reach that conclusion, counselor?”

“When you were kidnapped, it was because of me… because I gave you Hanlon’s black book. That’s why I couldn’t let the investigation go, even after Moreno put me on suspension. Then, when they discovered your body in your apartment, I was… sick. I couldn’t forgive myself. I just kept thinking how it shoulda been me. It never shoulda been you, Cathy.” He hung his head, overcome with the regret that had plagued him for months.

“Oh, Joe,” Catherine sighed, reaching out to put her hand on his shoulder.

Looking up at her again, he continued. “I know this doesn’t come close to making up for all that’s happened to you… but it’s all I got. I hope someday, you can forgive me.”

“Forgive you? Joe, how can you even believe there’s anything to forgive?”

“Because I gave you that book! Patrick Hanlon entrusted it to me… It got him killed…. It nearly got me killed… and then I gave it to you, and it got you killed… Well… you know what I mean.”

“Joe… no…” she insisted, shaking her head in disagreement.

“Yes, Cathy! How can you not see that? Even Elliot Burch is dead because he was helping you with that book! Everything… EVERYTHING… that happened after that… was because of that blasted book!”

“Not everything,” she corrected. But he doesn’t know about the rest, she reminded herself. But whatever his reasons are for protecting Vincent, I’ll gratefully accept it.

As she stood up, preparing to leave, she said, “I underestimated you, Joe. I wasn’t sure you would understand about Vincent. I’m sorry.”

“I trust you, Radcliffe,” he said, walking her to the door. “If you love this guy as much as I think you do… then he must be pretty special. As far as I’m concerned, if he has you, he’s the luckiest man in New York.”

You don’t know how wrong you are, Joe, she thought. But I was once the luckiest woman.

Catherine threw her arms around Joe, hugging him tight. “I don’t know how to thank you, Joe… for everything.” When she let go, she looked at him with tears in her eyes. “You know… you have a heart like his.”

“Thanks!” he replied, a little embarrassed. “Is there any chance I’ll ever meet this guy?” he asked, trying to maintain his composure.

She smiled sadly. “I don’t know, Joe. I don’t know,” she said, knowing it was unlikely now that she and Vincent had ended their relationship.

“You need to tell him to stop, Cathy,” Joe continued. “Sooner or later, being a vigilante will get ‘im killed.… I think you know that.”

“Yeah, I do,” she said, recalling what happened to Vincent when the Silks caught him Above. Catherine nodded. “That’s part of the reason I was conflicted about accepting your job offer, even before the fiasco downstairs with the press. I’m sorry, Joe. I really loved working here, but for so many reasons… I just can’t.”

This is just another part of my life that’s over, she thought.

Joe looked thoughtful. “What if you had a job that was low profile? You wouldn’t even have to come into the office?”

Catherine was intrigued. “What kind of a job?”

“There’s a new women’s shelter, where we take women who have no safe place to go when… well… when they’re battered or threatened by their husbands or boyfriends… pimps… stalkers… sometimes even by their own kids.”

“What would I be doing there?”

“In the past, we’ve had the women come here to give us their depositions. We’ve realized that more than half the time they come in here and they’re so scared and intimidated, they end up dropping the charges and going right back to the terrible situations they ran from in the first place. The next time we see some of them is in the morgue. Then we end up prosecuting the guy for murder.”

Catherine looked at Joe, in disbelief, remembering the many arguments they’d had over this very topic.

“Don’t say it, Cathy.”

Catherine’s eyebrows shot up involuntarily. “Don’t say what, Joe?” she asked innocently. “Don’t say… who are you, and what have you done with Joe Maxwell?”

He chuckled, in spite of himself. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. I know, I know. Will it make you feel better if I tell you, you were right all those times we argued about this?”

Catherine nodded. “Actually, I think it does. So, tell me more?”

“You would be liaison between this office and the shelter. You’d have an office there… get to know the women… gain their trust… make them feel comfortable, and take their depositions there, in an environment where they feel safe… help them prepare for court.”

Catherine was interested… very interested.

“It would be low profile. You could set your own hours. I’ll be honest with ya, the pay stinks.”

Catherine smiled. Surely, he knows by now that I don’t need the money, she thought. “I don’t care about the pay, Joe. I need to be busy. I need to do something… worthwhile. Something that makes me feel like part of the world again. This sounds like something that might be a good fit for me right now.”

“Okay, then!”  Joe nodded. “I’ve been trying to fill this position for weeks. Are you free to go there now? I’ll just call the director and tell her we’re coming over.”

It only took a minute to set up the appointment. Hanging up the pone he walked over to Catherine, indicating that he was ready to go.

“Let’s get you outta here, Radcliffe.”

Chapter 7

As they exited the taxi in front of an average looking apartment building on East 82nd Street, Catherine was surprised. “It’s here?” she asked. “On the Upper East Side?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah, why? What? Did ya think I was going to send you to work in Harlem or something?”

“Yeah.” Catherine smiled wryly. “I kinda did. I grew up about twenty blocks south of here. I didn’t have any idea there were any shelters on the Upper East Side.”

“That’s the beauty of it, Cathy, either do the guys who are looking for these women. This place is strictly confidential. It’s only been up and running for about six months. You can’t tell anyone where you work or what you do. You need to blend in here. So, you’ll have to ditch the suit, come to work at odd hours, and wear blue jeans and t-shirts… You do own, blue jeans and t-shirts, don’t you, Cathy?”

She punched his arm. “Yes, Joe, I do. Do you think I dress like this when I’m at home on the weekends?”

“Hey, I don’t know what rich people do in their spare time,” he quipped, steering her to a simple door covered by a small awning, and ringing the doorbell.

“State your name and business?” a woman’s gruff voice crackled over the intercom.

“It’s Joe Maxwell. Ms. Campbell’s expecting me.”

The door buzzed and released the lock. Joe opened the door and waited for Catherine to enter.

“Not too friendly, are they?” Catherine noted.

“They’re careful. The women here have learned not to trust anyone.”

Catherine nodded. “I guess I understand that.”

“Yeah, I guess you do,” Joe said, wondering anew the true extent of what she’d been through.

She followed him into what looked like an office. It was sparsely furnished with three large, mismatched desks, a few file cabinets, and a large bookshelf.

“Ms. Campbell? Joe said, poking his head around the open door. “I brought you someone to fill your legal aid liaison position.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me, Marilyn, Joe?’

“Sorry, Marilyn. I brought your new in-house counsel. I thought you might want to meet her.”

“Of course, I do! Bring her in.”

Marilyn stopped in her tracks as Catherine stepped out from behind Joe.

“Cathy? Is that you?”

Equally surprised, Catherine asked in disbelief, “Marilyn? You’re Ms. Campbell?”

Marilyn opened her arms and hugged Catherine as if she was a long-lost daughter. “OH! It’s so good to see you! I couldn’t believe it when I heard you were alive. I’ve been reading every newspaper article I can find, wondering if you’re all right.” She held Catherine at arm’s length trying to get a good look at her.

Catherine rolled her eyes. “I hope you don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

“Of course not, dear.” Marilyn scowled momentarily. “I saw how those reporters treated you in that press conference. Just despicable! How are you? You look too thin.”

Catherine laughed. “That’s what Peter says. I promise, I am working on it.”

“Ahem,” Joe cleared his throat loudly. “Am I missing something here? Do you two know each other?”

Turning to Joe, Catherine explained. “Marilyn was my mother’s dear friend and my father’s legal assistant for as long as I can remember. And she was my second mother after my mother passed away.” Then laying her head on Marilyn’s shoulder, she added. “I don’t know how I would have ever gotten through puberty without her.”

Marilyn had her arm affectionately around Catherine’s waist. “Peter told me you moved back into your old apartment, but when I called there, no one answered.”

“Yeah… That didn’t work out. At the moment I’m staying with Jenny Aronson,” Catherine explained. “Do you remember her?”

“Of course, I do. She’s your friend who was always hungry.”

“Yes, that’s her.” Catherine nodded and smiled. “I’ve been thinking of moving back into the house in Lenox Hill. I think Daddy would like the idea of me living there. He never wanted me to move out in the first place.”

“I’m so glad. That beautiful old house needs to have someone in it.”

Joe hated to break up the reunion, but he needed to get back to business. “So, I may not need to ask this, but what do you think Ms. Campb… uhm… Marilyn? Do you think Ms. Chandler will be a good fit here?” He tried to hide a smirk.

Catherine and Marilyn both laughed.

“I’m not letting her go for anything,” Marilyn replied. “Thank you, Joe, for bringing her here. This position was tailor made for Cathy.”

With a flourish of her hands, Marilyn said, “Welcome to Heaven Smiles.”

“Heaven Smiles?” Catherine asked. “That’s what you named it?”

“That’s what your father named it,” Marilyn corrected. “This is his baby. It was something he had talked about for years… a dream your mother had, that she didn’t have time to make a reality. Then after you left the firm, he began talking about it again. He had already purchased the building and had begun the renovations before he passed away so suddenly. But he created a trust fund to cover it, and he named me as a partner, knowing I would finish it if he couldn’t.

“Heaven Smiles… What’s that?” Joe asked. “Does it mean something?”

Catherine was pleased to explain. “When I was little, my mother would sometimes tell me that there might be times in my life when I think that God has forgotten all about me, but I must always remember that sooner or later, Heaven smiles on us all.” Catherine smiled fondly at the sweet memory. “It’s been ages since I thought about that.” Then turning back to Marilyn. “Daddy never said anything to me about this.”

“No…” Marilyn replied. "It was going to be a surprise… and then… well, you know… he passed away so suddenly.”

Catherine nodded. “And then… I died too.”

“Yes…” Marilyn said. “Of course… after that, I was even more determined to finish it… as a tribute to both of you. But now you’re here! It’s a miracle… truly a miracle.”

“So, you aren’t at Chandler and Coolidge anymore?” Catherine asked.

“It’s Coolidge and Coolidge now,” Marilyn informed her. “Jay didn’t need another assistant, and you know Mark… ‘out with the old and in with the new,’ is his motto. I was the ‘old.’”

“I’m so sorry, Marilyn.”

“Don’t be. It’s all for the best,” Marilyn said, cheerfully. “They made me an exit offer I couldn’t refuse. And your father funded my pension fund so generously I was able to retire early and take this on. This was Charles’ dream… in the end. Now it’s mine too.”

“So, show me… show me Daddy’s dream.” Catherine couldn’t hide her smile, or the tears in her eyes as her heart swelled with pride at her father’s dream. Marilyn guided them down the hall and began the grand tour…

“We have 16-2 bedroom apartments, a daycare center, a legal aid office, a counseling center, a medical office, and an employment center. Peter comes in once a week and helps us with any minor medical needs… once in a while, not so minor. We have a few local business owners who help with job training…”

Catherine listened to the soothing voice of her old friend, as they made their way around the building. For the first time since returning to New York, she began to feel a connection to the world she had come back to… Yes, she thought… I think I’m going to fit in here…

Chapter 8

As the days turned into weeks, Catherine settled into a routine. Her flexible work schedule made it possible for her to spend more time with Jacob in the Tunnel nursery. Despite her original intention to guard her heart, she discovered she couldn’t help falling completely in love with him.  His piercing blue eyes seemed to look into her very soul, so much like Vincent’s. She was amazed that he seemed to know that she was his mother, despite the many months of his life she had missed. She found her heart becoming knit with his as only a mother and child can do. As time went by, she found she needed to spend as much time with little Jacob as possible, and her plan to slowly fade out of his life was nearly forgotten.

Catherine and Vincent were careful to avoid seeing each other. Despite the fact that they had both moved on with their lives, it was painful and awkward to be in the same room together. Vincent asked Pascal to send a special code over the pipes, that only he would understand, whenever Catherine was Below. Whenever Catherine felt that Vincent was nearby, she made excuses for a hasty exit. Any communication that was necessary in regard to their son was delivered via Mary, when Catherine visited the Nursery Chamber.

One morning, as Catherine entered the nursery and looked around to see if she could spot Jacob, she was surprised to see him sitting on Diana’s lap, intent upon the brightly colored pictures in the book Diana was reading.

Catherine hadn’t crossed paths with Diana since the night she had refused Vincent’s proposal of marriage. She watched, feeling a momentary stab of jealousy, before reminding herself that this was something she wanted, something her son needed. She was heartened to see how much Diana seemed to love Jacob.

Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, Diana looked up. “Oh…I’m sorry.” She began to stand up, with Jacob in her arms.

Catherine held out one hand and shook her head. “No… There’s no need to apologize. It’s just that I… I didn’t know you would be here in the middle of the week.”

Diana smiled nervously. “I’m in between cases, at the moment. I thought it would be nice to spend some one-on-one time with Jacob.”

Catherine nodded, feeling extremely awkward. “Keep reading.  He’s happy. I can come back another time.” She turned and left the chamber, and quickly headed for the nearest exit.

She wasn’t far from the Central Park portal when she heard someone calling her name. Turning to see who it was, she saw Diana was running toward her.

“What are you doing here?” Diana asked breathlessly when she caught up to Catherine.

Not fully understanding Diana’s meaning she replied, “I thought I would go for a walk in the park, before I go to work.”

Diana thought that Catherine was purposely being coy. With an accusatory tone, she tried again. “You dumped Vincent, but you keep coming down here. I wanna know why.”

Finally realizing Diana’s meaning, she replied, “I come here to visit my son… not Vincent.”

“When you came back, you acted like you didn’t care what happened to Jacob… and now I hear you’re here nearly every day.”

“I’m his mother, Diana. I missed the first 9 months 1 week and 4 days of his life. I don’t want to miss any more.”

Suspecting the worst, Diana stood her ground. “Hey, I’m just looking out for Vincent. Don’t you think you’ve hurt him enough? If you take Jacob away from him, he’ll be devastated.”

Catherine was quick to clear up Diana’s confusion. “I have no intention of taking Jacob away from Vincent,” she insisted.

“Then what’s your game Catherine?”

“I’m not playing any game. I promise you, Diana, I wouldn’t do that.”

Still not trusting Catherine’s motives Diana tried to get Catherine to admit her ultimate objective.  “Are you trying to impress Vincent? Do you think that if he sees what a great mother you are, he’ll want you back? Because he’s with me now. I won.”

Taken aback by Diana’s mistrust, Catherine asked, “What does that mean? Vincent isn’t a prize to win, Diana. He chose you. I’ve accepted that. I’m sorry if my coming down here makes you feel insecure, but you have nothing to fear from me. I would never do anything to hurt him.”

Diana scoffed, “That’s rich. Do you have any idea how much your rejection hurt him?”

Catherine patiently continued to answer, hoping to allay Diana’s fears. “As a matter of fact, I do… know.” If you only knew, she thought. If you only knew. “I also know how you helped him… when he was the most vulnerable. How you helped him survive the pain he was in after I… after he lost me. I also know how much you did to save Jacob. I can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for both of them.”

Calming a little, Diana was still not ready to trust Catherine. “Vincent made me believe that you were some kind of saint or something. Almost everyone here has that opinion. I must say, when I finally met ‘Saint Catherine’ I was underwhelmed to say the least. What kind of a mother wouldn’t want her own son? ‘Scuse me for doubting your ‘noble’ motives, but it’s my experience that everyone has an angle. I just haven’t figured out what yours is.”

Catherine continued to speak softly, understanding Diana’s concern. “Believe me, Diana, I’m no saint. You’re right about that. I never was. I would give anything to have Jacob in my life every minute of every day. But he needs his father, and Vincent needs him. They have a bond, and I don’t intend to do anything to damage that. Jacob needs you too. You were here when I wasn’t. When I couldn’t be. You’re just as important to his life as I am… even more, really.”

Diana sighed, grateful for Catherine’s kind words. “You might want to tell a few people down here that. They treat me like I’m some… interloper. They only tolerate me because they know Vincent wants them to.”

Catherine recalled the early days when Vincent’s Tunnel family were wary of her. “That’s just the way they are, Diana. It takes a while for them to trust Topsiders like us. Do you blame them? But once they give you their trust… you’re family… forever. Just be patient with them. Eventually they will come around.”

Diana shook her head, emphatically. “They’ll never accept me. They hate me, for coming between you and Vincent. As long as you’re constantly here, they’ll never give me a chance.”

Catherine sighed. “This situation is difficult for me too. But in time they will accept it.” They have to, she inwardly hoped. “Just don’t hurt him. Vincent has already had too much pain in his life. When they see that you aren’t going to hurt him, they will accept you.” The have to, she thought again. They just have to.

Diana squinted, still trying to understand Catherine’s agenda. “Why are you so worried about me hurting Vincent now, when he wasn’t enough for you then?”

Catherine looked at Diana, appreciating her fierce loyalty to Vincent. She couldn’t help thinking that under different circumstances, they might have been friends. At the same time, she knew that friendship with Diana would never be possible.

“I have my reasons,” Catherine replied, softly, knowing that she must always keep those reasons to herself. “And just so you know… Vincent was always enough for me… more than enough. He was… everything. He still is.” She winced inwardly, realizing she hadn’t intended to reveal that much.

Even in the dim light of the tunnel, Diana could see the tears glistening in Catherine’s eyes. “You sound like you still love him,” she observed. “But that doesn’t make any sense. If you still love him… then why didn’t you fight for him? You didn’t even try.”

Catherine bristled at Diana’s perceptive observation. “I don’t have to justify my actions to you,” she said, attempting to gain the upper hand. “I did what I did because I thought it was best… for everyone.”

“You’re lying about something.” Diana eyed her suspiciously. “I haven’t put my finger on it. But I’m sure I’m right.”

“If I am lying… it’s for one reason and one reason only,” Catherine answered, defensively. “Why are you digging for answers?” Catherine reached into her purse and pulled out a pen and a small notepad, scribbling something on it and handing it to Diana. “I want you to spend time with Jacob whenever you want to. This is my phone number. If you plan to come Below to visit with Jacob, just call me and let me know, and I’ll stay away... I promise.”

Diana slowly reached for the slip of paper, still suspicious. “You’re willing to do that? Why?” she asked, knowing that if the situation was reversed, she wouldn’t be so gracious.

“Because we have to find a way to make this work. Please believe I don’t want to hurt Vincent. Just love him, Diana. After all, you won,” she said. “He’s with you now.”

Diana watched as Catherine walked toward the exit. Something isn’t right about this, she told herself, as she pocketed Catherine’s phone number. And I intend to get to the bottom of it.

Chapter 9

Catherine began coming Below less frequently, to give the Diana more time to spend with Jacob. Catherine found it difficult to deny herself the pleasure of holding her son close, playing with him, and reading his favorite stories. But she wanted her son to see Diana as a mother figure. That way, he won’t miss me so much, she concluded, if I ever disappear from his life.

She filled the extra time with her work at the shelter and helping to organize fundraising events to raise money for the families who lived there. Even though she had no interest in reviving her high-society social life, she saw nothing wrong with pricking the conscience of her old friends to support a good cause.

~~~

“Jacob misses you, Catherine,” Mary said one afternoon, as Jacob played on the rug between them. “You haven’t been coming as frequently as you were before.”

“Has he been unhappy?” Catherine asked.

“No… not exactly. But he looks for you… sometimes he calls for you.”

“And when he calls for me… does someone pick him up?”

“Of course,” Mary assured her. “Someone is always here… but he knows it isn’t you, Catherine.”

Catherine sighed. “I miss him too.”

“Is it your work? Are you too busy?”

“No… It’s just that… I want Diana to have a chance to spend more time with him. He needs her love, too.”

Mary was quiet.

“I know Diana has been here… when I’m not. He loves her too.”

“Augghhh… Diana.” Mary said, clearly unhappy about the situation that was awkward for everyone.

“She does love him, Mary… doesn’t she?”

“I don’t know… I suppose she does,” Mary admitted reluctantly. “One thing I do know is… Diana isn’t interested in the rest of us… or in being a part of this community… or in being a helper.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s only interested in Vincent and Jacob. Not like you, Catherine. You didn’t just fall in love with Vincent. You fell in love with all of us. You cared about all of us. You still do. And we all love you. We know Diana helped Vincent. She saved him, after all… and she took great risks to rescue Vincent and Jacob from that horrible man. We are all very grateful for that. But when it was all over… she only wanted to see Vincent. She seems irritated whenever anyone even tries to speak to her.”

“Have you given her a chance, Mary? Or did you think you were betraying me, by accepting her?”

Mary looked a little bit guilty.

“I appreciate your loyalty, Mary. Really, I do. But Diana is a good person. And she loves Vincent and Jacob… doesn’t she?”

“I think she does,” Mary admitted reluctantly. “But what about you, Catherine? When we thought you were dead, we were glad that Vincent had someone. She eased his pain. But when you returned…”

“When I returned, everyone thought it was just going to go back to the way it was before?” Catherine offered, gently.

Mary nodded.

Catherine shook her head. “A lot of bad things happened, Mary. To all of us. The kind of things that change people. I don’t think we can ever go back to the way it was before.”

“Good things happened too,” Mary said, reaching out to touch Jacob’s fuzzy head. “I hoped the three of you would be a family. It’s a chance I never had with my little boy.”

Catherine smiled, sadly. “I’m afraid we’ve missed our chance for that. I want to be in Jacob’s life.” At least while it’s possible, she thought. “But I don’t want him to have only my love, Mary. I want him to be surrounded by the love Vincent and Diana, and all of you have given him, so he’ll never feel alone. Even if I’m ever… not here.”

“You don’t want him to be alone like you were, as a child? Or feel the loneliness Vincent felt after Devin left?” Mary asked.

Catherine nodded, and dashed a stray tear away, before Mary noticed it.

“I don’t want Vincent to be alone either. Diana loves him. She eased his pain when I wasn’t here. She’s in his life now.”

“What about you, Catherine? Haven’t you been alone long enough? You’ve sacrificed so much.”

Mary sees more than she lets on, Catherine noted to herself. I’ll have to be careful.

“Some sacrifices are necessary for the people you love, Mary. You know something about that, don’t you?”

Mary had a sad, faraway look in her eyes. “I suppose we all do, don’t we?”

Catherine hugged her friend. “Thank you, Mary… thank you.”

As Mary went back to her mending, Catherine sat on the chamber floor playing with Jacob.

“Mary, are you in here?” Catherine recognized Olivia’s familiar voice.

“Over here, Olivia,” Mary replied. “Hello, Luke. Did you come to play?”

Olivia bent to put Luke on the floor. She paused when she saw Catherine on the other side of the chamber.

Catherine smiled nervously at Olivia and waved from across the room.

The expression on Olivia’s face was anything but friendly. She picked Luke up off the floor and turned back to Mary. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll bring Luke back later. Okay?” She didn’t wait for Mary to reply before she made a quick exit.

Catherine realized immediately that Olivia had left because of her. “Mary, can you watch Jacob for a minute?”

Mary nodded and Catherine went to follow Olivia.

Catherine knew the way to Olivia and Kanin’s chamber. How could she ever forget the beautiful anniversary chamber that Kanin had made for his wife and the tragic events that followed? Or her role in it? But Kanin had been out on parole for several months now, and their little family had been reunited. Catherine had hoped that she and Olivia might, one day, be able to renew their friendship.

As Catherine approached the chamber, she felt butterflies in her stomach. A confrontation wasn’t something she wanted.

“Olivia?” she called tentatively from the chamber entrance, hoping she could at least make peace with her former friend. “Are you here?”

Olivia didn’t answer, but Catherine could hear Luke fussing. The little boy was clearly disappointed that his play date had been cancelled. He couldn’t understand the problems grownups had. All he knew was that he was going to play with his friends… and now he wasn’t.

“I know you’re here, Olivia. Please, may I come in so we can talk?”

After a minute, Olivia approached the entrance to her chamber, and stood a few feet from Catherine. She regarded Catherine with clear contempt. “You aren’t welcome here, Catherine. I don’t want to talk to you. Please go away.”

“I’m sorry, Olivia,” Catherine began. “Truly I am. I hope one day you can forgive me.”

“Hmmph.” Olivia scoffed. “What are you asking forgiveness from me for?”

“For Kanin,” Catherine replied, somewhat confused. “For the part I played in him going to prison. Isn’t that why you’re angry?”

Olivia shook her head, her expression of disdain increasing. “That’s only part of it. What about what you did to Vincent? What about that? Are you even sorry for all the pain he has suffered because of you?”

Catherine was silent. She couldn’t dispute Olivia’s opinion when she was acutely aware of how much pain Vincent had suffered, because of her.

“You come down here like this is your home,” Olivia continued. “But it isn’t! You don’t belong here, Catherine. This is Vincent’s home… We’re Vincent’s family. But you’re ripping us all apart. Making everyone pick a side.”

“What do you mean? I never asked anyone to pick sides.”

“What did you think would happen when you came back here and then dumped him? Do you have any idea what it’s doing to this community? Everyone is mad at Vincent for picking Diana. Even Kanin is defending you! But all I see is a shallow, rich woman who toyed with Vincent’s emotions and then threw him away when you got tired of him.”

“That’s not what I did, Olivia.” Catherine protested, but Olivia wasn’t interested in her excuses.

“And what kind of a mother would abandon her son for nine months and then show up here… acting like you care about him? You’re stinking rich, and you leave your child down here to live with us… to live like a pauper. Why? So you can keep living up there, like a spoiled socialite?”

“I leave him here, because he needs his father…” Catherine insisted hotly. “…and Vincent needs him!” Then attempting to gain control of her emotions, added, “And because Jacob is safe here.”

“Yeah… Right!” she replied, incredulously. “We have access to newspapers down here. You know that, don’t you? Do you think we don’t know about the fancy parties you go to? That we don’t see your picture in the papers?”

“I don’t buy newspapers these days,” Catherine admitted. “But I’ve only been to a couple of fundraising dinners to raise money for a battered women’s shelter—”

“Your excuses are meaningless.” Olivia wasn’t interested in anything Catherine had to say. “You don’t deserve Vincent. You never did! You don’t deserve Jacob either. Nearly everyone is sticking up for you. But you don’t fool me, Catherine Chandler.”

Catherine gave up trying to explain herself. It was clear that Olivia had a lot of resentment that she needed to get off her chest. So, Catherine decided to allow her to continue, uninterrupted.

In a way it was refreshing to have someone see her as a flawed human being, even if she was wrong about the true circumstances. At least I don’t have to wonder where I stand with Olivia, Catherine concluded.

~~~

Vincent finished his work in the new chambers early and decided to clean himself up before his afternoon literature class. As he headed for the Bathing Chambers, he thought he could hear Olivia’s raised voice. He turned toward the sound to see if she needed assistance when he heard Catherine speaking softly, in reply. He stopped, and pressed his back against the tunnel wall, out of sight from either woman.

~~~

“I’m glad Vincent picked Diana!” Olivia exclaimed, needing to inflict some measure of pain on the woman she blamed for many of her own problems. “Diana may not be fancy, or rich, like you, but she treats Vincent like he deserves to be treated. Not like he’s some pet she can ignore whenever he’s an inconvenience. She’s the one who helped him pick up the pieces after you disappeared. Do you have any idea how much pain he was in when he thought you were dead? How could you put him through that? And then you have the nerve to come back and show your face here?”

Catherine nodded. “You’re right, Olivia. Thank you,” Catherine spoke softly.

Olivia noted a tremble in Catherine’s voice. She had expected Catherine to fight back, or at the very least to defend herself. Catherine’s soft-spoken reply confused her. “Thank you?” she repeated. “For what?”

“For taking Vincent’s side. For sticking up for him. You’re a true friend… and you’re right, you know? None of what happened was his fault. It was all mine. And I am the one who broke things off with him. He never did anything wrong. He even asked me to marry him. It’s just that… I realized that I wasn’t any good for him. I finally realized that I’ve only ever caused him pain… from the very beginning.”

Olivia was speechless. Catherine’s admission had caught her off guard.

“Believe it or not… I’m glad he picked Diana too,” Catherine confided. “Perhaps with her, he will find some peace.”

Catherine moved as if she was going to leave, and then looked back to Olivia. “Would you do me a favor?” she asked softly.

“What kind of favor could I do for you?” Olivia asked, confused that Catherine showed no sign of anger at her attack.

“Would you please tell everyone what I said? Please tell them, I don’t want any of them to pick my side. You’re all Vincent’s family, not mine. He deserves all the love and support all of you can give him.”

Olivia stepped out of her chamber and watched Catherine until she went around a corner and disappeared from sight. Turning back to her rooms, she saw Vincent standing at the other end of the tunnel.

Without speaking to Olivia, he went back the way he had come.

Chapter 10

For the two weeks following the confrontation with Olivia, Catherine reduced her visits to Jacob to once a week. Every day she wasn’t Below, she ached to hold him, but she hoped it would give her Tunnel friends a chance to switch their allegiance from her to Vincent and Diana.

At the shelter, Marilyn noticed that Catherine was more subdued than usual, keeping to herself and performing her duties quietly.

“Is everything all right, Cathy?” Marilyn asked one morning.

“Hmmm?” Catherine replied, looking up. “I’m sorry, Marilyn, what did you say?”

Marilyn smiled. “I asked you if everything is all right? You seem a little down, lately.”

Catherine forced a smile. “I’m fine… just a little tired, I guess.”

Marilyn wasn’t convinced. She had known Catherine since she was a child.  “You can’t fool me that easily, young lady. I know that frown. When it was a scowl, it was algebra. But that frown always meant you had an aching heart. If you ever need to talk… I hope you know… I’m a good listener.”

Catherine smiled, more genuinely this time. “Of course, I know that. You always were, weren’t you?”

Marilyn smiled, recalling Catherine as a teenager. “Well, as long as you know,” she said, trying to stop worrying.

Shortly after noon, the phone rang.

“Heaven Smiles, may I help you? Hold one moment, while I transfer your call.” Marilyn looked up from the receiver. “It’s Peter Alcott on line 2, for you, Cathy.”

Picking up the phone extension and pressing line two, she answered, attempting to sound cheerful. “Hi, Peter. It’s been a while. How are you?”

“Cathy?” He paused for couple of seconds too long.

“What is it, Peter?” she asked, feeling a niggling fear in the pit of her stomach. “Is it Jacob?”

“Don’t worry, Catherine. Jacob is fine.”

“And Vincent?”

“Yes, Vincent’s fine too. But…” His voice belied his deep concern.

“But what?” Catherine asked, feeling an indescribable foreboding.

“There’s been an outbreak… Below…”

Catherine stood. The words immediately brought to mind the tragic circumstances that had once led to the death of one of the Tunnel children.

“Where are you, Peter. What can I do?”

“Can you meet me at my house?”

“I’m on my way.” She hung up the phone and grabbed her purse. “I’m going to be out for the rest of the day, Marilyn. Can you reschedule my 2 o’clock?”

“Is everything all right?” Marilyn asked, concerned.

“I hope so. Just a little family emergency.”

Knowing Catherine as she did, Marilyn was taken aback. “A family emergency?”

Catherine stopped in her tracks, realizing what she had let slip. As far as Marilyn knew, Catherine had no family. She turned to sheepishly face her old friend. “Yes, Marilyn, family. It’s my… son.”

“Your… Son?” Marilyn asked, in complete shock.

“I don’t have time to explain at the moment,” she said, looking at the shocked face of her friend. “I promise, I’ll fill you in as soon as I get back. Can you keep this just between us? … For now?”

“Of course, Cathy. Whatever you say. I’ll take care of that appointment, right away.”

Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Marilyn.”

The taxi couldn’t get to Peter’s house fast enough. Walking in the door, she was met with a sight she didn’t expect.

“Mama!” Jacob squealed in delight, nearly jumping out of Mary’s arms and into hers.

“Hello, my little man!” Catherine greeted him with relief. She held him close, gently kissing the top of his blonde fuzz-covered head and inhaling his sweetness. Pulling back a little she looked at his face and kissed his chubby cheeks. “This is a wonderful surprise. How’s my big boy today?”

He patted his mother’s cheeks and chattered incoherently, as if he was telling her all about his day. When he finished, he rested his head on her shoulder and said, “Mama.” Despite the fact that he spent most of his time Below, and Catherine spent most of hers living Above, it was clear that he knew exactly who she was.

“Tell me,” she asked, looking up at Peter and Mary. “What’s happening?”

“It’s chickenpox,” Peter answered.

“Jacob has chickenpox?” she asked, lifting his shirt to inspect his chubby tummy, and then his back.

“No,” Peter answered quickly. “No, Jacob is fine… for now. But several of the children have already come down with it, and we thought it best if we got Jacob out before he catches it.”

“Isn’t chickenpox a normal, childhood illness? If he has already been exposed, I don’t understand what the concern is.”

“Cathy, Jacob is still very small, and we don’t really know… in his special circumstances… what will happen if…”

“What do you mean by, ‘special circumstances?’ You mean because he’s Vincent’s child?” she asked. “Did Vincent have chickenpox when he was little?”

Peter pursed his lips. He looked worried. “Yes,” he said at length. “But Vincent was much older when he had it.”

“Did something happen?” she asked.

Mary and Peter looked at each other.

“Tell me, Peter, please,” Catherine insisted.

“There was an outbreak like this one, when Vincent was 7 or 8 years old. Most illnesses seemed to skip over Vincent. His immune system has always seemed more resistant than most. But when there was an outbreak of chickenpox, he had the worst case I’ve ever seen. We weren’t sure at the time if he would make it.”

“What can I do?” Catherine asked, trying to suppress the panic that was rising within her.

“We’re hoping we’ve gotten Jacob out before he was exposed. But there’s no way of knowing that until the incubation period has passed.”

“Incubation period? How long is that?”

“Anywhere from 10 to 21 days.”

“What should I do? I’m living in our old house in Lenox Hill, now, but I’m having it repainted. It’s a complete mess. It’s certainly not fit for a baby. And I don’t want any reporters to see me with him.”

“He needs to be completely isolated, Cathy. I was thinking you could take him to the house in Connecticut, at least until we know.”

“And then?” she asked, adjusting Jacob on her hip.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Hopefully, he won’t get sick at all and you can just have a lovely three-week vacation with your son.”

Catherine kissed Jacob again. “Well, I must say, that sounds like a little slice of heaven. I’ll let Marilyn and Joe know. I’m sure they can get someone to cover for me for a few weeks.” She smiled adoringly at Jacob and kissed the top of his head trying to detect if he felt warmer than usual. “What do you think, Jacob? Do you want to have an adventure?”

He clapped his hands and laughed.

“Is Vincent okay with this?” she asked, not wanting to undermine Vincent’s authority.

“Yes, this decision was made with his full support. He’s more worried than any of the rest of us. He remembers how bad it was when he had it.”

“I can come with you, if you think you need me,” Mary offered.

Catherine appreciated the offer but declined. “That’s very sweet, Mary, but I’m sure you’ll be needed Below. Father will be overwhelmed if it spreads.  And the children will need your gentle touch. I’m sure I can manage. How many are there who have never had it?”

“As far as we can tell, twelve children and several adults,” Mary replied. “So far only four of the children have shown signs.”

“I’ll be fine,” Catherine assured her. “I promise, if I need anything, I’ll contact Peter immediately.” Then changing her focus, she asked. “What about the children? Do you have enough medicine? What do you need?”

“We’re low on everything. Father’s concerned,” Mary answered. “We need analgesics, calamine lotion, baking soda, ground oatmeal, antihistamines…even cotton balls.”

“Here, hold Jacob for a second,” Catherine said, handing the baby over to Mary. He whined and reached out for his mother. Catherine quickly ripped a check out of her checkbook and signed and dated it. “Is five thousand going to be enough?”

“OH MY!” Mary gasped. “That’s… that’s much too… generous!”

“Here’s the check, Peter,” she said, ignoring Mary’s protest. “Buy them whatever they need. And I mean whatever, they need. Do not skimp on anything. Food, clothes, blankets, medicine… whatever… even books, games, puzzles. I don’t think I could live with myself if any of the children…”

“Cathy,” Peter reached for the check with one hand, and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t the same as before. It’s only the chickenpox.”

“Anything they need, Peter,” she insisted. Then turning to Mary, she took Jacob back. “Promise me, Mary, that you won’t allow Father’s stubborn pride to stop you. Whatever you need. Whatever William needs. Whatever Rebecca or Olivia need… Will you let me know if you need more?”

“I promise, Catherine… Thank you!” Mary threw her arms around Catherine. “You’re a godsend.”

Catherine turned back to Peter. “I haven’t bought a new car yet, Peter. Would you mind if I—”

“Say no more, Cathy. You can use mine. I even have a car seat, for when Susan visits with the grandkids.”

“Thank you.” Catherine nodded, making a mental plan. “I’ll go back to the house and pack some things. I’ll need to call Joe and Marilyn and tell them I have to go out of town.”

“I’ll call Mrs. Callahan,” Peter offered. “…and ask her go up there to open up the lake house and stock the kitchen. Mary, do you think you could stay here and watch Jacob until Catherine returns?”

Within a couple of hours Catherine was back and ready to go.

Handing Catherine a bag for Jacob, Mary explained as they all went out to the car. “There’s a supply of diapers and clean clothes in here. William wrote down directions on how to make the baby food Jacob likes. I also put in several of his favorite books. Good Night, Moon, is his favorite at the moment.”

Mary wiped a tear from her eye as she and Peter watched Catherine pull away from the curb.

Chapter 11

Catherine’s Connecticut house was located in an isolated, and heavily wooded part of the state, only two hours from New York City, and thirty minutes from the nearest town. It was a spacious rambling, two story house, with a large, covered front porch, and an even bigger veranda in the back.

Her grandparents had purchased the expansive piece of property with its own lake for a song during the depression and built the house as a retreat for their growing family. It was a true escape from the cares of the world, with no inquisitive neighbors to ask questions.

Catherine and Jacob settled into the house as if it was perfectly normal for them to visit there. Jacob happily explored his new surroundings by pulling himself up to the furniture and walking around every room. Catherine was sure he would be taking his first unaided steps any day now.

For the first week, Catherine introduced Jacob to the magical world that was the backdrop of many happy memories from her early childhood. She took him for walks in the woods, picked wild boysenberries, and swam in the lake. Her favorite time of the day was lying in the grass after dark, listening to the frogs, and the crickets and looking at the stars.

“Moo,” Jacob said, one night, reaching for the gibbous orb above them.

Catherine laughed. “Yes, Jacob! Do you see the moon?”

Jacob laughed and clapped his hands. He raised his face to the moon, blew a kiss, and said, “Na, na, moo!”

Catherine laughed again. “That’s right… night night, moon.”

Do you remember the first time you saw the moon, Catherine? The memory came unbidden. She looked lovingly at the miracle that was her son, and sighed. “You won’t remember this, will you, Jacob… the first time you saw the moon?” she asked, wishing Vincent could have been there to see the wonder on Jacob’s face, as he discovered the magic in her world.

Jacob was fascinated by the grass, the flowers, the ladybugs, and then fireflies. He would reach for all his new discoveries and invariably try to put them into his mouth. Each night he would fall asleep under the stars in the safe circle of his mother’s arms.

From time to time, Catherine found herself wishing that she could have shared this place with Vincent, but she quickly banished the thoughts of that lost dream and turned her attention to her son.

Catherine couldn’t believe it was possible, but as each day passed by, she fell even deeper in love with Jacob. Knowing that this was an opportunity that would probably never come again, she tried to burn the sweetness of these days into her memory. She learned things about Jacob that she hadn’t known before. He liked carrots, and squash, and hated peas unless they were mixed with mashed potatoes. He also loved bananas, applesauce, cheerios, scrambled eggs, and much to Catherine’s chagrin, ladybugs, and dandelions. He pulled on his right ear and rubbed his nose whenever he was tired, and he sucked his chubby little fist and hummed in his sleep. He loved to splash water everywhere when he was in the bathtub. His favorite bath toy was a yellow rubber duck, and he laughed hysterically at his first bubble bath.

Catherine also discovered that there was nothing sweeter in her life than rocking Jacob to sleep on the back porch swing, as he rested peacefully on her chest. Each day she watched him, looking for any sign of illness. He seemed fine. He was even thriving in his new environment.

Although there were four perfectly usable bedrooms in the house, Catherine chose to sleep on a twin bed in the nursery. She wanted to be sure she could hear Jacob, if he needed her in the night.

As five days stretched into eight, and then to ten, Catherine began to think that perhaps, Jacob had been spared and would soon be able to return home unscathed by the dreaded illness that had driven them to the country. However, on day eleven, everything changed. Jacob woke late in the morning, cranky and sporting, bright rosy cheeks. Catherine carefully examined his tummy, his back, and every inch of his body, and was relieved to find nothing out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, early in the afternoon, she decided to call Peter.

“Peter Alcott,” she heard, as he answered the phone.

“Peter, it’s Cathy.”

Immediately detecting the worry in Catherine’s voice, he replied, “Is Jacob sick?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m not sure,” she replied. “I’ve never had a baby before. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m just overreacting.”

“Describe him to me. What has you concerned? What is he doing?”

“He’s listless and he won’t eat. He has a little bit of a runny nose, and his cheeks are bright pink. Maybe it’s just a little cold… or he could be teething,” she said, hopefully. “He’s got a little bit of a fever, but I don’t see any sign of chickenpox. We went swimming yesterday. Do you think he could have an ear infection? Am I overreacting?” she asked, seeking reassurance.

“I don’t want to take any chances,” Peter replied. “I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

“I have your car, Peter. How are you—”

“I’ve got a rental. Keep Jacob cool, let him play in a tub of cool water and try to get him to drink water or apple juice. I don’t want him to get dehydrated. And if you see any sign of chickenpox, don’t let him scratch.”

By the time Peter’s car pulled into the driveway, several small red bumps had appeared on Jacob’s stomach and back. There was no doubt that Jacob was coming down with the chickenpox. Mother and child met Peter at the front door. Jacob was very unhappy, clad in only a diaper as his mother bounced from side to side trying to soothe him.

~~~

Catherine paced the floor, as Peter used the kitchen table as a makeshift examination table.  “How could Vincent have trusted me with him? I’m not qualified to take care of a baby!” Catherine lamented, as Peter carefully examined his small patient. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll never forgive myself if anything—”

Jacob whimpered, as he tried to wriggle free from Peter’s grasp and return to his mother’s arms.

“Cathy,” Peter interrupted. “You need to calm down,” he insisted. “You’re upsetting Jacob.”

Catherine sat down next to the table. She nervously chewed a fingernail as she watched Peter finish his examination. His face was grim, as he replaced Jacob’s diaper and placed the child in Catherine’s arms.

She held Jacob protectively and kissed his cheek. “What do you think?”

“It’s definitely the chickenpox,” Peter informed her.

“I should never have taken him swimming yesterday. This is all my fault.”

“Cathy,” Peter said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “This is NOT your fault. Jacob was exposed to this in the Tunnels. Taking him swimming had nothing to do with it. From what I can see, you’ve been doing a wonderful job taking care of him.”

“What should we do now?” she asked. “Now that he’s sick. Should we take him back home?”

“No.” Peter shook his head. “Mary has her hands full with all of the others. He’s better off here, with you. Anyway, it looks like this country living has done him good. He’s growing like a weed. The sunshine and fresh air will be good for him.”

“How bad is it… Below?” she asked.

“So far, twelve of the children have gotten sick, and three adults. Father is taking care of the adults. Most of the children are on the mend. The last two breakouts were a few days ago. Jacob is the last… so far.”

“What’s going to happen now?” Catherine asked. “When will we know if it’s like what Vincent had?”

“We’ll probably have a good idea in the next few days. Right now, it’s presenting as a typical case of chicken pox. I need to get back to my other patients, do you think you can handle this here on your own? I could see if Mary can spare Brooke or Samantha.”

“Do… you… think I can handle this on my own, Peter?” Catherine asked, not at all sure that she could,

Peter smiled, reassuringly. “A few years ago, I would have had my doubts, Cathy. You were such a flibbertigibbet, back then. But after all you’ve survived, I’m convinced that you can handle anything…”

“Hahaha…” Catherine’s laugh, had a slight hysterical note to it. “I wish I had your confidence.”

Putting his arm around them both, he kissed Catherine on top of the head. “Follow your heart, Cathy. Your instincts guided you when Vincent was ill, and your mother’s instinct told you to call me this morning. I have complete confidence that it will guide you through this. You have my phone number. Call me anytime, day or night. I’ll check in with you a couple of times a day, to see how you both are doing.”

Catherine nodded, feeling a little bit better. “If you think I can handle it, then I’ll do whatever is necessary.”

“May I use your phone?” he asked.

“It’s right over there,” she said, pointing to an old-fashioned rotary phone on the countertop.

Peter dialed the phone, and she heard him speaking. “Devin… good… I’m glad you haven’t gone Below, yet… Yes, everything is fine. I need you to get a message to Vincent and Father for me… Let them know that Jacob has come down with the chickenpox… So far, he seems fine… No, nothing out of the ordinary… Yes, Catherine is perfectly capable. Tell Vincent not to worry, Catherine can handle it... I’ll come Below tonight to examine our patients and bring more medicine for Father’s hospital supplies. Thank you, Devin. I’ll see you soon.”

As Peter hung up the phone, Catherine asked, “Devin’s in town?”

“Yes, he arrived yesterday morning.”

“What brings him here, this time?” she asked.

“I asked him to come,” Peter said. “I have an idea that might encourage him to stay closer to home in the future. But he hasn’t decided yet, so I’m not at liberty to say anything more.”

“Well, whatever it is, I hope he agrees to it. I know Vincent would like to have him living closer.”

“You’ll need these things,” Peter said, reaching into a canvas bag he had brought with him. He began placing sundry items on the kitchen table. Children’s Tylenol, Calamine lotion, Pedialyte, cotton balls, and oatmeal bath. “I recommend these for my smaller patients.” He said, holding out several packages of baby t-shirts.

“T-shirts?” Catherine replied. “I already have plenty of clothes for him.”

“These are special,” Peter explained. “They have long sleeves with closed mittens on the end. They’ll keep Jacob from scratching and reduce the chance of infection and scarring. He will hate them, but it’s essential that you make him wear these shirts, until the worst has passed.”

“How long will that be?”

“If we’re lucky, it’ll be ten days, at most. If we’re very lucky, less. If it’s bad, like Vincent’s was, it could be two weeks or longer. But let’s not borrow trouble. We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. If he’s up to it, let him play in the sun and fresh air… but only in the morning and late afternoon when the sun is low in the sky.

Catherine could barely hide the wave of panic she was feeling.

“You can do this, Catherine,” Peter said, kissing her on the forehead. “I believe in you.”

She stood on the porch and watched forlornly, as Peter pulled out of the driveway. She kissed a whimpering Jacob on the head, and said, “I guess it’s you and me, Jacob. Let’s get you some medicine and see if mama can help you feel better.”

Jacob pulled on his ear, telling her that he was ready for a nap. “Me too, Sweetheart,” she said, kissing him again. “Me too.”

Chapter 12

As Devin approached Father’s chamber, he could hear Father and Vincent’s raised voices. He leaned against the wall just inside the entrance and observed the altercation between father and son with interest, unnoticed by either.

“Vincent, you cannot do this!” Father pleaded. “It is too dangerous!”

Vincent’s deep voice was raised. “This is not up for debate, Father. Jacob is my son. He is ill. I have sensed him getting worse all day. He needs me. I AM GOING!”

Vincent was bracing himself against the desk, attempting to control his temper, as Father stood nearby trying to convince Vincent to change his mind.

“Do you truly comprehend the risk you are taking? What it would mean if anything should go wrong?”

“Wow!” Devin exclaimed. “Things sure don’t change much around here, do they?” he said, sarcastically drawing their attention.

Both men turned at the sound of Devin’s voice.

“Devin. How long have you been standing there?” Father demanded.

Devin smiled. “I’m fine, thanks,” he said, answering a question that hadn’t been asked. “It’s great to see you too, Old Man.”

“What are you doing here?” Father asked.

Ignoring his father’s cool greeting, Devin answered. “I just thought I would come home for a visit. I was at Peter’s this morning, when Catherine called from Connecticut. He went out there right away. He called about an hour ago and asked me to come down and let Vincent know that Jacob has come down with the chickenpox. But apparently you already know that. He said to tell you Jacob is fine, and Catherine can handle it.”

“There, you see, Vincent, Catherine can handle it,” Father said. Then turning to Devin, he said, “Please, talk to him, Devin. He’s determined to go there and help take care of Jacob. He absolutely refuses to listen to me. Maybe you can get him to listen to reason.”

Devin smiled wryly, accepting the fact that he was always destined to be a disappointment to his father. “It looks like I came just in time to help you out brother,” Devin, quipped.

Vincent looked up at Devin hopefully.

“My car is parked in front of Peter’s house. We can leave as soon as it’s dark.”

Vincent grabbed Devin by the shoulder’s and embraced him heartily.  “I’ll go pack,” Vincent replied, heading for the exit, before Father could say another word.

“Auuuuggh!” Father exclaimed in disgust, turning to Devin. “I should have known you would be no help!”

“Don’t worry, Old Man, I’ll make sure he’s fine,” Devin assured him, draping his arm across his father’s shoulders.

Father looked dubiously at his other son. “Somehow, I don’t find that reassuring.”

“Hey, he survived our childhood, didn’t he? And I’m much more responsible now than I ever was back then.”

~~~

Vincent went to his chamber to pack a quick bag. He changed his clothes, deciding to swap his Tunnel attire for clothes that would be more appropriate in the world Above. Diana had given him several pairs of jeans, slacks, and shirts. She preferred, him in those clothes whenever he went Above to her apartment. They still felt foreign to him, but Diana felt that he would be less conspicuous in these, if he were seen by anyone in her world, even from a distance.

As he was stuffing his clothes into a duffle bag, he heard her voice. “You’re going somewhere?”

Vincent turned to see Diana standing in the entrance to his chamber. “Yes,” he nodded. “Jacob has come down with the chickenpox, as I feared he would. Catherine will need help. Devin is going to drive me to her house in Connecticut.”

“And it’s you who has to go?” she asked. “Is it safe? Why can’t Mary, or Brooke go?”

Vincent continued packing. “Jacob is my son, Diana. He is my responsibility. Besides, I haven’t seen him for nearly two weeks. I miss him.”

“Are you sure he’s as ill as Catherine says he is?” Diana’s suspicious nature getting the best of her.

Vincent paused for a moment and looked up at her. “What does that mean?”

Diana was reluctant to explain, but clearly, he needed her to spell it out. “I mean, are you sure she isn’t the exaggerating the situation to manipulate you into coming out there?” Diana knew she was treading on thin ice, accusing the sainted Catherine Chandler of having ulterior motives, but Diana wasn’t in the habit of keeping her feelings a secret.

“Catherine has not asked for any help. In fact, she doesn’t even know I’m coming. Peter is confident that she can handle it on her own.”

“Then why are you going?”

“Because my son needs me. We have a bond, Diana, and I can feel his distress.”

“Can you feel hers too?” she asked, unable to disguise her doubts.

Vincent looked up from his packing. “You know I can’t. Our Bond was broken over a year ago. Why would you ask that?”

Is he really this obtuse? Diana asked herself, frustrated that she had to explain. “Because… you still love her…” It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement of fact. “…and because I… I’m insecure,” she admitted. It was a feeling she was unfamiliar with, and even more uncomfortable admitting to.

“You’ve known from the beginning that I still loved her, Diana. That part of my heart will always be as it is. I cannot change that.” Vincent was surprised that this was even an issue. He had never made his feelings for Catherine a secret.

“Diana, you must know by now that Catherine is no threat to you… to what we have together. She has not shown one shred of regret for the way things have transpired.”

He realized Diana needed his reassurance. Taking her in his arms, he held her close. “You must trust me, Diana. I would never betray you.”

Ashamed that she had shown her vulnerability so clearly, she insisted, “I do trust you, Vincent… I’m sorry. It’s just that…”

“…you don’t trust Catherine?” Vincent offered.

Diana nodded. “She’s a woman… a woman who once loved you. I just don’t understand how that could have changed.”

“It happens to others… even here, in my world. Why wouldn’t it happen to us?” It was a sad fact he had come to accept.

“I don’t know…” Diana confessed, with a frustrated sigh. “It’s just that… something about the whole thing still doesn’t make sense to me. My whole life… I’ve had to fight for everything I’ve ever had. I expected to have to fight for you… I expected her to fight for you… after all that she…”

“After all that she went through?” Vincent said, finishing her thought.

Diana nodded.

“Have you ever considered that perhaps that is precisely why we ended?” he asked, picking up a book and slipping it into the opening of his bag. “That after all that she went through… she couldn’t forgive me.”

She watched, his movements telling her he had made up his mind. “She couldn’t forgive you for what?”

“For not rescuing her from… from… any of it.”

Diana was shocked at the thought. “Did she say she blames you for that?”

Vincent shook his head. “No… In fact, she has insisted the opposite. But I have blamed myself… It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. When I thought she was dead, the guilt I felt was… overwhelming.”

“I don’t buy it,” Diana said, rejecting his explanation. “She can’t possibly blame you for something that was out of your control.” She reached up and stroked his cheek.  “But whatever her reasons were… what we have, right now, is the result. I can’t say I’m sorry for how it’s turned out for me. I’m sorry, Babe, but there it is. Can you forgive me for doubting you?”

Vincent dropped his head so that their foreheads touched. “Forgiven,” he whispered, seeking her lips, as he drew her closer to him.

“What’s taking you so long, Vincent?” Devin asked, as he entered the chamber he had once shared with his brother. “I can only talk to the old man for so long before one of us…” Devin stopped short when he saw Vincent kissing a woman in his arms that was clearly not Catherine.

“Sorry, I’ll wait in Father’s chamber.” Devin turned quickly on his heel and headed straight back to where he had come from. Good grief, he thought in shock. Apparently, some things do change around here!

Coming up for air, Diana backed away a fraction of an inch. “Call me when you get there?”

“Definitely,” Vincent said, huskily, bending his head to kiss her one more time. “Can I walk you out?”

“No,” Diana quickly replied. “I’ll only slow you down. I can find my own way back. Go. Take care of your son. And give him a kiss and a big hug for me, okay?”

Picking up the duffle bag and grabbing his cloak, they exited his chamber together, before going their separate ways.

~~~

“I’m ready to go, Devin,” Vincent said, poking his head into Father’s chamber.

Turning to Vincent, Father gave it one last try. “I suppose there’s nothing more I can say to convince you to change your mind?”

“You are correct, Father,” Vincent replied. “I promise you, I will be careful.”

Bounding up the steps to the exit, Devin addressed Father. “We’ll call Peter as soon as we get there safely.”

As they headed to Peter’s, Devin finally asked, “So… ah… who’s the red head?”

“That is Diana,” Vincent said, not offering anything more.

“Soooo, do you want to tell me about her?” Devin asked.

“No,” Vincent replied, shortly, telling Devin he wasn’t in the mood for discussion.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Chapter 13

As soon as it was dark enough, Vincent donned his cloak. With Peter’s quickly written directions, and a crudely drawn map in hand, the two brothers stepped out of Peter’s front door. Vincent quickly pulled up his hood to hide his face from anyone who might be on the street. He hesitated when Devin approached a dilapidated, old car, with a peeling vinyl top and opened the trunk. The front and back of the car were red, the passenger side a dull grey. Even in the dark, Vincent could see the rust had eaten through the metal on the back fender.

“This… is your car?” Vincent asked, as he put his duffle in the already full trunk.

“This is it,” Devin said proudly, as he shut the trunk, he patted the car proudly. “I know Tallulah doesn’t look like much, but she runs great.”

“Tallulah?”

Devin patted the car again. “Yep! Good old, Tallulah,” he said as he opened the driver’s side door, Vincent made a move to open the back door. He thought it would be best to sit in the back in case he needed to duck out of sight.

“You don’t have to sit in the back,” Devin said. “You can sit up front with me.”

Ignoring Devin, Vincent opened the back door and climbed inside. “I prefer the back,” Vincent replied, not ready to throw a lifetime of caution to the wind. “Are you sure this car will get us there?” he asked.

Devin laughed. “Beggars can’t be choosers, little brother.”

“Are you talking about me or you?” Vincent asked.

Devin laughed even harder. “Both, I guess. Tallulah was all I could afford. But she got me all the way here from Albuquerque, so I’d say I’ve gotten my money’s worth.”

For the first time since he’d left his Tunnel home earlier in the day, Vincent wondered if he had made a terrible mistake putting his life in Devin’s hands.

They drove in silence until they left the heavy traffic of the city. As congested city traffic gave way to more quiet roads of the suburbs, it was Vincent who spoke first, as he removed his cloak and set it aside. “So, what brings you back to New York, Devin?”

“Can’t I just come to visit my favorite brother?”

Vincent gave his brother a doubtful look.

“Fine…” Devin capitulated. “I’ve been at loose ends since Charles died. I thought it might be a good time to come visit. Peter reached out to me with a proposition.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Charles had passed away. What happened?”

“He passed, peacefully in his sleep one night. I think his last years were happy, though.”

“Tell me about Peter’s proposition?” Vincent was intrigued. “What kind of proposition?”

“I’m not ready to say. I have to think about it. If I accept, let’s just say, I’ll probably be sticking around for a while. I answered your question. Now it’s your turn, brother. You and that red-head looked pretty cozy, back there. What gives?”

Vincent was reluctant to answer. “That was Diana. She and I are… uh…That is… she is…” For the first time Vincent realized, he wasn’t exactly sure how to describe his relationship with her.

Devin ventured to offer him some help. “Don’t tell me… She’s more than a helper?” he asked, with a wry smile.

Vincent remained silent.

“Listen, Vincent… I’m just gonna cut to the chase, here. I could’ve sworn you and Catherine were the real deal. I woulda put money on it. When I read about her resurrection in the papers, I was sure I’d be getting an invitation to a joining ceremony. What happened?”

Though it had been a while since Vincent and Diana had begun their romantic relationship, there were times when he still ached for what he had lost with Catherine. He struggled to find the words to explain it to Devin.

“Catherine wasn’t interested… in a uhm… intimate relationship. We tried… to reconnect with each other, but…” Vincent explained, lamely.

“So, you’re telling me, she wouldn’t sleep with you?” Devin asked, incredulously. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“Being close to me was… repulsive to her,” Vincent said, softly. Even though he had clearly moved on with his life, the pain of losing Catherine was still evident in his voice.

“Catherine actually told you that?” Devin demanded.

“Not exactly,” Vincent admitted. “But she pushed me away whenever I tried to… get close to her. Then, when I proposed to her, she turned me down. She made it clear that it was… and always will be… impossible… for us. She said, she’d given up hope and accepted that we are just too different.”

Devin digested this news. “And how long have you been in an intimate relationship with… uhm… Red?”

“Her name is Diana,” Vincent corrected. “And if you must know… it’s been a couple of months.”

“Wait…” Devin shook his head, unsure if he had heard correctly. “I don’t get it, Catherine only came back a couple of months ago. How long after Catherine turned you down, did you start this ‘intimate’ relationship with Red? … I mean, Diana.”

Vincent took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was tired of explaining himself to everyone … But Devin is different… Vincent thought. He’s my brother…. Of all the people in my life, I value his opinion the most. I need him to understand.

“It was… the same night,” Vincent admitted, realizing it sounded much worse than it had seemed at the time.

Devin pulled off at the next exit and turned into a deserted parking lot. He slammed on the brakes and shut off the car.

“What are you doing?” Vincent asked, confused about his brother’s actions. “Is something wrong with the car?”

Devin got out of the car and paced back and forth for a minute. Vincent watched in stunned silence as Devin punched the hood several times and then braced himself against it and screamed. It was as if he was trying to gain control of himself.

Vincent sat watching silently, knowing that he was in a vulnerable position if anyone were to see them there in the open.

After several minutes Devin got back in the car. They sat silently in the dark until Devin was ready to speak.

“I just want to make sure that I’m understanding you, correctly.” He spoke in a very soft, controlled tone. “You’re telling me that after Catherine waited patiently for over two years for you to overcome your fear of intimacy, she went into the very jaws of hell to save your life, she was kidnapped, tortured, and held captive for months… had her baby stolen from her and then she was nearly murdered… lived in hiding for another… what… eight… nine months … and that you gave her a grand total of what… three weeks after she returned home to ‘put out’ before you dumped her for a woman who would?”

When Devin put it that way, it sounded really bad. “It was more like… two … weeks,” Vincent answered meekly. “But I didn’t end things with her, Devin, she is the one who rejected me. Catherine is the one who gave up on our dream.”

Devin grabbed the steering wheel to keep himself from wrapping his hands around his brother’s neck, and let out a primal scream like something Vincent had never heard from anyone but himself.

Devin turned the key in the ignition and headed back to the highway. They drove in silence for about an hour… A myriad of questions swirled through Devin’s mind, but three deep scars on his left cheek reminded him that he could only push his brother so far. Devin decided he should probably proceed with some caution.

By the time they made the last turn from the main highway, Devin felt calm enough to continue the conversation. “Tell me this, Vincent, in all the time you’ve known Catherine, how many times did you give up on your dream?”

“I don’t know… it was several times, I suppose.”

“And how many times did she refuse to give up? How many times did she come back, even risk her own life… for you?”

“She always came back… she refused to give up on me… on our dream.”

“And how many times did she give up?”

“Once.” Vincent’s voice was barely audible. His conscience was beginning to convict him more acutely than it ever had.

Devin intended to show Vincent no mercy. “And it took you a grand total of one hour to find someone to replace her?” he asked. “Is that an exaggeration?” Devin’s disdain for his brother’s choices was undeniable.

“No…” Vincent answered, reluctantly. “That is not and exaggeration,”

Devin made no effort to hide his contempt for what his brother had done. “You’re a real piece of work Vincent. You know that?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’ve spent your entire life convinced that you weren’t human… that you were somehow less than a ‘normal’ man.” Devin laughed bitterly. “And to tell you the truth, I’ve always admired you… and I’ll admit that maybe I’ve even been a little bit jealous, because I was always sure you were so much more than a ‘normal’ man.”

Vincent was astounded by his brother’s admission but made no reply.

“But apparently we were both wrong…” Devin laughed again. “Congratulations, Vincent!!… As it turns out you are just as stupid, and flawed, and disappointingly ‘normal’ as every other man on the planet.”

Vincent remained silent as he digested Devin’s bitter affirmation of his humanity.

“May I give you a word of advice?” Devin asked, as they pulled into the gravel driveway of Catherine’s house.

“What?” Vincent asked, grateful that they had arrived, and he wouldn’t have to endure any more of Devin’s ire.

“Sleep with one eye open, Buddy.”

“Why?”

Devin looked at him seriously. “Because, after what you’ve done, there’s not a jury in the world that would convict Catherine if she murdered you in your sleep. And come to think of it… you might want to prepare your own food. too.”

Chapter 14

Catherine had been confused by the cacophony of emotions she had perceived from Vincent, for the last several hours. Stubborn resolve, anger, passion, surprise, relief, and then guilt, by turns. She had no way of knowing the cause of the turmoil within him, but the one thing she was sure of, was that Vincent was on his way to Connecticut. She had felt his concern for their son over it all, and then his trepidation, as he left the shelter of his home. For the last two hours she felt it all coming closer to her with each passing minute.

Catherine was worried about having Vincent close after all that had passed between them. At the same time, it warmed her heart to know that his love for Jacob was stronger than his fear of leaving the protection of the Tunnels he called home, and the only city he had ever known.

Sometimes you must leave your safe places and walk empty handed among your enemies, he had once quoted.

I hope he doesn’t think of me as an enemy, she thought.

Catherine heard the car pull into the gravel driveway. “Someone is here, Jacob! Who could it be?” She made an exaggerated expression of surprise to her son, not really expecting him to answer.

“DADDA!” he replied, clapping his hands. Holding out his arms toward the front door.

Catherine laughed. “Yes, I should have known you would know too. You love your Daddy, don’t you?”

“Dadda!” he said, again clapping his hands and wriggling excitedly in her arms.

Catherine turned on the porch light and stepped out of the front door as Devin and Vincent were getting out of the car.

Catherine was surprised at how Vincent looked. He was dressed in a blue, button-down shirt, and unpatched blue jeans. He had a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and approached the house as if he was coming home.

Jacob held his arms out, excitedly opening and closing his little hands as he called out for his father.

Vincent responded with a broad smile. He dropped his duffle on the ground and bounded up the steps to catch the little boy in his arms.

Catherine’s heart skipped a beat as Vincent came toward her with open arms. She had to remind herself that he was reaching for Jacob, and not for her.

“How is he?” Vincent asked, as he kissed his son and pressed his cheek against Jacob’s head to gage his fever.

“He’s doing better, at the moment. The Tylenol will be wearing off soon, though.” Catherine informed him.

“What is this?” He asked, as he examined the closed mitten t-shirt.

“Peter says he needs to wear those, so he won’t scratch.”

Vincent looked more closely at his baby’s rosy, spotted cheeks. “How bad is it?”

“There seem to be new blisters every time I look at him. Peter says it will be several days before we know. He says so far, it seems typical.”

Devin picked up the duffle and dropped it next to the front door, then turned to give Catherine a hug. “It’s great to see you, Catherine. I see, you’ve got your hands full, at the moment. Maybe we can catch up when you get back to the city.”

“You’re welcome to stay, Devin,” Catherine said, hopefully. “I could make up another room.”

Devin laughed and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe another time, but thanks for the offer.” He clapped Vincent on the back, saying, “Good luck, little brother.” He didn’t waste any time getting back into the car and heading back the way he had come.

Silence fell around them as the sound of Devin’s tires on the gravel faded.

“Do you think that car will make it back to the city?” she asked, mildly concerned for Devin’s safety.

“I’m not sure if Devin really cares,” Vincent replied, considering that it was a small miracle they had made it to her house in the first place.

“Have you had dinner?” Catherine asked, turning to Vincent to see Jacob happily patting his father’s stubbled cheeks.

“You don’t have to go to any trouble, Catherine,” he answered, recalling Devin’s advice.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. But I can open a can of soup and make a grilled cheese sandwich.” For a fleeting moment, she wondered if her words had sounded unkind, but she was too worried about Jacob to dwell on it.

“Very well,” Vincent replied, uncomfortable with the strain between them.

Catherine picked up the duffle bag and opened the door. Vincent silently followed her into the house, with Jacob in his arms.

Setting the duffle bag at the foot of the stairs, she proceeded to the kitchen. Vincent and Jacob close behind. Vincent sat at the table with Jacob content to sit on his lap.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dress like that,” Catherine said, trying to make small talk, to ease the tension between them, as she fixed his sandwich.

Bouncing Jacob absently, Vincent looked up at her. “Diana gave me these clothes. She prefers that I dress like this when I’m Above. She says it helps me to… blend in… Up Top.”

Catherine nodded. “Hmm,” was all she said, as she placed the food in front of him. Jacob leaned, listlessly against his father, and tugged his ear.

“Let’s get you some medicine and put you to bed, okay?” she said, lifting the boy into her arms. Jacob rested his feverish face against her chest. “Can you tell, Daddy, night night?” she asked.

Jacob made a half-hearted effort to blow Vincent a kiss, and said, “Na na, Dadda.”

At the kitchen door, Catherine turned back to Vincent. “I’ve made up the bedroom at the end of the hall for you. It’s my parent’s old room. I think you’ll be comfortable there.”

“Where do you sleep?” he asked, surprised that she wouldn’t be using that room.

“I’ve been sleeping in the nursery, with Jacob,” she answered, simply. “I didn’t want him to be afraid… alone in a strange place.”

He watched her thoughtfully as she exited the kitchen.

Chapter 15

It was long after midnight and the house was quiet. Even the frogs and the crickets had retired for the night. Vincent knew he should sleep, but he had never been so far away from home. The sounds and vibrations of his Tunnel home had lulled him to sleep his entire life. They had become so much a part of him, that he was completely unaware of them until they were gone. He lay in his borrowed bed, amazed that any place, other than the grave could be so quiet.

In the silence, Devin’s words continued to convict him. Many of Vincent’s Tunnel family and friends had let him know they disapproved of how things with Catherine had turned out. But it was Devin’s opinion that meant the most to him. Is he right? Vincent asked himself. Did I give up on Catherine too soon? As he struggled with self-doubt, he thought he heard someone cry out. Rising instantly, he quickly put on his pants, and moved silently, in bare feet toward the sound.

Reaching the nursery door, he thought he heard a whimper. Opening the door as quietly as he could, he eased his way inside. The room was dark, except for the light of a gibbous moon which provided a soft light in the dim room. The curtains swayed slightly in the nighttime breeze. On one side of the room, he saw that the crib was empty. He panicked, momentarily, until a movement on the other side of the room caught his attention. The twin bed was occupied by Catherine, and Jacob.  Vincent’s son lay, sound asleep, in the protective arms of his mother.  Catherine was sleeping on her right side, with Jacob snuggled against the warmth of her body. She gently held one of Jacob’s tiny hands in hers. Her head was bent toward the child as if she were about to kiss the top of his head.

The beauty of the sight of them in such a pose took Vincent’s breath away. For a moment he wondered if he was dreaming. Vincent knew Catherine had been a regular part of Jacob’s life since her return to New York, but he had rarely been present, to see them together. He had only Mary’s word that she was a devoted mother to their son.

Watching them, he was taken aback by the love she expressed to him, even as they slept. It appeared that they were even breathing in unison.

How many times, as a child, did I long to be held by a loving mother in such a way? he wondered. Vincent was grateful that his son was so blessed. And yet he ached to know that he would never know the warmth of Catherine’s body next to his. And then, instantly, he felt guilty for betraying Diana, with such thoughts.

Vincent knew it was probably wrong to stand there, watching Catherine as she slept, but he couldn’t seem to tear himself away from the sight of her. Even in the dim light of the moon, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

She began to whimper in her sleep, turning her head from side to side. “No,” she cried out. “Please… no…”

What is she dreaming of? he wondered. Is she dreaming of me, and what I did to her?

“Vincent…?”

He froze, thinking she had woken and discovered him watching her.

“Vincent? Where are you?” she softly cried, clearly distressed. “No… please.”

She’s having a nightmare, he realized. She’s calling out for me in her sleep.

“You’re safe now, Catherine,” he whispered. “Don’t be afraid… Please… don’t be afraid.” The words escaped his lips before he could stop himself.

Vincent watched as Catherine settled back peacefully, as if soothed by his softly spoken words. Backing quietly out of the room, he winced when the door clicked as he pulled it shut. He listened for a moment until he was satisfied that they were both still sleeping. Realizing he wasn’t going to sleep, he padded quietly down the stairs.

Feeling the need to go outside, he found the back door. Clad only in his pants, the cool night air felt good on his bare arms and chest. He stood on the veranda at the back of the house.

Having never been out of the city, Vincent was amazed by the taste, and the fresh crispness of the air. With no exhaust fumes, no rotting garbage in dumpsters, or the acrid scent of urine that pervaded every back alley. There was just the clean, musky earth, and the faint smell of fruit trees, and wildflowers. It was as sweet as any honey he had ever tasted. Is it possible for a person could get drunk on fresh air? he wondered.

He allowed the night to enfold him in its silence, as he looked at the brilliant, starlit sky. The brush at the edge of the woods rustled softly. Vincent turned to see a doe and her fawn step out cautiously and begin grazing at the edge of the meadow.

The memory of a long-lost dream surfaced, unbidden…

~~~

“When I was a girl, we spent our summers at a lake in Connecticut,” Catherine said, wistfully. “I had a secret place too, a glen. I would hide there, in the tall grass. And I felt as if I were the only person on earth. Safe.”

“Yes,” Vincent whispered, visualizing the scene as she described it.

“…And if I sat very still, the deer would walk by and not even see me. I could almost reach out and touch them. It seemed... enchanted.”

She sat up and saw the look of wonder and longing on Vincent’s face. “It seemed so far from the city, like a different world. It's only two hours away. I wish you could see it.”

“Oh… so do I,” he said with a smile.

“If only we could be there,” Catherine said, sadly, wishing she could really take him there.

“We are there,” he insisted. “You're taking me with your words, showing me.”

“I would love to share it with you,” she persisted. “It seems so unfair. You, of all people, would appreciate how magical this place is.”

Quietly shaking his head, he whispered, “Catherine...”

“If you saw it, you would know, in an instant. And then it would be ours,” she insisted.

Vincent sighed, “I could want nothing more.”[2]

~~~

Ironic, he thought sadly, that we once dreamt of coming here to Connecticut together. It seems like a lifetime ago. And yet now, here we are. But we’re not sharing this enchanted place as lovers… We are barely even friends… Just two strangers who happen to share a child we love more than life itself… He could feel sorrow squeezing his heart at the thought of their lost dreams…

“Try not to think about it,” Catherine said softly, stepping through the screen door, wearing a silk bathrobe over her nightgown.

Vincent was taken by surprise at her sudden appearance. There was once a time when I would have felt her coming to me, he thought, sadly.

“If you think too much, Vincent, you will only live a life of pain and regret,” she said, feeling his profound sadness.

He looked at her in surprise. “How did you know what I was…?

“Because I know you, Vincent,” she half-lied, taking a seat on the wooden porch swing. “It won’t change anything, and it only brings you pain. I can’t bear for you to be in pain, so please… don’t.”

He looked out at the deep night, and the deer in the meadow. “If that is what you wish, Catherine,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. He still says my name like he’s whispering a prayer, she thought. A prayer she now knew, would never be answered. It was sweet and excruciating at the same time.

Catherine couldn’t help noticing that he was bare from the waist up and didn’t seem to be the least self-conscious about it. He’s changed, she realized.

“You were right you know,” Vincent said softly, hoping their conversation would not startle the deer.

“About what?”

“This is a magical place. It feels like I’m dreaming. I never knew that air could taste so sweet. I just want to drink it in.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “The peaches are almost ready to pick. You can almost taste them in the air. I love the honeysuckle too. Jacob is fascinated by the fireflies.” She smiled, trying not to look at the well-defined muscles of his chest. “He tries to catch them in his chubby little hands.”

“Yes’” He smiled as he looked out across the meadow. “They seem like stars you can just reach out and touch.”

“Wait til you see it in the daylight. You can explore the woods to your heart’s content.”

“In the daylight?” Vincent looked at her doubtfully. “I don’t think that would be prudent… not for me.”

“It’s perfectly safe,” she assured him. “I would never have suggested it otherwise. This house is in the middle of over three hundred acres of dense woods, Vincent. This is private property. There isn’t anyone around here to see you.”

“Hundreds of acres of woods,” Vincent echoed, smiling slightly. “That explains the Winnie-the-Pooh themed nursery.”

Catherine smiled at his literary reference. “Yes, my grandmother painted that room when my uncle and my father were children. The room badly needs to be repainted, but I can’t bring myself to cover it up… and Jacob seems to like it.”

“How is he?” he asked.

She glanced up to the nursery window, where Jacob was sleeping. “His fever’s down, but he’s still a little too warm for my liking.”

“And the rash?”

“It’s hard to tell in the dark. But the oatmeal bath and the calamine lotion seem to be helping. He’s not as restless as he was earlier.”

“And you, Catherine?” he ventured. “How are you?”

She wished he wouldn’t ask. It made her uncomfortable. “I’m fine. Just worried about Jacob.”

“You aren’t sleeping well,” he stated flatly.

She looked at him, surprised. “How do you know that?”

“You’re awake, and it’s almost two a.m. Earlier, I… I heard you cry out.”

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, I was having trouble sleeping, myself. I’ve never been out of the city. I’m accustomed to the sounds of the Tunnels. I’m not used to this silence. You were having a nightmare?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, and sighed. “I suppose I was. I often wake up in the middle of the night, with my heart racing… but I can’t remember the dreams.”

Do you know you were calling out for me, Catherine? he wondered, but dared not ask aloud.

There was a shrill whistling from a teapot in the kitchen. Catherine jumped up and hurried into the house.

Vincent remained where he was, fascinated by the intensity of the starlit sky and the profound silence of the night.

It was several minutes before he heard the creaking of the screen door indicating her return. Catherine reappeared with two cups of tea in her hand. The deer stopped grazing for a moment and looked in their direction, before returning to their task.

“I thought you might like some tea. Dr. Wong promised it will help me sleep. Maybe it will help you, too.”

“What’s in it?” he asked.

“Ancient Chinese secret,” she said, in her best imitation of Dr. Wong. “Dr. Wong’s special blend.” She bowed slightly, in honor of their friend. “I’mnot generally a tea drinker, but I’m very grateful for his special blends.”

They both smiled as he reached to accept the cup.

“It’s good to see you smile, Catherine,” he said softly.

“You too,” she replied, sincerely.

They both felt the tension between them easing, if only a little.

Catherine returned to the swing and looked out at the meadow, letting the peace of the place sink into her soul, as they sipped their tea.

“Are you happy, Catherine?” Vincent asked, wondering if she regretted the choices she had made.

Catherine looked at him, shocked that he would venture to even ask.

The air was charged by her long silence. When she was sure she had control of herself, she answered softly, “I’m not sure how to answer that. It’s something I try not to dwell on, these days.”

Maybe it was because he was tired, or maybe it was Dr. Wong’s special tea, but for a moment, Vincent let his guard down and he asked her a question he had never had the courage to ask her in the past.

“May I ask you something, Catherine?”

“You may ask me anything,” she answered softly. Catherine was eager to find a comfortable footing with him, since they were going to spend the next week, or more, together.

“Do you remember the night I took you back to the threshold under your apartment building and returned you to your world?"

He had done that many times in the two years before… before everything fell apart. But she knew exactly what night he was referring to.

“Yes, I remember. How could I ever forget it?”

“I’ve always wondered why, in all the months before I first came to your balcony…” He paused, considering that it was possibly not something he should bring up.

“What is it you wondered?” she asked, prompting him to continue.

“You never reached out to us… never attempted to contact us… to contact me. It was as if you… just went back to your world and forgot about everything… forgot about… me…Why?” Vincent no longer feared the answer to the question, since everything was now over between them.

“Why?” she asked, seemingly surprised that he didn’t already know.

“Yes, why didn’t you attempt to reach out to us during that time…Why didn’t you reach out… to me?”

“Beside the fact that I was trying to put the shattered pieces of my life back together?” Her voice carried a tinge of pain.

“Y… yes.” Vincent answered, beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake by asking.

At length she replied. “When Father examined me before you took me home… he said… I should forget. I thought you knew that.”

“He said… you should… forget?”

It was suddenly clear to Catherine that he did not understand what she was telling him.

“Yes. Father said, I should forget everything that had happened there. That it was imperative that the secret nature of your home be preserved. He told me that there were many people who depended upon the Tunnels for safety, especially you, and he hoped that I would not betray your trust. That if I should ever try to return below, he would make sure that I would… never find my way. He seemed… angry with me… and afraid for you.”

Catherine sipped her tea, recalling the first time they parted. “I could tell he didn’t trust me.” She shrugged. “Why should he? Father didn’t know me. He said, if I cared about you at all, that I would do it to protect you. I wanted so badly for you to know that I would never betray your trust, Vincent. So, I promised him, and then at my threshold I… I promised you, that I would do as he asked. I… I assumed that you knew… that you agreed with him.”

Vincent was silent as he digested this revelation.

Catherine could feel his anger rising and realized for the first time that he had not been aware of Father’s request.

She carefully set her cup down and approached him, covering his hand with her own. “Please don’t be angry with him, Vincent,” Catherine gently requested. “It would serve no purpose.”

Her touch sent shock waves through his entire body. He’d forgotten how much her touch had always affected him. He looked into her eyes, her beautiful green eyes, and could see her love for him had not diminished in spite of the turns their lives had taken.

“Why did you never tell me of this?” he asked insistently.

She looked confused. “You… you never asked. Since you didn’t make any attempt to contact me during those months, I just assumed that… you knew… and that you agreed with him.”

He was silent as he tried to control the emotions rising within him.

So, it was me that was ‘one up’ after all, from the very beginning,” he thought. Diana was wrong… and so was I. Have I been wrong about other things, as well? he began to wonder.

“Father was trying to protect you, Vincent. Anger will serve no purpose, except to drive a wedge between the two of you.”

“But, Catherine… he—”

“Vincent,” she interrupted. “He is your father. He’s a good man. If he was wrong… If he was right… What he did, he did because he loves you. Besides… everything he said to me was true… wasn’t it?”

“Technically… yes,” Vincent conceded, trying to suppress the anger within. “But he was wrong about one thing.”

She tilted her head and looked at him questioningly.

“He was wrong not to trust you. He was so wrong. You never betrayed us, Catherine... not once. Even when it might have spared you…”

She stiffened and withdrew her hand, and he stopped speaking. Apparently, he was treading where she did not wish to go.

She looked out across the meadow, where the deer were still grazing peacefully, then turned to look at him again. “So, all those months,” she ventured. “… you thought… that I… had forgotten about you… that our friendship meant nothing to me?”

Vincent nodded. “Yes,” he whispered.

Catherine turned to face him, and asked, “And it hurt you? … I… hurt you?”

He nodded again.

“Then why did you come to my balcony? Why didn’t you ever tell me… or ask me why I never came?”

“I came to your balcony because I could not help myself, Catherine. Despite Father’s pleas, I was drawn to you. I needed to see you. I needed to see that you were… well. I didn’t intend for you to discover me there on the balcony that night. And I didn’t ask about your lack of interest in us because I… I thought I… knew the reason.”

“The reason? You mean… because you thought that I was shallow, and superficial, and I had no more use for someone… like you?”

He didn’t answer, but she could feel the shame rising within him.

She could not hide the pain she was feeling. “And you have always… thought of me… this way?”

He still stood silent. Then finally admitted, “I suppose… there was a small part of me that… did.”

“Then why…? How…? We shared so much, Vincent … I thought you loved me… I never realized you thought that I was…”

“I did love you, Catherine… I still do… but—"

“Those months after I returned Above were some of the most difficult months of my life,” Catherine interjected “I was trying so hard to make myself a better person than I had been before… a stronger person… Even though I thought I would never see you again, I hoped that somehow you would approve of the person I was becoming… I guess… I fell short.”

“No… Catherine… you didn’t,” he insisted. “I see now that it was me… I… I judged you by the things I had always been told about topsiders… and the doubts I had about myself and I was… I was wrong.”

“Vincent, you told me you could feel what I was feeling.” She looked at him, the pain in her eyes ripping at his heart. “But If that’s true… then how could you believe what you believed?” She looked at him searchingly, but he couldn’t speak through his shame.

“You asked me a question, Vincent. May I ask one of you?”

“Yes.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, Catherine, anything.”

“You can… make love to her… to Diana… but you always kept me at arm’s length… You always pushed me away, or ran away, when we got too close… Is there something about me… is there something… wrong… with me… that kept us apart?”

“It was because of your fear… your fear of me… whenever we got close… I could feel your fear… your hesitance and I…  I respected that… I was content to be in your life any way you would allow it.”

Catherine shook her head, clearly confused. “What are you talking about? I didn’t fear being close to you, Vincent… it’s all I ever wanted.”

Vincent shook his head “You deny it, Catherine… I could clearly feel your love for me, but underneath it, I could always feel your fear whenever I got too close.” I may have been wrong about her reasons for staying away from me during those months, he admitted to himself. But I know I wasn’t wrong about this.

Catherine was dumbfounded that he had misunderstood her so badly. “The only thing I ever feared, Vincent… was…”

“What?... What was it you feared, Catherine?”

“Losing you,” she declared with unshaken conviction. “That you would send me away again, lock the portals, change the ways… and shut me out of your life… and then… when you were so ill…” She paused, her eyes shimmering with tears. “…I feared that you would die and leave me to live in a world without you.”

He was silent, surprised by her revelation. Can it really be true? he wondered, that I so badly misunderstood the source of her fear? Is it possible that I was that wrong?

Catherine spoke softly to the silence. “You always said you could feel what I was feeling, Vincent… but it’s clear to me now that you didn’t know how to interpret those feelings. You assumed that because you could feel my emotions, that you could read my mind. Instead of asking me, you made assumptions based on nothing but your own feelings of… inadequacy… and you pushed me away.”

She took a deep breath as if drawing strength from the fresh, night air.

“I don’t know how many times I tried to tell you how beautiful you are, how you deserved everything… but you would never allow yourself to believe it.”

He continued to look at her, stricken by what she had revealed to him.

“That’s something I am truly grateful to Diana for…” she said candidly.

“What?” he asked.

Catherine smiled at this virile, confident, man standing before her. The chains of his former fears had fallen away. He’s finally free of them, she realized. And even more beautiful than I ever imagined.

“Somehow…” she said, “Diana was finally able to convince you that you are… beautiful… that you are desirable. That you can love without fear. She helped you overcome your fears of intimacy. I just wish… that…” She paused, her expression of sadness returning.

“What Catherine? What is it you wish?”

“I wish…” she whispered. “…that it could have been… me.” She closed her eyes and turned away from the beautiful sight of him.

Vincent’s felt as if his skin was on fire. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Catherine looked up to the bright, star-lit sky above her, and continued. Her expression was wistful and heartbreakingly sad. “You once told me that one day… someone would come… and I would live another life and dream another dream. It’s kind of funny isn’t it?”

“What’s funny?” he asked, not seeing any humor in their situation.

“That it’s you, Vincent… It’s you who met someone else. You who is living another life and dreaming another dream.”

And I am still in the middle of a nightmare… she thought, sadly.

“I’m very tired,” she lied. “Dr. Wong’s tea must be working. Goodnight, Vincent.” She retrieved her teacup, and disappeared into the house, not trusting herself to maintain control of her emotions. The last thing she wanted was for Vincent to see her tears.

Vincent sighed, as the door closed, and she disappeared into the house. Her words rang in his ears.  You said you could feel what I was feeling… then how could you believe what you believed? … I wish… that it could have been… me.

He didn’t need The Bond to realize he had hurt her, deeply.

Chapter 16

The days that followed were like a blur for both Vincent and Catherine. Jacob’s fever was a challenge to keep under control. The formerly cheerful, happy baby lay listless in the arms of his parents, uninterested in food, or flowers, or ladybugs, or even Good Night, Moon. If he was awake, he whimpered pitifully in pain and discomfort, and when he slept, it was fitful and restless.

On the morning of day six, Catherine wept as she dabbed calamine lotion over every inch of Jacob’s pockmarked skin, fearing that her beautiful son would be permanently marred, or worse. Jacob whimpered and squirmed, making her task all the more difficult.

Entering the nursery, Vincent found Catherine crying. There were dark circles under her eyes Her hair was disheveled, and her clothes were rumpled. It was clear she had slept in them. That is if she has slept at all, Vincent thought.

He bent down to Jacob’s level and spoke softly to his son. “It’s all right, Jacob, Mama is helping. She’ll be finished soon.”

Looking sympathetically at Catherine, he tried to reassure her. “He will be fine, Catherine.”

His softly spoken words brought her no comfort. “How can you say that, Vincent? Just look at him… our beautiful boy.” She sniffled loudly and continued to apply the medicament. “Peter says he could keep getting new pox for several more days. How is that even possible? He’s got chickenpox everywhere; in his ears, in his nose… even inside his mouth. He won’t eat. Even his chickenpox, have chickenpox. Just look at this!” She turned his hand up exposing bloody blisters in between his fingers and in the little creases of his chubby hands.

Vincent reached for a tube of lidocaine cream. Jacob cried out as his father began apply it to the painful, open sores. Unfazed by Jacob’s protest, Vincent kissed his little fingertips and whispered, “It’s all right, Jacob. It’s all right.”

Catherine’s heart swelled with love for them both, as she watched Vincent comfort his son. Vincent then gently applied the ointment in between Jacob’s tiny toes, as he whispered, “This little piggy went to market. This little piggy stayed home…” By the time the last little piggy went wee, wee, wee, all the way home, Jacob was giggling through his tears.

Vincent looked up to see tears streaming down Catherine’s face. He gently lifted the baby into one arm and embraced Catherine with the other, letting her sob on his shoulder. Once she had calmed down, she stiffened, realizing what she had done.

“I’m sorry, Vincent. I… I… shouldn’t have…”

Ignoring her apology, Vincent asked, “When was the last time you slept, Catherine?”

“I don’t know, maybe the night before last.” I must look awful, she thought, running her fingers through her tangled hair.

“You must let me help you more. It won’t help Jacob if you become ill. You must sleep whenever he sleeps.”

“I can’t. I’m so afraid…” Her face crumpled as she expressed her fears. “If anything happened to him while I was sleeping… I would never forgive myself. You should never have let me take care of him. Everything I touch turns to dust in my hands.” She began sobbing anew.

Vincent drew her to himself again. “That isn’t true. This isn’t like what happened to Ellie, Catherine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Peter says, Jacob has a typical case of chickenpox. If it was going to be like what I had, we would know by now. You’ll see, in a couple of weeks he’ll be back to his old self.”

Little Jacob lay his head against her. “Mama?” he asked, looking at his father with a quivering chin.

Vincent kissed his son and spoke softly. “Mama is all right, Jacob. She’s just very tired.”

Then turning to Catherine, he spoke just as softly to her. “I want you to go take a shower and put on some fresh clothes. Then you must come back here and take a nap. You need to sleep.”

She straightened up and grabbed a tissue, blowing her nose loudly. “But Jacob needs his medicine, and he needs to spend some time in the sun. Peter says the sunshine and fresh air are good for him.”

“Catherine, you’re exhausted.” Vincent said firmly. “I will do it.”

“You’ll… go outside?” she asked. “In the daylight?”

“You said it was safe, didn’t you?”

Catherine nodded. “Yes, it is safe... but I… I didn’t think you believed me…”

He smiled a little and said, “Sometimes we must leave our safe places. If you tell me it is safe… I believe you.” I should have believed you a long time ago, he thought.

Catherine nodded reluctantly. She kissed Jacob, and said, “Be good for Daddy, okay?”

Jacob rested his tired head on Vincent’s shoulder. “I better give him his medicine, before the fever returns,” Vincent said.

“Promise you’ll wake me… if anything…”

“I promise, Catherine,” he whispered his assurance.

~~~

It was nearly dinner time when Catherine emerged from the house to find Vincent, gently swaying on one end of the porch swing, with Jacob sound asleep on his chest.  Catherine smiled at the sight.

Vincent lifted one finger to his lips and softly said, “Shhhhh…”

She sat on the opposite end of the swing.

“Are you feeling better?” Vincent asked.

Catherine smiled slightly and nodded, reaching for Jacob’s chubby hand.

Vincent didn’t need their Bond to see how worried she was. “He’ll be fine, Catherine. I promise.”

“Do you think he’ll have many scars?” she asked, with tears in her eyes.

“No, I don’t believe so.” Then shaking his head, he said, “I know you, Catherine. You wouldn’t love him less even if he did.”

“No, of course I wouldn’t,” she insisted.

Vincent smiled. He reached and tucked Catherine’s hair behind her ear, exposing the scar on the side of her face.  “Sooner or later, we all have scars.”

His touch felt like a feather, as he reverently stroked the faded reminder of the night he found her.

Catherine quickly withdrew from his unexpected touch. Standing up, she moved toward the banister and looked out over the backyard.

“I’m sorry, Catherine,” Vincent said, hurt at her reaction to his touch. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Please, Vincent,” she said, stopping him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s me… who should apologize. I… I’m sorry,” she said, with her back to him.

The silence was suddenly awkward and uncomfortable. Jacob whimpered and squirmed in his sleep.

After a moment of silence, Vincent spoke. “There is something I feel that I should say to you,” Vincent said softly, hoping Jacob would settle long enough for him to say it.

Catherine took a deep breath and turned to face him.

“The first night I was here, I… I hurt you,” he began, “That was not my intention… I should not have asked what I asked… I should not have said… the things I said. I am truly sorry.”

Instead of graciously accepting his apology, she replied, “I disagree.”

Vincent was confused by her response. “You… disagree… that I am… sorry?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I disagree that you shouldn’t have asked what you asked or said what you said. You most certainly should have asked me why I stayed away after you took me back. You should have asked the first time you came to my balcony, or the second time, or the third… and I would have told you the truth. When you felt my fears… you should have asked me what I was afraid of instead of… making false assumptions.”

He stared at her blankly, not sure how to respond.

“Were we really that fragile, Vincent? Was what we had so fragile, that we were afraid to speak freely with one another?”

She returned to the swing and rested her hand on his arm. Looking into his piercing blue eyes, she could see that he was trying to understand. “Don’t you see? Anything that fragile is destined to fail. Sooner or later, it will shatter, and be broken beyond repair. For whatever reason, there were things… important things… we were too afraid say to each other… things we were afraid to ask each other. There were so many things I wanted to say to you, Vincent… things that I was too afraid to say… things I wish now… that I had.” She closed her eyes and sighed, letting her sentence dangle in the air. She withdrew her hand reestablishing the space between them.

He considered her for a long moment. “You can say them now, Catherine. Please, tell me what they were.”

“No, I can’t.” Catherine shook her head. “Not now. It’s too late. Saying them now… would only bring us both more pain. The dream we had… has shattered… it’s over. All we can do now is learn from our mistakes and try not to repeat them in the future. Be more open with Diana than you were with me. Don’t be afraid to ask her difficult questions or say difficult things.”

Vincent opened his mouth as if to speak but was interrupted by Jacob’s cries. The baby had wakened, and his bright, rosy cheeks revealed that his fever had returned.

“Hello, Jacob,” Catherine said, as she lifted him gently from Vincent’s chest. She instinctively put her cheek against his face. “He’s burning up.” Kissing his flushed, pockmarked cheek, she stood. “Let’s get you some more medicine, Sweetheart.”

Vincent followed her into the kitchen, to help her.

“It’s time for his bath,” she said. “The water will help bring his temperature down.”

“I’ll prepare us something to eat while you do that,” Vincent offered. He leaned toward his son and kissed his forehead, “Be good for your mother, Jacob.”

Catherine smiled. “Jacob is always a good boy, aren’t you?” she asked, bouncing him a little bit as she left the kitchen. The baby rested his fevered head on his mother’s shoulder and whimpered.

Vincent and Catherine were beginning to feel a rhythm in the daily routine of sharing duties. As she headed for the stairs with Jacob in her arms, Vincent thought, This must be what it feels like… to be a real family. He shook his head at the thought. No, he sadly reminded himself. We will never be a real family… at least not in the way I once imagined.

As he turned to his task, he heard Catherine call out. “Vincent? VINCENT!”

Responding to the panic in her voice, he rushed into the living room. “What is it?” His attention went immediately to his son, but Vincent could clearly see he was the same as he had been only a moment before.

That’s when he heard it, the clear sound of car tires on the gravel driveway. “Are you expecting anyone?” he asked.

“No, are you?”

“No…” he said, shaking his head. “I spoke with Peter on the phone this afternoon, but he didn’t say anything about coming out here.”

“Here,” she said, handing Jacob over to him. “Take Jacob upstairs, and wait in the nursery. I’ll go see who it is.”

Chapter 17

Catherine waited until Vincent was safely in the nursery before heading for the door. She stepped out onto the front porch and closed the door behind her. As the car door opened Catherine was shocked to see who got out.

“Diana?” she asked. “What are you doing here?” As soon as the words were spoken, Catherine realized how rude she sounded.

Diana walked slowly up the front steps and stood awkwardly in front of Catherine. “I… uhm… I called Peter this afternoon to ask him how Jacob was doing. He told me he had just spoken to Vincent. He was about to contact Father to see if he could spare Brooke or Samantha to come out here to give you a hand. Since I’m in between cases, at the moment, I offered. I told him I’d be glad to come and give you some help. So, here I am, at your disposal… for the weekend, anyway.”

Catherine hesitated, still startled to see Diana standing there on her front porch.

“Was Peter mistaken?” Diana asked. “I can turn around and go back, if you want me to.”

“No.” Catherine answered, finally finding her voice, and her manners. “No… We can definitely use your help… and I’m sure Jacob and Vincent will be thrilled to see you. Please, come in.”

“I’ll get my things,” Diana said, rushing to the car to retrieve her overnight bag, before Catherine could change her mind.

“Wait here, while I go get Vincent,” Catherine said, as they entered the house.

As Catherine disappeared from sight at the top of the stairs, Diana took in her surroundings. “Wow!” she exclaimed, clearly impressed by the spacious living room. There was a massive, river rock fireplace that reached to the top of a cathedral ceiling. She wasn’t surprised to see the head of a 12-point buck mounted there. Two large skylight windows in the ceiling provided a stunning view of the sky. The room was an eclectic combination of rustic and refined. A large, expensive looking, blue and white vase stood not far from the base of the staircase.

Diana made a note to steer clear of it. She was sure she would never be able to repay Catherine if she broke it. Before she could explore further, Vincent descended the stairs, with Jacob in his arms.

She dropped her bag and rushed to him. “Hi, Babe,” she said, as he opened one arm to receive her. She kissed him soundly on the mouth. His response felt measured. Is it my imagination, she wondered, or did I just make him uncomfortable?

She backed up a little bit to get a good look at him. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

Vincent nodded. “Yes, I’m just surprised to see you here. Catherine said you’ve come to help us?”

“Yes,” Diana hesitated. “Is that… all right?”

Nodding, Vincent replied, “It’s definitely all right. We’ve been somewhat overwhelmed the last few days. Who knew one little boy could be so much work?” he asked facetiously, looking affectionately at his son.

Turning to Jacob, Diana leaned close and said, “Oh my, Jacob, you poor baby. I’ve missed you.” Jacob shrank from her and pouted when she tried to kiss him. Diana stood up, a little hurt by his rebuff. “I guess he doesn’t remember me,” she said.

“He’s just cranky at the moment. He’ll feel better as soon as his medicine takes effect.”

Diana reached into her bag and pulled out a blue, bouncy ball. “I brought you something, Jacob,” she said, as she held it out to him. His wary, blue eyes studied it from the safety of his father’s arms. At length he reached out with one finger and touched the ball, showing a mild interest. “Moo?” he asked.

“It’s a ball, Jacob,” she corrected. “Can you say, ball?”

“Moo,” he insisted, furrowing his little eyebrows.

“No, it’s a ball,” she said again, enunciating the word clearly in an attempt to coax him into saying it.

He pushed the ball away and withdrew from her again, hiding his face in Vincent’s shirt.

Diana stood, and grimaced. “So much for bribery,” she said ruefully.

Vincent put his arm around her again. “You don’t need to bribe him, Diana. He knows you love him.”

“Where’s Catherine?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

“She’s upstairs, preparing your room.”

“My room?” Diana asked. “I just thought that I would share a room with you.”

Vincent hesitated for a moment. “I don’t think that would be appropriate… under the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” she asked. “What circumstances?”

“Diana,” Vincent began, clearly uncomfortable. “This is Catherine’s home. I don’t feel it would be proper for us to… uhm…”

“Ahhh… I understand. I guess you have a point. But she doesn’t have to go to any trouble. I could just sleep on that incredibly comfortable looking couch, over there.”

Vincent laughed a little, and shook his head. “I don’t think she would feel comfortable with that either. There’s a perfectly good room upstairs.”

Catherine appeared at the top of the staircase. “Your room is ready, Diana,” she said, as she descended. “It’s next to Vincent’s at the top of the stairs. I’ve put fresh linens on the bed and there are fresh towels on the dresser.”

Turning to Jacob, she held out her hands to him. “Come on, Jacob. Let’s get you into the bath.”

Vincent handed him over. “I’ll prepare something for all of us to eat while you do that.

Jacob turned in Catherine’s arms, and said, “Na na, moo.”

“Night, night, moon? What moon?” Catherine asked him.

Diana held up the ball, as Catherine looked at her inquisitively. “Ah! Did Diana bring you a ball?”

“Moo!” he said, insistently.

Catherine laughed. “Oh, it’s the moon?” Catherine asked, in an overexaggerated tone. “Did Diana bring you the moon? That was very nice of her to bring you the moon. Did you say thank you?”

He looked in Diana’s direction and blew her a kiss, to which Diana responded in kind.

Diana laughed. “I should have known what he was saying. Of course, he would think it’s the moon.” She put the ball down and followed Vincent into the kitchen.

~~~

There was a light meal on the table by the time Catherine and Jacob reappeared. Jacob was dressed in only a diaper, and covered in calamine lotion.

“Poor Jacob,” Diana declared “What can I do?” she asked, noting that Catherine placed him in a hand-carved, antique, wooden highchair. I wonder how many Chandler’s have used that? she mused.

“If you would just keep an eye on him for a minute, while I get his formula ready, that would be great,” Catherine suggested.

“He’s already drinking from a cup?” Diana asked in surprise, when Catherine returned with a sippy cup in hand.

“I’ve been trying him with it at the table. Since he’s been sick, he seems to drink better from the sippy cup than the bottle.”

Everyone could feel the tension in the air as they ate their dinner. Conversation was strained and Catherine wondered how they would manage to get through the weekend.  But she could certainly understand why Diana had come. I’d be insecure too, she thought, if the man I loved was staying for days on end with a woman he used to love.

“I must say,” Diana said, desperate to break the awkward silence. “I think Peter might have overstated your need. The two of you seem to have everything under control here.”

“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Catherine said. “I had a bit of a breakdown this morning. Sleep deprivation will do that, I guess.”

Vincent sighed. “I must also accept some responsibility. When Peter called, I told him how exhausted Catherine was, and I think he overreacted.”

“Peter tends to hover over me these days,” Catherine explained. “He’s a dear, but I wish he didn’t worry about me so much.” She winced as soon as she said it. Careful, she told herself.

“Maybe it would be best if I just headed back to the city,” Diana suggested.

“Nonsense, Diana,” Catherine said, before Vincent could reply. Her sense of propriety and good manners barred her from turning Diana out of her house. Jacob needs to have a relationship with her, and I need Diana to know that I’m not trying to take Vincent away from her, she concluded.  “You’ve come all this way. You might as well stay and enjoy the country for a couple of days. Besides, you haven’t seen Jacob for weeks. This will give you two a chance to get reacquainted.”

Both Diana and Vincent were somewhat surprised by Catherine’s hospitality.

“Are you sure, Catherine?” Diana asked, looking at her dubiously, suspecting that Catherine had to be at least as uncomfortable as she was.

“I’m sure, Diana,” Catherine insisted. “Please… stay.”

Having that settled, Catherine turned her attention to Jacob. “As for you, my little man, it’s time for you to go to bed.” Then turning to Vincent, she asked, “Do you mind shutting up the house, Vincent, before the two of you go to bed?”

She inwardly winced as soon the words escaped her mouth. “I’m sorry… I just meant—”

Vincent quickly came to her rescue. “Of course, Catherine. I will take care of it.” He quickly dropped a kiss on the top of Jacob’s head. “Good night, Jacob. Sleep well,” he whispered.

Catherine left the room, with Jacob in her arms, grateful to have an acceptable reason to bow out of the increasingly awkward situation.

“I guess that means you and I are on kitchen patrol,” Diana said, as she began carrying plates to the sink.

As Diana helped Vincent with the dishes, she lifted a plate up to the kitchen light.

“Did I miss a spot?” Vincent asked, up to his elbows in soap suds.

“No,” Diana responded. “I was just curious.”

“Curious? About what?”

Looking at the stamp on the back of the plate, she said, “Did you know this is antique bone china? Crown Staffordshire… imported from England.” She laughed softly. “I think that’s the first time I’ve eaten hamburgers and frozen French fries off of antique, imported china.”

“I don’t know about that.” Vincent smiled. “We have a lot of old china Below. Dishes are dishes, aren’t they? We all have to eat off of something.”

“I guess so,” Diana said, as she picked up another plate and kept drying.

When they finished, they stepped out onto the veranda. Then, turning his attention to Diana, Vincent held out his hand. “Let’s walk,” he softly invited.

Placing her hand in his, she allowed him to lead her across the expansive lawn to the tree line. “Where are we going?”

“To the lake. The moon will be rising soon.”

“There’s a lake?” Diana asked in surprise.

Vincent nodded, as he pointed into the dark. “Just beyond those trees.”

As they emerged from the trees, the lake came into view. “If we’re very quiet, we might see something,” he whispered.

They continued in silence, making their way around the lake. As they walked along the grassy shoreline the bright moon and stars were reflected on the glassy surface of the lake, and the pine trees seemed to reach to the heavens. They had traversed about three quarters of the way around the lake when they spotted them.

Diana gasped, as a doe stepped cautiously out of the trees, followed by a fawn and a large buck. All three began to drink at the water’s edge.

Vincent stood, transfixed at the sight before him.

If you saw it, you would know in an instant, Catherine had once said.  And then it would be ours.

The memory of Catherine’s innocent wish came to Vincent’s mind, like the bittersweet echo of the shattered dream that lingered in his soul. He was instantly filled with an overwhelming sorrow, and the realization that he was sharing this place with the wrong woman.

Vincent shook his head, trying to purge the thought. No, he told himself. It’s over. That dream is gone. But his heart stubbornly refused to let it go.

“Are you all right?” Diana asked, bringing him back to the present.

He looked at her, and for just a second, he saw Catherine standing there beside him. Then his vision cleared, and he realized it was Diana.

“Are you all right?” she asked again, her brow furrowed with concern.

He nodded. “Yes, Diana… I’m fine,” he said. He put his arm around her and looked back to the deer. “What do you think?”

“It’s really nice,” she said.

“Kind of like a dream?” he asked.

“Yeah… sure…” she answered. “I guess so.” She had a fleeting feeling that she had answered his question incorrectly. Shaking off the thought, she asked, “How did you know about this place?”

“I brought Jacob out here this morning for some sunshine and fresh air. When I saw it, I was sure it would be breathtaking on a clear night. I must say, I’m not disappointed.”

“Sunshine? You mean you were wandering around here in broad daylight? Is that safe?”

“There is no one here but us, and the wildlife,” he informed her. “This is Catherine’s private property… over three hundred acres of dense woods. It’s perfectly safe.”

“Huh…” Diana huffed, looking around again. “No wonder she can afford to take a month off work,” she said, with a hint of envy in her voice. “How great would it be to be that rich? I wonder how much money she actually has?”

Vincent looked at her thoughtfully. “I don’t believe Catherine measures her wealth in money, or property,” he replied.

Diana laughed. “Of course, she doesn’t. When people are as wealthy as she is, they don’t have to.”

“I suppose it depends on what you consider wealth,” Vincent said. “Is Catherine wealthier than we are, Diana, because her name is on a piece of paper?”

Vincent spoke softly, but Diana detected a hint of reproach in his voice.

“Is the sunrise more beautiful to her than it is to us, because she has a considerable amount of money in a bank somewhere? Do these stars shine brighter for her, because she happens to own the piece of earth we are standing on?”

“I… I guess not,” Diana surmised, beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

Vincent continued. “Catherine has very generously opened her home to us and has asked nothing in return. Doesn’t that mean we are sharing in that wealth?”

Diana realized she had made a misstep and attempted to correct it. “I’m sorry, Vincent. It’s just that I… I’ve never known anyone as rich as Catherine. I mean, she eats Chinese takeout and hamburgers off imported bone china. Who does that? And did you see the antique highchair she put Jacob in? It belongs in a museum. It’s probably worth thousands.”

Vincent wasn’t angry or offended, he was just confused by Diana’s apparent envy, and was attempting to understand it.

“Diana, you have investigated every aspect of Catherine’s life. You know better than most, the tragedies… the violence, and the loss she has endured. Did her ‘wealth’ protect her from any of it?” he asked. “Would you trade places with her… for her money, or her china, or her antique furniture?”

“No, I… I guess not,” she answered, regretting she had brought it up. “I’m sorry, Vincent,” she said, thankful the darkness hid her flushed and burning face. “Can we just forget I said anything?”

“Of course,” Vincent replied, without hesitation. “I’m sorry if I have made you feel uncomfortable.”

I guess I’d better watch my step in the future where Catherine is concerned, Diana thought. She shivered involuntarily and rubbed her arms.

“You’re cold,” he said. “Here.” He began to remove his cloak.

“No, I’m fine. I just felt a cool breeze for a moment.”

Putting his cloak back on, he took her hand. “Yes, the wind is picking up. It’s getting late. We should go back. I need to relieve Catherine so she can get some rest.”

As Vincent led the way back, he hesitated at the edge of the woods, fascinated by something ahead of them.

Thinking it might be more deer grazing in Catherine’s yard, Diana looked in that direction. There, on the veranda, she saw what had caught his attention. It was Catherine.

She was holding Jacob in her arms, and dancing as if there was a waltz playing in the background. She seemed lost in her own world, as she smiled lovingly at her son, and twirled about the floor.

“What’s she doing?” Diana asked.

“She is dancing,” Vincent whispered.

“Yes, I can see that, but I don’t hear any music.”

Vincent looked up to the treetops as they swayed in the evening breeze. He could hear the wind whistling through the branches, rustling the leaves. There was a distant, rhythmic knocking of a canoe, as it banged against the wooden pier. The wind-chimes on the back porch rang out cheerfully. Somewhere, an owl hooted at regular intervals.

He smiled wistfully and said, “She is dancing…” he whispered. “…to the music in the wind, Diana. You can hear it if you try.” I can hear it now, Catherine, he thought. I can hear the music.

As he gazed at Catherine, he was suddenly lost in a distant memory…

Diana turned her attention to Vincent and realized that she had become invisible to him. He was mesmerized by the sight of Catherine dancing. It was clear that the physical world around him had disappeared and, in his mind, he was dancing, a hundred miles away, with Catherine in his arms.

That was the moment Diana realized that no matter how deeply Vincent cared for her, he would never look at her the way he looked at Catherine. He would never love her, the way he loved Catherine.

You’ve always known that, Bennett, she reminded herself. He told you from the beginning that he would always love Catherine… and you told him it didn’t matter.

But seeing it so clearly before her, Diana realized that it did matter. It mattered a lot.

Suddenly, Catherine stopped dancing and looked out into the darkness of the yard. It was almost as if she knew they were there, just beyond the tree line, watching her.

That’s impossible, Diana thought. I’m just being paranoid.

Vincent must have had the same thought, because he instinctively receded further into the trees to be sure Catherine couldn’t see him.

After a moment, Catherine kissed a sleepy Jacob, and went into the house.

Vincent remained frozen to the spot. It was only a minute before the strains of a lullaby drifted across the lawn, from an open upstairs window.

Sleep, my little one.

Rest now, my little one.

Close your eyes, the day-ay is nearly done.

Rest your head, tomorrow will surely come…

Chapter 18

Catherine was busy making scrambled eggs and bacon, when Diana came into the kitchen the next morning.

“Is Vincent around? I need to talk to him,” she asked.

“He’s taken Jacob out for a walk to get a little bit of morning sun.”

“How’s Jacob doing this morning?” Diana asked, sincerely concerned about the little boy who had stolen her heart.

Catherine smiled. “Much better. He slept through the night. It’s the first morning in days that he’s woken up without a fever. Hopefully, we’re through the worst.”

Diana noted that she sounded relieved and appeared more rested than she had the day before.

“That’s good,” Diana said. Unable to think of anything else to say, she sat at the table and endured the awkward silence.

“Did you sleep well?” Catherine asked, as she attacked the frying pan with a spatula.

Diana could see that Catherine was also struggling to find something to say. “You don’t have to be so polite, Catherine.”

Catherine chuckled good-naturedly. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “I believe my parents and Emily Post would beg to differ.”

Mildly irritated that Catherine seemed unruffled by her presence, Diana nervously fidgeted with her long braid and looked out the window, willing Vincent to return with Jacob sooner than later.

“Please, Catherine. This situation must make you uncomfortable.  It certainly makes me uncomfortable.”

“I can’t deny that,” Catherine admitted, spooning scrambled eggs into a large china tureen and covering it with a matching lid. “But that’s no reason to forego good manners. We’re all trying to make the best of a difficult situation, Diana. I called Peter first thing this morning with an update. He seems to think Jacob will, most likely, be well enough to go home soon, and then we’ll all be able to go back to the way things were.”

“I’m going back to New York this morning,” Diana informed her.

Catherine looked up from her task. “You’re leaving? I… I don’t understand… I thought you were staying for the weekend. I hope I haven’t—”

“I don’t understand you,” Diana said, shaking her head. “Why aren’t you jealous? I expected you to try to scratch my eyes out for…”

When Diana paused, Catherine finished the thought. “…for taking Vincent away from me?”

Diana nodded, and continued to scrutinize the woman who was such an enigma to her.

“You love him, don’t you, Diana?” Catherine asked.

“Yes, I do,” Diana replied.

“And you love Jacob?” Catherine asked, as she carried a stack of china plates to the table.

“Of course, I love Jacob. How could anyone not love him? He’s a very sweet little boy. And the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen… even covered with chickenpox.”

Catherine couldn’t help but smile at the way Diana spoke of Jacob. It warmed her heart to know that Diana loved him so much. Her voice was gentle and sincere, as she spoke.

“I don’t blame you, Diana, for what happened between Vincent and me. Things don’t always turn out the way we wish. That’s just… life. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.” Catherine sighed and smiled sadly. “It’s just the way things turned out.”

As Catherine leaned over to set the plates on the table, her shirt fell opened just a little. That’s when Diana saw it.

“What’s that on your chest?”

Catherine stood up straight and quickly adjusted her shirt. She closed one more button, inwardly berating herself for being careless. “It’s nothing.”

“Is that a… a port?” Diana asked, insistently. In an instant, Diana felt as if a critical puzzle piece had just fallen into place. She’d seen something like that before. “Catherine… do you… have cancer?” she asked.

Catherine’s face went white. She could see the understanding on Diana’s face. Diana’s sharp, blue eyes missed very little, and her piercing gaze told Catherine it was futile to lie.

“I’m sorry…” Diana said, feeling that she had just discovered something very important. “It’s just that… that looks like a port on your chest. I know it’s rude to pry, but my sister had one when she was going through chemo.”

“Diana… please leave this alone. It’s best if you just forget you even saw that.” Catherine pleaded, clearly rattled.

“But I am right… aren’t I?” Diana pressed. “And you haven’t told anyone?” She knew she was making Catherine uncomfortable, but the detective in her couldn’t let it go.

She’s really good at this, Catherine realized.

“Peter knows,” Catherine admitted, quietly. “And my friend, Jenny.”

“But you’ve lied to Vincent? Why?”

“Because… I don’t want his pity. What would be the point? It would only cause more pain. And we both know there has already been enough of that. Besides, I’m in remission.”

Catherine turned away from the table. As she opened a drawer full of cutlery, she hoped Diana would take her cue that the subject was closed.

Diana, however, wasn’t ready to drop it. “If Vincent had known you were ill, he would never have chosen me,” Diana said, clearly agitated. “You must know that!”

Catherine swiveled, her eyes flashing. “I don’t know that! And neither do you!”

Catherine paused for a moment to compose herself. She forced herself to speak calmly.  “Diana…Please… I’m asking you to leave it alone,” she pleaded. “Can’t you just accept things the way they are and love him? You’ve won. He did choose you. Please, just let it be.”

“I won,” Diana huffed, repeating the word bitterly. “I’m beginning to feel more and more like I’m a giant booby prize. Do you have any idea what that feels like, Catherine?... To be his second choice… to see how he looks at you, and know he will never look at me like that?”

She stopped and took a breath. “No… I don’t. I hadn’t considered that. I’m sorry, Diana.”

The two women stared at each other momentarily, before Catherine broke the stalemate. “I know he cares for you deeply, Diana. And in time, he will love you like that. You will eventually become his first choice… I know it.”

Both women turned, as they heard footsteps on the veranda. Vincent and Jacob had returned from their walk.

Entering the house, Vincent laughingly said, “Jacob and I could smell that bacon all the way down to the lake.”

“OH MY GOODNESS!” Catherine exclaimed, running to rescue the burning bacon. She quickly removed the frying pan from the stove. She placed as much as she could salvage on a serving platter and carried it to the table.

Laughing nervously, she said, “You’ve arrived just in time, Vincent. Otherwise, we would have had a pan full of charcoal. Why don’t we all sit down and eat before it all gets cold?”

Taking Jacob from Vincent, she put him in his highchair.

Diana stood. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry,” she said. “I think I’m going to just hit the road and try to get back to the city early.”

“You’re leaving?” Vincent asked. “I thought you were staying the weekend.”

Diana could see that he was surprised. At the same time though, she thought she could detect a hint of relief in his voice.

Then, looking at Catherine, Diana could clearly see how frightened Catherine was that she would tell Vincent what she had just discovered.

I need to think about this, she decided. I need to consider what the ramifications would be, for me, if I tell Vincent what I know.

“I can see the two of you have things well in hand,” she said, trying to smile. “And since you don’t really need my help, there are some things I need to take care of in the city.” She rose to leave, feeling the need to get out of there as soon as possible.

Vincent followed her out to the car, and watched, as she put her overnight bag into the back seat.

Diana turned to face Vincent, unsure of what to say. She smiled at him nervously and shook her head. “It seems so strange… to be standing here talking to you… outside… in broad daylight.”

Vincent nodded. “Yes, it feels strange for me too. I like it though. I think I could get used to it.”

She nodded, realizing that he looked even more beautiful in the daylight. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked at his hair shining in the morning sun. Does he even know how beautiful he is? she wondered, looking into eyes that were even more brilliantly blue than she’d ever realized.

“Why are you really leaving, Diana?” Vincent looked back at the house, wondering what had transpired before he had walked in on them. “Did something happen between you and Catherine? Did she ask you to leave?”

“No… no…” Diana said, shaking her head. “Catherine didn’t ask me to leave. She has been... excruciatingly gracious.” She laughed a little. “More gracious than I could ever be, if I were in her shoes.”

She could see the confusion on Vincent’s face.

“Fine…” she finally admitted. “I made a mistake, by coming here. It was a dumb idea. I realize now that coming here didn’t help at all. It just made all of us uncomfortable.” She reached up to put her arms around his neck. “Just go back in there and take care of Jacob. We can talk when you get back, okay, Babe?”

Vincent put his arms around her and kissed her softly on the forehead. “Very well,” he said. “I will see you when I get back.”

Diana got in the car and drove down the gravel driveway without looking back.

Chapter 19

As soon as she returned to the city, Diana headed Below, on the pretext of giving Father a report on how Vincent and Jacob were doing. Father was clearly relieved to hear that Jacob was improving, and that Vincent was safe. He appreciated that Diana had been considerate enough to bring him the news.

As soon as she finished speaking with Father, she sought out Mouse. She suspected he would be nearby. In truth it was Mouse who came looking for her.

“Hi, Diana,” Mouse greeted her, bouncing nervously from one foot to the other. “Saw Vincent? Saw Jacob?” he asked. “Coming back soon?”

“Yes, Mouse. I think they will be coming back soon,” she answered patiently.

“Jacob’s sick? Has chickenpox, like Luke and Katie?”

“Yes, Mouse, Jacob has chickenpox, but he’s getting better.”

“Okay, good. Better than good!” he said, smiling. “Don’t like it when Vincent’s gone… Mouse worries… Father worries… Mouse knows.”

“Mouse,” she said, deciding to get to the point. “Do you think you could help me with something?”

Mouse smiled. “Mouse can help.” Then furrowing his brow, he asked, “Help with what?”

“Vincent once told me about a friend of his, but I’ve never met her. I think her name is… Narcissa. Vincent says she’s… wise.”

Mouse nodded eagerly. “Narcissa… Yes… Mouse knows Narcissa. Lives alone… in the deep chambers… deeper than Mouse. Tell your fortune if you want.”

“Can you take me to her? Or show me where to find her?”

“Diana wants Narcissa? Want to know your fortune?” Mouse asked.

“Not really,” she said. I don’t really know what I want, she admitted to herself. “I just want to ask her something.”

Mouse mulled over her request. “Come to Mouse’s chamber… make you a map.”

True to his word, Mouse drew her a crude map to the deep chambers Narcissa called home.

~~~

A couple of hours later, and several hundred feet deeper into the earth, Diana muttered to herself, as she chalked the wall of the tunnel. “What are you doing, Bennett? I must be crazy, coming down here.”

She recalled the night that Vincent had told her about the eccentric woman who lived in the deep tunnels.

~~~

“Narcissa? Who’s that?” Diana asked.

“She’s one of us,” Vincent said. “She lives alone, below the main tunnels. Some believe she’s a crazy, and superstitious old woman.”

“What do you think?” Diana asked, suspecting that Vincent had a much different opinion.

“She’s eccentric… and blind, but… she sees more than most sighted people do. She’s very wise.”

“What did she tell you?”

Vincent smiled. “She said that the woman with fire in her heart and fire in her hair, would lead me out of the dark… and that I should let her.”

Vincent reached to pull Diana into the circle of his arms. “Thank you, Diana,” he whispered, bending his head to kiss her disheveled red hair. “Thank you for leading me out of the dark.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, unconvinced that she had done any such thing.

~~~

“Welcome, Diana.” The soft voice spoke out of the darkness.

Diana nearly jumped out of her skin, as the woman seemed to appear out of thin air.

“CRIMENY! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” she exclaimed, noting the clouded eyes of the crone.

Narcissa cackled merrily. “Dare ah worse tings dan a crazy, old woman living in de dark places, child. You come all dis way. Some ting weighs heavy on your heart. Come in… come in and sit wit me a while.”

As they entered Narcissa’s chamber, Diana noticed flaming candles on nearly every surface. Why does a blind woman need all these candles? she wondered. She must not be completely blind, she concluded.

“What is it you want from me, child? How can I help you?” Narcissa’s voice was warm and inviting.

Diana was amused at the way the woman spoke. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had addressed her as a child, but coming from the nearly sightless, old hermit, it seemed somehow appropriate.

“Vincent…” Diana began. “He comes to you for advice.” It was more of a statement of fact than a question.

Sit down, child. Sit down,” the woman directed waving her hand in the direction of a rough wooden table.

Diana sat on the nearest chair.

Narcissa smiled as she reached for a jar of dried leaves and poured them into a small pan of simmering water. “Yes, Vin-cent some time come seeking guide-ance. Some-time, we all need a littal help to light da way.

Diana smiled again, at the choice of words. What would a blind woman know about lighting the way? she wondered. And how does she know my name?

Perceiving Diana’s thoughts, Narcissa replied to the young woman as if she had spoken out loud. “A blind woman amuses you?” she asked. “You tink because I am blind, dat I cannot see. Narcissa sees many tings, child. You know about dat, don’t you? Some time… de dark-ness pulls you in… and you see terrible tings as well… tings you wish you could not see.”

Narcissa’s knowledge of her gave Diana the chills. How can she possibly know that? she wondered. Diana was suddenly keenly aware that she was speaking to someone whose intuitive powers were even more sensitive to the people around her than she was. It was a feeling she didn’t care for.

“I don’t know why I came here,” Diana muttered to herself, rising to leave.

“You ah leaving, child? You ah afraid?”

“What would I be afraid of?” Diana asked defensively.

“Afraid Narcissa might tell you some ting,” the old woman replied. “Some ting, maybe you don’t want to hear. Might see tings… you do not want any-one to see.”

“I… I don’t believe in psychics or fortune tellers… so I doubt if you could tell me anything that I might fear,” Diana declared, unconvincingly.

“Den tell me… Tell de crazy, old, blind woman… what you come seeking.”

“Vincent said he spoke to you… a couple of months ago. He said you told him that I would lead him out of the dark, and that he should let me. What did you mean?”

“Ahhh… You come all dis way to ask such a ting?… Narcissa tinks you already know… what dat means.”

Diana felt her heart beginning to sink. Narcissa was right, a part of her already did know the answer.

“I love Vincent. I don’t want to lose him. I guess I was hoping you could help me know what I could do to… to keep him.”

“Losing? Keeping?” Narcissa scoffed. “A man is not some ting to keep or to lose. How could you lose him, child… when he nevah belong to you in da first place?”

“He does belong to me. He chose me,” Diana insisted.

“Is dat so?” Narcissa asked, doubtfully. “Did he choose you, Diana? Or was he blinded to de truth? Maybe you ah… afraid… dat one day soon he will learn de truth. De truth dat Caterine has tried to keep from him. Da truth dat you are keeping from him, now.”

“I didn’t lie… exactly,” Diana, said, lamely.

“Den what, child?’

Diana felt as if Narcissa’s clouded eyes were boring into her soul.

“I just haven’t told him… everything I know… yet,” she confessed.

“Ahhh… de lie… of omission… You justify deception…because you merely wit-held de truth.” Narcissa nodded, knowingly.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Diana argued, defending her actions. “Catherine didn’t fight for him. She wants me to have him. He chose me. He is mine.”

“Ahhhh… If you truly believe dat, child, dare would be no fear… in your heart. You would not have come here… seeking me. I ask you again, what is it you want from me?”

“Is there something you can tell me about Vincent… something I can say…” Diana asked, desperately, “…something I can do to make him forget her… to break whatever tie there is that binds him to her?”

Narcissa breathed in sharply and her sightless eyes widened noticeably. “Ahhh…” she said. “First you have deceived him. Now you wish to take his free-dom? Dis is not love… Diana. You must look into your own heart, child… and ask yourself if dis is what you truly want. To take da free will of another is… eevil… A love dat is not freely give-enn… is no kind of love…”

Narcissa leaned very close to Diana, attempting to see deep into her eyes.

“Soonah or lay-tah, it will twist itself… into… hatred… Dis path will lead only to darkness and pain… for everyone. You do not want to dabble in dis darkness, child. You will blight your own soul. You will lose yourself forevah.”

“But… I don’t want to lose him,” she admitted, with an aching heart.

Narcissa reached out and took Diana’s hand in both of hers. Her voice was full of compassion as she spoke. “Your heart is good, Diana. It was you who saved Vin-cent… and da baby, when no one else could. But Vin-cent was nevah yours to lose, child. You cannot have what is not yours… no mattah how badly you may want it.”

Diana withdrew her hand from Narcissa’s. She closed her eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of her nose. The old woman’s words only confirmed the truth Diana already knew. “Then what am I supposed to do?” Diana asked.

“Da truth shall set you free, child… You alone… have de powah to set dem both free from dis pain. You alone can lead dem out of de dark. Vin-cent and Caterine are bound to each uddah.”

“Because of their child?” Diana asked.

“No…” Narcissa shook her head. “Da baby got nuttin’ to do wid it. Dey ah soulmates. Been bound to each uddah since before dey were born. Dey have always loved each uddah. Dey have traveled through eternity toogethah. Dey have spent deire lives… searching… for each uddah.”

“Does everyone have a soulmate?” Diana asked, hoping that if she couldn’t have Vincent, perhaps there was still someone out there for her.

“No… de love dey share… is very rare indeed. Da path of de soulmates is a painful one. Dey must pass through much sorrow, and show great courage to ever find one anuddah… and de joy dey seek. But Vin-cent and Caterine… dey have de strength… Dey have de courage… You cannot stop dem from finding da way… any more dan you can stop de sun from rising… in da east. You must help dem to find de way. You must lead dem out of de dark. Soonah or laytah, de truth always finds a way, child… it will be bettah if it finds its way trew you. It would be best if you reveal de truth to him yourself… or help him to see de truth for himself.”

“What truth?” Diana asked. “Do you mean the truth about Catherine… about her illness?”

“De truth dat is in da lettahs.”

“The letters? What letters?” Diana asked.

“De lettahs… you have kept hidden… in de darkness.”

Diana felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, as she realized what Narcissa was talking about. She can’t possibly know about those letters, she told herself. I’ve never told another living soul about them.

“Dey weigh heavy on your soul, child,” Narcissa said, as if reading Diana’s thoughts. “Bring dem into da light... and your heart will be at peace.”

Diana stood. She couldn’t bear to hear any more. “Thank you Narcissa, for your advice,” she said stiffly.

“Ahhh… You are most welcome, child.”

“Can you do me a favor?” Diana asked.

“What is it, Narcissa can do for you?” Narcissa asked, sympathetically.

“Could you keep this… just between us? Vincent doesn’t need to know that we have spoken.”

“He will not hear it from me, child. I promise you.

Diana turned without another word and ran from the chamber, and back to the world Above.

Chapter 20

Two days later, Peter declared that baby Jacob was well enough to come home. He was still covered with red spots, but it was clear that the worst was over, and Jacob was on the mend.

Not long after sunset, a suitcase, a duffle bag, a diaper bag, and a blue bouncy ball sat next to the front door of Catherine’s Connecticut house.

“That’s everything,” Catherine said. “Mrs. Callahan will come over tomorrow, after we’ve gone, and close up the house.”

“What time are we going to leave?” Vincent asked.

“I’m thinking around one a.m. That way there won’t be many people out on the road, and we will get back to the city, well before sunrise.”

He looked over at the impressive grandfather clock in the entryway. “It’s after eight o’clock. What do you suggest we do for the next five hours?”

Catherine hesitated. “I have an idea,” she said. It was a remnant of an old dream, and she was unsure if she should bring it up.

“Tell me, Catherine,” Vincent said, encouraging her.

“I thought… maybe… I could show you my secret glen. The one I used to go to when I was a girl. It’ll be dark soon. We could take some blankets, and stargaze there, until Jacob falls asleep. Then we could just rest until it’s time to go.”

Vincent smiled, remembering how much it had meant to her, once upon a time, to share that place with him. “If that is what you wish, then we should go there.”

It was a few minutes before Catherine had stuffed some blankets, two bottles of baby formula, a diaper, and a bag of Cheerios into a large canvas beach bag. “I’m ready,” she said, returning to the living room.

Jacob could feel that something was happening, and bounced excitedly in his father’s arms. “Lead on, Catherine,” Vincent said, catching a little bit of Jacob’s excitement.

The little band headed for the woods behind the house. Vincent and Jacob followed, as Catherine led them in the opposite direction of the lake. They had trekked for only about fifteen minutes through the dense trees, when Catherine stopped.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Are we lost?”

She turned to him and smiled, a light gleaming in her eyes. It was a light Vincent had not seen for a very long time. She almost seemed to glow with excitement. “We’re here,” she whispered, simply.

As they stepped out of the tree line, he could see that they were standing in a clearing at the top of a gently sloping hill. It was one side of a little valley, surrounded by dense trees and underbrush on either side. A stream babbled at the bottom of the little valley, as it ran in the direction of the lake. Both sides of the small valley were covered with wildflowers of all kinds that grew a little higher than their knees.

There was a reverence about the place, so profound that even Jacob looked on, in silence.

Catherine reached into the bag, pulled out a large, faded quilt, and spread it on the ground. Sitting on it, she beckoned Vincent and Jacob to join her.

“Won’t we damage the flowers?” Vincent asked, in a hushed tone, reluctant to sit down and crush the plants beneath him.

Catherine laughed, softly. “Wildflowers are tough, Vincent. By tomorrow afternoon, no one will be able to tell we were ever here.”

He sat on the opposite side of the blanket, reclining on one elbow, while Jacob played happily between them. They were content to watch the darkness deepen in the night sky and listen to the forest sounds. There was no need for conversation.

After about thirty minutes, they heard the distinct sound of heavy footsteps coming toward them. Vincent sat up straight, poised to run if necessary. Feeling his fear, Catherine sat up and silently reached out to take his hand.

Instantly calmed by her touch, he looked at her, questioning what she had just done. Without letting go of him, she silently pointed with the other hand, in the direction of the stream.

The buck and doe he had seen drinking at the lake only a few nights before, were standing only a few feet away, grazing happily on wildflowers. Presently, a fawn appeared directly in front of them. Its big brown eyes looked curiously at the small human in front of him. Jacob tilted his head to one side, equally curious about the creature that was almost close enough to touch. The fawn stepped toward Jacob, and licked his outstretched hand, tickling his tiny fingers, and making the child giggle.

The buck’s large ears perked up at the sound of Jacob’s laughter. Both the buck and the doe stood alert, and ready to run. Jacob leaned on Catherine and stood up on wobbly legs in the middle of the blanket. Both parents held their breath, as they watched Jacob take two steps toward the fawn, before the fawn retreated, and the hoofed trio trotted off together into the trees.

Catherine laughed in delight, breaking the hushed silence. “That was wonderful!” she exclaimed.

Vincent laughed, and scooped Jacob into his arms. “Catherine, did our son just take his first steps?”

Catherine nodded. “That’s certainly what it looked like to me.”

His heart skipped a beat. She was glowing with joy in a way he hadn’t seen since her return to New York.

“Eleven months old and he’s already walking.” Vincent said, still laughing. “I’ll need to make some changes to my chamber.”

“Eleven months, one week, and two days,” Catherine corrected. Then directing her attention to Jacob, she asked. “What did you do, Jacob? Did you just walk?”

Vincent looked curiously at Catherine. What does it mean? he wondered.  How is it that she knows his exact age… to the day? I don’t even know that. He watched as she laughed with her son and kissed his pock-spotted cheek.

Jacob clapped his hands and pointed in the direction of the deer.

“You made a friend, didn’t you?” Vincent asked.

Jacob turned to his father, and said a string of gibberish that only he seemed to understand.

Vincent nodded, and replied, “Yes… I know. Yes, it was very exciting, wasn’t it?”

Looking at Vincent curiously, Catherine asked, “Did you understand what he just said?”

Shaking his head, Vincent confided, “Not a word… but it seemed important to Jacob that he be understood.”

Catherine looked at him with wonder.

The smile faded from Vincent’s face. “What is it?”

“You’re a wonderful father, Vincent,” she said softly.

Vincent’s ears heard and understood her clearly. She’d said, ‘You’re a wonderful father, Vincent,’ but what his heart heard loud and clear, was, ‘I love you, Vincent.’ There was no mistaking it.

“You’re a wonderful mother, too, Catherine,” he replied softly.

She sighed, when he whispered her name. Will I ever stop loving the way he says my name? she wondered.

Looking at Jacob, she could see he was beginning to pull on his ear and rub his nose. She reached into the bag for his bottle. “Come here, little man,” she said, cuddling him in her arms. “It’s past your bedtime.”

“Would you like to go back to the house?” Vincent asked.

“No. Not yet,” she answered, not ready to leave this magical place. “He can sleep here for a little while… while we watch the stars.”

Catherine held Jacob in her arms, while he drank from his bottle. All around them crickets played their evening love songs, while Vincent began to point out the constellations in the ever-darkening sky.

“There is Cassiopeia,” he whispered, pointing to the heavens. “Those five brilliant stars in the shape of a W. Ptolemy named the constellation after the vain queen, because she always shines brighter than any of the others.”

Catherine looked up to the stars. “The stars are so much more interesting when you tell me about them,” she said softly.

“Did you know that Cassiopeia is visible in the Northern Hemisphere all year round?”

“No… I didn’t know that.” Catherine studied his face as he looked to the sky. She could see he was a million miles away.

“Devin and I used to go to the Mirror Pool and look up at these stars,” he said. “We would pretend we were floating down the Mississippi River on a grand adventure.”

Catherine looked up at the bright stars, swept up by the dreamlike quality of his voice.

“After he left, I would go there and watch for her on clear nights, and imagine that Devin was out there… somewhere, looking up at those same stars and thinking about me.”

Vincent’s voice faded, as the full moon began to rise above the tree line, on the horizon. Both Catherine and Vincent watched, as the bright glowing orb slowly climbed higher, in the sky above them.

Vincent gazed at Catherine, to discover that she was weeping silently, never taking her eyes off the sky.

“Catherine?” he asked with great concern.

Without turning her gaze from the heavens, she smiled through her tears and asked, “Have you ever… looked up there… and felt… as if all of Heaven was smiling down on you?”

“Like right now?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of her, glowing there, in the moonlight.

“Yes,” she whispered. “This is one of the most perfect moments I have ever known.”

“But Catherine you’re… crying.”

Still smiling through the tears, she said, “My mother told me once, that sometimes your heart gets so full, that it overflows, and comes out as tears.” She gently laid a sleeping Jacob on the blanket next to her and curled her body protectively around him, using her arm for a pillow. “Will you tell me more about the constellations?”

His heart swelled within him, and he was filled with an unshakable confirmation that he was sharing this perfect moment with the right woman… the only woman he would ever love.

Turning his gaze again skyward, he continued. “Lyra is almost directly above us in the sky, this time of the year. It’s not as easy to spot tonight because of the full moon… Lyra is the magical lyre Orpheus played. It was a gift from his father, Apollo. It could quell the song of a siren. It could charm a god…”

He spoke about the stars for several minutes, before looking down to see that both Catherine and Jacob were sound asleep. He reached into Catherine’s bag and found another blanket. He covered them carefully, so he wouldn’t wake them. “Sleep, Catherine. You’re safe here. I’ll watch over you,” he promised.

What am I going to do now? he wondered, as he looked up at the stars. Now that I am with Diana? She deserves to be loved the way I love Catherine, but how can I tell her that that is something I can never give her, without hurting her deeply? And if I break off my relationship with Diana… will Catherine ever be able to forgive me for what I’ve done?

Hours later, Catherine opened her eyes and sat up, dazed and confused. Vincent was lying beside them, still watching the stars. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Judging by the moon, I would say around midnight,” he replied.

“Have you been awake all this time?” she asked.

“Yes, I was watching over the two of you.”

“I’m sorry, Vincent, I… I didn’t mean to—”

“There is no need to apologize, Catherine,” he whispered. “You have had a difficult week. It’s good that you slept. You are the one who will be driving us back to the city. At any rate, I had the moon and the constellations to keep me company,” he said, smiling.

She looked up to the stars just in time to see a streak of light shoot across the sky. “Did you just see that?” she asked Vincent, in hushed excitement.

“A shooting star. Did you make a wish?”

“No,” she said, in such a hushed voice he barely heard her.

“Why not?” he asked, feeling her sadness settle over them both.

She looked up at the spot where they had seen the star, and sighed. “I’ve stopped believing in dreams and wishes. I’ve learned to just accept what is.”

Before he could reply, she said, “It’s nearly time for us go.” She stood up and looked around. “If you’ll carry Jacob, I’ll gather everything up.”

Vincent lifted Jacob gently, hoping not to wake him.

As they reached the tree line, Catherine turned back and looked at the spot in the wildflowers where they had lain.

“Did you forget something?” Vincent asked.

“No,” she replied. “I’m just trying to remember everything about this night.”

He waited, not sure what she meant.

“Whatever happens… whatever comes…” she said, softly, as if she was speaking only to herself. “…this place… this night… will always belong to us.”

As she spoke, Vincent felt a cold shadow pass over his heart. As he opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, Jacob rose up in his arms and said, “Moo!” pointing directly at the sky above his head. “Na, na, moo,” he said, blowing a kiss to the sky.

Catherine wiped a tear from her cheek, turned, and led the way back to the house.

Chapter 21

Catherine had been extremely busy her first day back at work. There was a lot of catching up to do. Marilyn had finally kicked her out of the shelter and sent her home, otherwise, she would have probably worked through the night. It was after dark when the taxi dropped her off.

Fumbling in her purse for her house keys, she walked up the steps to the door, nearly tripping over a potted plant that had not been there when she’d left that morning.

Catherine looked down, mildly irritated that someone had left something directly in her path, only to gasp when she realized what it was. There before her was a gorgeous rose bush, covered with stunning red and white blooms. It reminded her of a very special bush she had had a lifetime ago.

Reaching for a note that was nestled in the blooms, she read.

Dear Catherine,

I believe this rose bush belongs to you. I found it on the balcony of your apartment during the investigation. I should have given it back as soon as you returned to New York. I had not right to keep something that didn’t belong to me, especially when I knew how much it meant to you.

I hope you can forgive me.

Sincerely, Diana Bennett

A single tear fell on a ruby red blossom, as Catherine inhaled its sweet perfume.

In another time, she thought… in different circumstances, Diana, I think we might have been great friends.

~~~

Vincent hurried back to the main Tunnels from his work detail in the new lower chambers. He’d been home for nearly two days, but had been too busy catching up on his duties Below to meet with Diana. He’d resolved to go to her before another day had passed. He could no longer postpone the difficult conversation he needed to have with her.

During the nine days he’d spent in Connecticut, one thing had become painfully clear. Vincent now knew he’d made a terrible mistake. He’d come to the conclusion that when Catherine had rebuffed his advances and given up on their dream, he had been too quick to let her go.

I should have waited, he now realized. I should have been patient with her. I should have kept our dream safe, the way Catherine did so many times, for me. Instead, I betrayed her, and our dream. And now, the only way I can hope to fix it, is to betray Diana.

How can I tell Diana that there is no hope for us? That there will only ever be one woman in my heart, and that I have nothing to offer her? Diana deserves to be loved the way I love Catherine, and that is something I can never give her.

Vincent had just entered his chambers after a quick bath, when he saw it. On his writing table was a shoebox, tied with string.

Vincent walked out of his chamber and looked up and down the tunnel, hoping he could see who had left it. The tunnel was deserted, except for a large spider who had set up housekeeping on the ceiling above his chamber entrance. He shuddered at the sight of it.

Returning inside, Vincent sat at the table untied the string on the box. Lifting the lid, there was a folded, four-page letter. He immediately recognized Diana’s script. Beneath Diana’s epistle was a stack of envelopes, neatly tied, with white satin ribbon. The faint scent that rose from them told him they were Catherine’s and not Diana’s.

A sudden gust blew through his chamber, sputtering the flames of the large candles on the table. In the wind he could swear he heard Narcissa’s voice whisper, De truth is in da lettahs.

Vincent unfolded Diana’s letter and began to read.

Dear Vincent,

By the time you read this letter, I’ll be gone. Please don’t try to find me. I’ve been offered a job in another city. I’ll be training a team of special crimes investigators to do what I do… to think like I do. I know that sounds frightening, but if you’re going to catch the worst criminals, you have to learn to think like them. It’s an incredible opportunity. I’ll be the boss. I’d be crazy to pass it up.

I’m writing this letter to you, because I’m a coward. I’m afraid that if I see you, I’ll lose the will to say what I need to say, and to do what I need to do.

If I thought you loved me, I would have consulted you about this decision, but I already know the truth. And honestly, I couldn’t stand it if you said something kind, like you care deeply for me, or worse, that you are ‘grateful for all I have done for you. We both know that caring and gratitude are piss-poor substitutes for love.

Even I know we both deserve better than that.

Please don’t waste any time or energy being sorry that you couldn’t love me the way you love Catherine. I always knew that you only chose me because she rejected you. I don’t blame you. Really, I don’t. You told me from the beginning that you would always love her, but I foolishly thought after she rejected you, that that would change, and that you would eventually begin to love me.

Who knows? Maybe if Catherine had really died, you could have. Perhaps, in time, you would have been able to bury your love for her.

But Catherine didn’t die, she’s alive, and she’s in your life, and you still love her.

I see it in your face every time you look at her. I know how guilty you feel after we… after we’ve been together. I know you think about her, and wish you were with her.

And then you feel guilty about that too, don’t you?

Yes, I know that too. That’s the curse of reading people for a living, I guess.

Before I leave, there are some things I need to tell you. Things about Catherine. Things I think you should know, because you deserve to know the truth.

During the investigation I searched Catherine’s apartment, looking for clues or anything that might lead me to her killer. I discovered these letters tucked under the false bottom of a drawer in her vanity. She hid them well. The police had already searched her apartment, multiple times, but they missed these. Each envelope bore the name ‘Vincent’, the same name that was in the book of poetry Joe found among her belongings. I thought they might be important, so I took them.

I read them, hoping they might give me some clue about her life … or lead me to her killer. But they didn’t lead me to her killer. They led me to you. They told me things about you, things that helped me know who you were, what you were, and eventually where I might find you.

In these letters, Catherine lays her soul bare. She tells you everything… everything she was afraid to say to you in person: How beautiful you are… how gentle… how deeply she loves you… her hopes for the future… her fears of losing you.

In these letters, she is asking you to tell her that you love her too… to give her some sign… that you might have a future together.

I know you loved her, Vincent, and yet you didn’t tell her. Why not?

I fell in love with you through these letters. I could see you so clearly through Catherine’s eyes. And you are so beautiful in her eyes. As I read Catherine’s letters, she made me believe in a kind of love that I never even knew existed, except in fairy tales. I became obsessed with finding you, hoping that maybe I could find a love like that for myself. After all, I figured, Catherine Chandler was dead, she didn’t need your love anymore. I stupidly thought that if I could find you, I could fill that void for you. And perhaps you could fill a void for me.

I fell in love with the idea of you before I ever met you, Vincent, because of these beautiful letters.

I realize now, I had no right to keep them. They were addressed to you. They belonged to you. I should have given them to you as soon as I met you. I hope you can forgive me for keeping them. I know it was wrong, but I was afraid that if I gave them to you, there would never be a chance that you would love me the way you loved her.

It sounds pretty stupid in retrospect, doesn’t it?

If you want to know the truth, Catherine’s truth, it’s in these letters

You should also know that she’s lying to you. She’s been lying to you since the moment she returned to New York.

You’re probably wondering how I know that. It’s because I’m a seeker of truth. That is what I do. That is who I am. I can’t help myself.

There are some things I’ve observed about Catherine that tell me she’s hiding things from you.

You’ve told me your bond with her was broken when you were ill.

But what about her bond with you? Did you ever ask her if that was broken?

When we were watching her from behind the trees the other night, there was a moment when she stopped dancing and looked in our direction. It was as if she knew we were out there, even though we both know she couldn’t possibly have seen us, or known we were there.

Think back, Vincent. Have there been other times when she seemed to know what you were feeling, or what you were thinking? If she does have a bond with you, why would she keep something like that a secret, especially from you?

I believe she’s lying about other things too. I confronted her not long after she rejected you. I accused her of lying to her face. She didn’t deny it. She just insisted that she only lies for one reason, and one reason only. I believe you know what that reason is.

Catherine only lies to protect the people she loves. She lies to protect you, Vincent, doesn’t she?

So, if she is lying to you now, you need to ask yourself: What is it that she believes she’s protecting you from?

Is that why you never told her how much you loved her? Were you trying to protect her, too?

You always told me Catherine was a woman of noble character. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. In my experience, with the exception of you, nobody has a noble character. But if what I suspect is true, Catherine put the needs of you and every single person she loves ahead of her own. She sacrificed everything, to the point of nearly giving up her own life. If that’s true, then you were right, she is noble.

Not even I would do that.

You once told me you felt that if she knew how deeply you loved her, she would be tied to you. You wanted her to have a normal life with a normal man who could give her the things she deserved. Things like children, and a family, and a life in the sunshine.

Don’t you think she deserves to be in on that choice?

Do you even realize you have given her all those things?

You gave her Jacob. Who’s to say you can’t give her more children?

You shared your Tunnel family with her, and she now considers your Tunnel family as hers.

And now that you know you can go safely to her house in Connecticut, the two of you can have that life in the sunshine, at least to some degree.

And as far as you being a normal man… Well, I can tell you, Vincent, you are normal. You are very, very normal.

I don’t regret that I have had you in my life these last months. But I realize now, that there is no future for you and me. Not the future I want anyway. And I can’t sit on the sidelines and be your “friend.” I’m sorry, but I just can’t. Like I said, I’m not that noble.

Please know, I don’t blame you. I once told you I’m the boss of my life and that I make my own decisions. So that’s what I’ve done.

I underestimated the depth of the love you have for Catherine. When she didn’t fight for you, I thought maybe I had a chance. After all, she practically handed you over on her Royal Doulton China.

What I realize now, is that when she pushed you into my arms, she was fighting for you, even then. By giving you to me, she believed she was protecting you, from something. She was doing what she thought was best.

For some reason, she believed that you’d be better off with me than you were with her. So, she sacrificed herself, and her own dreams of a life with you and Jacob. I believe I know why. But that is something the two of you are going to have to hash out between you. What I realize now is, I can’t have something that isn’t mine, no matter how much I want it. And your heart has always… and will always… belong to Catherine.

If you want to know the truth… Catherine’s truth, you need to read these letters.

THE TRUTH IS IN THE LETTERS!

I know now that you and I were never meant to be.

I will never forget you, Diana

Chapter 22

With shaking hands, Vincent reached for the stack of letters and instinctively lifted them to his face. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, the faint scent that he always associated with Catherine. There was no doubt that the letters were from her.

He untied the white satin ribbon that bound the first bundle and began to read.

April 23, 1987

Dear Vincent,

They finally let me leave the hospital today. Daddy wanted me to come home and stay with him, but I said “No.” I can’t be ‘Daddy’s little girl forever. I will have to face my life eventually. I suppose it’s about time that I did.

Anyway, I need to be alone. I need to think about everything that’s happened to me. And I need to make sure I keep my promise to you.

It’s hard not telling my father where I’ve been. I can see how worried he is, but I can’t take the chance.

I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours in the hospital being poked and prodded and x-rayed by doctors … questioned by the police … and hounded by journalists and photographers.

My father tried to keep it from me, but a horrible picture of my slashed face was on the front page of this morning’s paper.

I told the police I don’t remember much about what happened to me or where I was for those ten days. I’m not sure if they believed me or not.

You don’t need to worry, Vincent, I intend to keep my promise. Your secret is safe with me. I would never betray your trust. I owe you at least that much … and so much more that I’m not sure I can ever repay.

Was it only yesterday that you brought me home? It feels like it was much longer. It’s so strange, that word … ‘Home.’ It doesn’t feel like my home. It’s true that this is my apartment, and I do live here, but something’s different, something doesn’t seem to fit.

I feel as if I am trespassing in someone else’s domain, touching someone else’s things, insinuating myself into someone else’s life. It feels like it doesn’t belong to me anymore … or rather … I feel that somehow … I no longer belong to it.

Something has happened to me, Vincent, something I can’t explain. Two weeks ago my biggest worry was if I had a dress to wear to Tom’s party and whether or not I should buy a new pair of shoes to match. The Catherine Chandler who walked out of the door twelve days ago to go to that party isn’t here anymore. She just seems like someone I used to know a long time ago, someone I’m not even sure I want to know now. I find myself wondering if she ever really existed in the first place … or was she just an illusion?

Will the real Catherine Chandler please stand up…?

What can I say to you, Vincent? I’m not sure there are adequate words to express to you how grateful I am for all you have done for me.  Not just for saving my life, but for making me feel so safe throughout my ordeal. You surrounded me with your presence and comforted me with your gentle voice. You kept the fear at bay so that I could heal. Now that you’re not with me I can feel it pressing in on me.

I have never felt as alone as I did in those moments after you left me standing there. I was so afraid to come back here. I was afraid that I couldn’t do it. If I close my eyes, I can see your face, I can hear your voice telling me that I can do this, that I have the strength. I’m still not sure that I do. But what choice do I have?

I have never felt someone else’s faith in me the way I feel yours… not even my father’s. It’s almost as if you are here with me in spirit somehow. I can hear you whispering the words to me. They give me strength.

I’m going to have a consultation with the plastic surgeon tomorrow. My father has managed to find the best one in the state. It usually takes months to get an appointment. I wonder how much it cost Daddy to have the doctor clear his schedule for me?

He wants his princess to be as good as new again, and money is no object. I wonder why I have such mixed feelings about that?

For some reason instead of feeling his love for me, it makes me feel as if I’m damaged goods that must be repaired and made showroom new at any cost. It’s amazing what money can buy in this world. A new dress … a new face … and all will be well again.

And yet I wonder … I say “wonder” because I lack the courage to ask him … if Daddy would still love me the same as ever if I can’t be fixed? Can he love me if my face is permanently marred? Or will I always see the pain and disappointment in his eyes when he looks at my face and can only see these horrible scars?

As I write, I am sitting at my vanity looking in the mirror and wondering if I could even love myself … Will I ever be able to look in a mirror again without cringing at the woman looking back at me?

Vincent, you said that what I have endured will make me stronger. Do you really believe that’s true? I certainly don’t feel very strong.

I have always been aware of my beauty and have learned to use it for many things. That and my father’s money. They are both currencies that have opened many doors for me.

As I sit here and look at myself in the mirror, I keep wondering … Is this really all that I am? Is this really all that I’m worth? Is my beauty where my true value lies? And if it is, then what am I worth now … now that it’s gone?

You didn’t care about that, did you, Vincent? You treated me as if I was the most valuable person you knew … and yet you didn’t know me. You would have treated me the same, no matter what I looked like … no matter how much money I had. I’m sure of that. I don’t know anyone, at least not in my world, who would have done that … not even me.

I cringe to even admit that. I’ve never been ashamed of it before now. For the first time in my life I am suddenly, painfully aware of how shallow and selfish I am.

How strange that having my eyes bandaged for ten days has made me see more clearly than ever before that there are things … important things … valuable things that I sorely lack … qualities that no amount of money or beauty can acquire for me. It makes me want to be better than I am.

You make me want to be better than I am.

I’m sorry that we weren’t able to finish reading the last chapter of Great Expectations, Vincent…And yet, in a way I suppose I’m not sorry. It gives me hope that perhaps someday our paths may cross again and we will be able to finish reading the book together.

I hope that somehow you can feel how grateful I am for all that you and Father and Mary did for me.

I don’t know why I wrote this letter. I have no way of getting it to you. I’m not sure I would send it to you if I could.

Even if I never see you again, Vincent, I will always remember you. You have changed me. You have taught me a definition of beauty that I never understood before. You have opened my eyes to a way of seeing, a way of being, that I never knew before.

I have had what I thought were significant relationships in my life, with men I once considered to be important and successful. Somehow they all seem small and insignificant now when I compare them to you.

I will treasure the memory of your gentleness, your kindness, and your generosity. I will try to live up to your faith in me, Vincent.

I will try to be strong … for you.

Be Well, Vincent.

Always,

Catherine

Vincent was shocked to discover that Catherine had been writing to him since the very beginning. The first letter was written only one day after he had returned her to her threshold for the first time. As he read the next several letters, he realized they were evidence that during all those months, she had not forgotten him… as he had believed for so long. In fact, these letters were proof that she had thought of him often, even drew strength from him during the long months they were apart as she expressed her deepest fears, her self-doubts, and her sorrows as she struggled to come to terms with what had happened to her.

At length, he came to the letters she wrote after he had finally come back into her life.

Dear Vincent,

What can I say to you? How can I ever express to you my thanks for what you have done for me… again? When we parted last night, you said I owe you nothing, but you were so wrong. I owe you everything, Vincent.

EVERYTHING!

How did you know? How did you find me? When you told me you could feel what I feel, I didn’t understand what you meant. But it must be true. How else could you have come to me when I needed your help so desperately? What does it mean… that we are connected in this way?

So many times, in the past several months, I thought I must be going crazy when I would hear your voice in my head telling me that I was strong, telling me not to be afraid, telling me that I was safe. Now I wonder, was that really you? Have you been keeping watch over me all this time?

You saved my life again. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for what you’ve done for me.

Catherine

As he read, Vincent was shocked to realize that The Bond they shared had always been with her. He knew there had been a few times when TheBond had been reciprocal, but her letters revealed that it had always been much stronger for her than he’d ever realized.

As he recalled that day, the first time she had seen him lose himself to the violent darkness that lived within, and his shame when he realized that she now knew what he was. He recalled how she had taken his bloody hands in hers and led him back to the safety of his Tunnel world.  Her courage had humbled him, and her complete trust and acceptance had healed him.

He remembered her words as they parted, “I owe you everything… everything.”

“You owe me nothing,” he had replied.

Did she ever realize how much she had already given me? he wondered. Did I ever tell her?

Then he recalled her recent observation…

“…For whatever reason, there were things… important things… we were too afraid say to each other… things we were afraid to ask each other. There were so many things I wanted to say to you, Vincent… things that I was too afraid to say… things I wish now… that I had.”

Looking at the letters, he realized that these letters contained the very things she had been referring to. She had shared those things in these letters.

But why didn’t she ever give them to me? he wondered.

Dear Vincent,[3]

I was so frightened for you tonight… so afraid that you would be killed because of my recklessness, my stupidity. What the Silks did to you, I can’t even bear to think about it. It’s hard for me to believe there is such evil in this world, that there are actually people who seem to find joy in harming those who are weaker or different than themselves. And yet the things I have experienced in the last year should convince me otherwise. I still want to believe that there is good in my world, but there are times, like tonight, Vincent, when the ugliness of my world overwhelms me.

They treated you like an animal. But even an animal doesn’t deserve to be treated the way they treated you. Don’t believe them, Vincent! Don’t ever believe them! You are not an animal. You are a man! You are the very best man I have ever known.

If they had killed you, I don’t think I could have ever forgiven myself. I’m not sure, even now, that I can.

I knew you weren’t dead, I could feel it. And I knew I would feel it if you were. But I felt so helpless, so powerless to help you. I wanted so desperately to find you and lead you back home to safety. I was frantic with worry, because even though I could feel you, I couldn’t find you.

Forgive me, Vincent, for putting you in danger. I didn’t mean to. Please believe that.

Tonight, I told Father that I care for you more than I care for anyone else in my life. I didn’t fully realize it until the moment I said it to him. It’s true, Vincent, I do care for you more than anyone or anything else in my life. But what does that mean for us? Is there any possibility of a future for us? Do you feel the same way about me? I ache for you in a way I have never known before.

I know we have only known each other for a short time, but somehow, I feel as if I have always known you, have always been connected to you… that somehow our paths were meant to cross and we were meant to find each other. I don’t know what these feelings mean or what future might be possible for you and me. What I do know is that you have opened my eyes and my heart to things I never thought possible, and I know that my life is better because you are in it. I am a better person, because you are in it.

Please be well, Vincent. And please… please forgive me.

Always,

Catherine

Vincent, back tracked and read her words again.

You are a man! You are the very best man I have ever known.

Her words resonated within him. He read them again.  How did she know? he wondered. How did she know that I was a man, when I didn’t even know that, myself?

He reached for another letter, eager to find out what else she had withheld from him.

Dear Vincent,[4]

It’s been so long since I ‘ve seen you. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been worried that something I said, something did, or didn’t do, has made you feel the need to distance yourself from me. I’m still so ashamed of the way I acted while under Professor Ross’s influence. Mortified is a more appropriate description. I know I must have hurt you deeply. I hope you know that I don’t really feel that way… that the cruel things I said weren’t true.

I know it’s only been a few months since you began coming to my balcony, but I find myself looking forward to the end of each day, longing for the darkness. I come home every night, hoping against

hope that you might be out there on my balcony, waiting for me, hoping that you might need me for something, anything. Wishing you might give me a chance to help you, or do something to repay, in some small way, all that you have done for me. I want to make up for the way I let you and Laura down, when you were depending on me to protect her.

Thank you, for trusting me again… for trusting me enough to ask for my help. I hope you are mistaken about Ridley Hall. I hate to think that anyone is harming defenseless children or exploiting them in some way.

I promise you, Vincent, I will find the truth. I will not let you down again.

When I found your note on my balcony tonight, I rushed to meet you with wings on my feet! Then I saw you there, standing in the shadows as if you were reluctant to be near me, and I was worried again. When you finally spoke, your words were so heartfelt… so true… apparently for both of us. Our hearts, our souls are drawn to each other, Vincent… needing each other… Whenever we meet it truly is with both happiness and pain.

What will we do?

You say we must endure the pain and savour every moment of the joy. But what if we find we can’t endure the pain? What if we aren’t strong enough? What if I’m not strong enough? When you are away from me, all I can do is think of you. And when we are together, I wonder how we can ever move forward. I don’t know what will happen. What I do know is that I only feel complete when I am near you.

I know you believe that we are dreaming of a life that can never be. You have made that very clear. But how do you know that, Vincent? How do you know?

How will we ever know, if we don’t even try?

Catherine

PS: I wish I had the courage to send these letters to you… to tell you the deepest feelings in my heart, but something in me is afraid, Vincent… afraid that if you had any inkling of how deeply I feel for you, you would turn me away and I would never see you again. I couldn’t bear that. So, I write these letters, and hope that someday I will find the courage to tell you these things in person… that one day, you will be able to hear them.

Dear Vincent,[5]

How can I ever thank you for believing in me… for trusting me to help you after the times I have hurt you and let you down?

When I lost Eric and Ellie, I was so distraught, so sure that I had done more harm than good. I was so afraid I had failed you again. I was even more distraught that I had failed them, that they might be hurt because of me. But you never gave up on me. You wouldn’t let me give up on myself. You gave me the courage to keep going. Your confidence in me, made me realize that I couldn’t give up on them. I want so badly to live up to the image you have of me.

I never could have imagined that people who were supposed to be advocates for children would exploit them in such a cruel and unimaginable way. How can such evil exist in this world? They will pay for what they have done. But what about the children? Will they be safe?

Or will they just fall prey to some other unscrupulous people who would exploit them? I wish they could all find a safe place to be, like Ellie and Eric. Is that asking too much? Am I a naive idealist?

Thank you, Vincent, for showing me time and time again that I can do some good in this world… that there are things in this world that are worth fighting for. I know you see my world as one that is separate from yours, and in many ways it is. But what you did, what we did, together, changed the lives of children in this world… the world Above. In this instance you reached out and became, if only for a moment, a part of my world, a force for good in my world, and our worlds became one.

That is what you did the night you saved me. And because you saved me, we were able to save Ellie, and Eric, and even a few more.

What you did for me, Vincent, is sending ripples of goodness through both of our worlds. Maybe that is all it takes for us to make a difference in this world, even if only a little.

It gives me hope that maybe one day there will be a place for you in my world after all.

I went on a date with an old friend this week. The Friends of the Museum Benefit. It was lovely. But all evening, all I could do was think of you.

You tell me to find someone, Vincent, someone to love, someone to be a part of. But how can I do that, when every man I know, every man

I meet, pales in comparison to you? The world I live in, the world I used to be so much a part of, feels so foreign, so shallow to me now.

I don’t want to find anyone else to love or to be a part of.  I want you, Vincent! I want you in my life. Can’t you feel that you are already in my heart?

One day, I will have the courage to tell you how much.

I meant what I told you tonight: I have been all over the world. I’ve met people and done things. I’ve lived in luxury most people could never imagine. But I have never felt as complete as I did tonight… as I do when I am with you. You complete me, Vincent. I hope my admission didn’t frighten you.  I don’t know what it means for us, or for our future. All I know is that it’s true. Knowing that gives me hope, that perhaps one day our “dream” will come true.

Perhaps it will be even better than a dream.

Yours, Catherine

Vincent picked up the next letter and read on.

Dear Vincent,[6]

How can I say goodbye to you? How can I even express what it has meant for me to have you in my life?

I don’t want to go to Providence. I don’t want to leave you behind. Not when there is a possibility that we could be… what? I don’t know. I suppose I wanted to hear you say you wanted me to stay. Some part of me hoped you would want me to. It would have made it easy to say ‘No’ to this job. After all, there are plenty of people here in New York that I could help.

Instead you encouraged me to leave. You said, “Providence is when something is meant to be.”

But Vincent, over the last few months I had begun to believe that we, that you and I were meant to be. I don’t see how those things can both be true. Now I don’t know what’s meant to be.

What I said was true, Vincent. I do care about you so deeply that sometimes I ache to be near you. I thought, no, hoped you felt that way too.

It’s also true that a part of me is unhappy. I thought we both knew why. I want need to be closer to you, Vincent, but you keep me always at arm’s length. You say you can feel what I am feeling. Then you must have realized that I …

I think I’m falling in love with you.

That’s the first time I’ve even acknowledged it with words. I realize now that it’s been true from the beginning, from the moment you first whispered to me that I was safe.

I thought you were falling in love with me too. I guess I misunderstood. I’m grateful now that I have never shared these feelings.

I feel like such a fool… as if I’ve had the wind knocked out of me.

All these months I thought I was becoming a better person. What does it say about me, Vincent? That I just assumed you would fall for me, because I wanted you to. That’s always how it’s worked before. I’ve always gotten whatever I wanted, and whoever I wanted. I’m sorry I treated you like that, I’m sorry I assumed that you would want me just because it’s what I wished for. I’m sorry that after all I’ve been through, that I’m still that shallow.

Over the last year you’ve saved my life over and over again. I thought it meant… I don’t know what I thought.

When I was shot I thought I heard you say, “Don’t die, Catherine. If you die, so do I.”  I thought it meant that you… then again, maybe I dreamed that, like my dream of us buying ice cream on 5th Avenue. Perhaps I only wanted to hear you say something like that, so I dreamed that you did.

But tonight… when you saw me, Vincent, you said, “You look like an angel standing there.” That wasn’t a dream. I heard you clearly. What did you mean? Was I reading more into those words than you intended? Have I really been making a fool of myself all these months?

Every man I’ve ever cared for has wanted to control me. They’ve wanted to make the decisions about my future. You are the only one that’s ever wanted me to leave, to go and be what I was meant to be. What am I meant to be, Vincent? I don’t even know that myself.

I should be so excited about this job offer. In my world climbing the professional ladder is important. Until the moment I was offered this job, I thought it was important to me too. But when I was asked to choose between advancing my career in Providence or staying here, I didn’t know what to do.

Now that I realize you don’t need me or want me to stay, I guess there really is no other choice.

If that’s the case, then why am I in such turmoil? Why am I in such pain?

You have given me so much, Vincent, taught me so much about myself. You have helped me discover things about myself that I never knew, never even imagined. You’ve helped me realize that I can be so much more than what I was, that I am so much stronger than I ever realized. You have helped me put the pieces of my life back together.

But you have also encouraged me to follow my heart, Vincent… and my heart doesn’t want me to go to Providence. My heart keeps leading me back to you.

This bond, this connection that we share, Vincent, if it isn’t love, what is it? What does it mean that we are connected in such a way, if we’re never meant to be together?

Vincent recalled the pain it had caused them both, when he encouraged her to take the job in Providence. But she didn’t go. Instead she sacrificed advancing her career, and even risked her own life, to rescue him from two unscrupulous professors who had imprisoned him and were planning to kill him.

In letter after letter, Vincent read Catherine’s declarations of love for him, and her desire for their relationship to move forward. She repeatedly expressed how happy he made her and how she longed to have him more deeply involved in her life.

How could I have missed this? he wondered. I could feel her emotions so clearly. How could I have misunderstood them so badly? he asked himself.

And yet, he could hear her voice as he read, and there was no doubt now that these letters were sincere and true.

Eventually he came to a letter that recounted the events surrounding Vincent’s relationship with Lisa Campbell and the events that caused her to leave her Tunnel home.

It read…

Dear Vincent, [7]

You left me standing there at the portal alone… again. You closed the door to me, but even worse, you closed yourself to me.

I believe that if you knew the pain it causes, you wouldn’t do it… but it’s not the first time.

What is it, Vincent? Who has hurt you so deeply that you shrink from my touch, from my love? Was it Lisa? You told me she left, because you loved her. Why? How could she? What happened? I find it impossible to understand that your love could ever drive anyone away.

I promise you, Vincent, that I would never, could never, shrink from your love. I would welcome it, and cherish it, gratefully… always.

How can I convince you of that? How can I reach into your heart and heal this pain? This wound that is so deep and so wide that it keeps us from fully realizing what I know we both dream of? Sometimes, you become so lost in it, that I cannot reach you.

You looked so vulnerable, so lost, so alone, standing there in the tunnel, trying to tell me, needing to tell me, but too afraid to fully explain… unable to even look at me. Your fear and your pain filled that space and nearly sucked the oxygen from the tunnel.

What is it that you’re so afraid of, Vincent? Do you believe you might tell me something that would frighten me, or change the way I feel about you? How can I convince you that there is nothing in this world that could ever do that?

I love you. I LOVE YOU, Vincent, and all that you are. How can you think, after all this time that you are not worthy of that love? After everything you have done for me. After all you have risked for me. After all you have been to me? How?

Please forgive me if I have ever given you a reason to doubt. I know there have been times that I have.

T onight, I said that “We have never withheld the truth from each other.” That was unfair of me to say. I’m sorry. I’m sitting here at my dressing table, as I have so many times in the past year, looking at a stack of letters filled with all the ‘truths’ that I have withheld from you.

I’ve poured my heart out to you in these letters, from the very beginning. In them I tell you everything… everything I wish I could say to you directly,

everything I wish we could be to each other. But whenever I try to explain to you the depth of my feelings, something stops me.

It’s fear. Pure, unadulterated, stark staring, FEAR.

My instincts scream to me, to keep these feelings from you, at least as much as I can, considering the bond we share. I’m so afraid that if I were ever to speak of how deeply I love you, that it would destroy the beautiful, fragile dream we have built together, and you would send me away.

I don’t know if I could survive it if you did. I’m not sure if my heart could even continue to beat if I ever lost you, Vincent. The thought alone fills me with such pain that I can barely breathe. I know in the deepest part of who I am, that we are meant to be together… truly and completely together. Perhaps it was always meant to be so.

Do you believe in soulmates, Vincent? Because I have come to believe that you are mine.

At the moment, I can’t see how we will ever find our way.

Though you have never said the words, I know that you love me. You say it, every time you whisper my name, every time you hold me in your arms, every time you climb to my balcony, every time you risk your life to save mine.

Whatever it is you are keeping from me, I want to hear it. But it’s your truth to tell. I’ll be here waiting for you, whenever you’re ready.

Please, please, trust me with your truth.

Always your,

Catherine

Yes, he recalled. You were waiting, weren’t you, Catherine? And when I told you my terrible secret, you, miraculously, loved me even more.

He wept at the recollection of that night. How he had been so sure it would be the end for them. And in his moment of deepest despair, she had taken his hands in hers and declared, “These are my hands, these hands are beautiful.” And then she had kissed them and washed them clean with her tears.

~~~

Finally gaining some control of his emotions, Vincent reached for the box and continued to read. Catherine’s letters were filled with declarations of love for him, her hopes for their future, and her concern for his health as she watched him slowly failing under the pressure of the darkness he struggled with.

At length he reached for the last envelope. He hesitated, realizing it might reveal to him what had happened between them in his darkest moments. He feared that he might find out what he had done to her in that dark cavern. His deep need to know the truth once and for all compelled him to open it.

Dear Vincent, he read…

Dear Vincent,

There is something I must tell you, but I don’t even know how to begin.  How can I explain to you what has happened ? How can I explain it when I don’t fully understand it, myself? You have no memory of the things that happened to you… to us when you were so ill. I’m not even sure I understand it. Perhaps it’s a blessing that you don’t remember.

You were in such unimaginable pain. I have never been so frightened in all my life as I was that night. I could feel your anguish before Father sent for me and I knew you needed me more that you had ever needed me before.  I could feel you descending into the darkness you have struggled against, so valiantly.

I knew it was killing you, but I was powerless to help you.

I could feel you dying.

After you returned  Below, I realized that I should never have let you return without me. I should have stayed by your side. I was coming to you. I was already at the Park portal when Father arrived and told me the state you were in.

Father tried to stop me from going to you in that cavern. He was terrified that in your delirium, you would kill me, but at that point, I didn’t care. I knew that if I didn’t come to you, you would die… and if you died… I knew I would die too.

I know that now, Vincent. Our hearts are one heart. Our souls are one soul.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I finally reached you. When I reached you, you were in such agony, Vincent. You were unrecognizable. For a moment I thought you were going to kill me, but I was too frightened for you to be frightened for myself.

When you raised your hand to strike, I screamed your name and that’s when you

Just when Vincent thought he would finally learn what he had done… what had happened between them in that dark cave, Catherine had stopped writing. Her last letter was unfinished. He turned the page over, hoping that she had continued on the back. His hopes were dashed when he saw nothing but a blank page.

He began to shake violently. The storm of emotions that had been building within him as he read her letters finally boiled over. Enraged, Vincent roared loudly as he flung the stack of letters, and everything else on his desk across the room. He reached down, flipping the reading table violently and began throwing anything he could find against the walls. His loud roars reverberated through the small Tunnel community, waking its inhabitants from their peaceful slumber.

Chapter 23

Exhausted, Catherine had decided to go bed early. Nevertheless, she’d slept restlessly. It was nearly midnight when Vincent’s rage ripped through her like a bolt of lightning. She sat up and covered her ears as if his roars in her head were audible. Each succeeding roar shook her to the core.

It was instantly clear to her that something was very wrong. Fear for Vincent set her in motion. It took only moments for her to dress and put on her shoes. Rushing out of the door, Catherine ran the three long blocks to 5th Avenue, and into the closest entrance to Central Park. She rushed along Park Road until she reached Inscope Arch. As she paused under the bridge to catch her breath, his rage tore through her again, driving her to her knees.

“Vincent,” she whispered desperately. “What’s happened?” she asked aloud.

The only time she had ever felt this level of rage in him was when… No, no, no, she told herself. This can’t be happening, not again. But if it isn’t that, has something happened to Jacob? Perhaps he’s had a relapse… she thought. What if he’s… she couldn’t finish the terrifying thought.

Forcing herself to stand, Catherine resumed running, and turned down the foot path that paralleled 65th Street. Each time Vincent’s anger peaked, she felt as if the wind was being knocked out of her. Reaching the carousel, she left the footpath and ran through the trees and over the small wooden bridge until she reached the culvert at the edge of Sheep’s Meadow.

“I’m coming, Vincent,” she said breathlessly, leaning against the cement wall for support. “I’m coming.”

It was only as she entered the dark tunnel that she realized she had forgotten to bring a flashlight. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need a light to find the secret lever that opened the portal between their worlds. She only hoped that there were no derelicts or drug addicts taking refuge in the tunnel, tonight.

Finally arriving at Vincent’s chamber, she saw that a crowd of people had gathered at the entrance. Father hobbled forward. “Catherine—”

“Father!” she said, trying to catch her breath. “What’s happened? What’s wrong with him? Is it Jacob—”

Father placed his hand on her shoulder. “Jacob is fine. He is with Mary in the nursery.”

“Then what is it?” she asked, the desperation in her voice was clear.

Father shook his head. “I don’t know. He seemed fine this morning. All was well.”

Catherine could clearly see the fear in his eyes. He thinks it’s happening again too, she realized. Then, looking at the crowd of Tunnel dwellers, she saw the same terror reflected in their eyes. Is it happening again? they seemed to be pleading.

Shaking her head, she tried to quell the fear that was increasing within her. NO! she thought. This is not happening again! I won’t let it happen again!

Without speaking, she turned toward the chamber entrance as his roars echoed through the narrow entry tunnel.

Father reached for her arm. “Catherine, no… What if…”

Catherine turned to him, her eyes flashing. “What if what, Father?”

Father’s eyes were pleading and filled with fear. He desperately wanted her to help his son. At the same time, he feared for her safety.

“He is alone, Father… and he is in pain. That is all that matters. I don’t care what happens… I am going to him.” She turned without waiting for his reply and proceeded further into the chamber.

“Vincent?” she said, as she tentatively entered his chamber. She looked around in the dim light. The usually well-illuminated room was now lit only two lamps.  The Tiffany lamp that stood near his bed had more glass tiles missing than she remembered. Another Tiffany lamp that hung in the center of the room was hanging askew and swinging lazily back and forth. Everything was in shambles. His treasures were shattered and broken all over the floor. Books and furniture lay helter-skelter, strewn everywhere.

“What is it, Vincent? What’s happened?”

He stood on the opposite side of the room and growled low. His breathing was labored and heavy, as if he were the one who had just run all the way through the park.

“Vincent… you’re scaring me. I was afraid it might be Jacob, but Father said—”

“Jacob is… fine,” he answered curtly.

She stepped further into the room and stood silent, feeling as if her heart was beating out of her chest.

Searching for some clue, Catherine looked around to see the disastrous results of Vincent’s rage. Something on the floor caught her eye. Picking it up, she instantly recognized her stationary.

Dear Vincent, she read…

I was so frightened for you tonight… so afraid that you would be killed because of my recklessness, my stupidity…

Looking around, she found another one, and then another.

My letters… but how? she wondered.

She had searched for them among the belongings that had been returned to her, and wondered what had become of them. Finally giving up, she’d concluded that they were irretrievably lost.

She reached out and picked up another one.

I know you believe that we are dreaming of a life that can never be. she read.

You have made that very clear. But how do you know that, Vincent? How do you know?

How will we ever know, if we don’t even try?

“I believe those belong to you,” Vincent said, bitterly spitting the words at her.

“Where did you find these? I thought they were lost forever.”

“Diana had them. She’s gone, by the way… for good. She brought the letters to me, before she left.”

“Diana…is… gone?... She had them?” Catherine shook her head, trying process, not only the fact that Diana had had her letters all this time, but also the idea that she had most likely read them. “I don’t understand… why did she have them? She has kept them… all this time?”

Vincent ignored her questions. “We’ve never withheld the truth from each other,” he said, sarcastically.

Catherine closed her eyes, recalling the time when she had unfairly flung those very words at him. “That is one of the lies… one of the beautiful lies we used to tell ourselves, isn’t it?” she replied. The regret in her voice was unmistakable. She sighed. “It’s been a long time since I believed that… The truth is… we always withheld the truth from each other… didn’t we, Vincent? Even from ourselves.”

“Are they still true?” he asked, gesturing toward the letters she held in her hand.

“Yes,” she whispered, realizing she didn’t have the strength to deny it. “I suppose they always will be,” she said quietly, remembering each of the letters she had written, and how she had once ached to tell him every one of those things in person.

“Catherine… why?” he demanded. “Why did you keep all of these things from me?”

Catherine looked down at the letters in her hand. Gently stroking the words of love and fear, she became momentarily lost in the memories they evoked.

“WHY?!?!” he asked loudly when she didn’t answer him.

“If I had told you these things…” she said defensively, holding up the letters in her hand. “If I had been completely honest with you back then about how deeply I loved you… would you have accepted it? Would you have returned my love?” she asked, her voice rising in concordance with his. “Or would you have sent me away?... bricked up the threshold beneath my building or changed the ways?”

She noticed him shrink back ever so slightly, but he didn’t answer. His reluctance to admit the veracity of her question, rankled her. Now it was Catherine who was becoming angry.

“How many times did you try to shut me out of your life, Vincent? …or send me away? It was YOU who kept telling me that my destiny was Above. It was YOU who kept telling me to go find someone else to be a part of… when the only one I ever wanted to be a part of was… YOU! How many times did you try to push me into Elliot’s arms?”

“So, you thought it was all right to push me into Diana’s arms?” he retorted, angrily.

“That’s not the same and you know it!” she declared, refusing to back down.

“It is!”

“No, it isn’t! You’re angry at me for not telling you the truth!? What about you?” she asked, flinging the letters she held in his direction.

“What do you mean?”

Stepping a little closer to him, she explained. “I never hid my feelings about Elliot from you! I couldn’t have… even if I’d wanted to, could I? You knew from the beginning, when I thought I was falling in love with him… You even encouraged it! And you knew… the moment I realized I could never love him, because I loved you more. And I told you what I was feeling when he kissed me… that at that moment I wished… that it was you!

“But when I came back from… the dead… You didn’t tell me the truth. YOU purposely kept the truth from me!” she spat the words, at him, trembling visibly as her anger rose.

“What are you talking about?  he demanded, stepping toward her as if to challenge her advance.

“You didn’t tell me that you had feelings for Diana! You didn’t tell me how conflicted you were… Did you actually believe we could just pick up where we left off? Did you seriously think I would jump into your bed… when you had feelings for her?”

“Who told you I had feelings for Diana?”

She paused, realizing she had revealed more than she had intended.

“No one told me, I just knew…” she said defiantly, realizing she had no choice now, but to tell him the truth about The Bond they shared. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “At least, I knew you had feelings for someone… It only became clear to me when I saw the two of you together… ‘Babe.’”

“How could you possibly know what I was feeling?” he demanded without denying her assertion.

Unless Diana was right, he thought. That our connection… our Bond… was never actually broken.

Vincent recalled Diana’s question: “But what about her bond with you? Did you ever ask her if that was broken?

Then he recalled the first night he was in Connecticut. Catherine had seemed to know what he was thinking… and what he was feeling.

“Try not to think about it, Vincent,” Catherine had said softly, as she had stepped through the screen door.

“It won’t change anything, and it only brings you pain. I can’t bear for you to be in pain, so please… don’t.”

“You can’t bear for me to be in pain,” he whispered, as the realization became clear.

“So… our Bond…” he began, stepping even closer to her. “The Bond that I believed was broken… Are you saying that it… wasn’t?” Vincent studied Catherine’s expression, strongly suspecting that Diana had been right.

Catherine’s silence in response to his question was all the confirmation he needed.

“What exactly is it that you can feel?” he asked, beginning to fear the answer.

Catherine felt as if his eyes were piercing into her very soul. Nevertheless, she remained defiant.

“What do you want to hear, Vincent?  That it’s true? That our Bond… our connection was never broken… that somehow… what you lost became even stronger for me, and I have felt you with me every minute of every day since then?” She stepped forward, trying to see his shadowed features more clearly. “Will it change anything for you to know that I can feel everything you’re feeling?”

Vincent felt as if all the oxygen was being sucked out of his lungs. “Everything?” he asked, nearly choking on the words. That isn’t possible, he assured himself. Or is it?

“Every… thing?” he asked her again.

“Do you really want to know that I could feel you beginning to care for her when I was in protective custody? That I could feel how conflicted you were when I returned? That I felt you kissing her only hours before you proposed to me? And then that night on my roof when you held her in your arms? And later when the two of you…”

“Catherine! Stop!” he begged, completely mortified by her revelation.

But it was too late for her to stop.  The dam had broken and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it. All the pain she had been suppressing for months was gushing out.

“Do you want me to tell you that every time you make love to her, I’m in so much pain that it feels like my chest is being crushed and all of my skin has been seared…?”

“CATHERINE!!!! STOP!!!” he screamed, lunging forward and taking her by the shoulders. “STOP!”

She stopped speaking and waited… the tears silently spilling down her flushed cheeks.

“Why?!?!” he pleaded, wanting to understand, needing to understand. “Why did you push me away? Why did you reject me when you knew… when our connection still existed?”

Trying to calm herself, she attempted to explain through her tears. “The pain of loving me nearly killed you, Vincent! I decided you had suffered enough… and because the pain I have caused you was too much for me to bear. Don’t you understand, Vincent? I didn’t reject you. I set you free… because… I love you… and because the pain was too much for me to—”

He let go of her so suddenly she nearly stumbled backward.

Vincent began pacing the floor, his rage beginning to build again.

“LOVE…. LOVE… LOVE…” he roared, waving his fists in the air. “I am so… SICK… of people excusing their choices by telling me they were made out of love!” he declared, kicking debris out of his path.

He turned to her, clutching his chest. “What kind of love would make you rip the very heart out of me in such a way? You are right, Catherine… I DO NOT… UNDERSTAND! How could you do this? WHY?!! I am so sick of the lies! All I want is the truth!!!”

“You want the truth?” she yelled back, determined to stand her ground. “Do you really want the truth?”

“YES! ONCE AND FOR ALL… JUST… TELL ME… THE TRUTH!!!

“I’M DYING!” she finally screamed. “IS THAT ENOUGH TRUTH FOR YOU??? IS THAT… ENOUGH… TRUTH!?!?!?!”

Vincent stumbled backward as if he had been struck. He tilted his head in disbelief, unsure he had understood her words correctly.

“DID YOU HEAR ME? I… AM… DY-ING!!!”

Vincent stood, momentarily frozen as her words sunk in. The room began to spin, and he was finding it difficult to breathe.

Nevertheless, she continued, lowering her volume only slightly. “ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? Now you know the TRUTH! I AM GOING TO DIE… A HORRIBLE… EXCRUCIATING… DEATH!

“I PUSHED YOU INTO DIANA’S ARMS BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO HAVE TO BURY ME TWICE!... AT LEAST NOT WITHOUT SOMEONE TO HELP YOU PICK UP THE PIECES!

“I AM GOING TO LEAVE YOU, VINCENT… AND I’M GOING TO LEAVE OUR SON WITHOUT A MOTHER!

“IS THAT ENOUGH TRUTH FOR YOU?!?!?!”

Vincent collapsed backward, coming to rest on the edge of his bed. The rage seemed to drain from them both as her words reverberated off the walls and crashed to the floor with all the other shattered treasures of his life.

“Are you satisfied now?” she asked. Her strength was spent, and her soft voice trembled with emotion. “Does the ‘truth’ make everything… better?” she asked bitterly, the tears coursing down her cheeks.

Vincent struggled to find words to reply. His mouth moved but he was unable to articulate anything in response to her query.

Catherine looked at him, her tears unchecked. “Sometimes the truth… is highly overrated,” she said, with a sob, before fleeing from the room.

As Catherine fled from Vincent’s chamber, she stopped short as she came face to face with Father, nearly knocking him over.

“Catherine…I… I… I don’t know what to…say,” he stammered.  “I had… I mean we… had… no idea.”

Catherine turned, feeling the need to get as far away from Vincent as she could. Instead of a clear path through the tunnel, she found herself surrounded on every side by the crowd of concerned Tunnel denizens who had gathered outside his chamber entrance.

As Catherine looked around for a means of escape, it quickly became clear that they had all heard much of what had transpired within.

Olivia was the first to speak. Her eyes were wide with shock. “Is that true, Catherine? Are you really dying?”

Before Catherine could answer, Mouse came forward. “Heard yelling,” he said, stating the obvious. “Everything ok?”

Catherine flushed deeply, realizing just how much they all must have heard. Mary worked her way through the crowd with a crying Jacob in her arms. The sobbing child held out his arms to his mother.

Catherine gladly accepted him and buried her face in his sweetness. “Shhh shhhh shhhh,” she coooed, as she bounced him gently. “It’s all right, Jacob.” She kissed his tear-streaked cheeks and rubbed her face against his soft crown of blond fuzz.

Comforting Jacob gave her an excuse to ignore the questioning stares of everyone who had gathered there.

“I’ll put him back to bed, Mary,” she said, needing to put some distance between Vincent and herself.

“I’ll come with you dear,” Mary replied, as she followed Catherine.

~~~

The crowd of pajama clad people parted on either side of the passage, to let them through. They watched in stunned silence as the women disappeared from view.

~~~

In the nursery, Mary watched with concern as Catherine patiently rocked her baby. She hummed softly, as she comforted her son. At length, Jacob finally stopped sobbing and fell asleep. He hiccupped periodically as Catherine finally laid him in his crib.

“Are you all right, Catherine dear?” Mary asked.

Catherine looked up at the woman who had become so much more to her than just a friend. Her eyes were large and brimming with tears. Finding it difficult to speak, she reached out and embraced Mary. She let go after a moment and wiped away the tears. “I haven’t been all right for a very long time, Mary,” she finally said. “I’m not even sure I remember what it feels like.”

“What are you going to do?” Mary asked.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing to do,” Catherine answered with a shake of her head. “It’s over… between us. I’ll stop coming Below. Maybe it would be best if I leave New York. I don’t know,” she said shaking her head. “All I do know is that I don’t want to cause Vincent any more pain.”

“But this is where Jacob is. Don’t you want to be in his life?” Mary asked.

Catherine chewed her bottom lip and looked longingly at her son. “I see now that that isn’t possible.” She reached into the crib and stroked his damp cheek. “Jacob needs his father… more than he needs me. And Vincent needs me to stay away.”

“But you still love Vincent… don’t you, dear?” Mary asked, even though she was sure she knew the answer.

“Of course, I do,” Catherine replied, without hesitation. “I’ve never stopped loving him.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Catherine found Mary’s soft voice soothing. But she was suddenly very tired, and it took all of her energy to try to explain.

“Vincent was tortured by our love, Mary. It nearly killed him. I… nearly killed him.”

“Somehow, I think that isn’t true.” Mary stated, with confidence. “It was your love that saved him, Catherine. Everyone knows that.”

Catherine was too emotionally drained to argue with Mary after what she had already gone through. She could feel the walls of the nursery beginning to close in on her.

“May I ask you a favor, Mary?” she asked with a quaver in her voice.

Mary’s heart went out to her. “Of course, dear,” she replied. “What is it?”

Catherine reached out and gently stroked Jacob’s cheek again. “When Jacob grows up, would you… would you tell him…” She paused and took a shuddering breath. “Will you make sure he knows… how much… I loved him?”

“Oh Catherine… of course I will,” Mary promised her. She moved as if to embrace Catherine again, but Catherine stepped back, knowing she was close to losing control of her emotions.

“I have to go,” she said. “I have to go,” she repeated, as she turned and ran from the nursery.

Chapter 24

It took several minutes for Father to disperse the crowd outside of Vincent’s chamber. Fatigue and the lateness of the hour eventually won out. They soon began to drift back to their private quarters hoping to salvage some sleep with what was left of the night.

That is, all but Mouse. He was worried about his best friend and was determined to stay nearby until he was satisfied that Vincent was all right.

“You go off to bed too, Mouse,” Father suggested.

“Can’t… Vincent needs Mouse,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Vincent’s sick again?”

“No, Mouse. Vincent is not sick. He’s just… upset.” Father was far from convincing. He was worried as well. Jacob Wells knew better than most, that Vincent’s rage could be a dangerous and unpredictable thing.

“Upset is bad,” Mouse declared. “Worse than bad… worse than worst.” Mouse’s eyes were wide with worry.

Father put his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “This isn’t like before, Mouse. It is not like when Vincent was so ill. You mustn’t worry. He will be fine.” Father assured, trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Mouse.

“Sure?” the young man asked. “Super sure?”

Father nodded. “Yes, Mouse, I’m quite sure,” he lied. The truth was, that Father wasn’t sure of anything. After what he’d heard of the row between Vincent and Catherine, he was worried about them both.

“Okay fine,” Mouse said reluctantly, as he turned and walked away.

As soon as Mouse disappeared around a bend in the passageway, Father stepped tentatively into the ruin that was Vincent’s chamber. The floor was strewn with books, papers, candles, and virtually every treasure Vincent had collected since childhood. Many of them clearly were broken beyond repair.

Reaching down he picked up two of Catherine’s letters and limped over to the Tiffany lamp that stood near Vincent’s bed.

His heart ached as he read her heartfelt declarations of love for Vincent. Declarations she had kept secret, knowing instinctively how Vincent might react if he had known the true extent of her feelings for him.

As Father finished reading, he sighed. His arm dropped, letting the pages drift again to the floor, as if their weight was too much for him to hold. “The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool,” Father said softly, quoting The Bard, as he often did.

Still seated on the edge of his bed, Vincent looked up at his father as if only now becoming aware of his presence.

“Are you saying I’m a fool, Father?” Vincent asked, finally acknowledging his father’s presence in the room.

“No,” Father replied, shaking his head. “I’m admitting that I have been the biggest fool of all.”

Vincent waited expectantly for him to elaborate.

Rubbing his forehead nervously, Father continued. “I blame myself for this, Vincent. For so long, I tried to convince you that you were longing for a life that could never be… at least, not for you.”

Vincent watched his father intently and waited.

“I was wrong… I was so wrong!” Father said, thumping his cane angrily against the chamber floor. He paced a little.  Then turning to face Vincent, he declared, “Catherine was right all along. I know that now. It was her love that made everything possible. I allowed my own experiences… my own prejudice… to blind me to your possibilities… and to her… sincerity. But Catherine…” His expression softened as he recalled the woman he had once tried to protect Vincent from. “…that stubborn, persistent, beautiful young woman… Her love for you… was beyond anything I have ever seen. I could not allow myself to believe it could last or be strong enough to overcome all the obstacles I was sure existed for you both. After she was abducted and… when we believed she was dead… I came to realize too late… that it was possible. Her love for you is stronger than anything I have ever known. I hope… one day… you can forgive me, Vincent.”

Vincent was astounded. It was a rare thing for Father to ever admit that he had been wrong about anything.

“You say now that her love is real,” Vincent said thoughtfully. “But if that is true, Father, what kind of love would make her do what she did?” Vincent asked. “Why did she keep so much from me? Why did she turn me away when she returned? Why would she do it? And now…” He considered the things she had just revealed to him. “…she says that she is dying. How can I even know if that is true? Maybe she is only saying that to excuse what she has done.” He looked up at his father, searching for an answer that would make sense.

Father thought for a moment. “Do you remember once I told you that there was a truth beyond knowledge?”

“Yes… I remember.”

“Did you ever come to understand what that truth is?”

“Love… The truth beyond knowledge is love.”

“Yes… it is love.” Father nodded. “Love is the ultimate truth… The truth beyond all knowledge.”

Vincent stood, and paced as he pondered Father’s words, finally looking back at him for clarification. “What are you trying to tell me, Father?”

“You say you do not understand why Catherine did what she did. Perhaps you never will. But you do know the truth.”

“And that truth is…?”

“Tonight… when you…” Father hesitated, not wanting to cause his son any further discomfort.

“When I lost control of myself,” Vincent said, helping Father to say the words.

“Yes… yes… when you… lost control. I was about to send Jamie to bring Catherine… when she arrived… unbidden.”

“What are you saying, Father?”

“What I am saying is… that Catherine knew… she knew, Vincent… before anyone told her… before anyone sent for her…. and she came immediately… despite everything that has happened to her… despite all that has transpired between the two of you… she came… because she knew you were in pain… and she charged in here… without any thought for her own safety, just like she did before… just like she always does. All that mattered to her was that you were alone, and you were in pain.”

Vincent let his father’s words distill upon his aching heart. She came… just like she did before… just like she always does. All that mattered to her was that you were alone, and in pain.

Father continued. “Search your heart, son, and ask yourself, when Catherine turned away from you… Did she do it because she no longer loves you, or did she do it because she loves you more than anything else, including her own happiness? Was she trying to take something from you or was she trying to give you something? And if she was trying to give you something, what was it? Was she trying to hurt you, or was she trying to spare you from more pain?”

Jacob paused for a moment to allow Vincent to consider his words. “Catherine said she is dying, Vincent… that she wanted you to have someone… someone to help you pick up the—”

“She had no right!” Vincent’s anger flared anew. “She had no right to make that decision for me! Even if she is… dying!” he insisted, waving his fist in the air. “It was my choice to make!” he yelled, slapping his hands against his chest. “NOT HERS!”

Unfazed, Father raised an eyebrow. “And yet…” he replied softly. “Isn’t that what you did to her… every time you shut her out of your life… every time you insisted, she had another destiny?”

Father sighed again, running his hand through his hair. “Isn’t that what I taught you to do?... what I encouraged you to do, time and time again? Did we ever give her a choice?”

Father paused to allow Vincent to consider the question.

“Are there truths that you kept from her as well?” Father added.

At his father’s question, Vincent recalled his journals, and the countless entries filled with his own secrets and unspoken truths. All the expressions of love he poured out to Catherine in writing but kept carefully hidden from her when they were together… each time justifying his actions by his belief of what loving him would mean for her, and the harm he feared he might do to her if he ever allowed himself to fully love her. Fears he now knew were unfounded.

The guilt of his own hypocrisy began to convict him, extinguishing the last vestige of his anger toward Catherine.

“What have I done, Father?” he finally asked, in despair. “What have I done?”

“Go to her, my boy,” Father advised. “Tell her everything… everything you have always feared to tell her… everything you kept from her… and beg her to forgive you. Trust me, Vincent… I don’t want to see you live out your life with nothing to look back on in your old age but a lifetime of regret.”

Responding to Jacob’s tone of deep regret, Vincent looked at his father searchingly. “Are we still talking about me, Father?”

“I’m not sure it matters,” Father said. “There isn’t much difference between us in this instance, is there? Except for one…”

“What is that?” Vincent asked, looking at his father intently.

“Margaret… is gone. She is… dead.” Father explained. “I have forever lost my chance to win her back. But you… you still have the power to change your destiny… That is… if you have the courage… Let your love be stronger than your fear, son. Do not do what I did… Do not waste your life wondering what could have been… if only you had conquered your fears.”

~~~

Jacob returned to his own chamber and attempted to retire once more for the night. But try as he might, he couldn’t sleep. The regrets of a lifetime weighed heavily on his conscience.

Jacob Wells had never been a religious man. He was a man of science. But for the first time since childhood, his heart was drawn to prayer. His scientific mind, however, still resisted. After all, he reasoned. Even if God does exist, He and I have not been on speaking terms for many years. Why should He do anything for me?

Still, Jacob’s soul ached to reach for something beyond himself, to help his son.

He sat up in bed, and in the flickering light of a large pillar candle he saw the wedding photo that stood on his nightstand. He could still hear the priest’s voice as he said, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Jacob hadn’t needed to be told twice. Margaret was in his arms, and he was kissing her, before the priest had even finished the sentence.

Somehow, the photographer had captured that perfect moment of bliss. Jacob sighed, fondly recalling the happiest day of his life.

Even after divesting himself of nearly every remnant of his former life, Jacob had not been able to bring himself to part with this photograph, nor the letter that Margaret had sent, telling him that their marriage was over. The two mementos were like bookends, marking both the beginning and the end of his greatest happiness. Both had stayed hidden for years, known only to him.

It was Catherine, and her determination to help him, that had brought Margaret back into his life, however briefly. The photograph now occupied a place of honor on his nightstand, reminding him that true love never dies.

“Oh, Margaret. Dear, dear, Margaret,” he muttered, raking his hand through his hair. “I’ve certainly made a mess of things, haven’t I? I should have followed you. I should have searched for you to the ends of the earth. I should have begged you to come back to me. I should have fought harder to win you back. Instead, I just crawled away, like the coward that I am, and gave up on the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t want that for Vincent. I don’t want him to lose the best thing that ever happened to him.”

Jacob sighed, humbly acknowledging his failures, as he reached for help beyond himself.

“I know I don’t deserve to have God answer my prayers, my love… but if you know anyone up there… anyone at all… who could put in a good word for Vincent and Catherine… I would greatly appreciate it… They are both due for a break, don’t you think? I know it’s too late for the two of us, my dearest… but if you could do something for them… I’m begging you… Please… Please…”

He let out an aching, shuddering breath, and hung his head in despair. As he did so, he felt a breeze like a soft breath flow over him, and his chest began to burn within him. He looked up to see the flame of his night candle flare wildly, flashing a fleeting, ghostly shadow across the wall, and then quickly returning to its normal size. He wondered at it for a moment, and then concluded that he had imagined it.

At length, Jacob lay down and fell into a restless sleep.

Chapter 25

Vincent stood in the center of his chamber. Looking around at the disastrous result of his rage, he saw for the first time the full extent of the damage he had done.

Bending down, he picked up the malachite obelisk that had been standing proudly on his shelf since he was a child. It was now broken into three pieces, unevenly separated along the dark green, crystalline bands in the ancient stone. He set them carefully on the shelf, sure that it could be repaired.

Then, picking up what appeared to be the trunk of a ceramic elephant, he recalled how he once imagined its adventures, traveling the world before finally finding its way to him. Unlike the obelisk, the treasure was shattered beyond any hope of repair,

He sighed, seeing the rubble around him as a sad metaphor for the current state of his life. How do I even begin to put it all back together? he wondered.

He heard Catherine’s trembling voice in a distant memory, as she spoke of the aftermath of the brutal attack that had brought them together in the first place.

“I sometimes wonder how all those little pieces will ever fit together again.”

But she never gave up trying, he acknowledged, as he rummaged through the debris. She managed to rebuild her life with courage and determination, only to have it destroyed again, by the senseless evil that tore us apart.

Vincent sighed again. How many times has Catherine picked up the broken shards of her life and put them back together?  he wondered. She was only a child when her world was shattered by her mother’s death, then again, when she was brutally attacked and slashed, and yet again when her father passed away… and then in that dark cave, when I…

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought… how could he, when he was still unsure exactly what had actually passed between them in his darkest hours? All he knew was that it was Catherine’s courage that had brought him back from the brink of oblivion.

And then what Gabriel did to her, and whatever followed, was the final blow. It was clear when she came back, he accused himself.  As soon as I laid eyes on her I knew something was terribly wrong. Why couldn’t I see that Catherine no longer had the strength to pick up the pieces?

I failed her. When she returned, she was too broken to do it again. It was there in her eyes… and I failed her… again!

I… AM… DY-ING!!!

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists against the terrible words that still echoed in his head. They punched him in the gut so forcefully that the wind was knocked out of him. Some things can never be fixed, he concluded. Opening his clenched fist, he dropped the elephant’s trunk and crushed it beneath his feet. Then sinking to the floor, he wept.

~~~

Hours later, he sat in a stupor, physically and emotionally spent, still in the spot where he had descended to the floor. He had not been fully aware of his surroundings for some time.

The resumption of messages on the pipes and the sound of the subway trains told him it was morning. The smell of fresh baked bread told him that William was preparing breakfast, and people would soon begin to wander into the dining hall. The thought of food turned his stomach.

Slowly, he stood and looked around again. He picked up his writing desk that had been upended in his fit of rage and set it to rights. As he began retrieving the large and small candles that had served as missiles, he realized it was no small miracle that he hadn’t set the entire room ablaze.

He wandered around the chamber collecting Catherine’s letters, which were strewn from one end of the room to the other. He carefully restored them to the now- battered shoebox they had been delivered in.

Retrieving a broom from behind his armoire, he began carefully sweeping the floor, keeping his eyes open for anything that might be salvageable, and setting each carefully aside to be repaired.

“Need help?” The soft voice came from the chamber entrance.

Vincent turned to see Mouse standing sheepishly in the chamber entrance, looking like he had not slept either.

“How long have you been out there, Mouse?” Vincent asked.

Mouse looked down at his feet and scuffed at the floor. “Long time,” was his only reply.

“Mouse?” Vincent asked.

“Father said, go to bed. Couldn’t sleep. Worried. Came back,” the young man admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

“So, you’ve been sitting out there all night?”

“Vincent was mad,” Mouse quickly explained. “Madder than mad. Then sadder than sad.”

Vincent sighed, regretting that he had frightened his friend. “I’m not angry anymore, Mouse. You don’t need to worry.”

“Still sad?”

“Yes…” Vincent nodded. “I am… still sad.”

“Sad is bad. Worse than bad. Worse than worst,” Mouse proclaimed, his eyes wide with concern for his friend. Stepping into the room, he took in the scope of the destruction. “Wow,” he observed with hushed awe.

Vincent leaned the broom against the wall and put his arm around Mouse’s shoulders. “You are a true friend, Mouse.” Then he added. “Now, I want you to go back to your chamber and get some sleep. Otherwise, you won’t be able to stay awake on sentry duty tonight.”

Looking beyond Vincent, Mouse assessed the havoc within the room. “Big mess. Bigger than big,” he said, stating the obvious. Then he added hopefully, “Mouse can help.”

Vincent patted his friend on the shoulder. “I appreciate the offer, Mouse. Truly, I do. But this is a mess that I must clean up… on my own. No one else can help me.”

“No one?” Mouse looked confused.

“No one. However… there is something you can help me with,” Vincent said, knowing he wouldn’t get rid of his young friend unless he gave him something to do. “It would be a great help if you would go tell everyone that I am fine… and that no one is to enter this chamber until I get it cleaned up… by myself.”

Nodding enthusiastically, Mouse agreed. “Okay good, okay fine. Yes, Mouse can do that.” Without hesitation, he turned and exited the chamber, intent on the task with which Vincent had entrusted him.

Once alone, Vincent returned to his own task. Yes, he thought, this is a mess that I must clean up on my own. But he was no longer thinking of the mess in his chamber. He knew he had to find a way to clean up the much larger mess between Catherine and himself.

Taking up the broom, he resumed sweeping, carefully sifting through each filled dustpan for buttons, needles, pencils, paper clips, or any small useful thing that could be salvaged. He was surprised to find that some of his best treasures had weathered the storm. Most of his books, although a little worse for wear, were still intact. He reached down and picked up his souvenir replica of the Empire State Building. The antenna on the top was now bent, but the dent on the back had been there when Devin gave it to him.

Devin, he recalled fondly. The only one who ever dreamed dreams that included me.

That is until… Catherine… he thought, quickly correcting himself.

Looking down, he saw that the bust of King Tut had also fared well. He picked it up and turned it reverently in his hands, examining it carefully. Aside from some chipped paint on the ornate headdress, it appeared to be unscathed. Vincent had always harbored an inward fascination with Egyptian mythology with its many deities that were half-man half-beast. He had poured over books filled with photographs of Egypt, hoping to catch a glimpse of a mythical god who resembled the reflection he saw in the mirror pool. From early childhood he hopefully imagined that perhaps, one day, he would discover the secret of his origins in one of those books. Over the years he had traveled the shores of the Nile River many times in his dreams.

As he continued to sweep, Vincent considered each of his childhood treasures, and the unfulfilled dreams they represented, the shards and tattered remains of which lay crumbled before him. Broken or intact, those old dreams now seemed trivial and small to him… all except for one.

“Catherine…” he whispered.

His dream of Catherine had been the biggest… the best dream he had ever known. It was a dream he’d learned too late had been within his reach all along.

He bent down and gently lifted a brown leather pouch that lay at his feet. Holding his breath, Vincent opened the pouch, fearing that he had destroyed the treasures it held. The familiar, carved, ivory rose dropped into his palm, along with Catherine’s crystal, and Margaret’s antique diamond ring. He was amazed to see that each of them was still pristine, as if nothing had happened. Catherine made you well, Vincent thought, as he studied the unassuming little leather bag in his hand.

He breathed a sigh of relief, as he reverently put each of them back into the pouch. Perhaps our dream is still intact too, he hoped as he carefully put it safely around his neck where it belonged. Finally stowing the broom and dustpan, Vincent sat at his desk and reached for one of Catherine’s letters.

“Are they still true?” he had asked her in the throes of anger.

“Yes,” she’d whispered, as she gently stroked the page in her hand, “I suppose they always will be.”

As Vincent sat down and began to reread her heartfelt expressions of love, he hoped against hope that they were still true, and prayed that she would be able to find it in her heart to forgive him.

Chapter 26

After a long day at work and two hours doing evening rounds at the hospital, Peter finally made it home. Though his housekeeper had already gone home, he could smell the dinner that was waiting for him in the kitchen. He had just tossed his suit jacket over a chair when the phone rang. Always on call, he didn’t hesitate to answer.

“Peter Alcott,” he said into the receiver.

“Peter, it’s Marilyn.”

Peter could immediately hear the urgency in her voice, and he visibly stiffened. “Is everything all right at the shelter?” he asked, knowing that there were sometimes battered women who came there needing medical attention.

“Yes, Peter. Everything is fine here,” she replied, curtly. “I’m calling about Cathy.”

“Is she all right?” he asked, instantly concerned.

“You tell me!” Marilyn replied, her volume increasing. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Peter Alcott. Our girl hasn’t been all right since she came back to New York, but today she looked absolutely terrible! When is someone going to tell me what’s going on here?”

Peter’s silence only served to irritate Marilyn more. “Peter Aloysius Alcott! I want some answers! And I want them now!”

Peter winced and momentarily put some distance between his ear and the telephone receiver.

“Now Marilyn,” he said, attempting to calm her down. “I had hoped that Cathy would have confided in you by now. But you know how much she’s like her mother. I swear, she’s as stubborn as Caroline ever was.”

Marilyn calmed down a little, at the mention of her dear old friend. “So, are you going to tell me?”

Peter scratched his chin and considered his options. “I’m her physician, Marilyn. By law, you know I can’t do that.”

“Peter!” she exclaimed.

“I’ll tell you what I can do,” he said, before she could become any more upset. “I’ll go over to Cathy’s and check on her. And I will strongly encourage her to explain it to you, herself.”

“Well, you should go to see her anyway. I’m worried sick. She reminded me of Caroline today, and I can tell you, Peter, I don’t know if I can go through that again.”

Marilyn’s intuition sent chills through him. We might not have a choice, he thought.

“I’m on my way over there right now,” he assured her. “But I can’t make any promises. All I can do is try.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Marilyn said with contrition. “I apologize for being so—”

“There is no need to apologize, Marilyn. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Peter reached for his jacket as soon as he hung up the phone. Grabbing his medical bag and his car keys, he headed for the front door. It wasn’t until he had his hand on the doorknob, that he heard a familiar voice.

“Peter?”

Peter turned, surprised to see Vincent standing on the opposite side of the room. It was rare for Vincent to enter his house without first being invited. Peter was immediately concerned. “Vincent? What’s wrong?”

“Is it true?” Vincent asked.

Peter shook his head. “What are you referring to?” he asked. “Is what true?”

“That Catherine… that she… Is it true that she is… dying?”

~~~

Catherine sat behind her father’s antique mahogany desk, staring blankly at the deposition in front of her. After a sleepless night, she’d gone through the day on autopilot, attempting to set aside her own personal problems and concentrate on the battered women at the shelter who desperately needed her help.  She found that working helped her forget about the things she didn’t want to deal with… even if only temporarily.

As soon as she’d arrived at the shelter, Marilyn knew that something was terribly wrong. Catherine was unusually quiet, listless, and pale. She appeared to have been crying for some time. Even meticulously applied make up could not hide the puffy circles under her eyes.

Catherine put up a good front, but her dear friend was not fooled. Catherine bore more resemblance to the battered women that came to the shelter, than the polished professional she usually presented. Marilyn refused to let her work even one minute of overtime. She’d shown Catherine the door at five o’clock sharp, insisting she call it a day.

That hadn’t prevented Catherine from stuffing two case files into her briefcase, to work on them at home.

She untucked her blouse and kicked off her shoes as soon as she entered the house.

In the silence of her father’s study, Catherine couldn’t help but relive the terrible argument she’d had with Vincent. Despite her efforts to concentrate on the work in front of her, it kept running on an endless loop in her mind. Hearing the grandfather clock in her living room chime, she looked up, surprised to see that it was getting dark.

How long have I been sitting here like this? she wondered. Reaching to turn on the desk lamp, she looked up at the mantle clock to see that it was eight o’clock.

Realizing she wasn’t going to accomplish anything, she finally closed the legal folders and put down her pen. She was both restless and exhausted at the same time.

Wandering slowly around the room, she lightly touched her father’s books. His shelves were filled with law books, history books, and classic literature. Many of them were autographed first editions he had treasured.

Vincent’s books would look right at home in here, she thought. Then shaking her head, she tried to banish such hopeless thoughts.

Both of Catherine’s parents had instilled a love of literature in her from an early age. She had many fond memories of her parents reading to her in this room, and elsewhere in the house. Then, almost by accident, she found it, The Velveteen Rabbit. It was one of her father’s childhood favorites. It was one of hers too. She recalled reading parts of it at his funeral.

“I miss you, Daddy,” she whispered, as she lovingly stroked the title on the spine of the book.

This was his room. It always will be, she supposed. Catherine found the room comforting and safe. It was a reflection of him: safe and strong, gentle and yet masculine. Sometimes, she was even certain she could still smell her father’s aftershave in here.

Slowly working her way around the room, she finally came to rest on the window seat where, as a child, she had spent many an hour curled up, reading her own beloved books, while her father worked at his desk. It seems like a hundred years ago, she thought.

Sitting in her old spot, she hugged her knees to her chest as she stared out over her mother’s long neglected back garden. The cool glass felt good against her skin as she rested her head against the windowpane.

Letting her mind wander aimlessly through memories of her childhood, Catherine soon found herself in that misty place somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, where things have a tendency to shimmer and float…

~~~

“Now, where were we?” she heard a familiar voice say.

Catherine looked up from her musings to see her father sitting on the other side of the window seat, intent on the book in front of him.

“Daddy?” she asked, only half realizing that she was dreaming.

Without responding, he continued, “Yes, here it is… your favorite part, I believe.”

‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’

‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.

‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt’

‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’

‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.

Charles stopped reading and looked up from the book. “You’ve become real, haven’t you, Sweetheart?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” she said, trying to smile through her tears. “It hurts so much.”

“I know it does, Honey.”

“What should I do now, Dad?”

Charles smiled sadly and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Cathy, I don’t think I can help you with that kind of thing anymore.” Then, looking past her to the office door, Charles replied, “Why don’t you ask him?”

~~~

Peter had entered the room, closing the door behind him. He stood near the entrance of Charles Chandler’s dimly lit study, his medical bag in one hand, watching Catherine. She was sitting in the corner of the window seat, just as she had often done as a child, hugging her knees to her chest as she stared blankly out of the window.  She looked so small and vulnerable sitting there, that he could almost imagine she was the child he once knew.

“You used to sit there just like that when you were a child,” he said, hoping not to startle her. “Only back then, you usually had your nose buried in a book.”

Catherine looked up from her waking dream, surprised to see him standing there. “Peter? How did you get in?” Then, with a look of concern, she asked, “Did I leave the front door unlocked?”

Even though she lived in an upscale New York City neighborhood, it was still New York City, and Catherine was well aware of the dangers of leaving a door unsecured.

“No, you didn’t leave the door unlocked,” he said, and holding up a key. “Your father and I exchanged spare keys years ago. In case we ever had an emergency.”

“But why didn’t you just ring the doorbell?” she asked.

“I did. You didn’t answer,” he countered, closing the office door. “I came over because I was worried.”

“You were worried… about me? Why?” She stopped and sat up a little straighter, sensing Vincent was near. Looking past Peter to the office door, then looking back to Peter, she said, “You brought Vincent. He’s here with you, isn’t he?” She had been so consumed by her own pain throughout the day that she had only been minimally aware of Vincent’s.

“He’s waiting just inside the front door,” Peter acknowledged, looking unrepentant. “He would like to speak with you, Cathy. Apparently, you dropped a bomb on him last night.”

That’s one way of putting it, she thought.

Catherine’s shoulders drooped. She wasn’t eager to have another confrontation with Vincent. And she didn’t want to talk to Peter about it either. Turning away from Peter, she looked out of the window into the darkness, hoping he would just leave.

“I’ll have you know…” Peter continued, ignoring the fact that she had essentially dismissed him. “… you’ve gotten me into trouble with Marilyn.”

Catherine looked back at him but didn’t respond.

Peter approached her and reached to turn on a lamp in order to get a better look at Catherine in the dimly lit room. Dropping his medical bag onto Charles’ well-worn leather easy chair, he turned it sideways and pushed it closer to the window and sat down near her.

“Marilyn is very worried about you, Cathy. You’re like a daughter to her. Surely you know that. I thought you would have confided in her by now.”

“Confiding in people isn’t really one of my… strong suits,” Catherine admitted. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her that as your physician, I couldn’t tell her anything. But I promised that you will, the next time you see her.” Scrutinizing her more closely, he observed, “Marilyn was right, you do look terrible. Are you sleeping?” Leaning toward her and taking her wrist, he checked her pulse.

“Need I remind you, that I just spent the last few weeks caring for a baby with chicken pox? No… I have not been getting a lot of sleep.”

“Turn to your right and lean forward, please.” He said, pulling his stethoscope out of his medical bag.

Without a word, she complied with his request.

“Take a deep breath… Now let it out. You didn’t look like this when you returned from Connecticut a couple nights ago, Catherine. Would you like to talk about what’s happened since then?” he asked. Though Vincent had already told him, he wanted to hear what Catherine had to say. “Again… and one more time please…” he requested, lightly thumping her back.

Catherine quietly endured his examination but didn’t answer him.

She watched as he wrapped the stethoscope around his hand and returned it carefully to his bag. Pulling out an otoscope, he turned to her again, and examined her ears.

“You don’t seem to have a fever. Are you taking your vitamins?”

“Yes,” she answered, unable to hide her irritation.

“And your iron tablets?”

“Yes, Peter.” His condescending tone was beginning to annoy her. “Please don’t treat me as if I’m a child.”

Peter sighed, in frustration. “Catherine Rose Chandler, your immune system has been extremely compromised. Permanently, and irreversibly… compromised. Do you understand that? You have got to take better care of yourself.”

Catherine noted that he had called her by her complete and proper name, something he only did when he was truly worried. Nevertheless, she continued to look defiant.

“So… are you going to explain how you came to be in this condition?” he asked again.

“Vincent and I…” she answered reluctantly. “We… had an argument.”

“An argument?” Peter looked at her with obvious skepticism.

“Okay… fine!” she said in exasperation. “It was more like a nuclear explosion than an argument.”

“Mmm, hmmm.” He nodded, as he considered her answer.

“What?” she asked defensively, feeling like an errant teenager who had just come home from a date at five o’clock in the morning.

“Whose fault was it?” he asked quietly, sitting back in the easy chair and closing his bag.

Her shoulders drooped, again. “It was my fault,” she whispered. Turning away from him she looked out of the window again. Resting her head on her knees, she whispered, “It was all my fault.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked gently.

“I’m sure,” she said, without looking at him.

“That’s odd. Because according to Vincent, it was all his fault. I suspect that both of you are taking far too much of the credit.”

Peter moved to the window seat where Charles Chandler had been sitting only a short time before. “Can I offer you my opinion?” he asked softly.

She looked up, reminding him again of the child he had known long ago.

“For what it’s worth…” he suggested. “I think it would do you both a lot of good to talk… to each other.”

Observing her obstinate expression, it was clear that Catherine didn’t agree.

When she didn’t reply, Peter stood up. “Well… regardless of what I think, there is a man waiting out there who doesn’t look much better than you do. He’s looking for answers, Catherine… answers only you can give him… answers I think he deserves to hear.”

Catherine listened but remained silent.

“What should I tell him?” Peter finally asked.

Catherine sighed. “I might as well get it over with,” she said with resignation. “Tell, him he can come in.”

“Fine, that is what I’ll tell him.” Peter leaned over and kissed her lightly on top of the head.  “I love you, Cathy.”

“I love you too, Peter,” she said, as she watched him disappear through the office door.

~~~

Vincent leaned against the wall near Catherine’s front door, wondering what was happening on the other side of the office door. Peter had been in there for a long time.

What if she refuses to see me? he wondered. What if she never wants to see me again?

He took a deep breath in an effort to calm his fears. Then I will wait as long as it takes for her to change her mind, he decided. As long… as it takes.

Trying to occupy his mind, he looked around the room. The scent of fresh paint was unmistakable. She must be redecorating, he concluded.

The furniture was pushed to one side of the room and covered with sheets. It certainly didn’t look like anyone lives here, he observed. A ladder stood near a half-painted wall, perched on paint splattered blue tarps. Nearby, there were two unopened buckets of paint, some paint rollers, and a pile of rags. Cardboard moving boxes were stacked near the staircase.

Is she moving in or moving out? he wondered, fearing the worst.

Vincent stood up as soon as Peter emerged from the office and closed the door behind him. “What did she say?” Vincent asked insistently. “Is she willing to see me?”

Despite his somber expression, Peter nodded. “She has consented… reluctantly. She’s agreed to answer your questions.”

“Is she coming out, then?”

Peter shook his head. “No… If you want to talk to her, you will have to go in there.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Peter?” Vincent asked.

Peter placed a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “Please, Vincent… tread lightly.  I’m very worried about her.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Peter shook his head grimly. “I’ve known Cathy since the day she was born… and I’ve never seen her like this. No one knows better than I do that she’s had more than her fair share of tragedy, but she always bounced back, before. She has an iron will… so much like her mother. But not this time,” he said, shaking his head. “Since she came back to New York… it’s like she’s given up… I’ve never seen her this depressed. Not even after Charles died. She’s been through a lot in the last few years, Vincent. I think it’s all finally come crashing down on her… She just doesn’t seem to have the resilience to bounce back this time.”

Vincent shuddered inwardly, recalling the night he’d found her standing precariously on the precipice in the Chamber of the Falls. He nodded. “Thank you, Peter. I promise, I will… be careful.”

“Good luck, son,” Peter said, as he left. “Bolt and lock the door behind me, will you?”

Vincent nodded and did as he was asked.

Chapter 27

Standing outside the study door, Vincent hesitated. He took a deep breath, knowing within the deepest part of himself that whatever happened once he entered, would determine the direction of the rest of his life.

One hand hovered over the ornate antique glass doorknob, while he held a battered shoebox in the other. Somewhere in the house a clock chimed ten times, as if telling him he needed to make a move.

He recalled his father’s parting advice the night before, “Do not waste your life wondering what could have been… if only you had conquered your fears.”

He slowly turned the knob and quietly opened the door. Closing it behind him, he noted the stark difference between this room and the outer one. It had a lived-in, dignified air. It smelled of leather, old books, furniture polish, and the faintest hint of pipe tobacco. It was a welcoming room, dominated by a large, hand-carved, mahogany desk. The dark wooden bookshelves that lined the walls were filled with books, photographs, and mementos from around the world.  A large, brown leather couch looked as if it was waiting for him to sit down and read for a while. It was a masculine room that felt familiar and comforting, somehow. The only light came from a desk lamp and a tiffany floor lamp on the far side of the room. It illuminated a well-worn, brown leather chair that matched the couch.

The chair had been turned toward a large bay window. He spotted Catherine curled up nearby on the window seat, staring out at the darkness seemingly unaware of his presence. She was in her stocking feet and her blouse was untucked. She seemed dwarfed by the furnishings that surrounded her. His heart ached at the sight of how small and fragile she looked.

“Catherine,” he said, softly.

Catherine sighed and turned her head in his direction but didn’t speak. She noticed he was dressed in traditional Tunnel clothing, though not as many layers as he usually wore. The brown leather pouch she had once made for him hung around his neck. She immediately wondered if he had come to return it and the rose it held.

Vincent noted that she did indeed look exhausted, as Peter had said. Her skin was frighteningly pale, almost translucent. She looked very much like she had the night she returned to New York to testify in the trial. It was the look in her eyes that tore at his heart.

She made no effort to hide the pain she was in, and bore little resemblance to the glowing, smiling woman he had been stargazing with only three nights before.

Was that only three nights ago? he wondered.

“I was hoping… we could… talk,” he said, tentatively.

Catherine turned her attention back to the window and the darkness beyond. “I’m very tired, Vincent. I don’t have the strength to argue, anymore.”

“I didn’t come here to argue, Catherine,” he said, taking a step further into the room. “I came here to… to ask your forgiveness.”

Catherine slowly turned to face him again and tilted her head to one side. “My… forgiveness?” She was clearly confused. “Vincent, you haven’t done anything for me to-”

“Yes, Catherine… I have…” he countered, taking another step in her direction. “I’m asking you to hear me out... Please…”

Her face felt as if it was on fire. She was mortified by the memory of the horrible things she had said to him the last time they met. After a moment or two, she motioned toward the leather chair. “Would you like to sit down?” she asked, not knowing what else to do. She waited, expectantly.

Vincent approached her slowly and took a seat in the chair she had indicated. The air felt heavy and charged, and the silence between them was deafening.

Catherine could feel his sadness, his shame, and his discomfort. She could see that, like her, he also had deep shadows under his eyes.

“What is it, Vincent?” she quietly asked. “What is it you want me to hear?”

He found the gentleness in her voice encouraging. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he looked at the floor, unable to look into her eyes.

Finally, he began. “Every time I lost faith in our dream… every time I pushed you away from me… encouraged you to find someone else… you refused to give up on me, Catherine… you wouldn’t let me give up… on myself… on us… on the dream we shared… You stubbornly stayed by my side through… everything.” Finally looking up at her, he continued, “You came back to me each and every time… even at the peril of your own life—”

“Vincent,” she interrupted, shaking her head. They were painful memories. Memories she didn’t wish to discuss.

“Please… let me finish,” he insisted.

Catherine reluctantly complied, allowing him to continue.

“After everything that happened to you… things I… even now, I am not sure I know fully… all that you went through… But whatever it was… it made you stop believing… it made you give up on us… on our dream.”

He sighed and shook his head, sadly. Finally finding the courage to look directly at her, he continued, “All those times you wouldn’t allow me to give up… and then the first time you gave up… I should have had the faith… I should have had the strength to carry us through… Instead, I… I let you push me into the arms of someone else.”

They stared at each other, neither knowing what to do or say.

“I’m asking you, Catherine… do you think you can… find it in your heart to… to forgive me?”

His heartfelt plea touched her deeply. She reached out and covered his right hand with hers.

“You did nothing wrong, Vincent… But if you must hear the words… I… forgive… you,” she said, noticing for the first time, the box he was clutching in his left hand. “What’s in the box?” she asked.

Looking down at the box, Vincent turned it in his hand, as if he just remembered it was there. Holding it out to her, he said, “It’s your letters. I brought them back to you. They’re a little bit worse for wear, after… what I did… but they’re all here.”

Catherine looked at the box he held out to her. She shook her head, refusing to accept them. “Those aren’t mine, Vincent. They’re yours. I wrote them to you.”

She stood, feeling the need to escape the difficult situation. She walked over to one of her father’s bookshelves and lovingly touched a small replica of the Eiffel Tower. She remembered the trip to Paris she had taken with her father as a teenager, and the street vendor selling the tacky souvenirs. The pleasant memory gave her a moment to regain a measure of equilibrium.

Finally looking back to Vincent, she continued. “I always wanted you to have those letters. You can do whatever you want with them, but… I don’t need them. I know them all by heart.”

Wondering what it meant that she still wanted him to have the letters. Vincent asked, “If you wanted me to have them… then why didn’t you ever give them to me?”

“How could I?” she asked, clearly surprised by the question. “There were lines you drew, Vincent… lines I didn’t dare cross. I knew that from the beginning.” she declared with confidence.

Catherine took a breath, attempting to stay calm. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of the terrible scene in Vincent’s chamber the night before.

“Was I wrong about that?” she asked, sure that she wasn’t.

Vincent couldn’t deny it. It was me, he admitted to himself. He shook his head slowly. “No, Catherine, you were not wrong. I’ve been reading and rereading these letters all day. I realize now that… it was always me who was… one up.”

She tilted her head ever so slightly. “One… up?” she asked. “What does that… mean?”

“It means that there is a person…” he explained, “…in every relationship who is… the boss. Diana said…” Vincent paused. Diana had seemed so sure when she explained it to him, as if it was a truth that was commonly known in her world. And yet Catherine didn’t seem to understand it.

Could Diana have been mistaken? he wondered, realizing for the first time that he had never even questioned Diana’s assessment of his relationship with Catherine.

“What?” Catherine asked, prompting him. “What did Diana say?”

He was slow to reply. “She said that it was… you… who ‘called the shots’… you, who controlled our relationship…”

Catherine was stunned. “But… Diana didn’t know me…” she said, shaking her head. “You knew me, Vincent… Did I make you feel that way? If Diana read those letters… she knew that wasn’t true.”

“It was not long after you told me… that we had no future…” Vincent explained. “I had gone Below… far deeper than the main chambers. I needed to think. I was confused and… in great pain. Diana found me, there.”

Vincent paused for a moment. “Perhaps she said it in an attempt to comfort me. I don’t know. But when she said it… it made a certain kind of sense. I allowed that perspective to color my memories of you.”

He sighed with regret. “I realize now that I always interpreted your emotions, and your actions through the prism of my own experience… and my own insecurities. I always saw your choices through my eyes.”

He paused again and looked at the box in his hand. “But today… as I read these letters and really listened to the words, I began to see myself and the choices you made through your eyes, through your heart…and I realized that it was me… that I was the one who was always one up… and it was you who was always one down. I was the one who set the terms of our relationship… even though I didn’t fully realize what it was that I was doing.”

Catherine studied his expression. She felt his deep regret, and it pulled at her heart.

“One down… one up…” she repeated the phrases, turning them over in her mind. “I never thought of us in that way, Vincent.”

Vincent met her gaze with hope. He was drowning in remorse, but Catherine’s words felt like she was throwing him a lifeline. He waited for her to continue.

“Every other relationship I ever had was about power,” she explained. “I’ve always had a knack for choosing men who wanted to be the one in control… always in charge… and I allowed them to be the boss… to control the direction of the relationship. I let them tell me how I should look, what I should wear, what I should say… even where we would live, and how many children we would have. They even chose what I would eat whenever we were in a restaurant. And yet… no matter how much I allowed them to do, it was never enough…

“I… was never enough.”

Her voice trailed off as she recalled the failed relationships in her past and how the woman she used to be so closely resembled the women she was trying to help at the shelter.

Vincent was mesmerized by the vulnerability in her voice, and the faraway look in her eyes. “Why, Catherine? Why did you allow yourself to be treated like that?”

Catherine looked up as if just remembering that Vincent was in the room. “Why?”

He nodded. “Why did you allow yourself to be treated in such a way?”

“Because that is what I was taught…” she replied, simply.

“I don’t understand. Who taught you that?”

She thought for a moment. “After mother died, Daddy was worried that without her guidance, I might be… at a disadvantage, socially. So, he enrolled me in an etiquette school for young girls. After I graduated from high school, he sent me to finishing school in Switzerland.”

“Etiquette school?” Vincent asked, still confused. “There is actually a school for that?”

“There are rules, Vincent. Socially accepted mores, that girls of my… station… are expected to live by… especially if they don’t want to end up unmarried and alone. We are taught to always allow the man to be in control.”

“And you accepted this?”

Catherine grimaced and shook her head. “No… Most of the rules definitely went against my ‘grain’… But I tried to conform… to make Daddy happy. I really, really tried.”

Vincent was fascinated. He had always known that Catherine’s wealth and social status set her apart from his world. But he had never guessed at how much her world had demanded of her. “Why, Catherine? Why would you change who you are for anyone?”

“I wanted to make Daddy happy. I wanted him to be proud of me… and I suppose because I… I didn’t want to end up alone… and maybe because I… I didn’t believe I could do any better. After Stephen Bass and a succession of men just like him, being alone began to sound pretty good. I didn’t date anyone seriously for a long time. Then Daddy introduced me to Tom, and I fell right back into the trap again.”

She paused before adding, “Every relationship I’ve ever had has ended in disaster.”

She didn’t want to be alone… he thought. I know something about being alone. She tried to change to make her father happy… I know something about that, too.

Looking back at her, he saw a flicker of light in her eyes.

“But I never felt like I wasn’t enough with you, Vincent,” she said, grinning ever so slightly. “Never with you.”

“You didn’t?” he asked.

“No… You were nothing like them.  From the very beginning, you accepted me for who I was. You never tried to control me. You never made me feel as if I wasn’t good enough. Instead you… you encouraged me to face my fears. You believed that I was strong… even when I didn’t believe it myself. You built me up… when those other men would have tried to tear me down, or even use what happened to me to manipulate me. It confused me at first. It’s also one of the things I’ve always loved about you.”

Her smile spread a little bit, as she recalled those earlier days.

“What is it, Catherine… what are you thinking?” he asked.

Looking at him, her smile widened. “You’re the only man who never tried to control me, or change me,” she stated as a matter of fact. “And yet, aside from my father, you’re the only one that I ever wanted to change for. Diana was mistaken, Vincent. Not every relationship is about who is ‘one up’ and who is ‘one down.’ Our relationship wasn’t about that. You always encouraged me to follow my heart… to find my own path… even if that path led me away from you… even if it caused you pain. But whenever I…” Her smile faded and her eyes clouded over again, and she hesitated.

“Tell me, Catherine, please.”

“Whenever I followed my heart, it always led me back… to you.” Catherine took a deep breath and shook her head. “And then you would shut me out, or send me away…” She sighed again. “…or disappear to your nameless river, where I couldn’t reach you for days… sometimes even weeks. That was confusing too.”

Vincent stood, and carefully placed the box on the chair. He approached her, needing to feel her closeness, needing her to understand what he was about to say. “I felt that I was holding you back, Catherine…” he explained. “… that our dream… our love for each other was keeping you from everything you deserved to have… from everything you were meant to be. I felt as if I was stealing your… future… and the life you were meant to live.”

“Vincent… don’t you know… you can’t ‘steal’ something that is freely given? I didn’t want another life… I only wanted… you.”

Looking into her eyes, he said, “I felt that you deserved so much more than anything I had to offer you.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “You gave me everything, Vincent… everything that mattered, anyway.”

He shook his head, unable to believe that it could be true.

Dropping his hand, she began to pace back and forth, her frustration rising with every step. “You put me on a pedestal, Vincent… a pedestal so high, that even you couldn’t reach me. All the times I felt you rejecting me… denying yourself… like I was some noble ideal you would never be worthy of… one you could never dare to touch… or sully…”

She turned to face him again. “Did it ever occur to you that I might not belong there? That I wasn’t the saint you thought I was?”

Leaving him standing there, she walked over to the couch and sat down, feeling the stress, and lack of sleep of the past couple of days catching up to her. “It’s exhausting you know… being noble… being a saint…” Looking up at him, she continued.  “It can be awfully lonely… living up there… on a pedestal… untouchable… unlovable… alone.” She dropped her face into her hands, closing her eyes against the rush of emotions that came from sharing the feelings that she had tried to hide from him for so long.

“Alone…” he whispered. The word resonated within the deepest part of his soul. Alone… alone… alone… It was something he was intimately acquainted with. Catherine was the end of my aloneness… he remembered saying once. But can it be… that I was the beginning of hers? he wondered. Our secret isolated her from everything and everyone she had ever known… even her father. And whenever I distanced myself from her… what did that leave her? How is it that I never realized that before?”

Vincent sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, as he attempted to explain why he had done the things he did. “When I found you in the park…” he began. “When I brought you Below for the first time… you were so broken… so fragile… and frightened… Like a bird with a broken wing, I once nursed back to health.”

Catherine dropped her hands, and looked into his blue eyes, now clouded, and dark with regret.

“I put you on that pedestal to protect you, Catherine… to protect us both. The first thing I ever said to you, was that you were safe… I promised you… that you were safe with me. I didn’t ever want to break that promise…”

She studied his expression. She could feel that he was filled with guilt, and shame, but she wasn’t sure why. “You never did, Vincent,” she said with conviction. “You never broke that promise.”

The doubt in his eyes was unmistakable. She stood and walked back to the window. She found some solace, looking out into the darkness.

“Sometimes… I think it might have been better if you had never found me…” she said hauntingly. “…if I had just died there in the park where they dumped me that night.”

Vincent stood up, shocked by the very thought. “Catherine… No—”

“The damp, cool grass felt so good against my skin,” Catherine continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. “The earth smelled of recent rain. I could feel the blood flowing from my wounds and dripping down my face. It tasted like metal in my mouth. It hurt so much just to breathe, and I could feel myself slipping away. In those moments, all I remember thinking was how relieved I was that it was over… that those monsters were… finished with me.”

Vincent was aghast. Catherine had never spoken of the horror of what she endured that night.

“But I didn’t die.” She turned to him and smiled ever so slightly and continued in a hushed tone. “You saved me, Vincent. If you hadn’t done that… I would have missed so much joy… having you in my life… loving you… and our miraculous son. He’s so beautiful… so much like you. He has your beautiful eyes, your open and generous heart. We would have both… missed that.”

“Jacob has been a source of great comfort… and happiness for me,” Vincent acknowledged, thinking of the beautiful child they had created.

“You deserve that happiness, Vincent,” she said. “You deserve everything.”

“And what about you, Catherine? Don’t you deserve everything too?”

“After all I’ve put you through? I’m not sure that I do.” Catherine looked out the window again. “You were tormented by my love, Vincent… it nearly killed you… I nearly killed you. You nearly died because you loved me.”

Vincent was silent, stunned that Catherine blamed herself for the illness that had come so close to destroying him. His eyes narrowed. “You once told me you would sacrifice everything for me…” he recalled. “I’m just now beginning to realize that that is exactly what you have done. You’ve even sacrificed having Jacob in your life, so that I could have him in mine.”

She looked back at him. “They were necessary sacrifices, Vincent… made out of love… Don’t you understand?”

“No, Catherine… I do not understand!” Vincent approached her. “What is clear to me now, is that there are things that you do not understand.”

“What things?” she demanded, looking up at him.

He paced back and forth, trying to calm himself, and trying to decide what to say. Tell her, said a voice in his head. She needs to know… She must know the truth. TELL HER!!

“What things?” she asked again.

“That night…” he said, turning back to her. “When I found you unconscious and bleeding in the park… It wasn’t me who saved you, Catherine… It was you… who saved me!”

Vincent could see by her furrowed brow that she did not understand what he was trying to tell her.

“Catherine… You must know… I need you to understand… that I was fighting the darkness long before the night I found you. That night… was one of the darkest nights of my life… I was contemplating… terrible things… and then I found you there and… everything changed.”

“What was it? What were you contemplating?” she demanded, feeling the terror of that night swirling around them both.

Now it was Vincent who looked out into the darkness. He suddenly wanted to run, to disappear into the night, rather than speak aloud the secrets he had tried so long to keep from her, and from those who loved him.

TELL HER! the voice within him screamed.

Still facing the window, he began. “My struggle with the darkness… with… my aloneness… It has been my struggle… always. There have been many times over the years when I felt as if the Abyss was calling to me… pulling me into it. In the months before I found you, the struggle had become almost unbearable. Sometimes I would dream that I was standing on the bridge above the Abyss, and I just allowed myself fall forward… letting it swallow me into oblivion. I would wake to find myself standing there… on the bridge… I had walked there in my sleep.”

“Vincent!” Catherine gasped.

Finally looking at her, he continued. “I knew that I was losing the battle. I was too tired to fight against it any longer. That night… I had resigned myself to the inevitability of it… I was ready to give up the struggle…” He paused and took a deep breath. “I decided to go for a walk… Above… one last time, before I…. ended it all. It had rained. The park was heavy with mist, and the heady scents of the earth, waking from a long winter.”

Catherine’s eyes were riveted on him.

“If I hadn’t found you there …” he looked at her intently and finally continued. “…or if I had found you too late… we would have both died that night… and our son would never have been born. You saved my life, that night, Catherine… and many times since.”

“Don’t die, Catherine… If you die… so do I…” she whispered, not realizing she was speaking out loud.

“What did you say?” he asked.

Catherine looked at him intently. “You said that to me once… didn’t you?” Her face cleared as she recalled the night he had whispered those words. She could still hear the desperation in his voice. “The night that Mitch Denton shot me… You said that… when you left me on the steps of the hospital… didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know you heard me… I thought you were unconscious.”

“All this time I thought it was a dream… like us buying ice cream on 5th Avenue.”

Unable to tear his eyes from hers, he explained, “That was the night I realized that you had become the anchor that was holding me to this life… It was your friendship… your love, that gave me the strength to hold on. Your light rescued me from the darkness in my soul. Your love wasn’t killing me, Catherine. It was the only thing keeping me alive.”

Vincent returned to the couch and sat down, allowing her time to absorb what he had just told her.

She followed and sat next to him , placing her hand on his knee. “I didn’t realize, Vincent…” she whispered. “I didn’t know that. You never told me,”

“There are many things I never told you, Catherine… things I’ve never told anyone.” He said, looking over at the box on the leather chair. “Things you deserved to know. But I was afraid… that if I told you…”

He paused… unable to find the words.

“You were afraid I wouldn’t understand?” Catherine offered. “That I would be frightened? That I… would leave?”

Vincent sighed and looked at her sadly. “Sooner or later…. everyone leaves. That is one of the constants I have come to expect in my life.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “…and then… I left too.”

“You were taken, Catherine. That is not the same.”

There was a long silence between them as they both recalled the horrifying memories of that terrible time. It was eventually Vincent who spoke.

“In the months you were missing,” he said softly. “I blamed myself.”

“Why?” she asked, not understanding how he could possibly feel responsible for the actions of evil men he had never even met.

“Without our Bond…” he continued. “I couldn’t find you… I couldn’t save you.” he said, tightly clenching his fists. “I feared the worst. During that time, I tried to remember every moment we shared… every conversation we ever had… trying not to forget the sound of your voice…  the look of your smile… the scent of your hair, the light in your eyes… I regretted every lost opportunity… every time we missed a moment… to love each other… not knowing if I would ever see you again.

“I cursed the loss of The Bond we once shared… The Bond that would have led me to you… that would have saved you.”

Catherine reached out for his hand, gently caressing it and coaxing it to open. She examined his palm, softly rubbing the indentations where his nails had nearly pierced the skin.

The sensation as she stroked his skin took his breath away.

Her voice was soft and gentle as she spoke. “Those months that I was missing… I felt your love for me… and your desperation… how you searched for me every night…”

“You felt that?”

She nodded. “Sometimes I could even feel that you were somewhere nearby…” she said.

“You could?”

She nodded again, her eyes never breaking from his. “It gave me strength, Vincent… knowing that you refused to give up on me… even after everyone else had. It gave me hope that somehow…” She stopped mid-sentence and shook her head. They were memories she had tried for months to purge from her mind. They were too painful to dwell on… but she knew that Vincent needed to know… at least to some degree.

“After you found me on that roof… after I… I… died in your arms… it nearly destroyed you… I felt that too.”

The memories were painful for Vincent as well. Leaning back against the sofa, he sighed as he looked up at the ceiling. “After you were gone… After I lost you, I regretted even more the precious time I had wasted… all I had lost by keeping so much hidden from you. We could have spent those two years loving each other… fully and completely…” He looked at her with tears in his eyes. “A part of me always knew that was what you wanted… but instead I… I kept shutting you out... pushing you away. I told myself that it wasn’t safe for you to love me… that it was you… your fears… that kept me at bay… but it wasn’t. They were my fears, Catherine... always. I suppose it was easier for me to believe that it was you who always dictated the limits of our relationship… Eventually, I even convinced myself of it… but I know now… that it was me… It was always me.” In frustration, he pounded his other fist on his thigh.

“You did it because you were trying to protect me, Vincent… I always knew that… even if I believed you were wrong,” she said, wanting to assuage his grief. “I felt your anguish after I… died… I was so afraid it would destroy you before you were able to find our child. It nearly did.”

“Yes…” he sighed heavily. “The pain was… unbearable… I wanted to die too… I wanted to join you. I thought that if we couldn’t be together in life that perhaps we could be together in death… I was nearly consumed by the darkness, and then…”

“… and then I called out to you,” she said, finishing his sentence.

He scrutinized her closely. “Yes… you called out to me… and you reminded me that there was… a child.”

She nodded. “And when you found Jacob… You brought him home… and you began to heal.”

He smiled at the memory of the moment he first laid eyes on their tiny son. “Yes… He was so beautiful… just like you said he was. He was a miracle.”

“Yes,” she said, recalling the relief she had felt, knowing their child had been saved. “And then I began to feel… something else.”

“What?”

“Your pain began to subside. I could feel that you were beginning to… to open your heart to someone… that you were beginning to care for her.”

“Diana?”

“I didn’t know who it was… I just knew that you weren’t alone. And whoever she was… she was good for you. And then you began… opening your heart to her in ways that you never had with me.”

He stared at her, studying her expression, but detected no anger, or bitterness from her.

“You told Diana everything… about us, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Yes,” was his short reply.

“You could talk to her about anything… but you withheld so much from me… and I was afraid to share my truth with you…”

There’s nothing you can’t say to me, Diana had once said. But there was so much I could never say to Catherine, he admitted to himself.  So much I never had the courage to say… so much I kept from her.

“As much as we loved each other…” Catherine said. “I realize now… that we didn’t trust each other…Yes, we trusted each other with our hearts… even with our lives… but not always with our truths, our secrets, our deepest fears.” She closed her eyes, aching with the truth of what she had just said. “Without trust, Vincent… nothing else matters… no relationship can survive without it.”

Catherine took a much-needed breath and continued. “When I realized that you had found someone… I knew that I could… let you go… let go of our dream.  That it would be better if… if I didn’t come back… if I let you and her and our son be a family… and she could be his mother.”

“But you did come back.”

“Yes.” Catherine nodded. “I had no choice. They were afraid that without my testimony, there wasn’t enough evidence to get a conviction. When I realized that I had to return to New York, I had to make another plan… I knew that I couldn’t just disappear. You would know that I was alive. That’s when I decided that even if I did come back… I would set you free… that I needed to let you be with her…”

“Why, Catherine? I still don’t understand why.”

“Because… you were at peace with her… a peace I realized you never felt with me.”

“It was because of you, that I was able to do that.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was you, Catherine! You who taught me that love was possible for me… and you gave me a son. Catherine, you taught me that there were possibilities, for me… possibilities I never dared even imagine before you came into my life. And when life offered me a second chance… I decided not to make the same mistakes again.

“After all, how many chances are there for someone like me?”

Catherine felt her temper rising at his self-deprecating question. “What do you mean, ‘someone like you?’ Do you mean someone beautiful? Someone gentle? Someone compassionate? Someone generous, and kind? Someone educated and refined? Someone selfless? Someone like that?”

Vincent sighed. Her words were like a balm to his aching spirit, but there was so much that still didn’t make sense to him. This could be my last chance to get the answers I’m looking for, he decided.

“If I ask you something, Catherine, will you tell me the truth?” he asked.

Nodding, she quickly answered. “Yes, of course I will.”

“When you came back,” he said. “I thought we could finally realize all that we had once dreamed of… but whenever I tried to touch you… or tried to hold you… I could feel your reluctance… your revulsion… of me… and your sadness that you could not fulfill our dream… Was I wrong?”

Catherine closed her eyes trying to gather the strength she needed to explain the truth to him. He is asking me for the truth, she thought. He deserves the truth. She finally decided that there was nothing left for her to lose by giving him what he was asking for. After all, she told herself, I’ve already lost everything.

“You weren’t wrong, Vincent… I did have those feelings… but it wasn’t revulsion of you. It was because I… I couldn’t bear the thought of…”

“The thought of what?”

“There were things…. things I didn’t want you to see… things I didn’t want you to know.”

“What things, Catherine?” he asked, insistently. “Please… tell me.”

Catherine stood and turned away from him. With her back to him, she began to unbutton her blouse, so that he could see for himself what she had kept hidden from him.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

As she removed her blouse, he saw the scar on her back from the gunshot wound she had received at the hand of Mitch Denton. He was surprised to see that her shoulder blades, her ribs, and each vertebrae of her spine protruded unusually through her skin. He had known she was thinner after she returned, but he could now see that she was frighteningly thin.

Draping the blouse across the arm of the couch, she slowly turned to face him. It was then that he began to see. An angry, purple, and puckered scar began under her left arm, just under her bra and went more than halfway across her torso. There was a tube with a red cap protruding from beneath the skin on the upper right side of her chest. A large portion of her right side looked brown and scaly, as if it had been badly burned. Her collar bones and her ribs protruded prominently as a result of too much weight loss.

She reached up and removed a wig. Her hair had begun to grow back and was now almost three inches long.

Horrified at the toll illness had taken on her, Vincent wondered how she had borne the pain of it all alone. He stood with his mouth agape, unable to hide his shock at the scars, and her diseased ravaged body.

Catherine smiled sadly though her tears. “Now I understand how you felt at my reaction, the first time I saw you.”

“Catherine… oh, Catherine,” was all he could manage to say.

“At least you didn’t throw anything at me,” she said, referring to her reaction, the first time she laid eyes on him.

Vincent was so shocked at what she had revealed to him that he couldn’t seem to speak coherently. “I… I had no idea… I… I can’t even…” Taking a few deep breaths, he finally managed to say, “Tell me, Catherine… Please.”

“They had to remove my spleen. That’s what this scar is from. This is the port for the chemo. This is a radiation burn. Peter says it will eventually fade. These little tattoos are so the technicians can line up the radiation machine properly…”

She brushed her hand through her short hair to fluff it up a little and tried in vain to sound cheerful. “My hair is growing back. It always did grow fast. I won’t have to wear the wig for much longer.”

“It’s… cancer?” he managed to ask.

“Stage II Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The same thing that killed my mother. They discovered it when I was in the hospital… after I… after I almost died. The doctors were running all kinds of tests to try and determine what drugs I’d been given and how I had managed to survive, when they discovered it.”

“So… it’s true? You are… dying?” Vincent asked, feeling a knot in the pit of his stomach.

Catherine retrieved her blouse and put it back on. She spoke ‘matter-of-factly’ as she methodically fastened the buttons.

“I had the best treatment government money can buy. They used some new, experimental drugs to ensure I lived long enough to testify. Apparently, the government can circumvent the FDA when they want to. I’m officially in remission… cancer free…” she said, sarcastically. Then she took a breath and continued. “… for the moment anyway.”

“That’s good then, isn’t it?” he asked, grasping at the merest thread of hope. “You are not dying?”

Catherine approached a nearby bookshelf and reverently touched a photograph of her parents, laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world. “My mother was in remission… for seven years…” she whispered. “…and then… she wasn’t.”

“What does that have to do with you?” Vincent asked.

Looking up at him, she replied, “We watched her die… Daddy and me. It was… horrible, especially at the end. They hid it from me for a long time, but those last few months… to see her in so much pain…” she carefully placed the photograph back on the shelf and continued. “It was like a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from.”

She returned to the couch, feeling another wave of exhaustion rush over her. Then looking at Vincent, she went on. “It destroyed a part of him, Vincent. Like my death destroyed you. He tried to hide the pain, to be brave… for her, and then be strong for me. But sometimes I could hear him weeping when he thought I was asleep. He never recovered. His life just… stopped. He spent the rest of his life alone.”

“He had you, Catherine,” Vincent offered.

“Hmph… that’s not what I mean…” she said, dashing the tears from her eyes. “And he didn’t even have me after I went to college… and then after I left Chandler and Coolidge, we just… drifted apart.”

Sitting again on the couch, Vincent felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that he bore some responsibility for that.

She slid closer to him. Slipping her hand in his, she told him, “I don’t want that for you, Vincent… or for Jacob. You already buried me once. I know the anguish you suffered. I felt it… every moment of it, and I was powerless to help you through it. I can’t bear the thought of putting you through that again. Isn’t once enough?”

“Catherine—” Vincent began.

Catherine was quick to interrupt. “When I felt you beginning to open your heart… to care for someone else… I decided it would be best for everyone if I let you. Diana loves you both… I know it. And I felt how you cared for her. I want Jacob to grow up with a mother… even if it isn’t me. I tried not to get attached to him… really, I did. But he’ so… beautiful… so much like you. I couldn’t help myself.”

“I deserved the truth, Catherine. You had no right to make that decision for me.”

She bristled at his statement. “Why not? You always made the decisions about our limits without me. You thought you were protecting me, I know that. That is all I was doing. I was trying to protect you.”

Vincent sighed as he recalled his father’s words. Isn’t that what I taught you to do?... what I encouraged you to do, time and time again? Did we ever give her a choice?

Clasping her small hand in both of his, he spoke in earnest, “I was wrong to do that, Catherine. We were … both… wrong. Those were decisions we should have made together. We should never have withheld the truth from one another. We should never have made unilateral decisions like that. We should have trusted each other enough to do that.”

Catherine stared back at him in silence.

“Catherine… you died… you died… in my arms. It nearly destroyed me. But somehow… somehow you survived, and Heaven sent you back to me. If you had told me… If you had told me you were ill… I would have cherished every moment we have… whether it’s seven days… or seven months… or seven years. I would cherish every second…every moment as a gift,” he insisted.

“I didn’t want your pity, Vincent,” Catherine replied, shaking her head. “It would have mocked everything we shared before. I knew when I came back that you had begun to give your heart to someone else. And I was happy for you… really, I was. It meant that you had a chance… a chance at happiness… even after I was dead.”

She paused, overcome by the heartache of the decisions she had made.

“I can’t offer you that,” she acknowledged, shaking her head. “…not anymore. All I can offer you is more pain.  If you had known about my illness when I came back… If you had seen all of this… you would have sacrificed your relationship with Diana. I know you, Vincent. You would have felt obligated to stay with me. I didn’t want that… not for you…. Even without that knowledge, I could feel how conflicted you were when I returned. You felt guilty for hurting her.”

“It’s true, I did feel guilty. I feel guilty now. Diana was nothing but good to me. She saved my life, and she saved our son. She didn’t deserve to be hurt… It is true that I cared for her… I can’t deny that. I cared for her very much… but I loved you, Catherine. I still love… you!”

Catherine’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of those words. They were words she had once ached to hear from him.

“I thought if I convinced you that our dream was no longer possible, that you would finally be free of me. That you would eventually love her the way you love me. I wanted you to be able to move forward without feeling guilty.”

“But that is not what happened,” Vincent said, stating the obvious.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I underestimated your capacity for guilt.”

“You underestimated the depth of my love for you, Catherine. You were wrong to believe that I could just stop loving you and to give that love someone else. Diana mistakenly believed that too.”

“But Vincent, what we had… the dream of a future together… that’s all it ever was… only a dream… a dream that was shattered beyond repair. Diana was able to help you overcome that. She made you realize that it could be more than a dream… that you could have everything. That’s more than I was ever able to do. You shouldn’t feel guilty for that.”

“No… Catherine… You are wrong! It wasn’t Diana who taught me that. It was you.”

Catherine looked at him, unsure of what he meant. “What do you mean? How was it… me?”

“Catherine!” he exclaimed, frustrated that she didn’t seem to understand all that she had done for him. “It was you, who had the courage to enter that cave when I was in such agony… and you saved me… When I brought Jacob home, I was in such awe of him… and I began to fully realize what you had done for me… the incredible gift that you left for me… and I was even more in awe of you. Our son was proof that our dream could have been real… but I learned it too late. You were dead and so was our dream. I can never repay you for what you did for me in that cave, Catherine…”

A shadow crossed his face and Catherine felt a sense of deep remorse rising in him.

“I thought you had no memory of that night.”

“I have a brief fragment… of a memory….” he whispered, unsure if it was wise to remind her of the horror of that night and what he believed he had done. “You must have been terrified, Catherine. You showed great courage… to allow me to touch you in that way… but you made that sacrifice… and you saved my life.”

Catherine furrowed her brow and shook her head. “A ‘sacrifice?’ No, Vincent, it wasn’t a sacrifice. It was love. It’s true that I was terrified that night. But I think you have misunderstood. Loving you… letting you touch me… letting you love me the way you did… was no sacrifice. I wasn’t terrified of loving you. I was terrified of losing you. I was afraid you were going to die.”

Vincent looked at her intently, trying to comprehend what she was trying to say. “So, I…” he responded cautiously. “I didn’t hurt you? I didn’t… rape you?”

Catherine stood as if he had thrown a bucket of cold water over her. Vigorously shaking her head, she replied. “NO!” she said, horrified that he had said such a thing. “No… How could you ever believe that? You would never… could never do that!” She looked at him in disbelief. “Vincent! You know better than anyone, the things I have experienced… the violence I have endured… Do you truly believe that I would ever let you near me again if you had… raped me? Do you think I would allow a rapist to raise our child?”

The look on Vincent’s face was one of shock and disbelief. He had feared the worst for so long that he had all but convinced himself that it was true. Now Catherine was refuting that any of it had happened the way he had feared.

“Vincent…” Catherine sat and reached to cover his hand with hers. “If I had known you believed you raped me… if you had only asked, I would have told you… but you—”

“…never asked.” he said, finishing her sentence for her.

“Why?... Why didn’t you ask?”

“Because I was afraid of the truth…” His blue eyes were haunted. “I still am.”

She could feel his doubt, the guilt, and the fear he had lived with for nearly a year.

“Tell me, Vincent… Tell me… what is it that you remember? What is it that made you believe you had done such a thing?”

She heard his sharp intake of breath. It was clear that whatever it was, it was something he didn’t want to speak of.

“I’ve had… flashes of a memory…” he began with hesitancy. “The two of us are in that cave. I’m in a wild rage… in agony beyond anything I have ever known…. I’m charging at you. I can still see the terror in your eyes… as I… as I raised my hand to strike… You screamed my name and then… blackness. I have no memory after that.” He paused to take another breath. “When I learned there was a child, I… I feared that I must have forced myself on you… The thought of it… the fear of it… has haunted me… shamed me.”

“Oh, Vincent…” she sighed. Without letting go of his hand, she explained, “When I realized you had no memory of it… I didn’t know how to explain it to you.”

“And when you discovered you were pregnant?” he asked, needing to know why she had kept it from him.

“I came Below to tell you…” she explained. “but you were so distraught about the loss of our Bond, that I—”

“But our Bond wasn’t truly lost, was it?”

“No,” she answered honestly. “I hoped that it would return to you as you recovered. I wanted to explain that to you too… but I didn’t quite understand it myself… not at first… not until it was too late… I had already been…”

“Kidnapped.”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me the truth now, Catherine? Will you tell me what really happened between us in that cave?”

Catherine could feel his fear… but she could also feel an equal measure of desperation within him, to know, once and for all, the truth of what had transpired between them. She slid a little closer to him.

She was so close that Vincent could feel the warmth of her body.  He breathed deep the familiar scent that was his Catherine. He instinctively lifted his left arm and she silently accepted his unspoken invitation and curled herself into his waiting embrace.

Resting her head against his chest, she could feel his heart pounding. Pulling her head back, she looked into his eyes, aching at the fear she saw there.

“Your memory is accurate, Vincent” she said softly. “But it’s incomplete.”

“Tell me, Catherine… please.”

“You were in such pain that night. I was frantic to get to you… to help you… to comfort you if I could. When I entered the cave, you charged at me, as if you were going to strike. You stopped when I screamed your name. And then… you collapsed. You just crumpled to the ground, pulling me with you.”

Vincent could feel her frail frame trembling in his arms as she recalled the terror of that night.

“You stopped breathing. Your heart stopped beating. You died, Vincent. I felt you go, and in that moment, I couldn’t bear the thought of my life without you in it. I knew that without you, my life would be… nothing. I couldn’t… let you die… not unless you were going to take me with you. I was desperate. I didn’t know what to do. I begged you not to go… not to leave me behind… and then I… I kissed you.”

Tears streamed down her face as she recounted the intense emotions she had felt in that moment.

“And then…” A look of wonder filled her eyes, as she continued, her hand absently massaging a circle over his heart “…you began to breathe again… You came back to me.”

“Then what happened?” Vincent asked, hanging on her every word.

“You took a deep breath and opened your eyes.  You looked up at me with so much love… and for the first time since I’ve known you… without a shred of fear…” She smiled at the memory.  “And then you loved me, Vincent. You loved me in a way that exceeded all my dreams.” She reached up and gently stroked his cheek. “You gave me everything you had… everything you were. You filled up every broken part of my soul… and we created our son. It was… the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known.”

She rested her hand again on his chest. His heartbeat had slowed, and she felt that his fear and shame was beginning to subside.

“Afterward I… I sat beside you for hours, watching you breathe. I was afraid that if I left you to get help or if I fell asleep, that you would… die. So, I watched over you… and I prayed… that you would… live… and you did.”

Vincent stared searchingly into Catherine’s eyes. How can I know if what she has told me is true? he wondered. Or is she just saying that to calm my fears?

Feeling his doubt and seeing it so clearly in his eyes, she didn’t need wait for him to ask. “I am telling you the truth, Vincent. Search your heart… and you’ll know… it’s all true.”

Neither blinked as they stared into each other’s eyes. Finally, Vincent breathed a deep sigh of relief. He bent his head forward until his forehead touched hers. “All this time I was so afraid… I believed that you… let me go because of what happened… because of what I had done to you that night.”

“No,” she whispered, gently stroking the side of his cheek. “What happened between us that night… it made letting you go even more difficult.”

He closed his eyes and began to weep with relief as well as for all that they had endured.

Catherine rested her head on his chest and stayed close to comfort him.

“What are we going to do now?” he asked at length. “I love you, Catherine. I want you back. I want you in my life. I know now that I will never love anyone else. There is only… you. I realized that when we were in Connecticut.

“Last night… I was on my way to explain it to Diana when I discovered the box of letters she left for me… your letters. Apparently, Diana had already realized it too.”

Catherine looked at him but didn’t speak. Even without their old Bond, Vincent could feel the deep sadness that emanated from her. He held his breath, terrified that she was still determined to see her plan through.

“Catherine… please,” he begged. “This is a decision we should make together. Please do not turn me away again.”

She sighed. “It isn’t just about you and me anymore, Vincent. There are things we both must consider, most importantly, our son. You need to ask yourself what it will do to Jacob to lose me… when he is five, or ten, or fifteen years old? What will it do to you, to have to bury me again? I am intimately acquainted with this pain, Vincent. The thought of the pain it would cause you both… tears me apart.”

As Vincent opened his mouth to speak, Catherine covered his mouth with her hand to stop him.

“Will you do two things for me?”

He reached up and gently took her hand in his, as he answered her. “Anything, Catherine… I’ll do anything.”

Catherine felt a current of electricity thrum through her as he softly kissed each of her fingertips. It was all she could do to keep her thoughts in order.

“I want you go to your unnamed river… the one you used to go to… to get away from me,” she managed to say.

“Why?” he asked, tucking her hand beneath his chin.

“Because this is not a decision we can make lightly, Vincent. Loving me now… now that I am… ill… I would understand if you don’t want to… if you don’t think you could… move forward… with me… if it’s asking too much. And I can’t stand the thought of you choosing to stay with me out of pity. I would feel that too.”

“Just what is it you want me to do while I am there?”

“I want you to go there… free of distractions and the opinions of others… so that you may carefully consider all the ramifications of the choice we make now. How it will affect our son. How it will affect you. How it will affect everyone in the Tunnel community. Look at it from every angle… every possible outcome.”

“Haven’t we had enough of making choices in isola—”

“Vincent, please,” she insisted. “I have been thinking about this for nearly a year. I know what I want… and I also know that I have no right to ask it of you or our son. Just promise me you will do it. Please. We can talk about our future when you return.”

Sensing the urgency in her, he capitulated. “If that is what you wish, Catherine, I will do it. But you said you want me to do two things. What is the second?”

When she hesitated, he began kissing her fingers again, “Tell me,” he prompted her. “What is it, Catherine? I’ll do anything you ask.”

“You once told me that we could never be truly together until we  understood how great the sacrifice and how large the fears, and were able to move through them.

“Yes, I remember,” he whispered.

“I know now… that it’s true. Faith and fear… cannot exist together,” she said. “And love… is the ultimate leap of faith, Vincent… especially for us. I can feel your love for me. I’ve never doubted that. But I can also feel a deep-seated fear in you that I have never fully been able to reach.” As she locked eyes with Vincent, she could see his pupils widen visibly. “I want you to confront your fear, whatever it is. I want you to conquer it… once and for all.”

Vincent was stunned. “Catherine,” he gasped, slowly shaking his head. “You do not understand what you are asking of me.”

“I understand more than you realize,” she assured him. “Vincent, you must face the thing you fear the most, the thing that kept us apart for so long… and you must make peace with it.”

When he still hesitated, she continued, “You must acknowledge your fear and overcome it before we can ever be together. We can never truly… fully… be together until you do this. You said yourself that we must face our fears and move through them. I have done that... I didn’t have a choice. Now you must do it too.”

“Catherine, I… I don’t know if I can,” he admitted. “I’m not strong enough. I have never been strong enough.”

She smiled knowingly. “You are strong enough. You are!” she insisted. “I know you, Vincent. You do have the strength. I can feel it in you.  You must… do this. We can never be fully together until you do.”

“And you, Catherine? What will you be doing while I am on this quest?”

“I have to go back to Arizona…” she said, “…to the hospital where I had the chemo.”

“Is something wrong?” he asked, immediately concerned.

“No… nothing like that. It’s only a checkup. I’m part of an experimental drug study. If it’s successful, the treatment I was given could help a lot of other people who have what I have. I was supposed to go back a couple of weeks ago, but I was—”

“But you were caring for our son.”

“Yes,” she replied, simply.

“When will you return?” he asked, afraid that she might not return at all.

“A week… maybe two.” Feeling his fear, she reassured him. “I promise you, Vincent. I will come back.”

From elsewhere in the house, the grandfather clock chimed three times. Catherine looked in the direction the sound came from, then looked back to Vincent.

“We’ve been talking for hours,” she said, stating the obvious. “I haven’t noticed the clock chimes since you entered the room.” Her body ached from lack of sleep, and she was suddenly keenly aware of how tired she was.

“I should go,” he said, also feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. “We both need to get some sleep.” Vincent rose, reluctantly, and went back to the leather chair to retrieve his box of letters. Reaching inside, he pulled out three leather bound books, and presented them to Catherine.

“What are these?” she asked, as she took them from his hand.

“My journals,” he said. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “…all the truths… that I kept hidden from you.”

“I always knew you loved me, Vincent. You couldn’t hide that.”

“It’s not just that. They contain my secrets, my struggles… my deepest fears… and my deepest shame. Please, Catherine, take them with you… take them with you to Arizona… so you will have a piece of me with you. I want you to read them. Regardless of what happens… no matter what we decide about our future… I promise you… I will never keep the truth from you again.”

Catherine stood up and accepted the journals.

At the front door, Vincent reached for her. She stepped easily into his embrace.

He tucked her under his chin and breathed deeply of her essence. Still afraid to let her out of his sight, he kissed the top of her head. “So… I will see you in two weeks?” he asked searchingly.

She nodded. “Two weeks,” she confirmed. “I promise.”

As she closed and locked the door behind him, Catherine felt the exhaustion of the last few days bearing down on her. She knew that before she did anything, she would have to get some sleep.

Chapter 28

It was shortly past 4 am when Vincent arrived at the central hub of his Tunnel home. There was an expectant quiet in the air. In a couple of hours, a new day would begin. But for a short time longer his world would continue to sleep to the rhythmic sound of the ever-present subway trains that rumbled above them.

The heavenly scent of baking bread told Vincent that William had already begun his day. It wouldn’t be long before the rest of his world began to stir, but he wasn’t concerned about that. He was so exhausted, physically and emotionally, that he knew he would sleep through it all.

Despite his extreme fatigue, Vincent felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Catherine had freely forgiven him. That was good. It gave him hope… more hope than he’d felt for a very long time. Only one thing remained standing between Vincent and his dream of a life with the woman he loved. But at the moment he was too tired to think about it.

There is time, he told himself… two weeks to be exact… to find a way to face the fear that has haunted me for most of my life.

The fatigue seemed to increase, and Vincent’s feet seemed to become heavier with each step that brought him closer to his chamber.

Finally arriving at his destination, he just managed to cast his cloak aside and remove his shoes before collapsing onto the bed.

Welcome sleep came quickly.

~~~

It was nearly noon when Vincent woke. He quickly began packing his knapsack. The sooner I begin this quest, the sooner Catherine and I can be together, he concluded.

“Are you going somewhere, son?”

Vincent looked up at the sound of his father’s familiar voice but didn’t reply. The last thing I want to do now is answer questions, he thought, as he stuffed some clothes into the sack.

“Is this a good thing, then?” Father asked, hoping that his son and Catherine had worked things out.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” Vincent replied reluctantly. “I am doing what Catherine has asked me to do.”

“So… you have spoken to her?”

“Yes, Father, we have spoken,” Vincent answered, mildly irritated by his Father’s prying questions.

Frustrated that Vincent wasn’t more forthcoming, Father asked. “Are you going to tell me what happened? Did she… forgive you?”

“Yes, she forgave me, without hesitation,” he replied, still unsure that he deserved the forgiveness Catherine had given so freely.

“Then… that is a good thing… isn’t it?” Father prodded further. “Is that where you are going now… to be with her?”

Vincent took a breath to release his rising tension. “No, I am not going to be with Catherine,” he said firmly. “I am going to the deep tunnels… below the pipes. There is something I must do… something Catherine has asked me to do.”

Father had known for many years that Vincent only sought the solitude of the deepest parts of their world when he was restless and troubled. It had always been a reason for concern. “Is this wise, Vincent?” he asked. “Why? Why would Catherine ask you such a thing? Is she aware how the solitude affects you? Especially after—”

“Father!”

Father stopped speaking abruptly at Vincent’s raised voice. For a moment, the two men stared at each other.

Vincent took another deep breath, before continuing in a more subdued tone. “I mean no disrespect. Truly, I don’t. I know you only desire what is best for me. But this… does not concern you. This is between Catherine and myself, and that is the way I wish to keep it… at least for now. I am asking you to respect that.”

Father stood up straight, offended by Vincent’s rebuke, and yet, at the same time, proud of his son’s strength of spirit.

“Very well, Vincent,” he replied with great restraint. “I will do as you ask.”

Aided by his ever-present cane, Jacob had nearly exited the room before turning around. “Just know, son, that I will keep you in my thoughts, while you are gone.”

Vincent’s expression softened, as he looked gratefully toward the only father he had ever known. “Thank you, Father.”

Finding himself alone, Vincent hurried to finish his task before he could be interrupted again. He then headed for William’s pantry, hoping his old friend could spare some canned goods or dried foodstuffs for his journey.

“Hello, William” Vincent said, as he entered William’s exclusive domain.

Looking up from his never-ending kitchen duties, William took in the sight of his friend with concern. He nodded and turned his attention back to his task. “Haven’t seen much of you the past couple days. You… all right?”

Some might have been offended by such a seemingly gruff salutation. But Vincent knew it was his old friend’s way of respecting his privacy.

Ignoring William’s question, Vincent got straight to the point of his visit. “I’m going on a journey for a week or two,” Vincent explained. “Is there any chance there are a few canned goods you could spare?”

“In there,” William said, turning his face and using his bearded chin to point in the general direction of a small side chamber filled with makeshift shelves made from cinder blocks and wooden planks. “Take what you need.”

William was generous, and mercifully quiet. He could tell that Vincent wasn’t ready to answer a lot of questions and Vincent appreciated William’s reticence.

As Vincent entered the pantry nook, he couldn’t help but notice that the shelves were heavily stocked with a wide variety of canned food and dry goods. He didn’t recall ever seeing such bounty in William’s pantry before, even at Winterfest when the Helpers were always more generous than usual.

On closer inspection, he saw that most of the cans were new. Some had expiration dates as far as two years into the future. The Tunnel Helpers were always generous with what they could spare, but even in good times, the shelves contained mostly an assorted supply of dented cans, usually past their expiration dates. Canned goods that had lost their labels were so common that they were affectionately dubbed by the Tunnel Folk as “Tunnel Surprise.”

Vincent looked over his shoulder, wondering where food of this quantity and quality had come from.

Stepping out of the closet, Vincent asked. “William?”

“Yeah?” William replied, without looking up from his cooking.

“Where did all of this food come from?” Vincent asked, trying not to sound concerned.

William paused from chopping his carrots for just a moment, then replied evasively, “Up Top… Where else would it come from?”

William’s tone told Vincent that his friend was keeping something from him. Not wanting to accuse anyone, Vincent prodded carefully.

“Has Mouse been foraging Above again, William? Because, if he’s been ‘finding and taking’ again, it could mean troub—”

“Now just a minute!” William stopped chopping his carrots and turned around, pointing his knife in the direction of the pantry shelves. “Nobody stole that food, Vincent, if that’s what you’re getting at. We came by it fair and square. It was paid for with good money.”

“Paid for?” Vincent squinted and furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, ‘paid for?’ Who paid for it? Where did that much money come from?”

William’s face flushed deeply. “Fine!” he finally blurted out, clearly agitated. “If you must know… it was Catherine. She paid for it and everything else you see here.”

Vincent looked around and noticed several bushel baskets filled with apples, oranges, potatoes and an assortment of fresh vegetables. He was speechless at what Catherine’s generosity had provided for his family.

William was becoming very uncomfortable. The last thing he wanted to do was get in the middle of whatever was going on between Vincent and Catherine.

“Catherine did this?” Vincent asked incredulously. “When?”

“It was last month…. when she found out about the outbreak down here. When Mary took Jacob Above, Catherine gave Mary money to buy all the food and medicine we needed for the sick kids down here. And I’ll tell you, that medicine was sorely needed. Even Father, as proud as he is, willingly accepted it.”

Vincent took a step back. “Did she say why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why?’” William was shocked at Vincent’s question. “Because she loves us! You idiot!” he bellowed. “Because that’s the kind of person Catherine is! You, of all people should know that!”

Vincent was taken aback by the sudden flare of William’s temper, but he couldn’t deny it. Yes, he inwardly acknowledged … of all people… I should know that… I do… know that.

Trying to calm down, William turned back to his carrots and resumed chopping. He didn’t want Vincent to see the tears in his eyes. “As far as I can tell,” William finally said. “…besides Peter, we’re just about the only family Catherine’s got left... I figure she still remembers what happened to Ellie in the last outbreak and… well… you know… she didn’t want anything like that to happen again.”

Vincent looked back at the fully stocked shelves. Even after all you have suffered, Catherine, you are still thinking of others. What else have you done? He wondered. What else have you done that I am unaware of?

“I’m sorry, William,” Vincent whispered. “I didn’t know. Catherine never mentioned it to me.”

“I guess not,” William said softly. “I get the impression you and Catherine haven’t been doing a lot of communicating since she came back.”

Vincent’s thoughts turned inward. No, we haven’t, he admitted to himself, and even before that. I see that now.

“Well… are you just going to stand there all day?” William’s usual gruff tone had returned. “Take whatever food you need. I don’t have time to stand here talking all day. I have work to do. And make sure you take some apples and oranges. There’s plenty, and they won’t do anybody any good if they rot.”

Vincent knew he’d been dismissed. He went back to the pantry shelves and began to fill his knapsack. Once satisfied that he had enough food, he turned to leave. “Thank you, William. I appreciate this,” he said.

“Any time, Vincent,” the large man replied. Then, holding out a brown paper sack, he added, “You might need this too.”

Peeking into the sack, Vincent looked up, surprised. “Fresh bread and honey? Are you sure you can spare this, William?” he asked, not wanting to deprive any of his friends.

“I wouldn’t give it to you, if I couldn’t spare it,” William replied. “I promise, no one will go without, but me.”

“William, I can’t—” Vincent tried to protest.

“I won’t hear any argument,” William said, holding up his hand, effectively stopping his friend. “I insist. Look at me. Do I look like I am going to waste away, for want of one loaf of bread and a little honey?”

Vincent smiled wryly and embraced the portly man. “Thank you, William.”

“Bah,” William scoffed, clearly uncomfortable by the gesture. “It’s not so much.”

But Vincent knew different. It was a peace offering. It was William’s way of apologizing for losing his temper.

“It means more than you know, William… more than you know,” Vincent said, his hand resting on William’s shoulder.

William’s eyes began to glisten with tears. “You know,” he croaked, then cleared his throat loudly. “You aren’t the only one whose heart got broke when Catherine died.”

Vincent embraced his friend again. No more words were necessary.

With his nutritional requirements taken care of, Vincent had one more stop to make.

As he walked, he pondered William’s words. ‘You aren’t the only one whose heart got broke when Catherine died.’ Vincent had always been aware of William’s soft spot for Catherine. He recalled the darkest days following Catherine’s death. William had been a steady presence in his life, always making sure Vincent remembered to eat and making sure Vincent had someone to talk to. Now he wondered, Were you there to comfort me, William? Or did you stay close so that we could comfort each other? Either way, I will be forever grateful for your friendship.

Entering the nursery chamber, Vincent found Mary and Lena quietly tending to several of the community youngsters who were not yet old enough for a formal classroom education.

“Dadda!” Jacob called out as soon as he caught sight of his father. He dropped the toy he was playing with and toddled precariously toward Vincent.

Laughing, Vincent dropped his sack at the chamber entrance and bent down to receive the child, as he tumbled into his father’s arms.

Mary looked up from the other children at the sound of Vincent’s laughter. After the last couple of days, she considered it a good sign. She stood and approached the two. Father and son were so intent upon each other that neither noticed Mary until she spoke.

“Hello, Vincent,” she said, tentatively. “Are you… are you well?”

Looking into the concerned face of his dear friend, Vincent realized that his angry rampage of the other night must have frightened not only her, but all of his Tunnel family.

Holding little Jacob in the crook of one arm, he reached to embrace Mary with the other, and bestowed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “I hope you can forgive me, Mary, for the way I acted the other night. It was not my intention to frighten you… or the others. I am well now. I promise.”

Looking up at him with wide eyes, she ventured to ask, “And Catherine… is… is she… well?”

Vincent was reluctant to share details of what he and Catherine had discussed. He needed time to think, and to make his decision, before explaining it all to his family. However, he realized that he needed to tell her something.

“Catherine and I… we have decided to spend some time… apart…” he offered. “We both need to consider what is best… moving forward… what is best for all of us… especially for Jacob.”

Mary looked beyond Vincent to the bulging knapsack, on the floor behind him. “You’re going away?”

Vincent nodded. “Yes, I’m going to the deep tunnels, to a place where I can think without being distracted.”

“For how long?” she asked, feeling much the same concerns as Father had.

“I don’t know… a week… maybe two.”

“What about Jacob?” Mary asked. “He misses you terribly, Vincent, whenever you’re gone. Will Catherine be coming to see him?”

“No… Catherine is going away, as well. I must ask a favor of you, Mary. Will you take care of Jacob while I am away?”

Mary hesitated, not sure if she wanted to support his plan. The thought of Vincent going deeper into the darkness, where he had fled when he was so ill, filled her with foreboding.

“Please, Mary…” he begged. “I promise you; I would not ask it of you if it wasn’t important. My future… Catherine’s future, and Jacob’s future all depend on me doing this now.”

Mary’s heart softened at the sound of desperation in his voice. “Of course, Vincent. It will be no trouble to take care of Jacob until you come back.”

Vincent breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mary,” he said, putting his arm around her again. “I will stay with him this afternoon, until he falls asleep, if you don’t mind.”

Mary smiled and kissed the little boy’s cheek. “That sounds just fine,” she replied. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” Looking up at Vincent, she added, “I’ll be praying for you while you’re gone, Vincent… I’ll pray for you all.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

As Mary returned to the other children, Vincent settled on the floor with his son. He played with Jacob until he began to pull on his ears, indicating that he was becoming sleepy.

“Would you like to read a book?” he asked, lifting Jacob into his arms.

Jacob clapped his little hands. “Book, book,” he squealed, as he pointed to the bookshelf against one wall.

As Vincent perused the books on the shelf, he noticed a few that were unfamiliar, and oddly, not nearly as tattered as the rest. “Are these new books, Mary?” he asked. “We don’t usually receive secondhand books in this condition.”

Mary looked up from the other children. “Catherine brought those. Whenever she comes to visit Jacob, she brings books or toys for the children.”

“For the children? Or for Jacob?” Vincent asked.

“She brings them for all the children. Of course, there are a couple of books that she reads specifically to Jacob.”

Of course, he thought. Catherine again. She is generous with us all.

Choosing one of the brightly illustrated books, Vincent settled in the rocking chair with Jacob. “Love You Forever[8] ,” Vincent read the title. It sounds promising, he thought. Opening the book, he began to read.

A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“Mama! Mama!” Jacob said, pointing to the illustration of a mother and child.

“That’s right, Jacob. That’s a mama.”

And while she held him, she sang:

I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,

As long as I'm living

my baby you'll be.

Vincent stopped reading. “I’ll love you forever…” he repeated, feeling a lump forming in his throat. “As long as I’m living…”

“Book… book!” Jacob said impatiently, as he slapped the picture on the page.

Responding to Jacob’s demands, Vincent continued.

The baby grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was two years old… at night time, when that two-year-old was quiet, she opened the door to his room, crawled across the floor, looked up over the side of his bed; and if he was really asleep she picked him up and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. While she rocked him she sang:

I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,

As long as I'm living

my baby you'll be.

By this time, the lump in Vincent’s throat had become so large that he could barely speak. Catherine, he wondered. Have you been reading this to our son? Have you been trying to prepare him for…?

“Book, Dadda! Book!” Jacob demanded again.

Vincent did his best to comply. There was nothing to do but try his best to finish the story. The soft tone of his voice soon lulled the boy into a sound sleep. As Vincent finished the last chorus, tears streamed silently down his stubbled cheeks.

I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,

As long as I'm living

my baby you'll be.

Kissing Jacob on the forehead, Vincent gently laid him in the nearest crib. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Jacob. I promise,” he whispered. Then, retrieving his knapsack, he quietly left the nursery.

He only walked a few steps. Thinking himself alone, Vincent leaned against the tunnel wall and broke down.

Mary quietly followed Vincent out of the nursery. Her heart ached to see him weeping there. She hesitated to interrupt, thinking he might want his privacy. Finally giving into her motherly instincts, she approached him, and placed her small hand gently on his shoulder. No words were necessary. She stood beside him until he was able to gain control of himself.

“I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t mean to—”

“There is no need to apologize, Vincent,” she insisted. “That’s what friends are for… to be here for each other. We are all here for each other.”

Looking back toward the nursery, Vincent asked, “That book I just read, Mary…Is that one of the books… that Catherine reads to Jacob?”

“Yes, it is,” she replied. “Catherine cries when she reads it too. She thinks I don’t notice… but I do. I thought it was odd… you know… that she kept reading a book that made her cry.” Looking toward the nursery herself, Mary added, “But I think I understand now.”

“Understand?” Vincent asked.

Mary nodded. “When she was here the other night… the night the two of you…”

“The night we… quarreled?”

“Yes… that night. Catherine brought Jacob back to the nursery and stayed with him until he stopped crying and fell asleep. Before she left, she asked me if I would make sure to tell Jacob… when he grows up… how much his mother loved him. I think that book was her way of telling him… in case she… isn’t here to tell him herself.”

Vincent nodded. “Yes… I believe you are right.”

“What will the two of you do now?” Mary asked, clearly concerned about them both.

“I don’t know. Catherine and I spoke last night.”

“She loves you, Vincent.”

“Yes… I know that.” Vincent sighed. “I love her too.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Mary asked, clearly confused.

“Catherine has asked me to take some time to think about our future… to consider, all the ramifications of the choices we make, now that she is… ill. I promised her that I would. But I need to be away from here to do that. I need to be alone… so I can… think.”

“I understand,” Mary said with nod. “But remember this, while you’re down there considering… We’re your family, Vincent… We love you… and we love her too.”

Vincent reached to embrace her. “Thank you, Mary.”

The gentle woman wiped a tear away as she watched Vincent disappear around a bend in the tunnel.

“I’ll be praying for you, Vincent,” she whispered to the empty corridor. “I’ll be praying for you all. That’s what families do for each other.”

It wasn’t long before Vincent left his tunnel home behind him, comforted by the well wishes and love of his Tunnel family.

Chapter 29

Nearing the deepest borders of his home, Vincent reached one of the lower bridges in the Chamber of the Winds. Some accurately referred to it as ‘The Whispering Bridge” or “The Whispering Gallery.” There were times when the wind would carry down traffic sounds, music, or voices from the world Above them, giving the place a sense of magic.

Stopping briefly, Vincent recalled a time when he and Catherine were new. They sat here on this very bridge and exchanged valentines.[9]

The handmade card she’d given him held a heart-shaped candy that said, “You have my heart.”

What courage that must have taken, Catherine, for you to say that so early on, he thought. But back then I could not allow myself to believe that someone as beautiful as you could ever want someone like me.

He recalled the heart-shaped stone he had given her in return. “I found it a long time ago…” he’d explained. “…in a river that runs deep below us… It isn’t worth much… in fact, it isn’t worth anything really… but if you want it… it’s yours.”

Vincent remembered how he had held his breath, afraid that Catherine would laugh, or worse… reject his paltry gift.

But you didn’t reject it, did you, my love? You acted as if I had given you a precious gem.

Vincent stood there for a few moments, breathing in the memory, as if it lingered in the air like a hint of Catherine’s perfume.

As he traveled further from the home Tunnels, treasured memories came, unbidden, to his mind. Picnics in The Chamber of the Falls, reading to each other in the candlelight, concerts in the Music Chamber, flickering candlelight on Catherine’s balcony, dancing in The Great Hall to the music in the wind. Their time had always seemed so limited, so measured, in those days. Each stolen moment had been precious to them both.

‘Then we must learn to measure our lifetime in another way,’ he recalled her saying once.

That is exactly what we did, isn’t it, Catherine? he asked inwardly. Every stolen moment became a lifetime, every embrace, a triumph over all that conspired to keep us apart.

During the hours Vincent descended into the depths of his subterranean world, he recalled every one of those precious moments. Despite traveling alone into the darkness, he felt as if Catherine was walking beside him with every step.

It was late when he reached the lonely, isolated chambers inhabited by his reclusive friend, Narcissa. Vincent knew he dared not pass without a greeting. If he attempted it, she would inevitably seek him out.

He followed the familiar path to her living quarters. Her back was to him as he entered her eclectic chambers. She was concentrating on something she was cooking on her small stove. The rustic table was set with two mismatched bowls, two mismatched and chipped, ceramic cups, two spoons, and a dented pewter pitcher. It appeared that she was expecting company.

Without turning from her task, Narcissa asked. “You ah back here again Vin-cent?” She sounded more than a little annoyed. “De ansahs you seek, child, ah not here in de darkness,” she declared with emphasis. “You will only find dem up dere, in de light.” She pointed an arthritic finger at the rough ceiling above them, but Vincent knew what she meant.

“I haven’t come here looking for answers, Narcissa,” he answered quietly, without venturing any further into the room uninvited. “I’ve already found those.”

“Hmmm,” she grunted doubtfully in reply. She was silent as she placed the heated stew on the table and ladled it expertly into the bowls. “Ah you going to just stand dere, or ah you coming in?” she asked, with her back still to him.

Vincent came forward. Removing his knapsack, he sat down at her roughhewn table. Reaching into his sack, he pulled out the bread and honey that William had gifted him and placed it on a wooden board in the center of the table.

Narcissa sniffed the air and smiled. “I see William has been baking bread today.”

“Yes,” Vincent replied, smiling wryly as he picked up the knife. It was clear that she had known he was coming. She even knew he would need the knife to slice the bread. That is nothing new, he reminded himself, Narcissa always knows what is coming her way… almost always, he quickly corrected, recalling what Paracelsus had once done to her when he came upon her unawares.

The two friends ate in silence, both relishing what the other had brought to the table.

Cleaning her bowl with a bit of bread, Narcissa finished her meal. Then turning her clouded eyes to Vincent, she said, “You say you have not come here for ansahs.”

“That is right,” he replied, simply.

“Den what, child?” she demanded, unwilling to let him get away with such vague replies.

“Catherine sent me,” he answered, capitulating to her insistence. “She has asked me to go to my nameless river, to consider the way forward… the choices we are making about our future.” He sighed, and then continued. “She also said… that I must face my deepest fear and overcome it, before we can ever be fully together.” His voice was not much above a whisper.

“Ahhh…” Narcissa replied knowingly, as she rose and began to clear the table. “Your Caterine… She is a wise woman. It is true… de time has come, Vin-cent… You must finally face da fear.”

“What about her fears?” Vincent asked. “She says she has faced her fears, but I’m not so sure.”

Narcissa laughed softly. “Your Caterine… She has no fear of you, Vin-cent. She nevah did.”

“She did!” Her assurance to the contrary rankled him. Vincent knew that this time the old woman was wrong.  “I have felt a fear in her many times. Before, when I had The Bond—"

“Bahhhh…” Narcissa scoffed, waving his words away. “Dat bond… It was a gift, Vin-cent.” She came closer to him, as if attempting to see his face more clearly. “But what good is a gift… if you do not know how to use it?” she asked, wagging her finger close to his face.

“I did use it…” he argued, defiantly. “More than once… it saved Catherine’s life.”

“You were deceived by dis Bond,” she responded as she reached for his bowl and spoon. “You should know dat by now. Da fear you felt in Caterine, was nevah fear of you, child. Your Caterine fears only two tings.”

“And just what do you believe those things are?” he challenged.

Narcissa turned away and poured warm water from her stove into an ancient enamel dishpan.

“Caterine fears losing da ones she loves… and causing you pain,” Narcissa replied.

“Catherine gave up on our dream,” Vincent said, placing the remaining bread into the plastic bread bag and twisting the lid on the honey jar. “She lost hope… in us.”

“No, Vin-cent. Caterine set you free… so your pain would end. She felt your fears, your doubts, and your pain… how dey tortured you. She believed pushing you away would end de pain.”

Vincent picked up a ragged dish towel from a nearby basket and began to dry the dishes as Narcissa washed. “Did she tell you that? Has Catherine been here?”

With clouded eyes Narcissa looked up at the man who towered over her. “No, she has not been here. I have nevah met your Caterine.”

“Then how do you know this?” he asked insistently.

Narcissa smiled slowly. “I have heard her voice… in da Chambah of da Winds, Vin-cent. I have seen her in your eyes. I have felt her in your heart. You have shown her to me many times wit your werds. You carry your Caterine wit you where evah you go.”

Vincent paused with a dish in one hand and a towel in the other. He was amazed at how much he had revealed to Narcissa without even realizing it. It’s true, he inwardly acknowledged. Catherine has not left my thoughts all day.

“Caterine’s love for you is unselfish and pure,” Narcissa whispered. “She want no ting but your happiness… even at great expense to her own.”

Vincent’s heart told him that Narcissa was right. And yet he was amazed by how much she knew of a woman she had never met.

“Caterine’s love conquered her fear long ago, Vin-cent,” Narcissa continued. “A love like dat is very rare... and she give it only to you, and to your son.”

“By pushing us away?” Vincent asked, still confused by the seeming contradiction between Catherine’s actions and her words.

“Yes…” Narcissa smiled with satisfaction. “You ah beginning to undah-stand.”

But he wasn’t beginning to understand, not even a little. Vincent remained silent, wishing Narcissa would just say what she meant, instead of always speaking in riddles.

As if reading his mind, Narcissa answered him. “It is you, Vin-cent… you who are shackled by da fear. You let dat fear deceive you. But perfect love… will cast out da fear.”

“Perfect love?” Vincent cocked his head to one side, trying to truly hear what she was saying.

“You must allow your love for Caterine to be strongah dan your deepest fear, Vin-cent…  or you will be doomed to forevah be apart… even if you are togeddah.”

Wiping the last dish, Vincent placed it on a shelf and hung the towel on a hook to dry. He sat back down and stared at the floor. My love must be stronger than my fear… he repeated inwardly, or we are doomed to forever be apart… even if we are together.

Vincent looked up at Narcissa helplessly.  “I don’t know how to do that, Narcissa. All my life fear has kept me alive. I’ve relied on fear to protect myself and to protect those I love. How can I surrender that? I don’t have the courage to do it.”

“You must trust in de love, Vin-cent! HER LOVE! It will give you da courage to face da fear.” She declared, pointing her finger in his direction. “You must conquer da fear…”

She paused, allowing a moment for her words to hang in the air.

“Den…” she continued, shaking her finger at him again. “…let your love for Caterine be as pure as her love for you… Let it make you strong…” She said, clenching her fists and raising them into the air. “Strongah dan you have evah been…” Her volume rose, emphasizing the importance of what she was telling him. “Strongah dan you have evah imagined!” Her tone softened again, as she lowered her arms and sat down in a chair facing him. “And den… you will be able to give dat pure love back to her...”

Narcissa smiled and then whispered, “Den…, no mattah de sacrifice… no mattah de pain… your joy will be greatah dan any-ting you can imagine.”

Vincent was trying valiantly to grasp what she was telling him. “I don’t understand,” he finally asked. “How can pain bring us joy?”

“Aaaugh… Such small words to describe such great tings… joy and pain, happiness and sorrow, love and hate… da one cannot exist wid-out de uddah, child.”

“One cannot exist… without the other? You mean joy cannot exist without pain?” he asked, fascinated by the concept. “Can this really be true?” he wondered aloud.

“Every-ting in dis world has its opposite,” Narcissa explained. “Courage and fear, good and eevil, light and darkness. Tink about it, Vin-cent. Do you tink you can evah truly appreciate de greatest happiness if you have nevah known de deepest sorrow? Dah pain is de price, child… Da price dat must always be paid for such a precious gift as joy. It is always dis way… It has always been dis way. Such a priceless gift… is nevah free. It is de contrast of great pain dat makes de joy sooo sweet.”

Vincent’s head was cocked to one side… he was trying hard to absorb the words. Why have I never realized this? Why have I never known?

“You must undah-stand, Vin-cent,” the wise old woman continued. “…dat if you wish to avoid de pain of life, you must also sacrifice de joy… and live a half-life: feeling only indifference… a safe life, in which no ting can hurt you, because no ting really mattahs.”

Narcissa stopped speaking, realizing that Vincent needed time for the words to distill in his mind.

“Dere is no joy in de painless life. It is always dis way. Is dat what you want, Child?” Narcissa asked softly, feeling that she was making progress. “Do you want a half-life for yourself… a half-life for Caterine… a half-life for your son?”

When Vincent didn’t respond, she continued. “Dere are many who choose dis path. Dere are many who are not willing to pay such a price… but you and Caterine are not meant for such tings. You and your Caterine… are meant to live lives of great joy, great happiness, and great love. But to know de greatest joy, you must also accept de possibility of de greatest pain. Soonah or laytah… it will come… da price must always be paid. It takes great courage to live such a life, Vin-cent. Your Caterine… she has such courage… and so do you.”

Vincent looked up. “But if Catherine is dying… how can we… live… any kind of life at all?” he asked.

“AUUGGHH!!!!” Narcissa exclaimed, raising her arms in frustration, and resisting the urge to box his ears.

“WE ARE ALL DYING VIN-CENT!!!” she said, pounding her fists on the table.

Vincent was stunned by her vehement declaration.

“Tomorrow… is not promised to any of us, you foolish boy!” she explained loudly. “Dere is only now! Dere is only today! Do not waste one more today worrying about what tomorrow may bring… or what tomorrow may take away!”

Vincent was speechless, astounded by Narcissa’s impassioned advice.

Narcissa’s tone softened a little, as she continued. “You must gratefully accept da gifts dat are given you wit each new day. I will tell you dis, Vin-cent… what evah de price, what evah de sacrifice … it will be worth it! To receive de greatest love… You MUST face your GREATEST FEAR and ovah-come IT!! You must let your love and your faith be strongah dan your fear, Vin-cent.”

Vincent felt as if he were a child again, recalling the first time Narcissa found him hiding in a dark cave after wounding his brother.[10] She had gently convinced him to go back home and face the consequences of his actions.

Despite Father’s warnings to avoid the ‘crazy, old woman,’ Vincent had realized at an early age, that she was wise and could see more through her clouded eyes than any sighted person he’d ever known. Now, Narcissa’s wisdom and insights spoke directly to his heart.

“You know what my greatest fear is… don’t you?” he asked.

“Ahhh…” Narcissa said. She nodded, knowingly. “De Dark One… he is de one you fear… de darkness in yourself.”

Vincent sighed heavily and shook his head. “Catherine doesn’t realize what she is asking of me… She doesn’t understand,” he whispered.

Narcissa stood, and turning to her shelves, she pulled down a stone mortar and pestle. Reaching up again, she pulled out jars filled with herbs and assorted medicaments.

“Your Caterine… She undahstands much more dan you realize…” she said, as she began opening the jars and scooping some of the contents into the stone mortar.

“What do you mean?” Vincent asked.

Narcissa continued mixing her herbs as she spoke. “Caterine has seen dat darkness, Vin-cent… She has looked into its eyes… She has looked into its heart… It was Caterine’s courage dat brought you back from it. It is her courage that brings you here now. Your Caterine… your brave, wise Caterine… She shines her light into dat darkness… Her love has da powah… to tame it.”

Vincent was silent. Yes, he inwardly acknowledged. Catherine has always had the power to do that.

“She will help you…” Narcissa said, as she carefully placed her herbal mixture into a small muslin, drawstring bag.

“Catherine can’t help me, Narcissa…” Vincent argued. “She isn’t here… She’s in Arizona… She couldn’t help me even if she wanted to.”

Narcissa turned toward him. “You must trust a crazy old woman, Vin-cent… Caterine will help you… She will…come…”  Narcissa came close and placed her flattened palm against his chest… “She is here… wit you… always.”

Vincent stood. He had heard all he could stand to hear. He lifted the knapsack to put it on his back.

“Do not forget da bread, Vincent,” Narcissa said, realizing that he was unable to hear anything more.

“You may have it,” he generously offered. “In exchange for sharing the stew.”

“Bahh… Take it wit you, child. You will need da strength for what is ahead.”

Vincent nodded, knowing that it was a waste of time to argue with Narcissa. Her supplies were always meager, but she was proud. He considered leaving the jar of honey on the table for her, hoping she would not discover it until he was gone, but decided not to try her patience.

Narcissa walked with him to the chamber exit.

Vincent turned to his old friend, “Thank you, Narcissa…. for the stew and for your kind counsel. I promise, I will consider what you have said.”

Looking up at him, she smiled and pressed the small drawstring bag into his hand. “Every ting has it’s opposite, Vin-cent,” she whispered. “Even… you. Da one cannot exist widout de uddah.”

Vincent turned up his palm and looked at the bag. “What is this?”

“It is for you, Child… when you ah ready to face de ting you most fear. A special tea. Your Dr. Wong is not de only one who know how to mix da herbs.” She laughed softly. “Drink it… when you ah ready.”

Vincent nodded obediently, and gratefully accepted her small gift.

Chapter 30

“Vincent, do you think that someday… will we ever be together… truly together?”

“Only if and when we understand how great the sacrifices, how large the fears, and are able to move through them.”

Vincent recalled every detail of the conversation clearly. It was during the time Catherine had come below to heal after her father had passed away.

He smiled softly, as he recalled her beauty that day. Catherine seemed to glow in the misty, half-light of the Chamber of the Falls. Not even the rough Tunnel rags she wore could detract from her loveliness. She seemed as comfortable wearing them as any expensive ball gown.

As he closed his eyes, Vincent could still feel the feather light touch of her hand as she gently turned his face so she could look directly into his eyes. “I’m not scared,” she had said, with unshaken conviction.

Vincent sighed in the darkness. You were being truthful, Catherine… I know that now. You were not frightened… but I was, he silently admitted to the darkness. I still am. It was easier for me to believe that you would never overcome your fears, that way I would never have to face mine.

Vincent was unsure of exactly how long he’d been camping on the banks of his unnamed river. Surrounded by darkness, he could almost feel himself becoming a part of it. Time, hours, and days had a way of losing their meaning this far Below the city streets. He ate when he was hungry, slept when he was tired, and spent his waking hours exploring the deep places, with only an old kerosene lantern to guide him.

Catherine had asked him to come here to consider the ramifications of the choices they were making, and how those choices would impact him and those they both loved. As far as Vincent was concerned, there was only one acceptable conclusion: Without Catherine, my life would cease to be worth living. His Tunnel family had made it clear that she was as much a part of them as he was. They all wanted Vincent and Catherine to patch things up.

But this isn’t about them, he reminded himself. This is about us.

And then there was little Jacob.  ‘You need to ask yourself what it will do to Jacob to lose me… when he is five, or ten, or fifteen years old.’ she insisted.

Vincent considered it carefully. Yes, it would be devastating, he concluded… for Jacob to lose his mother at a tender age. On the other hand, he thought, I know what it’s like to grow up having no memory at all of a mother’s love.

Did you ever know, Catherine, how I envied you the memories you have of your mother, as painful as they were to you? he wondered. Did you know how I longed, as a child, for just one scrap of memory to hold onto when the loneliness became unbearable?

I want our son to remember the joy in your eyes, the warmth of your embrace, the sound of your laughter, the love in your voice as you sing to him. I want you to be able to watch him grow for as long as possible. The two of you need each other.

There is only one place for you, my dearest Catherine, he ultimately concluded… and that is safe in the arms of all of us who love you.

And yet that was only half the battle.

If that had been all Catherine wanted him to do, Vincent would have gone home days ago, but it wasn’t. Her second request was much more difficult for him to fulfill.

‘I want you to confront your fear, whatever it is. I want you to conquer it… once and for all,’ she said. Her request had been unequivocal.  ‘You must… do this,’ she insisted. ‘We can never be fully together until you do.’

For days Vincent spent most of his waking hours wandering the deep caverns and tunnels along the river, trying to figure out how to fulfill her second request. He had spent most of his adult life struggling to suppress the darkest part of himself, the part that at times threatened to consume him. Now, he wondered how he could confront this specter without losing himself to it.

There were times when Vincent could feel ‘him’ near. A random stone would splash into the water. From time to time, he thought he heard a footfall of someone nearby, and the hair on his arms and neck stood on end. Once, he was even sure he felt hot breath on the back of his neck. Spinning around, he held up his lantern in the dark, only to find nothing there.

“I know you’re there. You’re always there! Even when I can’t feel you… you’re never gone!” Vincent called out to the darkness. “Show yourself!” As his voice echoed through the caverns, it almost sounded as if mocking laughter echoed back to him in return.

After one such walk, Vincent sat at his campfire and pondered his predicament. How is it that I am beckoning him to come and at the same time dreading that he will? he wondered. How can I return to Catherine if I fail?

~~~

After nine days of being poked and prodded in an Arizona cancer research hospital, Catherine was finally on her way back to New York. She leaned back in her airplane seat and watched as the world below got smaller and smaller, until it resembled an eccentric patchwork quilt.

Looking at the earth from this height had fascinated Catherine since childhood. Floating along through the azure skies on white cotton clouds, the world from thirty thousand feet always seemed so perfect; Flowing rivers and mountain peaks, picturesque towns nestled in remote mountain valleys, and city skyscrapers that looked like children’s toys. From that lofty height it was easy to imagine that the world below was at peace and everyone in it lived perfect, happy lives.

It was only when the plane inevitably came back down to earth that one had to face the undeniable truth, that real life is hard. People betray one another. They lose their jobs and sometimes even their homes. Some prey upon their neighbors and abuse those they claim to love. Evil men do unspeakable things to the innocent and defenseless. People get sick, and sometimes they die. The tragedies and heartaches of life on earth are inescapable, except for every now and again, for a few short hours in an airplane.

Catherine sighed as she looked out the window. Vincent had not been far from her thoughts since the last time they spoke. He had promised to do what she’d asked of him; to go to his unnamed river, to decide what their next steps would be, and then to face his deepest fear.

She could feel his love, even two thousand, four hundred and twelve miles away. But she could also feel his fear and foreboding increase, with each passing day. He’s trying to work up the courage, she realized, to do what I asked him to do.

Even though she knew he could no longer feel her through The Bond they shared, she had tried to send him positive energy, every day. She couldn’t help but worry, considering her memory of the illness that had nearly taken his life.  If I could help you, I would. Let our love give you the strength, Vincent, she silently prayed. You can do this. Whatever you decide about us, your future happiness depends on it.

Hours later, she watched the lights of the New York skyline as the plane made its final approach into LaGuardia Airport. It hasn’t been two weeks, Catherine realized, as she disembarked. I told Vincent I would give him two weeks. She knew that if Peter or anyone Below knew she had returned to the city, it would only be a matter of time before Vincent knew as well. The last thing she wanted was to put more pressure on him.

After deplaning and collecting her luggage, Catherine headed for the rental counter, hoping she could get a car without advance reservations.

A little over two hours later, she breathed a sigh of relief, as she arrived at her house in Connecticut. She was so exhausted from the long day. She didn’t even bother turning on the lights. She went straight up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Slipping off her shoes, Catherine practically fell into bed.

“You can do it, Vincent,” she muttered as she drifted off to sleep.

~~~

Vincent stared, almost hypnotized, into the dying embers of his camp fire. He knew they would soon go cold, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t need the fire for warmth. This far down, the temperature was a constant 56 degrees Fahrenheit, despite what the weather was in the world Above. His cloak and the layers of his Tunnel clothing provided all the warmth he needed.  And as far as light was concerned, if he wanted that, he still had some kerosene for his camp lantern in a one-gallon tin that he kept stored nearby and a flashlight in his knapsack for emergencies. I’ll have to remember to bring more kerosene with me next time I come here, he thought.

William’s bread and fresh fruit were long gone. The canned food and fuel were dwindling. Despite not knowing exactly what day it was, Vincent knew the time had come for him to either fulfill Catherine’s second request or go home and accept that he and Catherine could never fully realize their dream.

These thoughts had been running through his mind for days in a seemingly endless loop.

“Vincent, you must face the thing you fear the most, the thing that kept us apart for so long… and you must make peace with it.”

Catherine’s voice was so clear in his mind that it was almost as if she were sitting there beside him.

Vincent clenched his fists, and despite the darkness, he closed his eyes tightly against the emotion her words invoked. “I’m afraid, Catherine…” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m afraid.”

It galled him to admit it, even if it was only to himself. The people he loved depended on his courage to keep them safe. He had never allowed himself to acknowledge the fear he had suppressed for so long. He’d had no choice but to hide it, to deny it, and bury it so deep that he’d nearly convinced himself that he had vanquished it.

At least he’d convinced everyone else that that was the case… that is, everyone except for Catherine.

You do have the strength, Vincent, her voice came clearly again. I can feel it in you.  You must do this. We can never be fully together until you do.

Yes, I must do it… he concluded as he lit the lantern…  I must finally face my fear, even if it destroys me. Because without Catherine… I can’t go on… I can’t bear the thought of losing her again or having this fear always between us whenever we are together.

Putting a few small pieces of wood on the dying embers, Vincent patiently blew them back into a flame. Reaching for a battered tea kettle that had clearly seen better days, he walked the short distance to the water’s edge, where he dipped the kettle into the crystal-clear water.

Returning, he hung the kettle over the open fire.

As the water began to boil Vincent reached into the inner pocket of his cloak for the small drawstring tea bag Narcissa had given him. Drawing it to his nose he sniffed it briefly, wondering momentarily what I contained. Although it did smell like tea, it also had a mildly pungent odor that he didn’t recognize. Vincent quickly dropped the bag into the pot to let it steep.

Pouring it into a tin cup he noted that, and a tentative sip, he immediately detected a musty, bitter flavor. He reached for the last of William’s honey to take the edge off, but still hesitated.

It was then that a ghostly specter of Narcissa seemed to rise out of the fire, saying…

It is for you, Child… when you ah ready to face de ting you most fear. A special tea. Drink it… when you ah ready.”

Obediently Vincent drank it down to get it over with quickly.

He waited a few minutes but was unsure how it was supposed to affect him. Picking up a book of Lord Byron he had brought with him, Vincent sat near the fire to read. The book opened to one of his favorite poems.  She walks in beauty, like the night, it began.

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Vincent closed his eyes and inhaled the beautiful phrase that perfectly described the woman he loved.

Yes, he thought, her beauty is like the night, and all the stars that move in their majesty. I have always loved the night sky. How appropriate that I found Catherine on one of those nights…

He sighed audibly… “Yes,” he said aloud. “I have faith in nights.”

Turning back to the book he read on.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

A mind at peace with all Below? He wondered at the phrase. All Below?

It was as if Byron himself had written these lines for Catherine. Yes, Vincent acknowledged, she is at peace with all here Below… even with me. How is it my Catherine, that you could be so at peace with me… when I have never been fully at peace with myself?

Turning the page of the book, Vincent began to read again.

“How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.[11]

Vincent stopped, realizing that something wasn’t right. Wait… this isn’t Byron… this is… he sat up straight and closed the book, keeping his thumb to mark the page. Checking the cover, it clearly said, “The Collected Works of Rainer Maria Rilke,” That can’t be, he thought. I was just reading Byron.

To prove it to himself, he opened the book where his thumb held the spot and turned the page back to the poem he had just read, only to see that it was no longer Byron.

“You darkness, that I come from, he read…

…I love you more than all the fires

that fence in the world,

for the fire makes

a circle of light for everyone,

and then no one outside learns of you.

But the darkness pulls in everything:

shapes and fires, animals and myself,

how easily it gathers them! -

powers and people -

and it is possible a great energy

is moving near me.

I have faith in nights.”[12]

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Vincent dropped the book and stood up, peering into the darkness beyond the circle of the fire’s light.

“Who is it? Who’s there?”

A soft chuckle answered in return, echoing off the cavern walls as it got louder. “I… I am the darkness that you come from. I… am… the one who lurks outside the fire so that no one will ever learn of me.” The voice rose. “I am the darkness that pulls you in… I… I am the great energy that is moving near you!”

Vincent covered his ears as the voice boomed and echoed in the cavern. He turned this way and that, trying in vain to spot the source of the voice. But all he could see were tortured, grotesque, shadows cast by the campfire.

“Show Yourself!” Vincent bellowed into the darkness.

The words had barely escaped his lips when the cavern echoed with wild roars, and something flew at him from the shadows, knocking him off his feet. They rolled and wrestled, disrupting everything in the camp. Vincent swung a free hand at his attacker but couldn’t seem to connect with anything solid. Wrenching himself free, he stumbled backward, and saw the vague outline of someone who bore a striking resemblance to himself. Snarling threateningly at his attacker, Vincent heard a snarl in return, as his foe bared his menacing fangs.

Seconds later, the intruder attacked again, raking his clawed hand across Vincent’s left cheek. Vincent backed away and instinctively raised his hand to the stinging wounds, as warm, sticky blood flowed down his cheek.

The sight of fresh blood on his hand only strengthened Vincent’s rage. Roaring once again, he lunged at the dark beast, and the battle resumed. They knocked over the can of kerosene, and a thin stream of the flammable liquid began to flow, unchecked and unnoticed downhill. As the battling beasts rolled across the fire, the tea kettle was knocked into the dirt spilling the remainder of Narcissa’s tea onto the ground. The fuel hungry fire caught the edge of Vincent’s cloak and began to devour it, hungrily.

Realizing he was on fire, Vincent pulled himself away from his attacker and quickly ripped off the burning cloak, throwing it to the ground. As soon as it landed in the thin stream of kerosene, the flame exploded and fire began to engulf everything in sight turning the camp into a blazing bonfire. Vincent’s bedroll and knapsack were soon engulfed.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw the flames licking at his treasured volume of poetry. Vincent stepped forward to save it, as the dark beast charged again. Sharp claws raked across Vincent’s chest, shredding his clothes, and sinking deeply into the flesh beneath, sending intense pain shooting through his body. Vincent roared in pain and dropped to his knees, clutching at the deep wounds.

The dark beast backed away. A slow smile spread across his face, exposing his large canines as he observed his foe. He threw back his head a laughed heartily. “It’s MINE! … HaHaHaHaHa!”

Lifting his hand in the air, he dangled something just beyond Vincent’s reach, he laughed maniacally. “SHE… IS… MINE!”

The light from the flames cast a huge shadow of the monster on the cavern wall as he laughed, but Vincent was focused on the shadow of a pouch that swung from the hand of his foe. Vincent clutched at his chest again, realizing that the leather pouch that held his most treasured possessions was gone. “No! No! No! NO! It’s mine! Give it back!”

“Not anymore!” The dark beast only laughed harder.

Vincent’s roars reverberated off the walls. “GIVE IT BACK!!!!” he demanded.

As Vincent leapt to grab the pouch, the Dark Beast disappeared like vapor, leaving Vincent clutching at the thin air. He looked around frantically, but the only other beast he could see was his own shadow dancing on the cavern walls, in response to the flames that were quickly devouring everything in its reach.

“SHOW YOURSELF!!” Vincent roared.

“She… is mine!” the answer echoed from farther up the river, followed by maniacal laughter.

Clutching at his chest in an effort to staunch the bleeding, Vincent rose to his feet and stumbled toward the sound of the dark beast’s voice. “No… no… no…” he breathed, forcing himself forward. He soon found himself wandering in a maze of pitch-dark tunnels, blindly following the sound of distant laughter.

Cursing the dark and lamenting that he didn’t have a torch or a lamp to light his way, Vincent thought he saw something ahead of him. Squinting in the dark, a glowing, smoky image appeared not far ahead of him. “Who is there?” he demanded breathlessly, bracing himself against another attack.

“Vincent,” a deep voice addressed him.

Vincent gasped, instantly recognizing the voice of an old friend. He shook his head in disbelief. This is not possible… it cannot be, he thought.

“But it is…” the voice replied to Vincent’s unspoken ruminations.

As the smoke took a more defined shape Vincent recognized who it was. “Winslow? I… I don’t understand… How is this… possible? You’re…” Vincent hesitated. “…you’re…”

“… dead? Is that the word you’re lookin’ for?” Winslow replied. Then shaking his head, he continued. “Don’t rightly know how it’s possible… Just know I’m here. So, it just is.”

Vincent leaned against the wall, wondering if the loss of blood was causing him to hallucinate. He closed his eyes and shook his head, but when he looked up, the apparition was still there.

“Yes, Winslow… you are dead… Am… am I?”

Winslow’s hearty laugh pierced Vincent’s soul. “No, you are not dead. Lookin’ a little rough around the edges, though… but most definitely not dead.”

“I have missed you my friend,” Vincent said, recalling how he had grieved for Winslow after he had sacrificed his own life to help save Catherine. “But if I’m not dead, then… why are you here? How am I… seeing you?”

“We’re family, Vincent… we have to stand by each other.”

“But—”

“Vincent…” Winslow interrupted impatiently. “It ain’t like I got sumthin’ better to do. I’m here… for you… and for Catherine. She’s… a good woman. What’s between you two… it’s real. I’m here, because I believe in that. I’m here… to help you. I’m keeping my promise.”

Vincent shook his head, trying to make sense of standing in the dark speaking to a ghost. “Your promise? What promise?”

Winslow rolled his eyes. “To give help to those who need it.” Then taking in the sorry sight before him, Winslow continued. “And you shore nuff look like you need it. Now you gonna keep your promise?”

“My… promise?” Vincent was still confused.

“Do I have to spell it out?” Winslow was clearly becoming irritated. “You’re supposed to accept help from those who offer it. I’m offerin’. So, you gonna take it or not?”

“I don’t know how you can help me, Winslow… not with this,” Vincent replied, shaking his head in despair. “I have to do this on my own.”

“Says who?” Winslow’s voice boomed through the tunnel. “You been tryin’ to do this on your own your whole life, Vincent! And from where I’m standin’, it looks like that ain’t workin’ out real well!”

Vincent slumped against the wall and hung his head. Winslow’s right, he thought. I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough.

“Of course, you can,” Winslow said, reading Vincent’s thoughts again. “You’re the strongest person I ever knew. Always been the first to help everybody else, Vincent. Ain’t it about time you let us help you?”

Vincent looked up, at Winslow’s words. “Us? Who else is here?”

Winslow extended his arm and pointed into the distance. “The people who love you. That’s who!”

Vincent looked in the direction Winslow had indicated. In the distance he could see a glowing mist, making the dark tunnels more visible in darkness.

“We can’t fight the darkness for you, Vincent. You’re right about that. Every man’s gotta do that for himself. But we can help light your way.”

“My way? You know which way he went?”

Winslow pointed toward the glowing mist in the distance. “Follow the mist, Vincent. Just follow the mist.”

As Vincent obediently stumbled forward, the glowing mist ahead of him took shape.

“Pascal?” he asked.

The gauzy image gave him a crooked grin and nodded.

“But you’re not… dead,” Vincent said. “How are you here?”

Pascal’s smile widened as he answered his childhood friend. “We’re your family, Vincent. You carry us in your heart, always. You really think we’d let you do this alone? We’re here… because you need us.”

Vincent stared, dumbfounded, at the ghostly image of his friend.

Pascal raised his arm and pointed Vincent forward. “Keep going, Vincent. Don’t quit, no matter what… If you and Catherine don’t make it… then Winslow died for nothing. Ya know what I mean?”

As he proceeded forward, Vincent came into contact with the ephemeral images of many of his tunnel family; William, Mouse, Jamie, Olivia, Rebecca, and others, all pointing the way. Their encouraging words giving him the strength to keep moving.

Turning a corner, Vincent came face to face with the spectre of an especially treasured friend. Although not old enough to be his mother, she had been a maternal influence in Vincent’s life from his youth. He stopped and leaned up against the tunnel wall to rest. “Mary… I should have known you would be here.”

“I will always be here for you, Vincent,” Mary replied tenderly.

“I still don’t understand. How is this possible?”

Mary smiled serenely. “With love, all things are possible. You, of all people should know that by now,” she said gently.

“Me?” Vincent didn’t understand.

“Your love for Catherine… and her love for you is an inspiration to us all, Vincent. The two of you have shown us that so much is possible. Now let us show you. Let us help you.”

Vincent was beginning to feel himself growing weaker from the loss of blood. “Mary, I must hurry,” he said breathlessly. “… or I’m afraid I won’t—”

“You’re almost there, Vincent,” she said, indicating the way ahead. “I’m praying for you… I’m praying for all of you.”

Vincent finally reached the last apparition, who pointed straight in front of him.

Realizing instantly where his friends had led him, Vincent was filled with trepidation at the sight of the familiar tunnel gaping wide before him. “I must go the rest of the way alone.” he said, with a tremble in his voice.

“No man who has friends, is ever truly alone, Son.”

“Who wrote those words?” Vincent asked. “Was it Twain? Stern? Emerson?”

“Jacob Wells,” Father replied, solemnly.

“I’m afraid, Father,” Vincent said, still clutching his bloody chest. “What am I to do?”

“You must ask yourself what it is that you fear more: facing whatever is waiting for you in there or losing Catherine. Whatever you choose to do, Vincent, do not waste your life wondering what could have been… if only you had conquered your fears. There comes a time for all of us when we must leave our safe places.”

“…and walk empty handed among our enemies.” Vincent sighed as he finished the familiar line from Brigit O’Donnell.

“You’ve changed, Father,” Vincent observed, remembering all the times his father had tried to prevent him from courting danger and pain.

“Yes, I have.” Father sighed as he nodded sadly. “I have changed because of you.”

“Me?” Vincent asked, bemused by the admission.

“Yes, Vincent.” Father nodded. “You had the courage to love her, despite everything, and everyone, who warned against it. And Catherine had the courage to love you in return… That stubborn, persistent, beautiful young woman… She gave you a dream, Vincent. She saved your life without any regard for her own. Her love for you is beyond anything I have ever seen… stronger than anything I have ever known. I hope one day… you can forgive me… for the mistakes I have made.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Father. You did the best you could… the best you knew how, in… singular circumstances. You had the courage to love me… and all that I am.”

“No…” Father shook his head. “…not all that you are, Son. I was never able to comprehend all that you are, and it still frightens me… I could not love the part of you that I feared. Only Catherine had the courage to do that. Now… you must have the courage to do this for her.”

What if I fail? Vincent wondered. What if I lose myself for good? He breathed deeply, attempting to summon the strength and the courage to enter the dark tunnel. I’m not sure I have the strength to do it alone, he thought, unable to say the words aloud.

“You will not fail, Vincent! You do have the strength!” Father insisted, reading his son’s thoughts. “It is true that you must do this alone, but you must remember, Son, that you carry the love of all your friends with you… here.” Father reached out his gossamer hand and touched Vincent’s torn and bloody chest. “Draw strength from that, if you must.”

As Father’s hand touched him, Vincent was instantly filled with a warmth and vitality that emanated from his heart and filled his entire body.

Strengthened by the overwhelming love of his Tunnel family, he stood up straight and resolutely faced the tunnel opening.

Chapter 31

This has been my never-ending struggle, always, Vincent acknowledged inwardly. A part of me has always known this day would come. I just hoped that somehow, it wouldn’t. I have always encouraged others to face their fears. Now I must face my own or perish in the attempt.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the darkness of the tunnel, bracing himself for the final battle… for he knew instinctively that a final battle was exactly what this would be. I will vanquish him once and for all, he resolved, or he will destroy me. There can be no other outcome.

As Vincent advanced, he could hear low laughter coming from deep within. Stooping low to enter the cave, he heard a smarmy voice muttered from somewhere in the dark.

“Looking for something?”

Vincent looked around for the source. There, crouching on a large outcropping of stone, was him… The Dark One, shrouded in shadows.

Vincent’s heart began to pound wildly, as he responded with a low growl.

“Of course, you’re looking for something,” The Dark One drawled with a knowing grin. “Hehehehe. Why else would you come here? It must be very important,” he prodded sarcastically.

“You know what I’m looking for! I want it back!” Vincent demanded.

The Dark Beast laughed knowingly, as he swung the leather pouch carelessly in his hand, just out of Vincent’s reach.

“What exactly do you mean?” The Dark One asked sardonically. “You’ll have to be more specific, Vincent,”

As Vincent lunged for the pouch, The Dark One vanished.

Vincent turned, following the sound of the laughter that echoed around the chamber.

His foe appeared on the other side of the room, still mocking him. “Have you considered that perhaps you lost it… because you no longer deserve it? …Because you NO… LONGER… DESERVE… HER?”

“I didn’t lose it!” Vincent declared through gritted teeth. “You took it!”

“Hehehehehehe…” The Dark One chuckled softly.  “True…True…  I did take it… hahahahaha… YES… I… DID! And that’s not all I took!” he exclaimed, throwing his head back in a full belly laugh. “Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!”

Vincent felt a chill. “What do you mean? What did you do? What else did you take?” he demanded.

Laughing derisively, The Dark One began pacing back and forth, coming closer to Vincent with every pass, slowly forcing him deeper into the cave. “What did you do?” The Dark One mimicked Vincent like a parrot. “What did you take? What did you do? What did you take?”

“What… did… you… do?” Vincent demanded again, with a long threatening growl.

“I loved her!” The Dark One spat out the words and laughed again. “Hahahaha… I… loved… her…” he declared again, proudly pounding his chest, “… the way she deserved to be loved! Something you never had the courage to do.”

Vincent snarled threateningly. “You are lying!”

The Dark One continued to taunt his prey. “You thought loving her… producing a child with her… proved you were a real man! Hahahahahahaha… How does it feel now, to know that it wasn’t you that loved her at all...? It was me! Hahahahahaha” His maniacal laughter only enraged Vincent more.

“That isn’t true!” Vincent protested loudly. “I loved her! I LOVED HER!”

“YOU NEARLY KILLED HER!!!!” The Dark One countered accusingly.

Vincent doubled over, clutching his chest. The truth of The Dark One’s words felt like a knife, twisting inside his still-bleeding chest wound.

The shred of memory Vincent had from that night… the memory that had tortured him for so long, appeared once again before him, only this time it was a little different:

Catherine bent forward as she entered the cavern. As she called out his name, Vincent saw clearly for the first time, The Dark One, hovering dangerously close to her… leering at her hungrily, and ready to pounce.

Vincent charged with his hand raised threateningly, not poised to strike Catherine, but to strike The Dark Beast.

Suddenly, the truth of what happened became clear to him. “I was protecting her! I was protecting her from you!”

“Hahahahahahaha…” The Dark One laughed heartily.

The laughing stopped abruptly and The Dark One lunged at Vincent, “Don’t you know?” he asked, taunting his prey. “YOU… ARE… ME! … I… AM… YOU!”

“NO! That isn’t true! It can’t be true!” Vincent roared. As he lunged threateningly at The Dark One, Vincent was yanked back by his wrists and fell to the floor.  As he scrambled to his feet, a look of horror crossed Vincent’s face when he realized he was restrained by rusted shackles and chains that were securely attached to the cave wall.

The Dark One paced back and forth in front of his prisoner as Vincent turned this way and that to keep track of his nemesis. Vincent knew he was vulnerable and would most likely not survive another physical onslaught from his enemy. How? Vincent wondered aghast. How has he done this?

“How does it feel?” The Dark One sneered at Vincent’s weakness, baring his bright fangs. “How does it feel to be chained? You abandoned me here, in this black hole. You’ve kept me prisoner here all these years. NOW IT’S YOUR TURN! Now you can rot here in the dark!”

He continued to pace back and forth in front of Vincent as Vincent continued to struggle against the restraints.

“All those years you tried so hard to be such a good boy… hoping that somehow it would make you a ‘real’ boy…” The Dark One threw his head back in another hearty belly laugh. “Hahahahahahahahaha… And all these years you tried so hard to be a good man… hoping somehow that it would make you a ‘real’ man… You are such a fool! Don’t you know… that is the very thing that has kept you from being a real man!?!?!”

“That is not true!” Vincent protested. “You are what has kept me from being a real man!”

Pounding his chest again, The Dark One proclaimed. “I am what saved you! And the people you love. Over and over again… even when you denied me! You’ve kept me chained here in the dark. You’ve tried to destroy me.” He held up his wrists to show the remnants of the rusty chains that once held him. “But you never hesitated to call on ME when your precious world was in trouble… or when Catherine’s life was in danger…”

Vincent couldn’t deny it. He knew that that was exactly what he had done.

“And then…” The Dark One continued. “Then, when I do what YOU KNOW I will do… when I do what I was made to do… you are ashamed of ME… you are sickened by ME! Even when I have saved you from yourself, you still spurn me!”

“When…?” Vincent demanded. “When have you ever saved me from myself?”

For the first time, The Dark One, was taken by surprise.

“Could it be that you don’t know?” he asked, in disbelief.

He approached Vincent, studying his face carefully. “Who do you think it was that kept you from throwing yourself into the Abyss all those times you were sleep walking? IT WAS ME!!! he exclaimed. “Who do you think it was who made you seek Catherine out when you were losing your mind? IT WAS ME! I knew she could save you.”

“Why? If you hate me so much… why would you do that?” Vincent asked, still doubting. “Why would you save me after I—”

“Because I cannot exist without YOU! YOU cannot exist without ME! I knew that she was the only one who could save me… save us! Don’t you see? Everything in this world has its opposite,” he explained “Even you! The one cannot exist without the other… Narcissa already told you that! If you die… so… do… I!”

Pointing an accusing finger at Vincent, he continued. “You have always wanted to kill me! You know it’s true. But you have never figured out how to do it… not without killing yourself… because…

“I… am … you!”

Vincent dropped to his knees and covered his ears. The words ringing in his ears.

“We are one in the same, Vincent!” The Dark One hissed. “… As long as you hate me… you can never love yourself… and unless you learn to love yourself… you will never be able to love her the way she deserves to be loved! Until you accept me… until you make peace with me….  she will sense your fear, your… your disgust of me… you know that. And you will never be a complete and ‘real’ man.”

Vincent covered his ears. “No, no, no, no, no…”

The Dark One sneered at the pitiful sight before him. “You believe that if Catherine sees me… if she sees this side of you… she will no longer love you.”

“I KNOW IT!” Vincent snarled as he lunged again at his foe, straining in vain against his restraints. “HOW COULD ANYONE LOVE … YOU?”

Unruffled, The Dark One replied, still beyond the reach of Vincent’s deadly claws. “Ah, Vincent, then you don’t really know her at all. She loves us both, you fool. You think you’ve kept me hidden from her, that if she knows who you truly are… if she sees all of you… she will leave.”

“I know it!” Vincent responded with conviction.

“Then you don’t deserve her! You mock her love. I have news for you, Vincent! She has seen me!  SHE HAS… SEEN… ME! In all my glory!” he declared triumphantly. “And still… she loved…  so, I… loved her! All right…” he reluctantly conceded. “We loved her…” he admitted reluctantly. “And it was magnificent! Hahahahaha! But you wouldn’t know that… would you, Vincent? … Because…”

“Why? Why? Tell me why I can’t remember! Please,” he begged.

“Because…” The Dark Beast replied with disdain. “…when it was over, you pushed me back into the dark… you put me back into these chains…” he held up his own wrists to show Vincent the rusted shackles with a few broken links of chain still attached. “You left me here AGAIN! So, I kept the memory for myself…” He pounded his fists against his chest. “And I took your precious Bond with me!”

“You… you kept the memory? And you took The Bond? I want them back…” he growled. “GIVE… THEM… BACK!!!!”

“You don’t deserve them!” The Dark One sneered. “That memory has kept me warm in this cold place. And The Bond keeps me company in this endless darkness. They are mine now… and you can’t have them back. It’s my turn now… my turn to be free… my turn to be loved by Catherine… Now you can rot in this place alone… in the dark!”

With that, Vincent’s alter ego turned and headed for the tunnel entrance, determined to take over Vincent’s life, the life he’d been cheated out of.

The Dark One stopped short as he neared the exit of the cave and began backing up.

“This has gone on long enough,” a soft voice said.

The Dark One shrank from the chamber entrance and scrambled onto the nearby outcropping of rocks.

Vincent looked up at the sound of the voice to see the image of Catherine, moving toward him. She was not a gossamer, misty image like those who had shown him the way to the cave. Dressed in a flowing, sheer, white gown, she appeared to be solid and yet somehow angelic. Thick long hair fell over one shoulder and cascaded passed her waist, and a glow seemed to emanate from within her, illuminating the space immediately around her.

“Ca… Catherine?” Vincent asked, unable to believe his eyes.

“Yes, Vincent.”  She smiled softly as she gazed at him. “I’m here.”

He knew instantly that it was indeed her. She spoke his name like no one else ever could. Still on his knees, Vincent hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Catherine, I… I couldn’t do it. I’ve failed… I’ve failed you.”

Catherine approached him and knelt in front of him. Gently putting her hand under his chin, she lifted his face. “No Vincent…” she said, shaking her head. “You haven’t failed at all… I’m so proud of you.”

“But Catherine…” he protested, holding up his shackled wrists as evidence of his failure.

“Vincent, I wanted you to come here to face your fears, and that is exactly what you have done. You are nearly finished.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s right,” she explained, turning her face toward the creature hiding in the shadows. “I have seen the darkness in you. I have accepted it, and I have loved it. Now you must, or our dream is lost."

“How… how can I accept that? How can I love… that?”

“He is beautiful,” Catherine said, looking fondly at the dark, filthy, creature crouching in the shadows.

The shadow beast held up his hands and gloated. “I told you… she loves me,”

“Catherine!” Vincent was horrified. “How can you say such a thing?”

Catherine looked at Vincent glowing with love. “He is a part of you, Vincent… and you… are beautiful!”

Seeing that he still did not understand, she continued gently. “You must understand, Vincent… that there is darkness in all of us. You must know by now that all men… all people… are flawed. All of us are good and bad, light and dark.”

“No…” Vincent insisted, shaking his head… “There is no darkness in you, Catherine.”

She smiled as she reached for him, the warm touch of her hand gently soothing the wounds on his face… “Yes… even in me. Think Vincent… think about a time when you saw the very darkest place in my soul…”

“No…” he gasped. “No… Catherine!”

“Yes,” she insisted. “You must remember when I was lost to the dark spirit within myself… It nearly destroyed me. I nearly died, Vincent… And it was you, who reached into that darkness and saved me from it.”

It was true, Vincent did remember that terrible time. He remembered how frightened he was for her… He recalled the horror it had been to see her overcome by the darkness that engulfed her as a result of the evil Professor Ross had inflicted upon her. Vincent remembered the vile things she had said to him, that had cut him to the core and the dread and terror that engulfed him when he thought she was irretrievably lost to that darkness… and forever lost to him.

Vincent shut his eyes against the image of her in such agony and filled with such rage.

He pressed his clenched fists against his closed eyes and shook his head violently. “No! Catherine, NO! I do not wish to think of you that way.”

Catherine took hold of his clenched fists and gently pulled them away from his eyes. Holding them firmly, she kissed each fist, slowly coaxing them open. “Vincent,” she whispered. “I know it’s frightening… even terrifying… to look into the darkest part of ourselves and see what we are capable of. But sooner or later everyone must face the darkness in their own soul. We must acknowledge it and accept it… so that we may learn to control it and exist at peace with it.”

Her gentle voice calmed him, soothing his distraught emotions.

“Vincent, if that darkness is tempered by love, it can give us the power to overcome… it can give us the courage to stand against all danger… against all evil, even to protect those we love. It can give us the determination to risk everything… the strength to sacrifice everything… even our own lives… fighting and defending against those who threaten to destroy all that is good and decent in this world.”

He looked up. “To sacrifice… everything?” he asked. That’s when he realized... “That… that is what you did, isn’t it, Catherine? You sacrificed everything… to protect me… to protect Jacob…”

Catherine smiled, grateful that he was beginning to understand. She squeezed his hands in hers. “And that is all you have ever done, Vincent… you protect the people you love… and that is all he has ever done,” she said, glancing in the direction of The Dark One.

“Yes.” The Dark One agreed. “That’s all I’ve ever done… all I’ve ever done.”

Ignoring Vincent’s other ego, she declared, “There is no shame in that, Vincent.”

Vincent wanted to believe her words. He wanted to be comforted by her love… but he hesitated… Looking down at the rusty shackles that now held him prisoner, he remembered the first time he had been here in this dark place.

Looking around with eyes haunted by the terrors of his past, he was finally ready to tell her about his deepest fears and his deepest pain. “This is where Father and the others… brought me,” he whispered haltingly. “…the first time I… I lost… myself… to the darkness. They chained me to the wall…. right here,” he said, yanking on the restraints that held him now. “I roared, I cried, and I begged, and then I pleaded with Father to set me free. I was so afraid he was going to leave me here… to die… in this place.”

“But Father didn’t leave you, did he?”

Vincent shook his head. “No, he never left my side. He stayed here with me. He read to me. He comforted me. He fed me. He even bathed me… But I was so afraid…” His trembling voice trailed off as he lost himself in the dark memories.

He looked into Catherine’s eyes, so full of compassion for the frightened boy he had once been. “That was when I first learned… that this” he continued, as he held out his shackled wrists. “…THIS is what happens when people see the darkness inside of ME. And I knew that if I could not overcome it… if I could not root it out of myself… that this was where I would stay… that this was where I would die.”

He looked up at her with tears streaming down his face, so much like the boy who had once been imprisoned in this dark place.

Catherine spoke gently. “So, you… you rent your soul in two?” she asked, horrified by the very thought of what it had done to him.

“Yes,” he answered resolutely. “I ripped him out of me! It nearly killed me… but I did it. I felt I had no other choice.”

“And Father?” she asked. “He didn’t realize what you had done? He didn’t understand how it wounded you, or what it has taken for you to keep this part of yourself in chains, ever since?”

“How could he understand?” Vincent asked, looking up at her, his eyes filled with the pain he had carried for so long.

“How could I ever explain to him… when the struggle never ends?” He shook his head. “I have never spoken of it… and Father has never asked. But I can feel the fear in him. I can see it always there in his eyes. His fear that in that darkness, a part of me still feeds… still waits… somewhere… his fear that one day I will become lost to it… or worse… that I might kill them all.”

Catherine waited patiently for him to continue.

“What words could I possibly utter that would allay Father’s fear, when that is the very thing I fear as well?  The one thing I have always known is that I must do whatever it takes to keep that part of myself forever locked away.”

The Dark One snarled in the shadows. “Locked away… forever locked away,” he muttered. “Now it’s you that is going to be locked away!”

“Oh, Vincent!” Catherine exclaimed, realizing that this is what had isolated him all those years. It was the secret that had kept him alone and apart from everyone... even her.

Vincent reached to wipe a tear from her cheek, as they streamed down her face.

He was filled with gratitude for all that Catherine had been to him. He smiled and spoke gently. “Until you, Catherine, Father is the only one who never left. How could I explain it to him, and risk losing the only father I have ever known?”

“HA!” The Dark One exclaimed. “Some father! Locked us up down here. Left me to rot.”

“NO, Vincent, Father is not the only one who never left,” Catherine insisted as she lifted his hands again to her lips. “Think… think of those who helped you find your way here tonight… Winslow, and Mary, and Mouse, Olivia, and the others. They have seen this darkness in you too… and they have never left.”

Vincent looked up to see the ethereal spectre of Father enter the cave, followed by all of his friends… his family, who had guided him here.

Catherine stood and pulled on his hands. “It’s time to get up, Vincent. It’s time to finish this, once and for all. It’s time for the struggle to end.”

Vincent slumped in exhaustion and hopelessness and hung his head. “I can’t, Catherine, I’m too tired of the struggle… I… I am wounded. I have lost too much blood. I don’t have the strength.”

“You do have the strength, Vincent.” Catherine smiled. “I will help you. I will always help you. We will do it together.”

Holding his hands, she helped Vincent to his feet and tucked herself under one of his arms to support him.

With legs too weak to stand unaided, Vincent had no choice but to lean against her slight frame. He was surprised by her strength as she supported his large stature.

The apparition of Father silently approached him. Father put his hand against Vincent’s wounded chest and disappeared. Vincent breathed deeply as he felt Father’s love fill him, restoring some of his strength. One by one his friends followed, until at last Winslow stood before him and grinned.

“Life’s all about balance, Vincent,” Winslow said with a crooked smile. “…light ‘n dark, good ‘n evil, joy ‘n pain. There ain’t no more need for those rusty old chains… not for you… and not even for the likes of him.”

As Winslow disappeared, Catherine spoke with assurance. “You don’t have to fight the darkness alone, Vincent… not anymore. You have them…  and you have me. We have each other, always.”

“What if… what if I lose myself to the darkness?” Vincent asked, still unsure.

Catherine’s voice was serene as she began to recite some familiar lines…

“How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.

“You know Rilke?” he asked.

She smiled reassuringly and nodded.

“But what does it mean?”

Glancing thoughtfully at the shadowy figure crouching and snarling on the rocks, she explained, “Perhaps that he… as terrible and frightening as he is, is in his deepest being something helpless that wants help from us, Vincent… that wants help… from you.”

Seeing that Vincent hesitated, her voice was filled with love as she insisted, “Trust me, Vincent. Trust in the love we share… and let that love be stronger than your fear. Let it conquer the fear, once and for all.”

Leaning on Catherine for strength, Vincent tentatively held out a trembling, shackled hand to The Dark Beast…

The Dark One approached cautiously, and as they finally clasped hands, the shackles fell to the earth and crumbled to dust.

~~~

Vincent breathed deeply and opened his eyes to the blackness that surrounded him. The sound of the water gently lapping against the shore told him immediately that he was no longer in the dark cave, but back in the expansive river cavern where he had been camping for many days. He sat up and shook his head to clear the disorientation, unsure how he had gotten back or how long he had been lying there. He felt the side of his face to find the three deep gashes were no longer there. He grabbed frantically at his chest to find the leather pouch that held his treasures, and it was there, as if nothing had occurred.

Was it all a dream? he wondered. He shook his head. No, it couldn’t have been a dream. It was too real. Fumbling around for his knapsack, he retrieved his flashlight. Turning it on revealed that his quilted vest was no longer shredded and bloodied. He quickly surveyed the campsite. The tea kettle was sitting on the flat stone next to the cold campfire, just where he had left it before the attack. It was cold to the touch. Poking at the coals with a stick revealed that the embers were long dead. He examined the dirt to find no footprints but his own. Everything was as it had been the night before. There was no sign of a struggle… no sign of the blaze that had consumed his campsite. A book lay open, face down in the dirt, where he had dropped it. Picking it up, he quickly saw that it was a book of Shakespeare’s Sonnet’s…He was puzzled. Not Lord Byron and not Rilke, as he was sure he had been reading the night before. Or was that a dream, too? he wondered.

“NO!” he yelled to the darkness. “It happened! I know it did!”

“It did… it did… it did,” the cavern echoed back.

That’s when Vincent felt it, Catherine’s heart beating inside his own. He looked up, turning his face up toward the world above him. Catherine! I can feel her! He concentrated even more. It had been so long since he had felt the sweetness of her emotions through The Bond they once shared. She is safe, he realized… She is concerned but she is at peace.

It took his breath away as The Bond began to flow through him, becoming stronger with each passing second. In that instant, he knew he had done it, he had conquered the fear. He had fulfilled Catherine’s wishes.

She’s back! he realized, and I know exactly where to find her.

It took only a few short minutes to stow his camping supplies in a wooden storage box he kept nearby. As he hoisted his knapsack Vincent couldn’t help but notice the load he was carrying was considerably lighter than the one he had carried down.

His feet fairly flew as he headed for home.

Chapter 32

On his way home, Vincent paused for a moment on the Whispering Bridge in the Chamber of the Winds. The chamber was also unusually quiet. Even the world Above was hushed.

He breathed deeply and savoured this new feeling of peace, realizing the storm that had raged within him for most of his life had finally passed. Even more miraculous, The Bond he’d shared with Catherine, The Bond he feared was lost to him forever, had returned.

Be well, Vincent. Please, be well, he thought he heard her voice whisper in the wind.

I’m fine, Catherine, he thought, I’m coming to you.

Nearing the home Tunnels, Vincent’s world was suspended in quiet slumber. It must be early morning, he surmised by the quiet on the pipes. It was a welcomed silence that resonated within him after the violence of the previous hours. He could hear the faint sound of the falls as he walked by the passage that led to his favorite respite. Not today, he told himself. I have someplace more important to go. He stopped momentarily, looking up. She’s awake, he thought, and she is troubled. I hope my nightmares are not the cause.

As Vincent continued, even his moccasin clad footsteps were silent as he followed the familiar path toward his tunnel home.

Stopping first at the common nursery, he entered quietly. Baby Jacob was sleeping peacefully in the crib nearest the entrance to the chamber. Vincent reached in to replace the blanket that had slipped down, and then softly stroked the child’s cherubic face. “I’m going to bring your mother home, Jacob. I promise.” He whispered to the sleeping child. He could have sworn he saw a smile spread across his son’s face as he slept.

After dropping his knapsack in his quarters, he headed for the Bathing Chamber. Vincent washed quickly. As he was dressing, Father appeared in the entryway, bleary eyed and wearing his bathrobe.

“Vincent? When did you return?”

Vincent looked up, pausing momentarily in his task. “Only just, Father. How did you know?”

“Mouse awakened me. He thought I should know. We’ve all been worried sick about you. Are you… all right?”

“Yes, I am… better than all right. I must go to Catherine.”

“Now?” Father asked incredulously. Then squinting at his son, he realized that Vincent wasn’t dressed in his usual Tunnel attire. “Surely, you are not going Above at this hour? Besides, Catherine is in Arizona. Peter said something about a medical checkup. She won’t be back for several days.”

Looking up from tying his shoes, he said, “Catherine has returned, and I must go to her.”

Father looked at him curiously. “How can you possibly know that unless… unless…” Father scrutinized him more closely. “Your Bond… has it returned?”

“Yes.” Vincent smiled broadly as he shared the miraculous news. “Our Bond has… returned… and I must go to her… I must bring her home.”

“But Vincent…” Father protested. “It’s nearly morning… Do you think it’s wise? You know very well… it isn’t safe for you Above at any time… let alone this close to daylight.”

“Since when does wisdom have anything to do with love, Father?” he replied lightly. “Catherine has returned to her home in Connecticut…. and I must go to her. Sometimes, we must leave our safe places—”

“Are you serious? What has come over you, Vincent? Surely, even you cannot be this reckless. Have you gone mad?”

Undeterred by Father’s protestations, Vincent rested his hands on the old man’s shoulders. “‘When love is not madness, it is not love.’[13] ” Vincent quoted, with a gleam in his eyes.

Not amused by Vincent’s unusually carefree demeanor Father became even more insistent. “This is no time to be quoting poets who have been dead for more than three hundred years!” he declared loudly. “Please, for once, Vincent, would you listen to reason? It is nearly dawn!”

Vincent spoke gently. “I appreciate your concern, Father. Truly, I do. But I have no time to argue. I must go… I must tell Catherine what has happened. I must bring her home.” He kissed Father on the forehead and deftly moved him aside, making his exit before there was any time for a reply.

As Father watched Vincent leave the chamber, he sighed with frustration. “Good Heavens!” Father exclaimed. “That boy is going to be the death of me one day!”

~~~

Vincent ran as fast as his feet could carry him. He needed to catch Peter before he left for his office.

Reaching the tunnel beneath Peter’s townhouse, he leaned against the wall momentarily to catch his breath and then rang the doorbell several times. After waiting about thirty seconds, he did it again, this time pressing the doorbell down for an extended ring.

As Vincent put his finger to the bell to ring it again, the door swung open with a jerk.

“What in blazes is the… Vincent?”

Instead of Peter Alcott, it was Devin who stood in the doorway, disheveled, bleary eyed, and clearly irritated.

Vincent and Devin stared at each other, both stunned to see the other.

“De… Devin?” Vincent asked, clearly surprised to see his brother. “You… you’re… back? I didn’t realize you were—”

“Nobody knows,” Devin interjected, scratching his head and trying not to yawn. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it that way. Is there some kind of emergency? Should I call Peter?”

Vincent took a moment to regain his equilibrium. “I was hoping that he could take me to Catherine’s house in Connecticut. I need to see her. I must speak with her as soon as possible.”

Devin looked confused. Scratching his head, he said, “Peter told me she’s in Arizona… won’t be back until—”

“Yes, she was in Arizona,” Vincent acknowledged impatiently. “…but she has returned, and I must get to her.”

“You mean… right now?” Devin scrutinized his brother more closely. “You do realize it will be daylight in less than an hour?”

“It makes no difference,” Vincent stubbornly declared. “I must get to Catherine… now. There are things I must tell her. There are things she must hear.”

Devin scratched his head again, trying to process what Vincent was telling him. “Peter’s not here. He had an emergency at the hospital… delivering a baby, I think. But I could drive you,” Devin suggested.

Vincent hesitated, recalling the dilapidated condition of Devin’s car.

“Hey, you overgrown fur ball,” Devin said, mildly offended. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Do you want to get to Catherine or not? If not, I’m going back to bed.”

As Devin turned to go back inside, Vincent reached out and took hold of his arm. “When can we leave?” he asked, desperately seizing the only chance of achieving his purpose.

Devin sensed the urgency in Vincent’s voice. “Give me ten minutes?” he asked.

Vincent nodded. Devin motioned for him to come inside, and they proceeded up the stairs.

~~~

Vincent paced back and forth as he waited impatiently in Peter’s living room.

As the agonizing minutes passed, he couldn’t help but remember standing in this very room the night Catherine had returned from the dead.

He recalled vividly how changed she had seemed. The light that had once shone from within her had been all but extinguished… and then she had collapsed in his arms.

Vincent sighed heavily. I should have known, he thought with deep regret. I should have seen that you were ill. I should have known something was very wrong when you ended… us.

Vincent sank onto the couch and bowed his head. “Oh, Catherine, I should have known.” He sighed heavily. “I should have known!” he exclaimed, pounding his fists against his legs.

“You sure you still want to do this?”

Looking up with a start, Vincent saw Devin leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. Determined not to fail Catherine again, he stood and immediately headed for the door. He had his hand on the doorknob before he realized that Devin had not moved. “Are you coming?” Vincent asked.

“Where’s your cloak?” Devin asked with concern.

“I don’t need it. It would only draw attention to me in the daylight.”

Devin hesitated, stunned by Vincent’s sudden lack of caution. “Something’s changed. You’re… different. Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Yes, Vincent thought, something has definitely changed. He nodded. “You’re right, Devin, something has changed,” he finally admitted aloud. “One day, I will tell you all about it. But there is no time for that now. Please, Devin, can we go?”

Devin finally moved and followed Vincent out the door and into the predawn September morning. He was further surprised when Vincent opened the front door of the car and sat in the front seat as if it was his regular habit to do so.

As Devin settled into the driver’s seat, he leaned over Vincent and opened the glove compartment. After fishing around for a moment, he handed a pair of sunglasses to his brother. “Here, put these on.”

Slowly reaching for the glasses, Vincent asked, “It’s still dark, Devin. Why do I need these?”

Devin grinned at his brother. “It’ll give you an air of… carelessness… and anonymity… like you’re a celebrity or something. Anyway, you’ll need them when the sun comes over the horizon. We’ll be driving east, and it can be pretty bright on a clear morning.”

Vincent nodded and obeyed Devin’s request.

“Oh, and if we get stopped by the cops…” Devin explained glibly, “…we’re on our way to a deliver a singing telegram to a rich lady who’s obsessed with the Broadway show Cats. Got it?”

After turning the key several times, the car finally sputtered to life and Devin pulled away from the curb.

“Stopped by the…?” Vincent was taken aback by the mere mention. “Why would we be stopped by the police? What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“One thing I’ve learned over the years… you always need a contingency plan.” Devin replied seriously, as he merged the car into the early morning traffic. “And a plausible backup story in case the unexpected happens.”

“But I can’t sing.” Vincent declared, beginning to wonder if he had been too hasty accepting Devin’s offer to help.

Devin laughed as he turned the rust bucket he fondly referred to as a car in the direction of the interstate. “Don’t worry, Fur ball. We won’t be stopped by the cops.” Steering with one hand he lightly punched his brother’s arm with the other. “And even if we are, I’ll do all the talking. Trust me. All you have to do is act casual and nod every now and again. Can you do that?”

“I suppose I can do that,” Vincent chuckled a little. He’d forgotten how much Devin had teased him as a child. As children Devin had always said Vincent was the most gullible kid in the Tunnels. I guess I still am, he mused.

~~~

Despite Catherine’s exhaustion after the flight from Arizona and the two-hour drive from LaGuardia Airport to Connecticut, she’d slept restlessly. Her slumber was haunted by dreams that found her wandering through a maze of darkened tunnels, searching for Vincent, knowing that he needed her desperately.

“Vincent!” Catherine woke in a panic. “Vincent! Where are you?” she called out in the darkness. Her hair was damp with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her heart felt as if it was beating out of her chest.

Momentarily disoriented in the darkened room, she was afraid and unsure of exactly where she was. It certainly wasn’t the hospital room she had recently occupied, and it wasn’t her Lenox Hill Townhouse. Then she smelled it, the faint scent of her father’s aftershave and her grandfather’s pipe tobacco still lingering in the house after all this time, and she remembered.

That’s right, she thought, I drove to Connecticut last night. This is Mother and Daddy’s room. She suddenly felt comforted, almost as if they were somehow there watching over her.

The dream, as vivid as it was, was quickly fading behind a veil of forgetfulness that left her with a foggy, disjointed memory of searching dark tunnels, the sound of roars of rage and a bloody trail that led to a familiar dark cave. Finally finding Vincent, beaten and shackled by chains. Then someone else… a much darker version of the man she loved. And finally, everything turning to dust in her hands and finding herself alone in the dark.

Catherine rubbed her temples, trying to coax more details of the dream back to the forefront of her mind, but to no avail. They had slipped from her grasp like so many grains of sand. She got out of bed and opened a window. The night air felt good on her clammy forehead. Leaning against the sill, she whispered to the bright stars in the still darkened sky. “Be well, Vincent. Please, be well.”

For a moment, she thought she heard his whispered reply, I’m fine, Catherine. I’m coming to you. She shook her head and dismissed it as wishful thinking. That’s impossible, she told herself. No one even knows I’ve returned.

Looking down, she realized that she was still wearing the clothes she had traveled in the day before, only now they were badly rumpled. She’d been too exhausted to remove them the night before. It’s a wonder I didn’t fall asleep out in the car, she mused. But now her troubled dreams had dashed any chance for more sleep. She was too worried about Vincent and wondered if she had made a mistake by demanding that he face his deepest fears.

The grandfather clock downstairs chimed. I guess five hours of sleep isn’t bad, she thought.

Realizing she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep, she padded softly to the shower.

Chapter 33

As they left the city behind, Devin and Vincent drove in silence for a while, both seemingly content to be lost in their own thoughts. It was Devin who finally broached the subject of Catherine.

“She didn’t want you to know she was sick. You know that… right?” he asked, getting right to the point. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Vincent turned and looked intently at his brother but didn’t reply. It was clear that Devin had overheard his self-recriminations in Peter’s living room.

When Vincent didn’t reply, Devin continued. “I know I gave you a hard time about Red last time. I’m really sorry, I… I didn’t understand… the situation.”

Vincent huffed and shook his head. “How could you understand? I didn’t fully understand the situation myself. Catherine was the only 0ne who knew the truth.”

“And she didn’t want you to know the truth,” Devin said. “She didn’t want anyone to know.”

“You’ve heard all about it?” Vincent asked.

“Peter filled me in when I came back last week,” Devin admitted. “He told me that when Catherine returned, she insisted on keeping her illness a secret. She made him promise. As her physician, he had no choice but to agree. He told me she couldn’t bear the thought of being pitied by everyone, especially you.”

“Yes,” Vincent sighed. “I know that now. At the time I imagined all kinds of reasons for the distance between us… all wrong. If I had known the truth I would never… Let’s just say… I would have made different choices.”

“Peter said he tried to talk Cathy out of it, but she was resolved. She didn’t want to cause you more pain watching and waiting for her to die… for a second time. Her plan was to just fade out of your lives and let you and Diana have the happy life.”

Devin waited for a reply, but Vincent just turned toward the horizon, not wanting to discuss it further.

Devin was careful not to push him. He was content to drive in silence, at least for a while.

~~~

Catherine stepped from her early morning shower and winced at her stark reflection in the unforgiving bathroom mirror. She saw no trace of the beauty that had once been a source of pride for her. It was a shallow vanity she’d become ashamed of after Vincent taught her that true beauty lies much deeper. Yet in the brutally honest light, she couldn’t help but mourn the loss of the beauty she had once been as she examined the reflection of her thin, disease-ravaged body, and the ever-present dark shadows under her eyes. She’d become expert at hiding the dark circles with makeup and even though she was alone, she didn’t hesitate to dab concealer over them.

That’s better, she thought, inwardly admitting that she was still a little vain.

Running a quick comb through her new growth of hair, she was encouraged that it was beginning to thicken up nicely. It was longer now and reached just below her jawline. I suppose it’s time to ditch the wig, she decided. Besides, I’m here alone. Who’s going to see me anyway? Rummaging in a drawer, she found an old bobby pin and secured the hair away from her face. That should do, she thought with satisfaction.

Opting for comfort over style, Catherine searched the dresser among the old clothes she kept there for impromptu visits to the country and found a well-worn pair of jeans. She grimaced when she realized how loose-fitting they were.

~~~

“You’re still anemic, Miss Chandler,” the doctor had remarked at their last meeting, “and dangerously underweight.”

“Yes, I know,” she’d readily admitted, “I just don’t have an appetite for anything.”

“I don’t care if you have an appetite,” he scolded sharply. “You absolutely must pay attention to your health. I’m giving you a prescription for some stronger iron supplements, and a diet plan you’re to follow strictly. You’re to drink whole milk, eat plenty of red meat, fresh fruit, and green leafy vegetables. If you drink coffee, you will add sugar and heavy cream, nothing low-fat, fat free, or sugar free. And under no circumstance will you skip a single meal. Do you understand?” Ripping off the prescription he held it out to her. “Do you understand me, Miss Chandler?” he asked insistently.

Catherine had nodded obediently as she accepted the prescription.

“You’re in remission right now, Miss Chandler. But your best chance of staying cancer free is if you are as healthy as you can possibly be. Next time you come back here, I want to see some improvement.”

Catherine nodded again silently acknowledging that he was right.

~~~

Opening another drawer, she settled on a pink angora sweater. Like Catherine, the sweater had once been beautiful, but was now faded, and a little worn. It had lost its shape from too many washings, but still felt luxurious and soft against her skin as she pulled it on over her head.

Reaching into her suitcase, she found a clean pair of socks and her running shoes. Not that I’ve done any running in a great while, she thought wryly, as she tied the laces.

Then turning to the large carry-on bag she traveled with, Catherine retrieved one of the three journals Vincent asked her to take with her to Arizona. Holding it close, she made her way toward the stairs, pausing outside the nursery. Though she knew the room was empty, she couldn’t stop herself from grasping the doorknob and entering the room.

She felt her chest constrict at the unbidden memory of the day she’d given birth to her son. 11 months, 3 weeks and 4 days, she thought as she gripped the side of the empty crib. She closed her eyes against the horror of that day and tried to catch her breath. She willed herself to recall images of the precious days she had spent here in Connecticut with Jacob.  Smiling to herself, as she remembered the look of wonder on his face as he had discovered fireflies and dandelions for the first time. And then the thrill she had felt when he took his first steps.

Sweet Jacob, she thought, smiling at the memory of him sleeping there. No matter what happens, I will hold you in my heart for always. I love you.

Finally leaving the room, she shut the door softly, as if not to disturb the sweet memories that slumbered within.

Down in the kitchen, Catherine flipped on the back porch light, gently closed the screen door behind her, and headed directly to the porch swing.

As a child, during summer trips to the country, her parents often awakened to find her curled up on the porch swing, or in the hammock that used to hang nearby, lost in the pages of one of her favorite books. In the early morning quiet, she’d felt as if she was the only person on earth, making it easy to lose herself in the adventures that awaited for her between their pages.

Even after all these years, the peaceful predawn stillness made her feel that way. At this hour it felt as if all of nature itself slumbered. The crickets and frogs were quiet. Even the music in the wind was still. And yet, the air was filled with the expectation of the coming day.

Something is happening, she thought as she looked out into the darkness. I can feel it… coming toward me. But she couldn’t quite define what it was. Maybe it’s just the residue of my unsettling dreams, she decided.

As Catherine breathed deeply, the merest essence of fall told her it wouldn’t be long before the leaves would begin to change and paint the wooded landscape in brilliant autumn colors.

Settled on the swing, she tenderly caressed the leather cover of Vincent’s journal and drew the book close to her face. The faint scent of Vincent that lingered on the pages of his journal had comforted her while she was in Arizona.

During the long nights, she’d found solace imagining his velvet soft voice as she read his innermost thoughts. His words had transported her away from the stark, sterile walls of the hospital and back to the comfort of his Tunnel home. She laughed as he described the antics of his students and the members of his family she knew so well. Her heart ached for him as she read of his internal struggles and the things that made him feel isolated and alone even among those who loved him. But it was his letters to her that meant the most. In them he expressed things he’d kept hidden from her, things he had been afraid to tell her, things she had longed to hear him say.

She’d read the journals eagerly, that is, until she reached what she instinctively knew was his final letter.

She’d hesitated when she saw the date on the right-hand side of the page. It was the date of her funeral… the day she had felt Vincent’s anguish keenly. She’d been too ill to do anything but pray that his Tunnel family would surround him and bring him some comfort.

In Arizona, reading Vincent’s last journal entry was something she hadn’t been ready to face. Instead of reading it, she’d closed the book, and buried it in the bottom of her bag without reading his last words to her. Somehow it felt as if reading the letter would truly be the end of them and the beautiful dream they had once shared.

But now that she was back, and the two weeks she had given Vincent were nearly up. Catherine knew she had to read it and find a way to accept whatever would come afterward.

Finally opening the journal, she found the final entry where she’d left a ribbon to mark the page. It was a little more than halfway through the book.

Looking at the page, she noticed there were spots where the ink was smeared by what looked like tears. “Oh Vincent,” she whispered as she touched the circular stains on the page. “I’m so sorry.”

She reverently ran her finger over the first two words and read,

Dearest Catherine,

Vincent had never actually called her that, but somehow, she felt as if he had. As she read on, she was certain she could hear the love in his hushed voice expressed in each precious word.

https://treasurechambers.com/VoxPortio/Intros/480p%20-%20Beauty%20and%20the%20Beast%20Vincents%20SoliloquyWalkSlowly.mp3

There was a moment when the way was still new, and I was afraid to hope. You put your hand on mine. Nothing had ever felt like that to me, like your touch. I wanted to weep. You turned and looked at me. Your eyes were filled with dancing light, and I was bathed in your warmth. And I believed in that moment that even for me, all things were possible. In that moment, in your light, I felt what it is to be beautiful.

How many lives were touched by you? How many lives were transformed by your courage to give, and to love? How many became beautiful in your light?

We promised always to share the truth… always. But Catherine there was a truth beyond anything… beyond everything I’d ever known, ever dreamed. It was the truth of all you gave, of all you sacrificed for me. The truth of your love humbled me, silenced me. And the truth I could never share with you was the truth of how deeply I loved you.

I will remember… I will remember every moment, every word, every look, every touch. Our love lives. It will live forever. Nothing will destroy us. Love does not die.

You’re safe. You’re safe now. Sleep My Love. [14]

“Love does not die,” Catherine whispered as her own tears mingled with the stains already on the page. “Oh, Vincent, how I want to believe that.”

Finally turning the page, she realized the ones that followed were blank. But even the clean, pristine pages told her something.

The blank pages confirmed that Vincent’s last letter truly had been the end of their dream, and the story they had written together.

Even if he began writing in another journal, she told herself. It was a story that didn’t include me. She closed the book and set it by her side.

Of course, it didn’t include me, she acknowledged. How could it? I was dead.

But I’m not dead, she thought. Not yet anyway. And he still loves me. I can feel that. She sighed. But is it enough? Will he still want me now that I’m—?”

The cheerful sound of the wind chimes interrupted her thoughts. She felt a slight breeze brush her face as the day took its first waking breath.

It’ll be sunrise soon, she thought, noticing the eastern sky was beginning to lighten.

At that moment, a very plump robin redbreast landed on the porch railing. He immediately began singing.

‘Hello there,” she said softly, not wanting to frighten him. “Are you looking for your mate?”

The bird twittered back, and she smiled, realizing she hadn’t held a conversation with a robin since she was a child.

“Where’s your lady?” she asked, as if he could understand her.

The bird responded to her by singing loudly and flying off toward the edge of the trees... He quickly returned, and perched on the arm of the porch swing, chirping to Catherine again.

“Do you want me to follow you?” she asked. He flew out into the yard again, only to return and sing to her loudly, as he perched on the porch rail.

Recalling the joy, she had found as a child following her bird friends, she decided to indulge the insistent little creature, and follow him into the woods.

Chapter 34

Deciding he had allowed Vincent to remain silent long enough, Devin ventured to engage him in more conversation. He wanted answers and knew there was nowhere for Vincent to escape to avoid his questions.

“So, what happened between you and Red anyway?” Devin asked tentatively.

Vincent sighed, knowing that Devin wasn’t going to let it go. “After Catherine and I… ended, I did my best to avoid her. If Catherine was Below spending time with our son, I would be sure to be on a work detail somewhere else or tending to some other urgent duties. I told myself it was so I wouldn’t make her feel uncomfortable, but truthfully, it was as much for me.

“But then… while I was in Connecticut with Catherine caring for Jacob… being so close to her every day… I realized that she was the only woman I will ever love, even if she didn’t want me anymore. I also realized that it was unfair of me to expect Diana to be content with a poor substitute for love… the crumbs that I was offering her. Diana is a good woman. She deserves better than that. She deserves someone who will give her his whole heart. I knew I would never be able to give her that. When I returned home, I was going to tell her… to let her go… but before I could…” He paused, feeling deeply the guilt of hurting her.

“What?” Devin demanded. “Don’t leave me hanging!”

Vincent answered reluctantly. “Diana had already realized it on herself.”

“You mean she didn’t know that before…” Devin asked in disbelief. “…before the two of you…?”

“Yes, she knew,” Vincent admitted. “She always knew. But she told me it was enough that I cared for her deeply. She insisted that it didn’t matter that I still loved Catherine. I suppose she finally realized that it did matter… after all. She bowed out as gracefully as she could. Somehow, she discovered Catherine’s secret, and encouraged me to work things out with her.”

“So… where’s Diana now?”

Vincent shrugged. “All I know is that she has left New York… she accepted a job in another city. I don’t know where. She has asked me not to seek her out.”

Devin nodded as he listened. “So, what’s going to happen now? Are you and Catherine going to patch things up and get back together?”

Instead of answering, Vincent turned again to the horizon, looking out of the windshield just as the sun began to rise. Sunbeams burst through the holes in the clouds that hovered above the horizon.

He removed the sunglasses Devin had given him to fully appreciate the breathtaking sight before them. Vincent was silent for several minutes as he took it in.

Perhaps it’s an omen of good things to come, he hoped. Oh, Catherine, I wish I was watching this with you.

Devin found it satisfying to see his brother finally enjoying the world Above without being driven below by the rising sun. He patiently endured Vincent’s silence again, they both took in the spectacular sunrise.

~~~

Catherine had followed the robin for only a few minutes when she realized he was leading her to her secret glen. She seemed to recall that that was precisely how she had originally discovered it as a child. Laughing at the thought, she hurried along the familiar path until she reached the end of the path at the edge of the woods where she stopped short. She froze on the spot as the sun breached the horizon and sunlight shot through the clouds, illuminating the sky with sunbeams shooting in every direction.

A distant memory came unbidden to her mind.

~~~

“Look Mother!” Catherine exclaimed with childlike wonder, pointing to the sky above her.

Caroline Chandler looked in the direction her daughter indicated and saw that the sky above her was filled with sunbeams, shooting out of small openings in the clouds above them.

Caroline knelt down and put her arm around Catherine, pulling her close. “Do you know what that is, Sweetheart?” she whispered in her child’s ear.

“What?” Cathy asked, curiously.

“That’s Heaven, smiling down on us.”

Catherine turned to look at her mother, trying to understand what she meant.

Caroline eagerly explained. “There might be times in your life, Cathy, when you think that God has forgotten all about you. But you must always remember that sooner or later, Heaven smiles down on us all.” Caroline’s voice became earnest as she grasped Catherine’s small shoulders. “Do you think you can remember that, Cathy?”

Catherine smiled and nodded her head. “Yes, Mother.”  Then, looking up at the sky, she repeated, “Sooner or later, Heaven smiles down on us all.”

~~~

“Oh, Vincent,” she said aloud. “I wish you could see this with me!”

When Devin turned north, the horizon was obscured by the denseness of the trees on either side of the road.

~~~

“You haven’t answered my question,” Devin prompted Vincent. “What’s going to happen now, between you and Catherine?”

“I don’t know what will happen now,” he said softly, finally answering Devin’s question. “That is something that Catherine and I must decide together. We have both made… mistakes.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, Vincent,” Devin replied. “It’s only human… for both of you.”

“Human,” Vincent huffed. “If that’s true, then I am more human than I ever imagined.”

Devin laughed relieved that his brother was finally accepting that fact.

“Nevertheless,” Vincent continued. “We allowed fear to keep us from communicating our thoughts, and our deepest feelings. We read poetry and listened to concerts in the park to fill the void left by the important things we were both reticent to share with each other. We pretended to always share the truth with each other, but we kept so much to ourselves… too much.”

“Father’s insistence that your relationship was a huge mistake might have played a part in that,” Devin added. “A little encouragement from him might have made a difference.”

“I don’t blame him,” Vincent said in Father’s defense. “Even though I had a Bond with Catherine, I misread many of the emotions I felt from her. I know that now. And we made unilateral decisions… decisions that we should have made together.”

“I think both of you were doing the best you could,” Devin assured him. “It’s not like either of you had ever been in this kind of relationship before. At least you’ve learned.”

“What about you?” Vincent asked, knowing that if he didn’t change the subject, Devin would keep asking uncomfortable questions.

“What about me?” Devin asked, feeling that somehow the tables had just turned.

“You’re back in New York, and you’re keeping it a secret. There must be a reason.”

Devin went silent and seemed to put all of his focus on the road ahead of him. He could feel Vincent’s unblinking stare burning through him.

Finally relenting, he sighed. “I guess I’ve finally gotten tired of being a nomad,” he answered vaguely. “I thought I might look for a job in New York and stick around for a while.”

“If that’s all it is, why the secrecy?”

Again, Devin was quiet for a long moment. “Because I don’t want to make any promises,” he finally said. “You know how the Old Man is. I don’t want to give him a reason to be disappointed if I change my mind. Ya know?” He hoped that Vincent would be satisfied and drop the subject. It was soon obvious his hopes were in vain.

“Why do I feel like there’s more to it than you being homesick for a hole in the ground?” Vincent asked.

“Fine! If you must know, Peter is thinking about the future. He reached out to me several months ago with a proposition.”

“A proposition? What kind of proposition?”

“Peter and The Old man aren’t getting any younger, if you know what I mean.”

“Is anyone?” Vincent asked, unable to see what that had to do with Devin.

“I know it’s not something you want to think about,” Devin continued. “…but they aren’t going to live forever.”

Vincent waited, knowing there must be more.

“Peter asked me to consider going to college… to Medical school. He’ll eventually have to retire, and he doesn’t want to leave the Tunnel community without access to adequate medical care.”

“Medical school…? That’s… surprising.”

“Because you don’t think I can do it?” Devin asked, revealing his own self-doubts.

Vincent huffed a little. “You can do anything you set your mind to, Devin. It’s surprising because… it would tie you down to…” Vincent hesitated.

“To a hole in the ground I’ve tried for more than half of my life to escape?” Devin completed his brother’s reluctant thought.

“Something like that,” Vincent replied, quietly.

Devin was pensive for several minutes. “Do you want to hear what I’ve learned from all these years of wandering out there in the world?”

“What Devin… what have you learned?”

“When I ran away all those years ago, I left a part of myself down there… in that hole in the ground. A part I never wanted to see again. A part of myself I thought I could turn my back on and never look back. Does that even make any sense?”

Vincent was stunned. It was as if Devin was describing what he, himself had done.

“I’ve finally learned that… I can’t escape who I was born to be,” Devin continued. “Maybe no one can. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve run as far as any person can go and that ragged Tunnel brat has haunted me and dogged me wherever I go. I know now… that until I accept that part of myself… until make peace with that part of myself, I’ll never be whole. I’m a part of that world. And for good or bad, I am who I am because I was born in that world… because I grew up in that world. I know now, my destiny, whether I like it or not is, inescapably tied to that world.”

“Not long before I ran away, I overheard Father telling Peter that I had the aptitude to become a doctor. But he was afraid I would get myself killed or go to prison before I could ever accomplish anything. I was so angry to hear them sitting there planning my life like I didn’t have any choice in the matter. I realized then that was why Father was constantly pushing me, holding me to a higher standard than the other children, because he wanted me to eventually go to medical school. His plan was that one day I would be a leader down there. It made me so angry.

“I couldn’t breathe down there. I had dreamed of leaving practically from the time I could walk, and the old man was planning to trap me down there for the rest of my life. It felt like I was buried alive… like I would die of suffocation if I… if I stayed another...”

Devin stopped speaking, realizing what he had just said. “I… I’m sorry, Vincent… I… I know that must sound so… incredibly selfish. I didn’t want to leave you behind, really, I didn’t. I just didn’t know how to… take you with me. And then Father and I argued, and I just couldn’t stand it another minute… so I ran… I ran as fast as my anger could carry me. At first, I was afraid, up here… alone in this huge world. But I knew if I went back… that I would never leave. I had to find a way to survive up here… and so I did.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Vincent was quick to respond. “Do you think you’re the only one who had those feelings? Believe me, I would have gone with you if I could have. I never blamed you for leaving. But I always believed you left because of me… because of what I did to you… and because I was too much of a burden… because I was a… freak.”

Devin hesitated to respond, knowing that Vincent had been left to deal with his own unique challenges alone. For years Devin had carried the shame of knowing that he had abandoned his own brother, that the adventures they planned together had never been possible for Vincent.

“You know… I let myself believe that it was because of you… at first. It was easier to blame you than to admit the truth to myself. I carried you with me all those years. We planned so many adventures together.

“Every time I did something amazing, every time I went sky diving or river rafting, I would think of you. When I was on safari in Africa or scuba diving in Australia, I imagined that you were with me. Sometimes I would look up at the stars and wonder if you were at the Mirror Pool looking up at those same stars and wondering about me.”

Vincent smiled. “Then it might not surprise you to know that I was. There were many times over the years that I found myself there, looking up at the stars and praying you were safe and well out there in the world… hoping you were happy.”

Devin smiled, relieved that Vincent held no resentment for what he had done.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” Vincent asked, returning to his original question.

Devin nodded as he continued to watch the road ahead of him. “I started night classes last week. As soon as I get my high school diploma. I can apply to a community college. We’ll see what happens after that.”

He laughed nervously. “Can you believe it? I’m 35 years old and I’m in high school.”

Vincent smiled. “‘The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,’” he said, quoting an old Chinese proverb.[15]

Devin laughed loudly. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because just thinking about this particular thousand-mile journey it is really overwhelming.”

“I’m sure you will be successful,” Vincent assured him. “But why the secrets?”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been a constant source of disappointment to The Old Man my entire life. As far as he’s concerned, all I do is screw up. I don’t want him to know… at least not until I’m sure I’ll succeed. I could never face him again, if… I failed. I couldn’t stand seeing the look on his face… hearing him telling me what a disappointment I am… how I failed again.”

“You won’t fail.” Vincent repeated with assurance. “I know you can do this.”

“You don’t understand.” Devin shook his head, reluctant to agree. “This is the real deal, Vincent. Do you know how terrifying that is… for me? I’ve spent my life being an imposter. I’ve never stuck around anywhere long enough to see if I could actually be the real deal at anything. And this… this is as real as it gets. The only thing I have ever succeeded at is being a fraud.”

“But you were a good fraud,” Vincent quipped with a gleam in his eye, as he recalled Devin’s short stint at the D.A.’s office. “Even Catherine thought so. You passed yourself off as a lawyer. She told me that your work kept a dangerous criminal from being set free. You convinced people that you were a doctor. You even delivered a baby by cesarean. You have been anything and everything. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed at this.”

Somehow Vincent’s reassuring encouragement eased Devin’s consternation at the daunting task he had ahead of him.

“It should be you, you know,” Devin said, giving Vincent a sideways glance. “You’re the one who should have gone to medical school.”

Vincent sighed, knowing that even after all he had overcome, his life still had limits. “Well, we both know that can never happen,” he replied.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Devin agreed. “But maybe we could study together.” He said hopefully. “I could teach you everything I learn… and you could help me study.”

“Yes,” Vincent smiled and nodded. “Perhaps we could do that.” It felt a little like the old days when Devin had dreamed dreams that included him.

Devin chuckled and lightly punched Vincent’s arm. “I bet you could even teach me a thing or two.”

They drove in a comfortable silence until they reached the unassuming mailbox that simply said, “Chandler,” Devin turned onto the long gravel drive and Vincent turned his attention to the path ahead of them. Soon Catherine’s house appeared through the thick trees.

“Are you sure she’s here? I don’t see a car.” Devin asked, as he pulled up to the house. “Peter said she wouldn’t be back for another—”

“I’m sure,” Vincent insisted, impatient for the car to come to a complete stop. “She’s probably parked in the garage.”

“How do you know?” Devin asked. Then he realized. “Wait… that connection the two of you used to have… Is it back?”

“Yes,” Vincent acknowledged. “It has returned... as strong as ever. I can feel her heart beating within my own. I have no doubt that she is here.”

As the car came to a stop, Devin set the parking brake. “What does that mean? What are you going to do now?” he asked.

Vincent released the seat belt, but his hand hesitated to open the car door.

Turning to Devin, Vincent could feel his brother’s concern for him. “I don’t know what will happen now. I only know what I want to happen.”

“I’ll wait here… in case… you know… in case it doesn’t go—”

“No, Devin.” Vincent shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but this is something I must do… on my own. Whatever Catherine and I decide about our future, I have promised Jacob I will bring his mother home.”

Devin looked at his brother with admiration. “Wow,” he said. “Sometimes things really do change.”

Vincent placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, Devin,” he said, his voice filled with emotion.

“For what?” Devin asked.

“For driving me here… for always believing in me… and for always including me in your dreams. And this time… for letting me include you in mine.”

“Don’t go gettin mushy on me now,” Devin quipped. “What are you waiting for? Go get that dream!”

Vincent stood and watched as Devin turned the car around and disappeared down the driveway. He looked briefly at the majestic old house, but instead of knocking on the front door, he ran around to the back. He knew exactly where to find her.

Chapter 35

Catherine had no idea how long she stood there watching the birth of the new day. Her secret glen was more beautiful that she’d ever seen it, with late summer wildflowers ablaze in the morning sun. She couldn’t resist gathering a bouquet to brighten up her kitchen table. Fond memories of picking wildflowers for her mother flooded her mind. Daddy always called them ‘weeds,’ she recalled. But mother always said they were beautiful. Finally satisfied, she buried her face in the blooms and inhaled their sweet perfume. That’s when she felt it.

She looked up suddenly as if struck by lightning and turned toward the house.

“He’s coming,” she said in disbelief. “He’s nearly here.” She dropped the bouquet and began running toward the path that had led her there. How is it possible? she wondered, as she ran.  How did he know?

She realized now that she had felt him coming toward her almost since the moment she’d woken up, but she’d dismissed the impossible impression as merely wishful thinking. Now she knew it was true, and she needed to get there to meet him.

It wasn’t long before her heart was racing, and she was completely out of breath. It was painfully apparent that she was in no condition to sprint Leaning against a tree for support, she gave herself a moment to recover. I’m not ready for this, she admitted. Holding her aching side, she bent over and tried to catch her breath. She quickly decided she’d better opt for a brisk walk so that Vincent wouldn’t find her passed out in the underbrush.

As Catherine neared the house, she saw Vincent walking towards her, just inside the tree line at edge of the woods. He stopped as soon as she came into sight.

Coming through the trees, she stopped and took in the sight of the man she loved.  His golden hair shimmered in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. He’s even more beautiful than I remember, Catherine thought. There’s something different about him, she realized. But she wasn’t sure what.

Neither spoke for several moments, or even moved, both realizing that whatever happened in the next few minutes would determine the direction of the rest of their lives.

Finally, she smiled wistfully. “You… look like an angel standing there,” she said.

Vincent closed his eyes and drank in the words… and the love that he felt from her.

“I was just about to say the same thing about you,” he finally said.

“Please… say it,” she replied.

He cocked his head to one side, his sapphire eyes sparkling in the dappled sunlight. “You look like an angel standing there,” he whispered.

She smiled and let the words sink into her heart.

She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms, but couldn’t seem to make her feet move from the spot where she stood.

“How are you?” she asked, attempting to fill the awkward gulf between them.

“I’m well,” he answered simply.

“And Jacob?” she asked.

Vincent felt her longing as she spoke. “He’s fine,” he said, encouraged that she asked about their son. “Mary has been taking care of him while I was away.”

“When did you return?” he asked, taking a step toward her.

“I flew in last night. I rented a car at the airport and drove straight here.”

“You promised you would come back to New York,” he stated, “…but you didn’t. Why?”

“They finished the tests earlier than I expected. I promised you two weeks,” she explained. “I came here to give you the time you needed to—”

“I don’t need any more time,” he hastily interrupted as he took another step.

“The tests… did they… are you… well? What did they say?” he asked, holding his breath and inwardly praying that the news was good.

Catherine nodded, speaking slowly. “At the moment, I am… in remission… cancer free… at least for now. The doctors are… cautiously optimistic.” She chose her words carefully.

Vincent nodded. ““That’s good news.” Then feeling her reticence, he asked.  “Isn’t it… reason to hope?”

“Hope,” she whispered. She smiled wanly as she turned the word over in her mind. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to do that,” she admitted sadly.

He stepped closer. “Then let me hope for both of us,” he suggested. “The way you used to for me.”

She looked into his pleading eyes, wanting desperately to grasp the gift he was offering. But she wasn’t ready. Instead, she changed the subject.

“I had the strangest dream last night.”

“You dreamed?” he asked. “Tell me,” he prompted.

“You were in the cave where… where we loved,” she began, “where Jacob was conceived.” Catherine closed her eyes, attempting to retrieve the fragments of the dream that had frightened her in the wee hours of the morning.

“You were chained to the wall… you were hurt and bleeding… but you weren’t alone… there was someone else there.”

“Someone… else?” he asked breathlessly.

“It was… you… or rather… another part of you. And I was there… watching the two of you—”

Vincent shook his head. “That wasn’t a dream, or perhaps it was… but it was much more than that,” he said insistently.

“What do you mean?”

“I was there… truly there. I was lost… fighting… losing to the darkness. You came to me, Catherine… in my darkest moment,” he explained. “You were there… with me. I couldn’t have conquered the fear, not if you hadn’t come to me. It was you who gave me the courage… the strength… to finally face my deepest fear… and to accept the darkest part of myself… a part I have long denied… a part I have tried to keep hidden from everyone… especially from… you.”

He looked at her with an expression of wonder.

“But you knew… you always knew… didn’t you, Catherine? And yet… you still loved me. You came into my darkness and showed me that there is no more need to hide that part of myself… no more need for chains. You gave me the courage to finally become whole.”

A slow smile spread across her face and lit up her eyes. “There are dark places in all of us, Vincent. I tried to tell you that, once.”

“Yes… you made me see that too. It’s always been you, hasn’t it?”

Catherine shook her head. “I’m not sure I understand?”

He stepped even closer, close enough to touch her if he wanted to, but he refrained.

“My family… they love me… they have always been there for me,” he whispered. “But you, Catherine… you were the only one who had the courage… time and time again, to follow me into that darkness and show me the way out. That’s what you did again last night.”

“It was never courage, Vincent,” she replied softly.” It was love... Always.”

They both fell silent, staring into each other’s eyes.

Finally speaking, Catherine asked. “You came here… in the daylight. How did you manage it?”

“Devin drove me… I wanted to walk with you in the sunlight… I know I’m safe here… with you. I needed to see you… to tell you that I have done what you asked of me. I’ve conquered my deepest fears… and I have moved through them.

She looked confused. “But I didn’t tell anyone I was back. How did you know you would find me here?”

“I followed my heart,” he replied simply. “Actually I… I followed… yours.”

“You… you followed… mine?” she asked, as the truth of his statement slowly dawned on her. “The Bond… it has… returned to you?” she asked, haltingly.

“Yes.” Vincent smiled. “And something else has returned as well.”

She looked at him inquisitively.

“The memory of that night… It was just as you described… the terrible agony that I was suffering… and then loving you… you loving me. Your love saved me, Catherine… even after you saw… all that I was… all that I am... and you still… loved me.”

“Always… Vincent… always.” She smiled hesitantly. “You’ve decided.”

“You can’t feel it?” he asked, reaching for her hand.

A shadow crossed her face, as she shook her head, still afraid to hope. “I can feel your emotions. But I can’t read your mind… I need… to hear the words… please.”

“I never cease to be amazed that you are more beautiful every time I see you.”

Catherine flushed deeply, knowing that it wasn’t true. She recalled her reflection in the bathroom mirror and was well aware of the hollows in her cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. She pulled self-consciously at her new growth of hair, painfully aware that she wasn’t beautiful, not anymore.

Vincent came closer. She could feel his warmth as he reached out to her and held a lock of hair between his fingers. “This, is beautiful.” He buried his face in her hair, breathing deep to take in her essence.

He stepped back to gauge her reaction.

Her eyes were wide and bright, asking the question she was afraid to speak aloud.

“This… is beautiful,” he whispered softly. He gently stroked the old scar on the left side of her face and kissed it sweetly. Then boldly slipping his hand beneath her sweater he touched the angry, ragged scar on her torso.

She closed her eyes and held her breath, feeling electricity shoot through her as he touched her bare skin. He could feel her trembling, but she didn’t shrink from his touch.

“Even this,” he whispered. “… is beautiful.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, as she tried to hold back the tears. “It’s awful… It’s—”

“Yes, Catherine,” he insisted. “Even this… is beautiful.”

She closed her eyes and bowed her head. She tried to believe the words he spoke and fully feel the love that they conveyed, but her emotions were too raw to speak.

He put his other hand under her chin and gently lifted her tear-stained face to meet his gaze.

“I finally understand,” he said, speaking barely above a whisper. “I know now… how you could always see so much beauty in me, when I could not see it in myself. It’s because… I was a part of you. And everything that is a part of you, Catherine… becomes beautiful… even this.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she looked into his eyes. “But what does it mean for us... for our future?” she finally had the strength to ask.

“It’s all I’ve thought about since we last spoke. You were right, Catherine… We cannot go back… The dream we had… is gone… shattered beyond repair. What happened… changed us. We are different people now… and in some ways strangers to each other.”

Catherine nodded, holding her breath, and bracing herself for the worst.

“But the love… the love remains...” he said with calm assurance, “… as strong as it ever was… stronger.”

“What will we do?” she asked, desperate to know what he had decided.

“The only thing we can do, Dearest Catherine… what we have always done. We will endure the pain… if and when it may come… But until that day… we will savour every moment of the joy… together. However many moments there may be. We will accept each day we are given as a precious gift.”

“But what if the… what if I…” She couldn’t finish the terrifying thought.

Vincent knew instinctively what she was trying to say. “Catherine,” he said softly, hoping to allay her fears. “Father and Margaret had only seven days. And though I’m sure he wished that it had been more, I know he treasures those memories… even considers them a precious gift.

“If we have seven days… or seven years… or seven hundred… it doesn’t matter. I hope its eternity. But whatever happens… whatever comes… You must promise me, Catherine… from this day forward… we will share it all together… the good and the bad… the joy and the pain. Our old dream was shattered. We can never get it back, no matter how hard we try… but perhaps together… we can make a new dream… an even better dream… if that is what you want.”

He reached into his shirt pocket and held out a chain with a familiar crystal on it. “Is it… what you want?”

Catherine gasped. “Where did you find that?” she asked, reaching out to touch it. “I thought it was gone forever!”

Smiling, Vincent placed it over her head. “I found it, shortly after your death, in the cave where we… loved. When you returned, I was going to return it to you, but you ended things between us before I could… so I… I kept it.

Vincent then got down on one knee and looked up at her pleadingly.

“Vincent?”

Reaching once more into his shirt pocket Vincent produced the engagement ring that Father had given him months earlier.

“I know I have very little to offer you… except myself, my undying love, and my tattered dreams. You asked me to face my fears. This is the last one. I’m spreading my dreams under your feet.[16]

“In your last letter, you said, ‘Our hearts are one heart… Our souls are one soul…’ I’m asking you to marry me, Catherine. I’m asking you to spend the rest of your life… however long that may be… as my soulmate… as my wife… as my… everything.”

Despite the love she had for Vincent, she was still afraid to hope. There are still so many obstacles, she told herself. “How can we marry, Vincent… when your world is in the Tunnels and my world is Above? I know you’re safe here, but the rest of my world may never be safe for you.”

“Sometimes, we must leave our safe places…” he quoted. “I don’t think you understand, Catherine. The Tunnels ceased to be my world the night I found you. Ever since that night… wherever you are… wherever you go… I am with you. You and our son are my only world. I am asking you to let me… be yours?”

“Don’t you know? You already are!” Catherine replied. She felt as if her heart would burst. She tugged his hands upward until they stood face to face. Then placing her hand gently on his cheek, she said, “Without you, Vincent… there is… nothing.”

“Then we will find a way to make it work,” he assured her. “You were right, when you said, ‘Our hearts are one heart. Our souls are one soul.’ What else is there for us to do? What else is there for us to know? What else even matters?”

She held up her trembling hand as he slipped the ring on her finger.

“Would you just hold me, Vincent?”

Vincent didn’t hesitate to obey her request.

“Hold me tighter…” she pleaded. “Tighter!”

Vincent recalled another time she had uttered those words, another time when death had nearly torn them apart. His arms tightened around her, as he lifted her off the ground, swinging her around and bursting with a happiness he could never have imagined.

And there… safe in the circle of Vincent’s embrace… 11 months, 3 weeks and 4 days after she’d lost everything...

…Catherine Chandler was finally home.

Epilogue

Two and a half years later…

Catherine sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the antique, four poster bed. Looking down at the floor she tried to locate her slippers.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

At the sound of Vincent’s voice, her heart skipped a beat. She looked up to see him standing in the doorway of their master bedroom. He was dressed casually, in well-worn blue jeans, and a loose t-shirt. She smiled at the sight of his bare feet, knowing how he loved the feeling of the deep pile carpet beneath them.

She smiled, up at him. “I’m looking for my slippers. It’s time to feed Rosie,” she said simply.

“I don’t think Rose agrees,” he countered. “She is currently sleeping quite peacefully.”

Catherine laughed softly. “Yes, she does seem to be more interested in sleeping than eating, doesn’t she? Nevertheless, Peter is insistent that I make sure I nurse her every two hours. She’s very small, and he’s wants to make sure she gains weight.”

“Peter also insisted that I make sure you rest,” Vincent reminded her. “He’s worried about you, as well.”

“Yes, Peter does tend to worry, doesn’t he?” Catherine sighed. “We appear to be at cross purposes,” she conceded. “But the fact remains, that it’s been more than two hours since our daughter’s last feeding…” She paused momentarily and looked down at her engorged breasts. “…and I’m becoming uncomfortable.”

“I can see,” Vincent replied, blushing visibly at her obvious predicament. “You have a compelling argument, counsellor.”

Catherine’s eyes twinkled mischievously, knowing she was about to win the debate. “Then what do you propose we do?” she asked, trying not to gloat.

Vincent came forward and knelt in front of her. Reaching beneath the bed he retrieved her slippers and slid them onto her slender feet. Without speaking he stood and leaned over her. She instinctively clasped her hands around his neck as he effortlessly lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the nursery where their children slept.

“Rose wouldn’t settle until she was safe in Jacob’s arms,” Vincent explained as he walked down the hall. “He sang her to sleep, just as you do for him.”

Catherine felt as if her heart would burst with love as she looked at their two treasures asleep in each other’s arms in Jacob’s bed. Jacob had a large stuffed, velveteen rabbit in one arm and the other was wrapped protectively around his tiny sister.

“Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?” she asked.

Vincent smiled, as he nuzzled his face into Catherine’s long, silken hair. “The first time I saw you holding Jacob as you slept… for one… not to mention every time I look at you.”

Glowing with love for her precious little family, Catherine kissed Vincent’s irresistible mouth then looked back at their newborn daughter sleeping safely in her brother’s arms. “It is kind of like a dream, isn’t it?” she asked, with hushed reverence.

Vincent smiled, shaking his head in wonder, and whispered, “Better.”

Setting Catherine gently in the rocking chair, it was only moments before he placed their newborn daughter into her waiting arms.

Fin

~~~

There are so many gifts waiting for you…

All you have to do is open your arms.

~~~

***Many, many thanks to Nan Dibble, who inspired me, to all those who cheered me on, and without whom this story would never have been finished: Linda O, Cindy Rae, Judith, Skippy, Angie, Allison, Janet, and Deidre, and all my amazing friends at Treasure Chambers, and to the incredible artists who allowed me to use their work.

Notes

[←1 ]

From the poem Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold.

[←2 ]

Dialog from “Remember Love,” Beauty and the Beast Season 2, Episode 1. Written by Virginia Aldridge

[←3 ]

From Aftermath, No Way Down Episode Expansion, by Barbara Anderson

[←4 ]

From Better Than A Dream, by Barbara Anderson, an expansion of A Children’s Story.

[←5 ]

From Better Than A Dream, by Barbara Anderson, an expansion of A Children’s Story.

[←6 ]

From Providence, by Barbara Anderson, an expansion of the BATB episode, Providence.

[←7 ]

We Have Always Withheld the Truth from Each Other, by Barbara Anderson, an expansion of BATB episode, Arabesque.

[←8 ]

Excerpt from the book Love You Forever by Robert Munsch

[←9 ]

This is a reference to the story You Have My Heart by Barbara Anderson https://treasurechambers.com/FanFiction/Barbara/BarbaraYou%20Have%20My%20Heart.pdf

[←10 ]

This is a reference to the story The Beast You Feed, by Barbara Anderson. https://treasurechambers.com/FanFiction/Barbara/BarbaraThe%20Beast%20You%20Feed.pdf

[←11 ]

Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

[←12 ]

Rainer Maria Rilke

[←13 ]

Pedro Calderón de la Barca, Dramatist 1600-1681

[←14 ]

“Vincent’s Soliloquy” From Beauty and the Beast Season 3 Episode 2 Walk Slowly.

[←15 ]

Lao Tzu: ancient Chinese philosopher and writer.

[←16 ]

This is a reference to the poem ““Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven” by William Butler Yeats