BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

“No Way Down”

ACT ONE

Blind Trust…

By

C.J. La Belle

“Like a sculptor, if necessary, carve a friend out of stone.

Realize that your inner sight is blind and try to see a treasure in everyone…”

Rumi Jalalu’l-Din

※※※※※

In New York harbor the Statue of Liberty stood bathed in electric luminescence, noble and mysterious on her island in the night. Far away, somewhere in the darkness, a lonely foghorn sounded, long and low.

In the ghetto street, the fetid darkness was even deeper, and held far more menace than the ethereal lady with the light. Decay and disrepair have long since extinguished any night-life this neighborhood might have supported. Tenants had fled the near-crumbling buildings. Commercial establishments that had once pockmarked the street were now barren and tomblike.

Nothing moved but the rush of garbage in the night wind, and the occasional furtive animal on the prowl. Then a yellow cab appeared around the corner, moving slowly down the dilapidated street before stopping beside the rubbish-choked curb.

The cab driver turned nervously to his fare. “Like I told you, lady. There’s no bar here. Ain’t nothin’ here, but your worst nightmares. This is crazy, but it’s your money.”

Catherine sat in the back, dressed down in dark colors with nothing flashy. She took in the ominous gloom outside her window, anxious and uncertain. “Are you sure you have the right address?”

The cab driver shrugged. “Listen, lady, why don’t we get outta here, whaddya say?  I’ll buy ya a drink with the extra 20 ya laid on me to bring ya down to this hellhole. Okay?”

Catherine sat forward. “There’s another 20 in it for you if you’ll wait.”

The cab driver turned away. “Forget about it, lady! You’re outta your mind!”

Catherine’s hand trembled as she reached for the door. She didn’t want to leave the safety of the cab. But she sucked in a deep breath and opened the door to climb out into the dark, threatening night.

“I ain’t waitin’, lady, ya hear me? Lady...?” the cabbie told her through his open window. “You’re on your own.”

He didn’t give her any more time to reply. The cab pulled away and accelerated down the street. Catherine watched its tail lights fade into the darkness. She drew her coat closer about her to ward off the chill, then started down the sidewalk, her footsteps loud and echoing in the oppressive silence.

She walked for some distance through the lifeless landscape, feeling very much alone. She knew this was a very bad idea, but there was nothing for it but to go on now.

In the distance a dog barked, then fell silent. Catherine stopped to listen at the slightest sound, but convinced herself she’d heard nothing but the wind. Then she felt a presence. She looked warily up and down the empty street, the gnawing fear in her belly closing into an icy fist.

Just as she started forward again, a hand shot out of the darkness, clamping on her shoulder. She whirled, a startled cry breaking as she batted the hand away with a classic self-defense move, only to see Vincent step from the shadows, phantom-like, yet very real.

“Catherine...,” he breathed, with deep concern.

She sagged with relief, even as he steadied her. “Vincent! You startled me!”

He nodded as he looked around. “You were right to be afraid. This is a dangerous place. I sensed your fear.”

“I had to come here.” Catherine frowned at him. “I’m supposed to meet a witness. He set the time and place. It’s too important to miss it.”

“Can you trust him?” Vincent’s face shadowed with concern.

“I think it’s worth the gamble,” she replied defensively, looking around.

“Sometimes your fear can keep you alive. You should listen to it more often.” He stepped closer. “I’ll come with you.”

“I have to go alone. I gave my word.”

“Well then, know I’ll be near.”

“Thank you, Vincent.” Catherine smiled tenderly at his concern. She placed a hand on his forearm before leaving him.

He stood watching her walk up the empty street, deeply concerned for her, yet moved by her courage. He slipped back into the alley he had just come from, and disappeared into the deepest shadows.

Catherine walked slowly down the broken pavement toward a scarred brick building that had seen better days. A faded metal sign hung from the façade, creaking in the wind, weather-beaten and faded. "BAR & GRILL" it declared in broken lettering.

She stopped, taking in the old building. The windows had been boarded up, but light seeped from between cracks in the boards. Someone was inside.

She peered through one of the cracks, but could see no-one. She walked slowly to the door and tried the handle. It was unlocked and the door screeched open. She hesitated, reaching down inside herself for strength, then walked cautiously into the bar.

Vincent climbed the fire escape at the back of the brick building. He reached the landing on the second floor and crouched there. Nothing moved and he was aware of no-one but Catherine. He twisted the rusted door knob, but it broke off in his powerful hand.

Meanwhile, in the large, dilapidated bar room, flickering lamps illuminated scattered tables and chairs. There was a pool table, posters and scrawled graffiti on the walls. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air.

Catherine looked around, assessing her position and whatever peril she was now in. The place was obviously a clubhouse of some sort, but none of the members seemed to be here.

Catherine moved further into the room, walking along the bar. The broken back-bar mirror was spray-painted with the legend: SAVAGES.

She whirled when she heard the floor creak behind her. A rag-tag gang of young hoods had stepped from a door at the far end of the bar. They were all young, with eyes that mirrored a hundred lifetimes of anger and misery. There were five of them in all.

Catherine fought the urge to bolt and run. She was here to do a job and gain some much-needed information.

“Which one of you is Shake?” she demanded, in a no-nonsense voice.

A thick, stocky blonde kid in a denim vest smiled as he rolled his toothpick with his tongue, looking her up and down like a butcher appraising beef.

“That’d be me. You’re the lawyer lady?” His mirrored sunglasses prevented her from seeing his eyes, or his intentions.

Catherine nodded quickly. “I’m from the D.A.’s office, yes.”

Shake shrugged. “I talk to you, my man, Willie gets cut some slack?”

Catherine held her ground. “I can’t make any promises. He’ll do some time, but if you help me, I think we can get the charges reduced. He’ll do a year, two at the outside.”

Shake brooded on the information for a moment, then nodded. “That’s cool. He can handle that.”

He and the others peeled off to tables, taking chairs in a haphazard fashion. Shake kicked one out for Catherine.

“Sit. Beer or somethin’?”

Catherine ignored his offer. “Willie says you saw that convenience owner beaten to death outside his market, that you can identify the man that did it. Is that true?”

Shake sat back, frowning at her. “Don’t push, babe. I like to ease into things, kinda feel my way around.” He laughed crudely.

Catherine turned and headed for the door. “All right. You can feel your way into Attica to visit your buddy, Willie.”

Shake’s laugh deepened. “You’re cold, lady. Come on, we’ll talk.”

Above them, unseen, Vincent eased his way into the building, taking up a hiding place directly over them. He crouched down to watch closely.

Reluctantly, Catherine took Shake up on his offer, easing her way into a vacant chair near the pool table.

The Savages’ leader looked her over. “Dude’s name is Chris. Number one gun for the Silks. You heard of ‘em?”

Catherine shook her head as she reached into her bag for her pad and pen. “No, but I’m listening.”

Shake got up and moved to the pool table and began making shots as he continued. “They all dress up in suits, even the chicks. Chris has got him a good source for those suits. New ones all the time, price tags still on ‘em.”

“Stolen.” Catherine continued writing.

Shake shrugged, as if such a concept was normal for him. “Oh, protection. He’s shakin’ down store owners, takin’ it out in trade. Watch this.”

He took his shot, sinking the ball cleanly. He grinned at his success like a big kid in a candy store. Catherine shook her head as she continued to write.

Outside the bar, a car was approaching slowly, its headlights cutting off as it neared the building, and whispered into the curb. It was an old El Dorado ragtop. The top was up, concealing the inhabitants.

Inside the bar Catherine was concentrating on gaining as much information as possible.

“This ‘Chris’ have a last name?”

Shake made another clean shot. “What ya takin’, a census? Like I said – Chris.”

Outside the convertible’s top began to fold back, like a sardine tin being opened, and revealed the Silks inside. Five in all, young men all dressed in flashy suits and ties. And they were all armed.

They sat in the open car, getting ready for attack. A pistol-grip shotgun was pumped, while the cylinder of a python revolver was spun. A clip was slapped into the butt of a 9mm pistol as they all piled out of the car in a stylized, flashy way. They lined up facing the bar.

There was Python, a small, gaunt man in his twenties, slicked back hair and feral eyes. The .357 Python carried looked outsized in his small hand. Beside him, stood a big hulk of a man called Howie. It was hard to tell how old he was, but his brain never made it past ten or eleven. He cradled a pump shotgun, which looked like a toy in his meaty grip. Next Cheech, short and stocky, he’d once been a bodybuilder. He carried a .45 auto. Then Tony, tall and lithe, the build of an athlete. A 9 mm. auto was his weapon of choice.

They all looked to Chris, their leader. He was handsome in a cruel, challenging way. Sculpted hair, Elvis-style, hawk-like features, he was charismatic and dangerous. He was Tony’s younger brother, but obviously in command. He methodically tapped a pipe bomb against the palm of his hand.

“You sure about this, Chris? It ain’t really our style,” Tony asked anxiously.

“Styles change, big brother. Somebody shoves, we shove back. Harder.”

Python sniggered. “Let’s do it. Let’s do it...”

Chris smiled, loving the attention. “Now!”

They leveled their guns at the building and opened fire.

Catherine had been taking notes. “I’d like you to tell me exactly what you saw at that–”

Bullets began to fly through the air, peppering the boards that covered the windows. Two of the gang members sitting at the bar were hit.

Shake stood at the pool table, assessing his next shot as bullets started to fly all around them.

“Down, get down!” someone shouted.

Catherine hit the floor and rolled under the pool table. Her witness was hit and went down. Vincent leapt from his hiding place and rushed to Catherine with a roar.

The boards over the windows splintered and the door was nearly blown off its hinges. Two of the Savages made it out the back door, leaving their fellows to their fate.

Above them all, Vincent leapt from the top of the stairs, a bone-chilling growl from the core of his being overriding the sound of gunfire. He rushed to Catherine’s side to shield her from the bullets.

Outside, Chris waved off the shooting, and stood listening. “What the hell was that?” he demanded, in the sudden silence.

The air in the bar was thick with dust and smoke. Vincent helped Catherine to her feet.

“I’m all right...,” she managed to gasp.

“I’m hit…,” Snake groaned from the floor.

Vincent ignored him as he hustled Catherine toward the back door.

Chris glared at the bar, disliking what he could not identify. He flicked open his lighter and ignited the fuse of the pipe bomb in his hand.

Catherine looked back and saw Shake lying on the floor. He moaned softly.

She started forward. “Wait! He’s alive...”

Vincent sighed roughly. “I’ll get him. Go...”

He swept her out before hurrying back to the fallen Shake. He was bending down to pick him up, when the remnant of a window at the front of the room suddenly broke, and the lit pipe bomb landed on the floor in front of Vincent.

The bomb landed inside before exploding with tremendous force. Smoke and debris billowed from the windows.

Tony stared at the devastation. “Don’t you think that’s overkill?”

Chris shrugged. “Let’s go see what’s left.”

The group moved toward the bar’s entrance. Howie looked worried, ill at ease, like a child that knows he’s being bad.

Waiting outside the back door for Vincent, the shock of the explosion knocked Catherine off her feet. She got up, still groggy, and leaned against the wall for support. Smoke still drifted from the open rear door.

She started forward, anguish stark on her face. “Vincent... Oh, God...”

The two survivors of Shake’s gang suddenly appeared and blocked her. Dice flicked open a knife while Scat held up a two-by-four as a club.

“You set us up...,” he growled.

Dice got behind her and managed to pin her arms. Catherine stomped on his instep, as she drove her elbow into his solar plexus, shoving him into the dirt. Scat swung at her, but missed. She moved on him, but Dice grabbed her ankle, knocking her off balance. Scat pivoted, swinging his bat and managed to hit her flush on the jaw.

Catherine went down, knocked cold by the blow. Everything faded to black…

※※※※※

The grim night was slowly fading into a murky dawn. The scent of rain hung in the air.

Inside the dilapidated headquarters of the Silks, an old abandoned garage on the Lower East Side, Vincent suddenly jerked awake. He blinked and squinted. He had been half-blinded by the blast and he was completely unsure of his surroundings.

He shook his head, trying to clear his vision, to re-orient himself. Brash heavy metal music assaulted his scrambled senses, pounding from a source nearby. He knew he’d been bruised and cut. His hair was matted and wet with blood. He was in a standing position, oddly, but securely, stationary.

He tried to focus his eyes, but to no avail. Shapes - vaguely human - swam in and out of range.

“Hey, it’s comin’ to! Hey, hey! Wake up! Come on, wake up!” someone shouted, close to Vincent’s face.

He heard sounds of movement and excited whispers, before a pinpoint of light moved across his damaged vision. He turned to follow it, instinctively.

Chris knelt beside Vincent, shining a mini-mag flashlight directly into his eyes. The other gang members gathered around him, staring curiously.

“ROWRRR!” Chris mimicked Vincent’s roar.

Vincent moved, testing his bonds. He heard chains clank against some overhead pipes. He tried to move forward, but was too securely chained. The gang grouped around him, keeping back a safe distance, watching him with a mixture of awe and fear.

Conversations were taking place around him, but to him, the voices and words were distorted. The rock music continued to shout from a ghetto blaster.

“Hey, those chains secure, man?” Chris voiced his fear.

Tony leaned closer. “Look at his teeth, man. Those claws, like some kinda jungle cat. We can make some money with this thing.”

Chris glanced at him. “Yeah?”

Tony shrugged. “Sure. Ain’t nobody ever seen nothin’ like this before. We’ll be on TV, newspapers, this thing’ll make us famous!”

“Oh, man, he’s ug-lee!” Python sneered.

A dark, sensuous young woman stepped forward. Barely out of her teens, her expression cruel and sadistic. “Nothin’ ugly about him. He’s just... different. Yeah, real different...”

Another young woman pulled her roughly aside, asserting her authority as Chris’ lady. She was tall, busty, punkish hairstyle, tight leather from head to spike heeled shoes.

“Chris always brings me such nice things...”

Chris slid his arm around her waist. “How’d he get like that? You think he’s human?”

Vincent hung his head, great sadness overcoming him. His chains began to strain and grate, drawn tight by the pressure he was exerting on them, trying to break free. He pulled harder against the chains, testing them. Finding it useless, he leaned back against the wall, conserving his strength. The girl standing in front of him mocked his immobility, growling at him and meowing like a cat.

※※※※※

Outside the bombed-out bar, a number of emergency vehicles were at the scene. Yellow police tape had been deployed around what was left of the building.

Uniformed cops and firemen swarmed among the ruins, as a newly-arrived video news crew took in the scene. Catherine was being interviewed by a young plainclothes cop. She looked past him to see Shake’s body being wheeled out on a gurney.

The detective glanced at the body. “Lots of casualties in these street wars.” He looked back at Catherine. “You sure you’re okay?”

He grimaced as she nodded. “You were lucky, Ms. Chandler. Anybody else in there when it went off?”

Catherine caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She knew there was someone else, and was deeply concerned. But she couldn’t allow her concern to show. She looked away.

“No. There was no one else…”

※※※※※

In the Silks’ headquarters, Python picked up a crow bar, and prodded Vincent with it. When he didn’t respond, he poked him harder and harder.

“Look at that! He don’t even flinch!” He hit Vincent in the ribs with vicious force.

Howie got up. “Cut it out. He ain’t hurtin’ nobody.”

Python turned on him. “You tellin’ me what to do, Pigmeat? You wanna make me?”

The first young woman stepped in close to Vincent, leaning forward.

“What’s goin’ on in that brain of yours?”

Python jerked her away. “Get away from it. You crazy?”

“Get off me!”” She turned on him, and meowed mockingly.

Chris’s girlfriend moved closer. “It’s not an ‘it’. It’s a him. Bet he even talks.”

“Shut up. Just stay away from it.” Chris drew a heavy-blade hunting knife from a sheath on his belt and knelt before Vincent, waving the blade slowly back and forth threateningly. “You talk, freak, like Miss Patricia says? Huh? Maybe I’ll carve you a little, make you bleed ‘til you tell me to stop.”

Tony encouraged him. “I bet he does, Chris.”

“A different language though.” Patricia nodded.

Chris reached to jab Vincent on the chest with the knife and he growled menacingly, showing his canines. He rattled his chains.

The others laughed as Chris jerked away. Chris was embarrassed, pissed off. He moved menacingly toward Vincent with the knife, but Tony restrained him.

“It won’t be worth nothin’ dead, little brother.”

Chris shoved him aside roughly. “If you can’t talk, maybe you can howl. Howl, freak! It’s a full moon. Howl for us...”

He brought the glittering knife blade up, a savage grin on his face…

※※※※※

ACT TWO

You Can Trust Me…

“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them…”

Ernest Hemingway

Catherine stood alone in the deserted, dank tunnel. It was well after midnight, but she was too frantic with worry to sleep. She went Below looking for answers, and hoping against hope that Vincent made it out alive.

Her calls went unanswered. Frantic, she banged out another message on the pipes with a loose brick. The silence was painful and bleak. No-one came. She beat out the same message again, with increasing desperation.

Suddenly she heard Ellie’s voice in the darkness. “Catherine?”

Catherine spun around to her standing behind her. The little girl had emerged from a secret panel, which was still ajar.

Ellie shrugged. “Sorry it took me so long, but it’s a long way.”

“Ellie, is Vincent all right?” Catherine asked, anxiously.

Ellie frowned in puzzlement. “He went Above tonight. But he hasn’t come back yet.” She saw Catherine go pale with fear. “Is there something wrong? Is Vincent in trouble?”

Catherine pushed down her deep concern. She didn’t want to alarm the little girl. “No, I just wanted to see him, Ellie.”

Ellie’s sharp look betrayed that she didn’t believe her. “He’s... okay, isn’t he?”

Catherine went down on one knee to hug the little girl, giving her a brave smile. “I’m sure he is, but I need to speak with Father.”

“Oh, okay then. Why didn’t you say?” Ellie reached to take her hand, and led her back through the secret door. “Come with me. I know the way.”

The door closed behind them with a soft clang. Ellie reached to take down a flaming lantern from a hook on the wall, and led the way down to the hidden world as if she’d been born to its twisted tunnels and chambers.

Catherine was hopelessly lost by the time they arrived in the safety of the home tunnels.

“Here you are, then.” Ellie led her unerringly to the entrance to Father’s chamber.

“Thanks, Ellie.” Catherine bent to kiss the little girl’s forehead before she braced herself to face Vincent’s parent.

When she entered the chamber, she found Father standing at his reading table. He looked up, deep concern in his eyes. There was an atmosphere of great tension between them.

“Well? What’s happened?” Father demanded to know.

Catherine hurried to his side. “It’s Vincent – I’m afraid he might be hurt.”

The old man seized her shoulders. “Tell me!”

Catherine shuddered in his grasp. “There was an explosion... A man was killed... Vincent was trying to save him when the bomb went off.”

“Oh, my God...” Father let her go as he sank into his chair, covering his face with his hand.

Catherine hurried on. “The firemen searched the rubble. They found the man’s body…” She faltered when Father dropped his hand to glare at her. “But no sign of Vincent.”

Father rose from his chair, turning away from her, numb with shock and concern. He suddenly appeared older, more frail and vulnerable. He swayed, seemingly overcome with grief. Catherine made a tentative move to reach out, to comfort him, but held herself back.

Father turned back to her. “Where did this happen?”

“On the Lower East Side, Broome Street,” Catherine replied softly.

“The most dangerous part of the city for us! He knows that!” His furious glare returned in full measure. “What was he doing there?”

His look cut to her soul. He was well aware of what Vincent was doing there. Catherine couldn’t hold his challenging, demanding eyes. She looked away, her expression full of guilt.

“He was with me,” she managed to whisper.

Father looked away in disgust. “I’ve warned him, pleaded with him. Now this! If he’s caught Above...”

Catherine was stunned, wounded by his fury, but her concern for Vincent’s safety pushed aside any thought of defending herself. The silence between them stretched to the point of physical pain.

“I care for him more than anyone in my life,” she managed to say.

Father sighed brusquely. “Your... relationship with my son is a tragic mistake. For both of you.”

Catherine accepted his words without comment. “Help me... I promise you I will find him. But I need your help.”

Father braced his slumped shoulders. “Our access to that part of the city is limited. Only two entrances to our tunnels exist there. They’re rarely used.”

“Can you show me?”

Father stared at her grimly, before he consented with a sharp nod. He hobbled to a high bookshelf and pulled down some dusty old hand-drawn maps and brought them to the table. Catherine approached to look over his shoulder as he spread the maps out and bent over them, his finger tracing the ancient yellowed parchment.

“Here... and here...” He indicated.

Catherine studied them closely. “Surely Vincent knows of these places?”

Father nodded sadly. “If he can reach them.”

They shared a long look, each aware of the unavoidable bond between them, and the unique man they both loved without reserve.

※※※※※

The Silks headquarters was quiet and still. Chris and Miss Patricia were off somewhere together. Cozy and Python had been sent on a beer run. Howie was been left to stand guard over Vincent.

He was kneeling, studying Vincent with child-like fascination. Vincent’s head was lowered and his eyes closed. Then he looked up and blinked, as he tried to focus. Howie shrank back in fear, then found the courage to come closer. He looked around, making sure no-one was watching. There was a gentle, caring quality to this giant with the mind of a little boy.

“You okay, mister? I didn’t want ‘em to hurt you, but Chris and Python, they can be real mean.” He leaned closer, looking into Vincent’s eyes. “Can you talk, like Miss Patricia says? I bet you can, you just don’t wanna, on account of ‘em bein’ mean to you... Can you talk, Mister? I won’t tell ‘em if you can.”

Vincent heaved a shuddering sigh. “Yes…”

Howie grinned with delight. “I knew it! I knew you could! Shhh, Chris and Miss Patricia’s in the other room, they’ll hear. My name’s Howie, not ‘Pigmeat’ like Python calls me. What’s your name, mister?”

Vincent gathered himself. “I need your help, Howie. You’re not like the others. I know that. Set me free...”

Howie wanted to do just that, but he was too frightened. “Chris’d kill me if I did. He gets crazy sometimes, him and Python.”

Howie felt for Vincent’s predicament, and his concern inched past his fear. He rose, looked around furtively, before he reached to fool with the chains binding Vincent’s hands.

“Get away from him, dummy!” Cozy shouted.

She and Python had just come into the garage, back from their beer run. They carried grocery bags. Howie jumped back, all innocence.

“Wanna get yourself killed? He’s dangerous,” Cozy spat at him.

“I was just checkin’ to make sure the chains was tight, that’s all.”

“That’s all, huh?” Python sneered.

“I’m sorry, Python.”

“Just watch it, Pigmeat, just watch it.”

Vincent heard their casual hatred for each other and he lowered his head, hope slipping away once more.

Chris and Patricia appeared form another room, arms around each other. Tony followed. Cozy passed out beers and they all gathered around Vincent again. His eyes were closed.

Chris prodded him. “Want a beer, freak?”

Vincent flinched as a spritz of beer hit him in the face. He raised his head and blinked, trying to see. Blurred shapes swam in and out of focus. The blaring music still pounded his senses.

Tony sprayed Vincent with his bottle of beer. He laughed, stepping back as Chris lit a small butane torch and moved toward Vincent.

Tony grinned. “Oh well, I guess he don’t like beer. Don’t burn his pelt, man. Maybe we’ll sell him to a furrier.”

Patricia glared at Howie. “I guess he doesn’t talk, huh, Chris?”

Python waved his hand. “Hey, wait a minute, Chris, watch this. Back up, back up, and watch this. You won’t believe this, watch this guy.”

He hit Vincent hard on the shoulder with a tire iron. Vincent endured it silently. Howie winced and looked away.

“He don’t even flinch! How hard you think I’d have to hit him to break that bone right there?” Python pointed to an area of Vincent’s ribs, as he raised the iron.

Howie grabbed his wrist and squeezed. Python struggled, grunting with pain; the iron slipping from his hand.

“Why you wanna hurt him for, Python?” Howie demanded to know, forcing the smaller man to the floor.

The giant still squeezed Python’s wrist, almost as if he’d forgotten he had hold of it. Python struggled, beating at him with his free hand. “Ow! He’s breakin’ my wrist...”

Patricia tried to intervene. “Howie! Howie!”

“Ease up, Howie.” Chris shoved Howie. “Let him go, Howie... Let him go!”

Howie smiled as he released his grip. Python sagged back against the wall, doubled over with pain, holding his wrist. He reached under his jacket with his good hand, pulled his .357 and cocked it, aiming at Howie. “You stinkin’ freak!”

Howie stared at the gun. “He was gonna hurt him, Chris...”

“Put it away. Put it down, now!” Chris commanded sharply.

Python hesitated, then lowered the hammer and tucked the gun away. “One of these days, man...”

Chris approached Vincent again with the blow torch. “I wanna see some beggin’ in those eyes. Some fear.”

Python crowded close, his pain momentarily forgotten. “Yeah, burn him…”

The chains binding Vincent to the pipes suddenly began to twist, grating as he put added pressure on them.

Chris turned up the flame on the torch, as he stepped closer. He brought the flame close to Vincent’s face. The searing flame touched his skin. With the awful pain came The Beast, the Un-Named One, who’d truly had enough of these puny humans and their pathetic attempts to injure him. He clawed his way to the surface and began to howl.

Vincent roared in pain and rage, pulling against the chains that bound him. Suddenly, the pipes ruptured and scalding steam belched in clouds, driving Chris and the other gang members back. Chris dropped the torch and it rolled across the floor into a pile of boxes.

Vincent’s attack was awesome and more savage than anything he’d ever experienced before. He roared and slashed at his captors in a blind fury. He could see only shapes and splashes of light, but he lashed out viciously at any hint of movement.

He attacked Tony, mauling him savagely, before throwing him aside. He slashed another man across the throat, killing him instantly. The other gang members broke and ran for cover.

Vincent turned, feeling his way to the door and crashed through it into the street outside. He still couldn’t see and was forced to feel his way. He stopped for a moment to strip the chains off his wrists. He reached back to pull his hood up and wandered into the street, almost getting hit by a car. He was in the middle of the road and cars were passing him on both sides. Drivers yelled at him to get out of the way. He spun around, but the lights from the car headlamps were hurting his eyes. Finally, he made it to the sidewalk and slumped against a wall, sighing deeply.

Inside the gang’s building Chris was bent over the dead body of his brother, Tony. He fell to his knees beside the body. He was crazed with grief, as he cradled him, rocking back and forth.

“Come on, Tony! Don’t quit on me! Don’t quit, big brother...”

Miss Patricia and Howie tried to pull Chris away. He struggled against leaving his brother, but Howie was too strong.

“My brother… No! I can’t leave Tony.” He tried to return to the body.

Python did his best to refocus his attention. “We gotta kill that freak, Chris! Make him pay for what he done!” He added his strength to Howie’s in holding his leader back. “Let’s get him, man!”

A frightening chill came into Chris’s eyes then, as he stared down at his brother’s body. He touched the stain of blood on his own jacket – his brother’s blood.

“I want the freak! I want him!” he screamed.

His expression was full of rage and disbelief. His gang watched him covertly, not exactly sure what he planned to do next.

※※※※※

Vincent leaned back against the wall, catching his breath. Even though robbed of his sight, his other senses were heightened. He rested a moment, then moved off down the darkened alley.

Chris, Howie, Python and the two women ran out of the garage and piled into the El Dorado parked at the curb. Chris fired the engine and the car roared away down the street.

Vincent moved along the darkened street, ducking back into alley mouths and shadowy alcoves when cars or people passed. He was disoriented. The neighborhood was an unfamiliar one. He was quite lost. He reached the corner and peered up at the street signs. But the world had gone dark and shadowy. Blurred dabs of colored neons blinked in shop windows. Traffic lights went through their colors changes. They were all only moving pinpoints of light growing larger, washing to black as cars passed.

He knew he had to keep moving. Hoping against hope to find somewhere more familiar, he pushed off again, groping his way past the mouth of an alley.

※※※※※

Miss Patricia surveyed the passing alleyways. “He coulda gone down there!”

Chris stabbed the brakes, slamming the car into reverse. They screeched to a halt near the alley mouth. The gang piled out, guns up and ready. Chris led them toward the alley, wary and cautious. They stepped into the mouth of the alley, guns up, ready to fire.

But it was more of an alcove than an alley – and it was a dead end. There was no sign of their elusive quarry, nor any place for him to hide.

“Damn! Let’s move!” Chris turned back. They raced back to the car and piled in. The car roared away.

Vincent raised his head. He was lying on a narrow ledge above, eyes glinting in the darkness, listening to the sound of the car fade into the night. As he slowly righted himself, he waited until he was certain they were gone. Then he spilled off the ledge and crept to the mouth of the alleyway, slipping away into the darkness.

※※※※※

Catherine was waiting impatiently near the bombed-out Savages bar. A taxi came around the corner, and drew up to the curb beside her. She waited as Isaac Stubbs climbed out and leaned in to the driver.

“Hold tight. I’ll be back.”

He turned to Catherine.

“Thanks for coming, Isaac.” She went into his arms for a strong, steadying embrace.

Isaac pulled back to look down at her. “Friends do for each other, that’s what it’s about. What can you tell me about this friend of yours?”

Catherine looked away, as she evaded saying too much. “He’s very special to me, Isaac. I know it’s strange, but I can’t give you more than that.”

He frowned at her. “You can trust me.”

“I do trust you, but I... it’s hard to explain.”

“Then don’t. Him bein’ your friend’s enough.” He walked towards the remains of the building. “He was in there when the bomb went off?”

Catherine nodded. “He must have gotten out. They didn’t find his... body.”

Isaac looked around and spotted a couple of drunks on a bench across the street. He took her arm, as he started toward them. “Maybe we got a couple of eyeball witnesses.”

The two men watched them cross the street with wary eyes. They didn’t speak when Catherine and Isaac stopped in front of them.

Isaac pushed one hand into his pocket, as he eyed the men. “You here when the bomb went off? You see anything?”

One of the men tilted his brown bag, and made a face. His expression said that the bottle inside was empty. He looked at Catherine expectantly. She nodded as she pulled some money from her purse and held it out to him. Before the drunk could take it, Isaac grabbed Catherine’s wrist and took the money from her.

“Tell it true, old dude. We’re not buyin’ tall tales.” He crouched down and held out the money enticingly.

The drunk pointed with his chin, his rheumy eyes fixed on the money. “I was sleepin’ over there, explosion woke me up.”

“What did you see?” Catherine knelt down next to Isaac.

Isaac rustled the money. “Talk! You must’ve seen something!”

The drunk licked his dry lips. “I seen a buncha punks, all wearin’ suits with a big fancy convertible. Seen ‘em drag a big feller out of there and stuff him in the trunk.”

Isaac nodded, handing the man the money. He snatched it away, holding it close to his chest.

“The Silks... my God...,” Catherine whispered in horror.

Isaac took her hands reassuringly, trying to give her hope. “I know their turf. If your friend’s alive, we’ll find him.”

He took her arm, drawing her to her feet, before the re-crossed the street and climbed into the waiting taxi. It pulled away from the curb and turned the corner into the traffic.

※※※※※

Vincent finally came to rest inside an old warehouse. He sat with his head on his knees, trying to regain his strength. He knew he was in bad shape. The long hours on the run had taken their toll on him.

Suddenly, a flashlight beam pinned him in its glare. He raised the edge of his cloak, peering up and into the blinding light.

The man holding the torch said, “What’re you doin’ here, buddy? Ya can’t sleep here.”

Vincent shielded his eyes against the glare. “The light... it hurts my eyes...”

The night-watchman down-shone his flashlight. He raked it across Vincent’s recumbent form. “You hurt, mister?” He saw Vincent flinch. “It’s all right. I ain’t gonna hurt you, not ol’ Red. I’m just out here, making a living.” He set the light down.

Vincent kept his face turned away, making sure Red didn’t get a close look at him. He sensed the man’s kindness and concern, but couldn’t take a chance. “Where am I? What part of the city?”

Red shrugged. “The Lower East Side, Broome, just off of Pitt. Man, you’re hurt...”

Vincent now knew where he was, and where the nearest entry to the world Below was. His attitude became urgent. But as he moved, he winced in pain.

“Ah! You are hurt. Come on, let me give you a hand. Come on.” He leaned down and helped Vincent to his feet. “Here we go.”

He got out a half-pint bottle and uncapped it, offering it to Vincent. “Have a jolt. It’ll help.”

Vincent shook his head. Red shrugged as he took a deep pull. He turned away, allowing Vincent to stand by himself. “You know, I fought golden gloves, turned pro in fifty-one. Little Jersey Red, maybe you heard of me?”

Red looked around, but Vincent was gone. The boxer picked up the flashlight and searched his immediate vicinity, without success. “Well, I never…”He shook his head again in wonderment before taking another slug of his bottle.

※※※※※

Vincent hurried down the street, through the slashes of light and shadow, his renewed sense of purpose giving him a second wind. He heard a car coming toward him and it forced him to break into a trot, trying to find cover as the headlights nipped at his heels.

※※※※※

A yellow cab drove down the dingy street. The cabbie caught a glimpse of a strange, cloaked figure, staggering into a nearby alleyway with one hand out for balance and direction.

The cabbie leaned closer to the windscreen, trying to make sense of what he’d just seen. “Thought I saw something up there.”

In the back seat, with Isaac, Catherine leaned forward urgently. “Hurry!”

She peered out the window hopefully, then sank back into her seat dejectedly, hope slipping away. Isaac looked at her with concern.

The cabbie shrugged. “Guess not. Sorry...”

Sheltered in a stairwell, a group of homeless were peacefully asleep as the cab passed them and moved further down the street. Crouched on the edge of the group, Vincent raised his aching body up from the stairwell, watching after the cab, great sadness in his eyes... He’d sensed Catherine’s presence, and knew she was in the cab.

“Catherine...,” he whispered brokenly.

The Silks car powered down the street, all eyes scanning the sidewalks and alleyways for any sign of their elusive quarry.

※※※※※

ACT THREE

His Name Is Vincent…

“All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust…”

J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Vincent made his way slowly down the night-shrouded street, past a row of dilapidated tenements. He stayed close to the buildings, feeling his way along the walls, hugging the shadows, his features hidden by his hooded cloak. From the way he moved, it was obvious he was in great pain, his vision still badly impaired.

The small street he’d been following intersected with a broader avenue. Along the block there were various closed shops, most seedy. Pawnshops, used clothing stores and a greasy spoon, all with apartments above them. Most are shut for the evening, but a half-block down a strip joint flashed neon lights into the gloom.

The neon sign said that Squeaky’s was open. The blinking red sign reflected off the wet pavement. There was a cluster of activity down by the strip joint, and cars parked all along the block. A couple of late night cabs and a car or two whizzed by the intersection, until the traffic light at the corner turned red.

Vincent listened to it all, and tried to form a mental map of his surroundings. He emerged cautiously from the side street, crouching low, wrapped in his cloak. He scrambled quickly across the sidewalk, and crouched low between two parked cars near the corner. But there was no real cover there, and he was painfully exposed. He knew it, but his escape route was somewhere in the middle of this street.

He scanned the intersection, trying to make some sense of these twisted shadows and blobs of colored lights. The street was a distorted blur. He could see some motion and shadow, the headlights of passing cars, but everything was indistinct. The neon of the strip joint flickered on and off, but so blurred that he couldn’t discern what it was. But he did recognize the steady red eye of the traffic light. He stared at it, waiting for it to change.

In the same moment, the El Dorado pulled up to the intersection and stopped for the light. Chris drummed his fingers against the wheel impatiently. He is desperate to exact vengeance for his fallen brother.

Cozy scowled at the alleyways. “Man, where’d he go?”

“He’s around here somewhere. He can’t get too far.” Chris’s drumming intensified. His cold eyes flicked around restlessly.

Cozy leaned over the back of Chris’s seat and put her arms around him. “Know what...?”

The light turned green, and Chris floored the accelerator. The El Dorado roared out of the intersection, throwing Cozy back in the rear seat. Miss Patricia laughed.

To Vincent’s straining eyes, the blur of the traffic light changed from red to green. With a speed born of desperation, he darted across the street, crouched low. He stopped in the middle of the intersection, dropping to his knees.

A drainage grate was clearly only a few feet to his right – his sanctuary, the road that would take him underground and home. But he couldn’t see it, black metal against the rain-slick black asphalt. He felt for it with his hands, slowly widening his search.

Ahead of his position the El Dorado accelerated up the street, away from Vincent, who was visible to anyone in the car who looked back.

“He prob’ly went home, Chris,” Howie complained. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Python growled. He pushed the barrel of his gun at Howie’s face. “Here, chew on this, fat boy.”

“Shut the hell up, both of you!” Chris shouted. As he spoke, his eyes flicked to rear-view mirror and he swore, long, low and powerfully.

Vincent’s cloaked, hooded form was clearly visible, still groping for the drainage grate. Chris smiled with icy savagery as he spun the steering wheel hand over hand. The El Dorado skidded into a tire-smoking 180 degree turn just as Vincent’s groping fingers brushed against the edge of the iron drainage grate.

Chris floored the gas pedal and the El Dorado leapt forward with a squeal of rubber, picking up speed fast. Vincent grasped the edge of the heavy drainage grate, his fingers trying to find purchase on its slick edges. He heard the sound of the El Dorado charging at him. He looked up and saw the oncoming lights briefly.

Chris grinned as he turned off the car lights. He pressed his foot harder to the floorboards.

To Vincent’s damaged eyes the on-coming car was suddenly gone. He turned his desperate attention back to the drainage grate, pulling the edge of it up. He managed to get his hands underneath it and began to shift it to one side.

As the car bore down on Vincent’s crouched form in the middle of the road, Howie jumped forward from the back seat, grabbing at the steering wheel in the last minute. The El Dorado veered away, striking Vincent a glancing hit and knocking him over the hood before he fell hard onto the pavement. The big car went out of control, jumping the curb on the opposite side of the street, blowing both front tires.

Behind them, Vincent was on his back. He rolled painfully, clutching at his ribs and groaning as he got to his feet and stumbled to the sidewalk. He lurched away, feeling his way along the wall beside him, limping into a nearby alley.

Back in the car Patricia leaned forward. “Chris! Babe! Are you ok, honey, huh?” Chris had banged his head on the wheel.

Chris turned on Howie. “Ah! I’m going to kill you!” he screamed.

“I’m sorry Chris, but you was gonna hit him.” He winced in pain as he tried to make amends. “Don’t hit me, Chris. Don’t hit me, Chris.”

Patricia hit him instead. “Stupid!” she yelled. The crash had shaken them all.

Python was on the floor of the car, searching for his gun. Howie rolled his head, rubbing his neck and wincing in pain.

“You moron!” Chris sat back behind the wheel to turn the ignition, but the car refused to start.

Howie cringed. “I’m sorry, Chris, but I couldn’t let ya.”

Chris reached to slap him. “You worthless piece of meat!”

He moved to hit him again, then changed his mind. He hit the steering wheel in frustration and got out. A crowd of people from a nearby bar began to collect around the car, asking questions and demanding answers.

Chris pushed his way through the crowd. “I want that freak!”

Patricia got out to stand beside him. “Let’s get him.”

Chris glared at the crowd. “Where is he? One of you must’ve seen him! Where the hell is the freak?”

Python pulled Howie from the car. “Come on, Pigmeat!” He shoved him forward. “Move! Come on! Keep moving!”

Among the crowd, a woman watched in silence. She was tired-looking, a middle-aged hooker in her working clothes. No-one dared to say anything in the face of the gang’s aggressive look. Python was obviously hanging way off the long end of a short pier. The other gang members gathered around the wreaked car.

“Let’s go!” Chris called to his gang, as he walked away from the wreck. They followed him back across the street to the spot where they hit Vincent. “Let’s find him!” The gang spread out and began to search.

※※※※※

Back at the Silks headquarters, Isaac and Catherine were standing in the room where Vincent had been chained to the steam pipe. Tony’s body had just been zipped into a body bag. Catherine had checked it first to make sure it wasn’t Vincent. She breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped back.

A coroner’s wagon pulled up to the front door. On the sidewalk four sheeted bodies were spread out. Catherine, accompanied by Isaac and a fireman, moved down the row, looking under each sheet in turn, shaking her head.

“Come on.” Isaac helped her to her feet. He watched his silent companion closely. “Well, we know now he ain’t dead. That’s something.”

Catherine nodded as she stepped back, sighing with intense relief. She and Isaac turned to walk away down the street. Behind them the bodies were loaded up for the morgue.

“He’s hurt, Isaac. I know it. He’s hurt and alone.”

Isaac inhaled deeply. “Well, we’ll just keep lookin’. We’ll find him.”

“We’ve got to...,” Catherine acknowledged jerkily.

Isaac considered her taut, closed expression. “Hey look, I know I’m not gonna ask you any questions, all right? But if there’s anything you can tell me about this guy?”

“Thanks...”

“But, if there’s anything you can tell me about him...,” he repeated quietly.

Catherine glanced up at him. “Isaac, I’d tell you if I could. I can’t...”

“Okay, that’s cool.” Isaac lifted his shoulders, his expression saying he wasn’t pleased to be left out of whatever secret she was withholding from him.

Catherine exhaled roughly. “His name... is Vincent,” she allowed slowly.

Isaac nodded sharply. “Vincent.”

Catherine’s voice trembled. “I owe him my life.”

Isaac smiled reassuringly. “C’mon. If he’s out there, we are gonna find him.”

※※※※※

The rapid click of heels against the pavement echoed down the dark and empty street. Lucy, the tired-looking hooker who’d witnessed the Silks’ car crash earlier, walked briskly past the darkened tenements, her purse swinging at her side. She was heading home alone, having turned her last trick for the night.

A squalid, three-story apartment building, with a small stoop and narrow basement windows, was just visible along the sidewalk. Lucy rented the damp basement apartment, under the first floor steps. It was enough for her simple needs. Besides, she didn’t make enough now from turning tricks to afford anything more expensive.

She sighed as she started down the stairs, fumbling for her key. She stopped suddenly, her breath drawing in sharply as she became aware of someone huddled in the shadows. The shadow coughed, painfully and low.

Huddled in his cloak, Vincent leaned against the wall at the foot the steps near her door, his features hidden by the darkness. But that same darkness could not conceal the size and power of his broad shape.

Lucy didn’t scream. She knew no-one would care enough to help her. She felt briefly afraid, then anger took over. She’d been ripped off by muggers before.

She pushed one hand into her purse, and tried to bluff it out, all tough street-wise hooker. “What do ya want? Get out of here, you! I got a can of Mace in here, I’m telling you, you try anything I’m goin’ to make you real damn sorry.”

“Please... I won’t hurt you,” Vincent replied from the dark, obviously in great pain.

Lucy exhaled roughly as she considered him closely. Her fear turned to concern at the tortured sound of his voice, but Vincent shrank away as she moved closer.

“You drunk?” she demanded to know. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t come any closer… Please...”

Lucy leaned closer. “Hey, you’re the guy that got hit back by Runway Lounge. You’re hurt. Stay here, I’ll call you an ambulance.”

She fumbled for her key, opening the door to her apartment. Vincent struggled to his feet, using the wall for support, but he was in great pain. “No... no police, no ambulance...” He pulled his hood low over his face.

Lucy considered him, hovering in the doorway of her apartment. “Yeah, okay. I been in trouble myself a time or two. Can you make it? Ok?”

Vincent tried to take a step, and almost collapsed. Lucy reached to take his arm and led him inside. The apartment was still dark, lit only by the streetlight flooding through the basement windows. Vincent’s face was still hidden.

The woman’s apartment was very small, cheaply furnished and cluttered, but homey. Lucy kicked the door shut behind her, showing him to her couch. “You just rest there for a minute, I’ll be right back.”

She hurried into the bathroom, flicking on a light before she opened her medicine chest. She gathered disinfectant and a couple bottles of pills, then turned to a closet and got some towels. She carried it all back to the darkened living room. Vincent remained slumped on the couch, hidden in shadow.

“Don’t be scared,” Lucy pleaded. “I used to be a nurse.” She sighed roughly. “Well, no. My old lady wanted me to be a nurse, though.” She sat on the other end of the couch. “You must be hurtin’ bad. You want some pills? I got all kinds.”

“No…” Vincent shook his head slowly.

“You need something, mister,” she persisted. “For the pain, you know? Just for the pain. I got aspirin even, and penicillin and stuff, one of my regular fellas works down the hospital and he gets me whatever I want. Lemme get a look at that...”

She reached past him for a lamp, but Vincent’s hand shot out quickly and blocked her hand. Lucy gasped in shock.

“No light... please...”

Lucy sat back, offended. “I’m tryin’ to help you. What’s your problem?”

“My appearance may frighten you.” Vincent gasped with pain.

Lucy laughed shortly. “Honey, you don’t know what it takes to frighten me. I’ve seen all kinds.” She waited for him to reply, but he did not. She tried again. “You got to trust somebody, sometimes...”

She reached again to turn on the lamp.

Instinctively, Vincent turned his face away from her as bright light flooded the basement apartment. But he was too late. She had already seen him for the first time. Without thinking she recoiled in shock and horror. “What are you? What are you…?”

※※※※※

ACT FOUR

Go Home, Mister… Go Home…

“I live in my own little world. But its ok, they know me here…”

Lauren Myraclez

Vincent watched Lucy as she backed away, her eyes wide with fear.

“Oh God... What are you?” she breathed.

Vincent remained still, trying to look small. “I won’t hurt you...” But his body betrayed him and he was forced to attempt to rise to ease the pain of his battered limbs.

“Don’t come near me!” Lucy screamed, as she scrambled back.

Vincent tried to pull his cloak around him, but when he moved his arm, the pain in his shoulder made him wince in agony. “I’m sorry...” He moved forward on the couch, groaning in pain. Slowly getting up, he staggered to the door. “I’ll go…”

He went out through the door, lurching against the doorframe and then into the wall outside. Lucy waited a moment, trying to decide what to do. Finally she went after him.

“Look, you can’t stay out here.” She reaches him, taking his arm. “Come on back inside.”

She lifted his arm, placing it around her slim shoulders. “It’s ok. You just surprised me, is all.”

“Thank you…” Vincent allowed her to guide him back inside. He was limping badly.

Lucy settled him back on the couch. Seeing his obvious agony, guilt mixed with shame replaced the fear on her face. “I’m sorry. Here, use this…” She held out a towel to cover his wound. She leaned forward to help him with it. “You gotta get to a doctor.”

Vincent watched her with grave urgency. “My father is a doctor. I need to get to him. I can’t see...”

Lucy reacted strongly, stricken and horrified. For the first time since turning on the light, she looked Vincent in the face, and then away again quickly.

“I’ll help you...”

Vincent’s breathing hitched. “Somewhere near here is an old building... the Beaumont,” he whispered.

Lucy nodded quickly. “Sure, used to be a ritzy private club. But it’s all boarded up now. It’s about six blocks from here.”

“Tell me the way,” Vincent begged.

“No…” Lucy sat back. “But I’ll take you there...”

Vincent looked at her. “Will you tell me your name?”

“Lucy,” she managed, feeling suddenly shy.

“Thank you, Lucy...” Vincent inclined his head gravely.

Lucy smiled at him, suddenly feeling oddly pleased with the night’s strange events. She was aware she could never tell anyone, for who would believe her?

※※※※※

Chris stood in the dilapidated Beaumont playground with the two girls and Howie. Python came strolling along from the direction of the accident. The moon was now shrouded in cloud, turning the night dark and spooky.

The playground had seen better days. A dingy little pocket park with barrels, swings, a slide and seesaw, and a half-size basketball court. The four Silks stood in the shadows by the barrels watching Python return. His little eyes were gleaming.

“What the hell kept you?” Chris snarled at him.

“Keep ya shirt on.” Python waved a dismissive hand. “I doubled back to take a look and, man, it was great. I got up on the roof and peeked down. They got cops all over the place.”

Chris waved a closed fist. “I don’t give a damn about no cops! I want that freak.” He rounded on his large gang member. “Now, Howie, I want you to get us some flashlights.”

“Baby, he might’ve just crawled off in some bushes and died,” Miss Patricia wheedled.

“My feet are killing me...,” Cozy complained.

Chris glared at them all, as he rubbed one hand over the lapel of his fashionable jacket, where there was a large stain from dried blood.

“I got blood on my jacket. Tony’s blood,” he yelled into Python’s face. He turned on the two girls. “You think Tony would want us to go home?” His voice rose steadily to a scream.

He turned back to Python. “Split up and look! Meet back here in half an hour! Move!”

※※※※※

Catherine stood before the Runway Lounge. She stared down bleakly at the open drainage grate, the grate lying several feet away. Her gaze shifted to where the street was littered with broken glass.

Behind her Isaac was talking to some police detectives at the scene of the accident. A vocal crowd had gathered, demanding to know what was going on. The police had cordoned off the site with sawhorses. Floodlights illuminated the wrecked cars.

Catherine’s eyes were full of fear and concern. “So close...,” she whispered.

Isaac broke off his conversation, walking over to join her. He looked down at the open drainage grate. “Near as anyone can figure, it all began with a guy trying to climb down that drainage grate on the road. Seems he didn’t make it.” His solemn dark eyes rose to consider her expression, trying to read what she was thinking and feeling. “That give you anything to go on?”

“Yes…” Catherine nodded slowly, obviously afraid to hear what he could say next, but knowing she had to. “He’s not dead. I’d know it if he were dead...”

Isaac shrugged. “Judging from the skid marks, they were doing at least fifty, and he still gets up and runs off.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “He’s one tough guy, this Vincent of yours.”

“I wish I could tell you.” Catherine breathed a tremendous sigh of relief and threw her arms around Isaac. “Oh, God... He’s out there somewhere. Somewhere close.”

“Yeah... and so are the Silks,” Isaac replied grimly, giving her a reassuring hug.

※※※※※

Vincent, with Lucy’s unquestioning support, was limping across the same small playground where the Silks had met earlier. “Come on, we’re almost there,” she encouraged him. “Here, sit here a second. You ok? You gonna make it, all right. We’re not far.”

Vincent rested against one of the uprights, gathering his strength for the final push. Suddenly.\, they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Lucy shrank back behind Vincent, too afraid to look.

Cozy appeared, halting in an alcove just off the playground. She’d spotted Vincent and Lucy. She turned and ran. “Chris! Chris! I found him!”

Vincent and Lucy picked up their pace, but they would never be fast enough. The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder.

Lucy pulled back from Vincent. “You go on ahead. I’ll try to delay them.”

Vincent shook his head. “No...”

Lucy disengaged from him, pushing him forward. “The church is just ahead there. You want to get home or not?” she demanded to know, in an urgent whisper. She stepped back from him. “Go on, get out of here. Go!”

For a moment he hesitated, unable to leave her alone in the face of such danger. But when Lucy turned her back on him and walked away, Vincent finally departed, his cloak swirling behind him.

Lucy sat down on a swing, trying to look unconcerned. A moment later, Python entered the playground, wary, spooked and hyper. Lucy kept swinging, even when he whirled toward her, snapping his gun up to firing position.

He laughed at her look of innocence. “Juicy Lucy.” His smile was unpleasant. “Well what are you doing out at this time of night?”

Lucy’s posture, attitude, and personality changed. She became very much the hooker, standing provocatively, taunting him, working her trade for all she was worth.

“Looking for company...”

They both reacted to the sound of the others approaching. Howie entered the playground.

“Hi, Miss Lucy. Look what I found.” He pulled an old-fashioned glass paperweight from his suit pocket. It had a winter scene inside.

He shook it vigorously. “See, when you shake it… it… it snows inside.”

“Nice...” Lucy nodded.

Howie grinned happily, pocketing the paperweight just as Chris and the girls arrived.

Lucy moved away from the group. “I’ll be going, I don’t want no trouble.”

She started walk away, but Chris grabbed her by the arm and spun her around savagely. He shoved her at Howie, who took her by the arms, holding her immobile, as Chris got in her face.

“Where is he? Where’d he go?”

Lucy tried to look blank. “Who?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Chris stated savagely.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Lucy tried to brave it out.

Chris moved closer. “Where, Lucy? Show me.” He shoved her back into Howie’s large body.

Howie moved his huge hand up to her throat, as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, to plead with her, but he was so carelessly strong that he began choking her, without even meaning to.

“You got to tell him, Lucy. You got to tell him or he’ll hurt you. Please, Miss Lucy, you got to tell...”

Lucy struggled as she began to make choking sounds. Frantic with fear, she whispered. “Inside...” She pointed to the building in the distance.

Chris pushed closer. “You wouldn’t lie to me, Lucy? Would you?”

“No…” Lucy sagged against her assailant.

Chris turned back to his fellows. “He’s in the building. Leave her. I’ll be back to deal with her later.”

“She didn’t do no harm to no-one, Chris,” Howie complained as he released Lucy, who tumbled to the ground, sobbing and gasping for air as the rest of Silks hurried away. Howie bent down and pulled her to her feet, setting her gently back on the swing before he ran after the others.

※※※※※

Lucy was still on the swing, weeping, as Isaac and Catherine, drawn by her sobs hurried into the playground and rushed to her. She looked up at them in alarm. She shrank back against the chains.

Isaac moved closer. “Hey, you okay?”

Lucy sniffed. “I’m okay. You gotta go help Vincent. They’re gonna hurt him real bad.”

Catherine caught her arm. “Vincent! Where is he?”

“The Silks, they’re gonna kill him.” Lucy pushed her away towards the direction of the building behind them.

Catherine shook her arm. “Where? Where’d they go?”

“In the building.” Lucy pointed across the playground before sliding to the ground, sobbing.

Isaac and Catherine exchanged fearful glances before they both ran towards the Beaumont building.

※※※※※

Inside the Beaumont, Vincent felt his way along the side of the building, looking for a way in. He finally reached a ledge and dropped down a level to find his way blocked by a barred door. He grabbed the bars and began to rip them free. Suddenly there was the sound of a gun being cocked behind him.

“You’re dead, freako!” Python snarled.

Vincent turned, barely able to make out the shape of a man standing above and behind him, the big revolver cocked and aimed at his head.

“Chris! Over here!” the gunman yelled.

Vincent ripped the section of bars free and flung them up at Python. The little man went down hard under the weight of the wrought iron as Vincent disappeared through the open doorway.

He scrambled down an arched corridor, limping, dragging himself forward as he felt his way along the wall. Behind him shouting had broken out from the gang outside.

Howie bent to lift the heavy grate off Python. He helped the smaller man up. “He must be awful strong, Chris,” Howie commented in wonder.

“He’s gonna be awful dead,” Chris snarled.

He led the way inside. The gang hurried down a long corridor, searching. “We gotta spread out.” Chris looked back the way they’d come. He waved a hand at the girls. “You two stay here. I don’t want no company dropping in. He turned to his large henchman. “Howie, give ‘er your gun.”

“Aw Chris, that’s mine...,” Howie protested.

But he saw the murderous look on his leader’s face and quickly handed Miss Patricia the shotgun. The three men moved out, hurrying down the corridor.

Ahead of them Vincent was feeling his way down a narrow flight of stairs when a gunshot rang out. Plaster chips flew near his head. He ducked, rolling down the stairs as more shots were fired over his head.

“Down here!” Python yelled.

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Far behind them all Catherine and Isaac heard the shots. They both run forward down the corridor, overtaking the echoes, and running into an open chamber.

Miss Patricia immediately covered them with the shotgun. “Hey, hey! Hey back off! Back off! Private party,” she commanded, shoving the barrel of the shotgun into Isaac’s midriff.

“Never argue with a shotgun.” Isaac and Catherine traded looks as they both raised their hands.

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Python continued to track Vincent through various hallways, getting an infrequent glimpse of him and taking a random shot in the hope of hitting him. He cursed as he missed again. For a blind guy his quarry was still too quick for him.

“You’re dead, freak,” he muttered. “Just stand still long enough for me to hit you…”

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Back in the chamber Cozy glanced around nervously. “Where is he? Where’s the crazy freak got to?”

“I don’t know,” Miss Patricia snarled, glancing around nervously at the chambers other entrances.

She was distracted by the echo of Python’s next shot and Isaac grabbed the gun, flipping Patricia over. Catherine threw the other girl against a wall, knocking the wind out of her.

“You okay?” Isaac asked Catherine.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They raced away in the direction of the shots.

Far below Python was still chasing Vincent. Catherine and Isaac made their way quickly through the building, always going further and further down. Python continued to fire at Vincent whenever the opportunity presented itself. Running out of ammunition, he dropped to the floor to reload.

Catherine halted, listening to the echo of the last shot. “This way!” They hurried on down the stairs.

Ahead of them, Python had finished reloading his gun and resumed the chase. Vincent rushed down a hallway and descended a short set of stairs to the basement. Python was right behind him firing off more shots.

Chris followed close behind. Python closed in on his quarry just as Catherine and Isaac reached the corridor.

Chris descended the short set of stairs, searching through the gloom for his elusive quarry. Python heard him and shouted, “Come on, Chris! Down here!”

He was breathing heavy, the chase was wearying him. Cautiously he turned a corner. Vincent grabbed him, growling. They tumbled to the floor. Vincent got up, lifting Python high overhead. Python squeezed off a shot, but it went wild.

Vincent slammed him into the wall several times and the gun flew out of Python’s hand. Vincent dropped the gunman’s lifeless body, and it slid to the floor. Vincent turned away, hurrying on to reach a heavy door that he must go through. He sagged against it, pushing his hood down, resting his head on its rusted surface. He grasped the door handle and pulled, but he couldn’t open the door.

Howie crept from the shadows. “Hi… hi… hi, mister.”

Vincent turned, baring his fangs, brandishing his claws and growling.

“Mister! Shush, shush, shush,” Howie said frantically. “You gotta shush, mister, and don’t make no noise or - or Chris is gonna hear. Look, I can help.” He pointed to the door. “I can.”

Cautiously he reached for the door handle, grabbing it, and began to pull. Vincent hurried to add his strength to Howie’s.

“It’s heavy,” Howie complained.

They both strained and were rewarded as the door creaked open. Vincent’s breathing was short and labored.

Howie peered beyond the door. “Wow! Is - is that where you live, mister?” As the door slowly creaks open, beams of light filtered out, the characteristic golden light of the underworld.

“Yes,” Vincent breathed raggedly.

“Well, you better go now before Chris hears.”

“It’s a little late for that, Howie,” Chris declared, from behind them. He pointed his gun at Vincent.

Howie stepped in between them. “Hi - hi, Chris. Couldn’t you just let him go? ‘Cause he’s hurt real bad, an’ all he wants is - is just to go home.”

Chris waved his gun. “Get out of the way.”

“Wait - wait, Chris,” Howie pleaded stubbornly. He reached into his pocket. “Look, I’ll trade this to you if… if you let him go.” He pulled out the snow globe. “An’ it’s real neat when you shake it.”

Chris fired his gun into Howie. Vincent flinched at the crashing sound.

“Inside it snows…” Howie grunted in surprise. He still held the globe out enticingly.

Chris fired again. As Howie fell forward, he grabbed his leader in a bear hug, slowly squeezing the life from him. The gun went off again. Howie had managed to turn the gun on Chris.

“Go home, mister, go home…,” Howie pleaded, over his shoulder. Then the two men fell dead to the floor.

Vincent stood unsteadily, framed in the light coming through the doorway. He hung his head, then slowly turned and made his way through the door toward the tunnel entrance.

Catherine and Isaac ran up behind him. Catherine grabbed Isaac’s arm, stopping him.

“No questions, Isaac. Thank you for everything. Leave us now.”

Vincent stopped and turned when he heard her voice. “Catherine?”

“I have to take him home.” She hurried to hug Vincent. “I’m here.”

He rested his head against hers. Father appeared in the tunnel opening, carrying a lantern.

Isaac stared at them all and then turned and left without a word. He knew he still had the two Silks women to deal with, and Lucy. There would be time for explanations later. He would make sure of it.

“I knew you were close by,” Vincent whispered to Catherine as they stepped together across the threshold.

“I was never giving up.” She supported him as they followed Father’s lead.

Across the room the snow globe rolled out of Howie’s lifeless hand and came to a gentle halt, snow still swirling all around inside the glass...

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“Home isn't where you're from, it's where you find light when all grows dark...”

Pierce Brown

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