BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

“Terrible Savior”

ACT ONE

Angel In The Dark…

By

C.J. La Belle

"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another..."

Luciano De Crescenzo

*****

A few hours before dawn, the subway was almost deserted. The last car of the train was filthy, littered and scarred by graffiti. Its lights flickered on and off as it shook its way along the tracks.

A large man sat at one end of the car, reading a morning tabloid. At the back of the train, Mrs. Dalby sat quietly. She was a black cleaning lady, small, fiftyish, and bone-tired. Sheclutched her oversized purse and stared wearily out at nothing. The two shook and swayed to the motion of the train with the obliviousness of veteran subway riders.

As the car pulled into a station, the doors hissed open. Two swaggering punks entered, laughing and joking loudly. They were teenagers, wearing gang colors and shades, with hard, vicious, street-scarred faces.

The newspaper man looked up at the punks. They ambled up the car and sat down beside him. One punk pretended to read the paper over his arm. The man was intimidated by their actions. He folded up his newspaper, and quietly slipped out, moving up to the next car.

“Ain’t you got no pride?” The first punk demanded to know, as their mocking laughter followed his cowardice.

Mrs. Dalby shrank back in her seat, frightened. But she couldn’t stop herself from staring at the punks. She tried to ignore them as they strolled down the aisle toward her.

“Who you looking at?” the first punk demanded to know.

Mrs. Dalby looked down, trying to ignore him. She wished now she had got up and walked away. But they blocked her path.

The second punk crowded her. “Hey, lady, we’re talking to you.”

The first punk leaned close and whispered something unintelligible to his friend. The two men laughed and turned to look at her. Suddenly the lights went out again. When they came back on, the punks were right on top of her. Their hard, vicious smiles were arrogant and predatory.

“Got a match, lady?” the first one asked mockingly.

“No. Please…” Mrs. Dalby shook her head, clutching her oversized purse even more tightly.

“Bet you got some matches in the bag, lady. Give it to me.”

“No matches. You leave me alone.”

The punk reached to snatch her bag. “Let’s have a look.”

He pulled at the bag, but she resisted. The second punk hit her hard with back of his hand. She let go of the purse, slumping in the seat, crying in fear and pain. The lights kept going on and off. The first punk rummaged through the purse.

None of them saw the door between the cars slide open just a crack. The lights continued to flicker. A hand curled around the doorframe, a hand with matted fur and claws.

The punk rummaging in the old lady’s bag gave up in disgust. “Nineteen dollars! She’s only got nineteen dollars!”

He emptied the purse onto the floor. Mrs. Dalby cried out and fell to her knees, trying to retrieve her possessions. The punks decided to have some fun, kicking at her things as she grabbed for them. The lights went out again as they began attacking her. In the dark, the punks were dim silhouettes kicking at her, cursing. There was only the sounds of their grunts and laughter, her pleading, and the impact of their boots.

Then there was the sound of the door sliding open. The second punk looked up. “What was that?”

Something large and fast exploded out of the darkness and slammed into him. The train entered a long station, and screamed through without stopping, but the station light strobed through the windows as the punks fought with their unknown assailant.

Lurid images in the dark were cast against the reflecting windows. The first punk was locked in a struggle with the attacker. A clawed hand was upraised to strike, as the sound of ripping fabric was followed by screams. Then the sound of a body dropping to the littered floor.

Seeing his friend so easily downed, the second punk opened a switchblade, his face now devoid of all the arrogance. He was just a terrified boy, trapped in the darkness of his own fear.

There was a slashing sound, and the boy’s face was opened with a series of jagged slashes down his cheek. The blood welled from them, the knife spinning from his grasp. Claws, upraised again to strike, gleaming in the flickering lights as the punk staggered, clutching his stomach. He fell, even as a dark silhouette bent over him, still slashing and tearing at his recumbent form.

In the bloody chaos, Mrs. Dalby staggered back, holding her empty purse to her chest as if for protection. A dark shape loomed over her, raising a hand. Mrs. Dalby whimpered, shrinking in on herself, hoping to avoid the impending blow.

But the claws closed around the emergency pull, yanked, and the subway came screeching to a sudden halt. The dark shape opened the rear door, and ran off down the tracks, vanishing into the dark, as Mrs. Dalby watched in horrified fascination...

*****

Deputy D.A. Joe Maxwell had a huge stack of files on his desk. He sat listening to a news report on his radio.

‘The subway slasher struck again last night, killing two armed men who allegedly assaulted an elderly woman. The D.A.’s office has issued a statement saying they are working with transit authority police on a number of leads…’

He looked up as Catherine entered. He reached to turn the radio off, and grinned at her with anticipation.

She looked at the files with a doubtful frown. “I have a horrible suspicion that those are for me.”

Joe nodded, his smile widening. “Bingo, Radcliffe. It’s your own fault. First thing I learned in the Army – never volunteer. This is an ugly one. Take a good look.”

He handed her a thick gray envelope. Catherine opened it, and slid out some glossy police photographs. She rifled through them. They were police shots of the bodies of the two punks.

Joe watched her. “Seventeen and sixteen. They look like they tried to go a round or two with a tiger. Only this animal walks around on two feet, and half the city thinks he’s a hero.” He frowned. “You look a little green. Sure you’ve got the stomach for this?”

Catherine was clearly shaken. She’d seen something like this before – she’d witnessed Vincent tear men apart. She was well aware she could not admit that now, or allow any such knowledge to show.

She nodded quickly. “I’m sure. What do you want me to do?”

Joe shrugged. “Our subway slasher knows how to take care of himself.” He slapped the stack of files. “So, what you got here, you got your self-defense classes, your karate schools, your kung fu instructors. Be the first deb on your block to collect the whole set.” He pushed the files towards her.

Catherine opened the topmost file on the pile and began to read. She shook her head.

Joe waved a hand, as he watched her gather up the pile. “You know the profile we’re looking for. Recent crime victims, maybe someone who’s lost family. Flag anything subway-related.” He got to his feet and followed her to the door. “Oh, um… You’ve heard of the subways, right?”

“I think someone mentioned them to me once,” Catherine replied wryly.

“Hey, Radcliffe...” He grinned when she looked back. “Five’ll get you ten you don’t know what a token costs.”

Catherine hesitated for a moment, and her boss chuckled.

“A dollar...” she supplied with a nod, and left.

With a grimace, Joe closed the door, then reached for his wallet to double-check the certainty of her statement. Finding she was right, he looked up and stared at her through the glass door.

Seated at her desk, the stack in front of her, Catherine picked up the top file, and opened it. It contained a data sheet on Isaac Stubbs, with his photograph clipped to the upper left-hand corner.

*****

Catherine left her office and took a taxi to Soho. She got out in front of an old converted warehouse. In the loft windows was a sign: STUBBS ACADEMY OF STREETFIGHTING.

She entered the loft and hesitated, looking around. There was no-one in sight.

“Isaac!” She walked farther into the room. “You can come out, Isaac. I know you’re there.”

Isaac Stubbs stepped from behind a heavy bag, smiling. He was wearing boxing gloves and old sweats. She’d caught him in the middle of working out.

He laughed. “Can’t fool you anymore,” he commented, with pride.

She smiled back at him. “I had a good teacher. Hi…” She hugged him.

“So… Did you come for the refresher course, or is this a social call?”

“Neither, I’m afraid. I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Anything makes you sound that serious, it’s got to be pretty heavy,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “Are we talking money, baseball, or love, here?”

“We’re talking the subway slasher.”

Isaac reacted quickly. His smile and easy-going manner vanished suddenly. “Who am I talking to here, a friend or a district attorney?”

“Me,” Catherine replied shortly.

“Wrong answer,” Isaac complained. He turned his back on her and resumed his workout, pounding the heavy bag.

Catherine moved closer to him and continued the talk, but Isaac bit out his replies between punches.

“He’s killing people, Isaac.”

“I notice...” Isaac punched the bag hard. “You don’t say...” Another punch. “Innocent people.”

“Guilt or innocence is for the courts to decide, Isaac. If you know anything – ”

“I don’t know nothing.” He threw another hard punch at the bag. “And if I did...” The bag swung on protesting chains. “I wouldn’t tell no D.A.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Catherine demanded to know.

Isaac stopped very suddenly, and turned to face her. “You give me ten minutes to shower and change, and I’ll show you.”

Catherine nodded quickly. “I’ll wait.”

*****

Isaac was back in under ten minutes, and dressed in street clothes. He walked with Catherine through a seedy Lower East Side neighborhood. The buildings were run down, at least a century old.

“You got any idea how many students I had last year?” he asked. Before she could reply, he continued. “Too damn many. Don’t matter if it’s me or one of those egg foo young places uptown, we’ve all got more than we can handle. Why do you suppose that is?”

Catherine shrugged. “You’re the teacher. You tell me.”

Isaac indicated their seedy surroundings. “Cause people are scared. You ain’t the only one came to me after something bad went down.”

Self-consciously, Catherine touched her face. Beautiful now, but she remembered. She would always remember.

Isaac noticed. “Yeah. And you got off easy, compared to some. They all come to me, after.” He sighed bitterly. “You can’t do much after, ‘cept maybe teach them a few tricks, so they won’t be so scared no more.”

He stopped and looked up. “Here we are.”

They were standing in front of a refurbished three story tenement building at least a century old. It had obviously been a cheap hotel once, but now it had been converted to other uses. The modern sign on the door said PROTECTORS HQ. A young couple wearing distinctive snow-white berets exited and descended the front steps.

Catherine turned to Isaac. “The Protectors? They’re – ”

“The nuts in the white hats who ride around on the subways looking for trouble, right?” He took her arm. “C’mon. I want you to meet someone.”

They walked together up the front steps and into the building. In the hallway they are met immediately by a large black man in a white beret.

He held out his hand. “Isaac! How’s it going, man?”

“Can’t complain, Red.” Isaac shook hands with him, as he nodded toward Catherine. “Okay if I give her the ten-cent tour?”

Red stood back. “Go ahead. See ya ‘round, bro.”

Isaac led Catherine through the building, past various offices. The whole place bustled with activity, full of Protectors from every strata of society, all wearing the white berets. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing to acknowledge Isaac in some way, while watching Catherine with friendly curiosity.

“They know you?” she asked.

Isaac shrugged. “They should do. I teach here. Two classes a week.”

They passed a room where a half-dozen people were seated, waiting by telephones, or talking into receivers.

“That’s a 24-hour victim’s hotline. They get people over the hump, tell them their rights, their options, where to get help.”

A man in a three piece suit exited from a door marked LEGAL AID as they passed. He was carrying a briefcase, and consoling a sobbing woman.

Catherine looked after them as they left the building, the man supporting the crying woman with an arm around her shoulders.

“They do litigation?”

Isaac nodded. “Got about twenty lawyers who volunteer time. Sue the bad guys on behalf of their victims. It works when there is no-one else who seems to care.”

The next door they passed was closed, with a white sign that saying VICTIMS GROUP - IN SESSION hanging from a nail.

Isaac nodded to it. “Victim’s therapy. People get screwed up bad even by what they call minor crimes. Anger, violation, even shame, like it was somehow their fault.” He lowered his voice. “But you been there, I don’t have to tell you, right?”

“Yes…” Catherine nodded, impressed despite herself. She was thinking of Vincent and how he saved her, when they reached the end of the hall.

Isaac opened a door. “And here’s the main event.”

They entered a large gymnasium, the hardwood floor covered with mats. Around the room, several instructors in karate whites and black belts were working with small groups of students, teaching them various self-defense techniques.

Isaac indicated the room. “Look around. And these people ain’t crazed vigilantes in training, Cathy. They’re just ordinary people trying to take care of each other. You wanted to know whose side I was on?”

He pointed across the floor to one corner where a lithe young woman was instructing an elderly woman. “I’m on their side.” He nodded to the young woman. “That’s Suki, one of their best instructors. I taught her all she knows,” he admitted, with undisguised pride. “Now she could teach me a thing or two.”

Catherine watched for a moment, as the younger woman showed a little old lady some self-defense techniques. “Is that responsible? A woman that old could get hurt trying to resist a mugger.”

A tall, handsome, black man stepped up behind them, as Catherine finished speaking. He appeared to be ten years younger than Isaac, but almost as muscular, with the fluid grace of an accomplished martial artist. He was dressed informally. Obviously educated and articulate, he seemed to possess considerable charm and dynamism.

He shrugged. “She didn’t resist the last time. She just couldn’t get her wedding ring off her finger. The mugger figured he’d make it easy for her by cutting off the finger. One of our people stopped him in time. Now she doesn’t want anything like that to ever happen to her, again. Ever.” He stared at Catherine significantly, as if he already knew some of her own story.

Isaac made the introductions. “This is the man who put this whole place together. Catherine Chandler, Jason Walker.”

“Jace, please,” Walker replied, with a smile. His charm intensified. “Stubbs, how does someone as ugly as you happen to know so many beautiful women?”

He held out his hand to Catherine, who accepted it, watching him all the while with lively curiosity. Jason held onto her hand for longer than was required.

Catherine nodded. “I’ve seen you on T.V.”

“None of it’s true, I swear.”

Isaac watched them. “Catherine was one of my students.”

Walker shook his head. “You actually paid this man money?”

“She’s with the D.A. now,” Isaac pointed out.

Walker pulled back his hand, looking suddenly wary, but he was still smiling. “Uh-oh. Are we in trouble again?”

Catherine watched him closely. “I don’t know. Have you done anything?”

Walker became serious, his smile vanishing. “Not as much as we’d like to.” He stood back, indicating a short set of stairs that led up towards another row of office doors. “How about we step into my office, where we can be more private? I can see you have a lot of questions. I hope I have the right answers.”

“Thanks.” Catherine nodded, as she passed him.

Isaac followed them, his face settling into a worried frown. He’d brought Catherine here for a specific purpose. Now he appeared to be concerned about where this interview was going.

In the office, Walker took a stand in front of a wall of martial arts implements. There were samurai swords, nun-chucks, throwing stars, crossbows, and a morning star. Among the collection was a set of large, metal tiger-claws. Isaac stood near the door, listening.

Also on the walls were photos of Walker with various celebrities and politicians, some framed maps of Manhattan. It was an impressive collection, and Catherine was intrigued by it all, even as she prepared her arguments.

Walker grimaced. “If a transit cop had rescued that lady, he’d get a commendation. This guy is minus a badge, so that makes him a psychopathic monster.”

Catherine squared off against his bald assertion. “No. Ripping two teenagers to pieces makes him a psychopathic monster. A transit cop would have arrested them.”

Walker shrugged. “Right, right. And seeing as they were juveniles, they would have served a little soft time and then been back on the subways, kicking another old lady to death. Great system you got there, Ms. D.A.”

“”It’s not perfect,” Catherine was forced to admit shortly.

“You noticed,” Walker’s tone was wry. Then he became more passionate as he walked to a window and looked down into the gym to where Suki was now teaching a group of older people some basic self-defense moves.

“This is where they come, Catherine. The old people who have steel bars on their windows and still can’t sleep at night. The mother who can’t understand why the boy who killed her son walked free. The rape victims who scream when their husbands touch them. This is where they come when the police say, sorry, there’s nothing else we can do. This is where they come when the plea bargaining is over. Believe me, they know that the system isn’t perfect.”

Catherine bristled. “Do you know a better system? I don’t. Yes, you can find failures to point at. But most of the time, the system works. It’s all we’ve got.”

Walker looked back at her. “No. We have ourselves. Our courage, our strength, our compassion. We have each other.” He stared at her. “And now we have him, whoever the hell he is.”

Catherine stared at him. Walker’s expression had gone dreamy and approving. She could not believe it. He actually believed the subway slasher was doing the right thing.

“I think I’ve seen enough.” She turned to Isaac. “I have cases I need to get back to solving.” She swept out of the office, not caring if Isaac stayed or followed.

*****

Catherine hurried down to the sidewalk outside, closely followed by Isaac. She turned to him. “You gave me a lot to think about.”

Isaac shrugged. “That was the whole idea.”

“Isaac, if you thought... if you even suspected that this...” Catherine struggled to articulate her question. “This vigilante was someone you knew... a friend... what would you do?”

“What would I do?” Isaac shrugged. “Talk to him, maybe. Ask him. Go to where the man lives, and look him in the eyes. But first I’d be real sure of one thing. I’d be real sure that I wanted to know.”

*****

The basement of Catherine’s apartment building was pitch black. Catherine descended the stairs carefully, then pulled the chain on the bare bulb swinging overhead. She was carrying a heavy wrench.

She looked briefly, but meaningfully at the ceiling-high stack of cardboard boxes against the far wall, then crossed to the large steam pipes and began to bang against them with the wrench. The bangs were carefully spaced, like Morse code. She was sending a message. She stopped to listen, before repeating the message, each blow harder than the one before. Her face was tight with longing and apprehension.

“Vincent… please...” she whispered wretchedly.

She repeated the message again, banging as hard as she could, a wordless metallic shout of concern. But there was no reply, or sign of Vincent. She finally gave up, looking dejected and frustrated as she returned to climb back up the stairs behind her.

*****

She decided to wait out on her balcony, hoping Vincent would come to her. The light spilled through the glass doors behind her, and all around her the city lights gleamed. She’d been reading a heavy hardcover book, something Vincent had given her, but her mind wasn’t on the book. She kept looking up, anticipating his arrival. A tabloid newspaper lay on a small table beside her. Its banner headline shouted: "SUBWAY SLASHER – PSYCHOPATH OR SAVIOR?"

Catherine sighed, even as her chin sank to her chest, and her eyes drifted shut. Later, many of the city lights were out. It was the silent, dark hours just before dawn. Catherine was still asleep in her chair, the book open on her chest. She stirred restlessly in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible.

On the wall before her, Vincent’s hand suddenly appeared from below. He gripped the edge, pulling himself slowly into view. His grip was so strong that the stone slowly began to displace.

Half-aware, Catherine stirred and blinked. She saw Vincent rising before her, and sat up abruptly. “You came...,” she breathed gratefully.

Vincent climbed over the wall as Catherine rose to her feet. “You don’t know how much I needed to see you.”

She embraced him, but pulled back when he didn’t respond. She sensed that something was dreadfully amiss. He was so still and tense, as if he almost hated her touch.

“Vincent, what’s wrong?”

Wordlessly, he smiled. Briefly, it looked like Vincent’s normal smile: gentle, melancholy, full of compassion. Then it grew wider, turning into a mocking predatory grin for a moment, until his fangs were bared and Catherine was looking into the eyes of the terrifying beast that lurked within him. Vincent snarled threateningly.

“No!” Terrified, Catherine tried to break free, but Vincent held her tight, still snarling. They struggled against each other. “No! Vincent, no!”

But it was no use, the humanity was gone from him, as if it had never been. He attacked her savagely. Catherine screamed as his extended claws swiped at her soft flesh, and his teeth sought the blood pulsing in her exposed neck…

Catherine screamed as she snapped awake, still struggling, from her dream. It took her a moment to realize it was just a dream. When the realization hit her hard. She sank slowly back into her chair, staring bleakly out at the sunrise. She covered her face with her hands and began to sob bitterly.

*****

Catherine entered the N.Y.P.D. computer room, looking morose. She crossed to Edie at her computer console.

He friend looked up. “You look sadder than my last date. Anything I can do?”

Catherine sighed. “I need to see the file on a Mrs. Beatrice Dalby.”

The name clearly rang a bell with Edie. She frowned. “That’s the cleaning lady who got saved by the slasher, isn’t it? I didn’t know you were supposed to question her.”

“I’m not,” Catherine replied shortly.

Edie looked very dubious. This wasn’t by the book. “Then, why…?”

Catherine grimaced. “Let’s just say I’ve got a very dirty apartment.”

With a sigh and a shake of her head, Edie started hitting her computer keys.

*****

It was very late when Catherine got out of a cab in front of high-rise glass and steel office building. She rang the night bell, and a security guard finally came to the door. Catherine flashed her D.A.’s identification, and he admitted her with a nod. They talked for a moment, as he directed her about where to find who she was looking for.

Mrs. Dalby was hard at work when Catherine entered. The older woman stopped briefly to stare at her before continuing to work through their conversation, dusting and emptying wastebaskets into her trolley.

Catherine approached her slowly. “Mrs. Dalby? I’m Catherine Chandler, from the District Attorney’s office.”

Mrs. Dalby sighed. “When are you people going to leave me alone? I got work to do. I’ve already told the police everything I know.”

“This won’t take long, I promise. You say you never got a good look at the slasher.”

The old lady bristled. “Don’t call him that! That man saved me, and all you people want to do is hunt him down like some animal. Where were all you people when those boys were kicking on me?”

She turned her back to Catherine, then relented a little and turned back. “I didn’t see him. I told you people that. I told you and told you. The lights were going on and off. What kind of subway is that, we can’t even keep the lights on?”

Catherine frowned. “Well, surely when the lights came on, you saw something, if only for a second...”

Mrs. Dalby shrugged. “I was on the floor, hurting. I still have bruises where those boys kicked me. I didn’t see no part of that man.”

“You’re protecting him, aren’t you?” Catherine asked gently.

Mrs. Dalby busied herself with her work, ignoring her. Cathy decided to take a risk. “Mrs. Dalby, I’m not even supposed to be here. This is personal for me. I have a friend.” She paused and swallowed tightly, before going on. “I think... I don’t know what to think. I’m afraid that he was involved. If you could tell me what you saw, anything... his face... his hands...”

Mrs. Dalby stared at her. “His face… his hands...” she mused slowly. “He didn’t have hands, just claws. And his face, I’ll never forget that face. He wasn’t a man. He wasn’t a human man at all. He was like… like… an angel... a terrible angel, come to save me.”

Catherine reacted with dismay, seeing Vincent in Mrs. Dalby’s whispered words. “A terrible angel... Thank you…” She moved quickly to the door, anxious to be gone.

“You won’t tell them, will you?” Mrs. Dalby asked anxiously.

Catherine turned back to stare at her. “No…”

The old lady shook her head. “I got to ride that same train tonight, Ms. Chandler.”

*****

ACT TWO

The Truest Words of All…

“Our character isn’t defined by the battles we win or lose, but by the battles we dare to fight...”

Robert Beatty

Catherine descended the cellar stairs, her face set with grim determination. She was desperate to finally end her terrible uncertainty.

She was carrying a heavy-duty flashlight and wearing jeans, boots and a heavy work-shirt. She moved aside the cardboard boxes stacked against the wall, revealing a jagged entrance to the tunnels below. She ducked through the entrance, turning to pull the boxes back over the hole behind her.

Once in the tunnels she walked confidently down the long tunnel, her footsteps echoing loudly. She reached a T-shaped junction, and started right, then hesitated, before retracing her steps back to the junction. She then decided to turn left. She opened a heavy iron grill door marked NO ADMITTANCE. The wooden door behind was bricked shut. Catherine was startled. It had not been this way when she had last been here. She touched the bricks, but they were solid. She moved off uncertainly. She stopped to look back, but nothing moved.

After what seemed like hours, she groped her way along an unfamiliar passage. Its walls of ancient brick were covered with slime. Water dripped all around. This was a very old, spooky section of the tunnels, and it was clear that she had never passed this way before. Somehow she’d gotten lost. Her heart began to race with alarm.

She came to an old brick well in the center of the passage, and brushed against a loose brick on its rim as she squeezed by. The brick fell a long way into darkness before she heard a faint splash far below. Catherine held her breath as she moved slowly past.

But now an old wrought iron gate blocked her passage. Catherine set the flashlight on a ledge in the brick wall before pushing at the gate, but she couldn’t move it. She felt around the brick walls for a release, a key, anything, but found nothing.

She grasped the bars and rattled them, shouting in frustration. “Hello? Vincent? Anyone? Hello...”

Her voice echoed a long way, reverberating in the dark, but there was no reply. Catherine heard a noise behind her, and reached for her flashlight. There was a huge grey rat on the ledge where she’d set it down. It screeched at her, and Catherine gave a yelp of startled fear, before she worked up the courage to snatch her flashlight back, and run back down the narrow tunnel.

She backtracked to the well, almost passing it, before she stopped. She shone the light into the well and saw iron rungs descending into nothingness. She studied the well, pushing, prodding, and finally touching a loose brick set in its base. It turned slowly when she pushed at it, and from below there was a grinding noise, followed by the rush of draining water.

Catherine gripped the ladder and descended carefully, the flashlight held awkwardly in her hand. She stopped, twisting around on the rungs, as she shone the flashlight down. Below there was nothing but darkness, and a long, long dizzying drop.

As she stared down, the rung she’d been clinging to came right out of the crumbling brick. Catherine started to fall, but she managed to grab another rung. She hung on precariously by one hand, but lost her grip on the flashlight. It fell, shattering on the stones below.

“Damn!” Catherine clung to the ladder, alone in the dark, breathing hard, her heart hammering with fear. The rung she clutched began to pull loose from the brick wall. She grabbed for another, but missed, as the rung came loose.

Screaming, she fell towards certain doom… and landed, right into Vincent’s waiting arms. Vincent absorbed her slight weight with a soft grunt, as he stood silhouetted in the golden light spilling from a secret door he’d opened in the bottom of the well.

Catherine was shaking and shuddering, breathing hard from her close call. Without saying a word, Vincent turned and carried her into the warm light and the wall closed behind them, swallowing them both up…

*****

Catherine sat huddled in a blanket on Vincent’s bed, hot tea in front of her, untouched. Vincent stood a few feet away, his face averted and hidden by his hood, greatly troubled by her presence. “It’s a good thing we found you, Catherine,” he said softly.

Catherine stared at him. “I thought I'd remember... I must have gotten turned around somehow. Everything seems so different... strange and frightening.”

Vincent shrugged. “The ways change, Catherine. For every safe road there are a hundred paths that lead only to darkness. Parts of these tunnels are very old. Older than your subways and your sewers, and far more dangerous.”

Catherine shivered, as she looked up at him. “I had to come. I had to see you. I was afraid...”

Vincent glanced at her, his eyes deeply sorrowful. “I know…”

“You didn’t come. I called on the pipes, but you never came…”

“I could feel your fear, Catherine. Even now…” He turned away from her. “I frighten you…”

Catherine shrugged off the blanket and stood up, going to him. “You taught me always to face my fears, Vincent, tell me...”

He withdrew fractionally. “What shall I tell you? That I am not this shadow, this man-monster you hunt? Must you hear those words before you can trust? Hear them, then. It is not me.” He sighed, then said gently, “I would never hurt you, Catherine…”

He slowly raised a hand to touch her cheek. Catherine tried not to respond, but the fear was still in her, and she couldn’t help a small, involuntary flinch away from his claws. Vincent pulled back, devastated, moving away from her.

“Vincent, no! Please, I didn’t mean...,” she cried out in anguish.

He replied gently, in a pained tone, “To pull away? I know, Catherine.” He turned and walked away, raising his hand to swing at the air in frustration. “I know your heart. But sometimes the words we cannot speak are the truest words of all ... however much they hurt...”

“What are you saying?”

Vincent raised his shoulders in defeat. “You know what you’ve seen. You know what I am. You know what you fear.”

He raised his hands in front of him, staring down at them. “We both know what these hands can do. Have done. Catherine, if your heart does not know the truth, no words of mine will help.”

He took her gently by the arm. “It’s time for you to go home.” He led her unresisting from the chamber. They walked for some time in silence, an air of melancholy hanging over them, both bereft.

When they reached the way out, Vincent turned to go. Catherine stood helplessly for a moment, then called after him, beseeching.

"Don’t go. Vincent, please. I’m afraid –”

He turned back to stare at her. “None of us is without fear, Catherine. In your world or mine...” He sighed. “The killings draw their eyes downward. The subways now, but soon deeper, to the hidden places where we dwell. We will be watching. It is all that we can do.”

He turned and left her, his cape billowing behind him. As he vanished from her sight, Catherine called after him with desperate longing. “Vincent...”

Vincent doesn’t look back, and was soon swallowed up by the darkness. Catherine’s anguished call hung in the air.

Out of Catherine’s sight, Vincent slumped against the tunnel wall, torn up with despair. Catherine called again, her voice faint with distance. Vincent, unable to hold in the pain any longer, threw back his head in torment, and smashed his fists against a large steam pipe in a blind moment of rage. The pipe broke, and steam rose all around him, obscuring his figure. His shape, lost amidst the steam, gave one terrible blood-curdling roar that echoed up and down the tunnels. Then there was nothing but the hiss of the steam…

*****

The world Below slept, dreamless and secure in its isolation. But one member of that hidden world found sleep elusive and ultimately pointless.

In the Whispering Gallery, the huge brick tunnel, cavernous and empty, was full of darkness and the distant sound of rushing water. It was quieter here than elsewhere in the world Below – no subway sounds, no tapping. The tunnel extended for miles, finally vanishing into the distance. Its roof had been built in old brick with arches overhead, but the floor was not visible at all. The walls descended steeply into utter blackness.

The black mouths of a myriad of tunnels opened onto this great space at a dozen different levels. A series of narrow brick ledges ran along the walls, connecting the tunnel mouths. Here and there, a few arching connections of ancient brick crossed the abyss, some high above, some far below.

Several of the bridges were in ruins, their center spans long collapsed. Various sections of the walls, ledges and bridges were festooned with a sort of Spanish moss which glowed with a soft violet phosphorescence, filling the huge chamber with a wan half-light that concealed more than it illuminated.

Vincent sat in the center of one of the old wooden bridges, a hundred feet below the roof, his legs dangling over this great space as he gazed out into the darkness. The light of a torch appeared in the tunnel mouth at the end of the bridge, and began to cross the span.

Vincent didn’t move as Father appeared behind him, carrying a torch that did little to pierce the gloom of this place.

“Vincent?”

Father received no reply. He tried again. “I looked for you in your chamber, but it was empty. Are you all right? Kipper told me where to find you.” He stepped forward, while gazing all around him. “I’ve heard the children talk of this place. Is it safe here? It looks very old.” He placed his torch in a holder on the wall.

Vincent nodded. “It was our secret place, when I was a child. I used to come here with my friends. We thought it was magic.”

Father looked doubtful. “Magic?”

“All the tunnels.” Vincent gestured at the myriad tunnel mouths. “If you stand in just the right place, you can hear sounds, whispers from the world above. People on subways, children playing in their homes, men in their offices, lovers walking in the park. You can listen to a thousand different lives, if you know just where to stand. The magic places, we called them. We tried to find them all.”

Father smiled fondly, as he knelt and placed a reassuring hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “It’s Catherine, isn’t it? I heard she’d gotten lost trying to find her way down to you.” Father shook his head. “She could have been hurt. Surely such a dangerous situation cannot be allowed to go on…”

“I understand.” Vincent bowed his head, his voice low and tortured. “I wish I knew what to do for the best. I can hear her fears whispering to me, no matter where she stands.”

“She cannot help being afraid. They’ve built their world on fear, Vincent. It’s all they know. In that city up there, it’s all that keeps them alive. They’d be insane if they weren’t afraid, with the lives they’re forced to live.”

“I know…” Vincent looked up. “And us? Are we so very different?”

“We have something they only dream of, Vincent. We have a safe place, a secret place beyond their madness and fear.”

For the first time, Vincent turned and looked at his parent. “Sometimes I would run down here when we played hide-and-seek, Father. But before the game was over, they always found me. Even here…”

He turned back to his contemplation of the echoing depths beneath his feet, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Father frowned at his averted profile, not knowing what else to say that could comfort his deeply disquieted son.

*****

That same night Catherine tossed and turned in her bed, in the grip of another nightmare. Everything was hazy and surreal. Images from her memories and unspoken fears blurred together.

Vincent’s face, sad and wise, haloed in light. “It is not me,” he said, softly.

A clawed hand, wet with blood, raised to strike. Vincent’s face, in a feral snarl moved against a dark, background shape, glowing with light, pacing like a demon waiting to pounce. Her mind flashed back to Vincent mauling Belmont and his henchmen to save her life.

Mrs. Dalby whispered, “A terrible angel…”

The soft, ineffable beauty of Vincent lifting his hand to Catherine’s cheek while in the shadows behind him paced the dark shape, more clear now, still snarling its displeasure. Vincent’s hand cupped Catherine’s cheek, warm, sure and strong, and the dark shape turned.

She heard again her conversation with Jason Walker. “Have you done anything?”

“Not as much as we’d like to,” he’d replied grimly.

The last line repeated itself a couple of times. Catherine gasped in her sleep. The dark shape’s face changed into Jason’s bleakly smiling visage, superimposed over an image of slashing claws.

Catherine snapped awake and sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding against the cage of her ribs. The word ‘claws’ echoed over and over, louder, as the dark shape became Jason Walker, standing in his office.

She frowned at the memory of him standing in front of his wall of martial arts weaponry. Over his shoulder, gleaming with reflected light, she saw again the metal claws hanging on his wall. In her half-awake state she saw those same claws begin to bleed, trails of blood running slowly down the white walls…

*****

Catherine got out of a cab in front of the Protectors H.Q. and hurried up the steps. Two men were sitting outside the building talking and laughing as she arrived. They looked her over warily, before one of them nodded.

“You can go in now.”

“Thanks.” Catherine nodded.

As she opened the door, she glanced at the building’s cornice. Chiseled into the stone, very faint and eroded with age, were the words SEAMAN’S SAFE HAVEN. For some reason the simple legend sent a shiver running up and down her spine.

She took the stairs quickly, finding Walker’s office without difficulty. Jason rose from behind his desk and gave Catherine his most charming smile as she entered without knocking. Catherine returned his smile, but hers did not rise into her eyes.

Jason shrugged. “Well. I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon. Come to sign up?”

Catherine grimaced. “I’d look silly in one of those white hats.”

“I disagree. Besides, the guys in the white hats always win.”

Catherine stared at him. “Do they?”

Jason shook his head. “At least in fairy tales.” He frowned. “The city has its own myths, you know. We’re all so rational, so cynical and sophisticated – but we still need our gods and demons, our heroes and villains.”

He waved a hand. “I knew a man used to work the IRT. He swore that he saw a monster down there once, when he was troubleshooting some track. You hear the street people talk about it too – some terrible fierce creature who haunts the dark places, something with the face of a demon and the soul of an angel…”

Catherine was startled. It was some distorted street myth of Vincent that Jason was speaking about and she knew it. She tried to mitigate that knowledge.

“You don’t – you can’t possibly believe that, can you?”

Jason watched her closely. “Of course not. But they believe it, don’t you see? Because they need to believe. Inside, we’re all children, scared of the dark, wishing there really was a Batman.” His tone was wistful.

“But Batman was never half as formidable as you, was he? How many black belts do you have hanging in your closet?”

Jason smiled and shrugged. “I can take care of myself. But I tell you, all the fighting techniques in the world don’t equal what I learned from Isaac Stubbs in one afternoon. You remember his first rule?”

Catherine hesitated and then said, “On the streets, there are no rules.”

Jason gave her a long, meaningful stare before he smiled. “That’s the problem with doing things your way. You believe in rules, and the predators don’t.”

Catherine shook her head. “So we throw away the rules?” She smiled when Jason shrugged. “Then what’s the difference? The color of our hats?”

“I don’t have to tell you the difference. You know it already or you wouldn’t be here.” He stared at her, hard. “Isaac tells me that you were a star pupil.”

“Isaac exaggerates. I still have a lot to learn...”

Catherine moved casually behind his desk, to the wall where his weapons collections was mounted, and began to examine them. Jason watched her closely.

Catherine indicated the samurai sword. “These weapons, for instance. Can you really use all of these?”

“Some. I wouldn’t touch that sword. The samurai kept their blades razor sharp.”

Catherine watched him watching her. “Does that make you a samurai, Jace?”

He smiled, but didn’t reply.

She turned back to his collection. “What are these?”

“Throwing stars. I can see that you don’t make it to many ninja movies.”

“Unless Woody Allen made one, I’m not interested.”

She stepped away, pausing by the tiger claws, looking at them silently. Then she turned to find Walker staring at her. The look that passed between them said everything.

*****

Catherine and Jason emerged from the building, and Catherine walked briskly down the steps. Walker’s smile faded as she walked away down the sidewalk. Red, one of his most trusted lieutenants, appeared in the door and gave his boss a questioning look. Walker nodded, and Red sauntered after Catherine.

*****

Deputy D.A. Joe Maxwell has an incredulous look on his face as Catherine finished telling him her suspicions.

“I think we should move on Jason Walker.”

Joe frowned. “This is the Jason Walker who heads the Protectors, right? Heavily into karate, aikido, ju-jitsu, ninjutsu. Has been sued maybe a half-dozen times by perps he’s brought in on citizen’s arrest. Collects secret ninja death toys. Pops up on TV saying how the subway slasher is a hero, not a nut case, and isn’t it too bad we don’t have a dozen guys just like him.”

He shrugged at her reaction. “We talking about the same Jason Walker here?”

Catherine caught on quickly. “I have a sinking feeling that you’re ahead of me...”

“Don’t be fooled by the gravy stains on their ties, Radcliffe. The cops aren’t as dumb as they look.”

“He has the right attitudes, the skills –”

“Only one problem – he’s also got an alibi.”

“Then someone’s covering for him –”

Joe’s brow furrowed. “The cops?” He shook his head. “Jason Walker has been under twenty-four hour police surveillance since this investigation began.”

“I’m not wrong about this, Joe.” Catherine had no idea what else to say. They stared at each other, both baffled.

*****

ACT THREE

Your Heart Knows the Truth…

“If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels…”

Tennessee Williams

Another late night subway train rolled through the tunnels. The car was almost empty. A drunk, covered by newspapers, lay across several seats, a tiny, balding old man sat clutching a metal cane, very alert. A transit cop entered through the door between cars, whapped the drunk across the heels with his nightstick. The man sat up groggily. The cop moved on to the next car. The drunk lay down and covered himself with newspapers again. He was soon snoring.

There was a soft thump. The old man looked up, puzzled. The train stopped. A pretty girl of about sixteen entered, dressed demurely. She was followed closely by an unsavory looking character with long, greasy hair, a young guy who spoke to her from outside as she entered the train.

“Hey baby, that’s a real pretty dress.”

It was clear at once that he was bothering her, and that she was too scared to try and get away from him.

“Stop bothering me!” She slid into a seat not far from the old man and cowered against the side of the car.

“Okay.” The creep sat right next to her.

“Leave me alone!”

The creep leaned closer. “C’mon, baby. Don’t be so mean to me.”

She moved closer to the old man. The creep followed. She tried to get up again, but he pulled her down into his lap.

“Whoa. Gimme a kiss, sweetie. Come on.”

The girl struggled, close to tears. “Don’t touch me. Let me go!”

He pulled her to him for a kiss, and she slapped his face, breaking free. She ran forward, toward the next car. The creep got up and ran after her.

As she reached the door, it started to slide it open. The young man’s hand slammed against the door, trapping her. He had her pinned against the door.

“No…,” she cried, struggling to escape, but she was trapped between his arms.

“You hurt me!” the creep complained.

“Let me go…” the girl struggled tearfully.

“Maybe if you’re nice to me.” He leered at her, licking his lips in anticipation. He leaned down to run a hand up her leg.

The old man didn’t move from his seat, but he had to intervene. “You let her alone!”

The creep looked back and laughed. “Keep out of this, grandpa, if you know what’s good for you.”

“There’s a police officer on this train,” the old man replied stoutly.

The creep grinned. “I’m real scared.” He turned his attention back to the girl. “Okay baby, let’s have some fun.” He leaned close to kiss her. His hand groped at her legs.

The old man got stiffly to his feet. There was real fear on his face. He turned and walked away from the creep and the pretty girl, back in the direction the transit cop went.

The girl cried out to him. “No! Don’t leave! Help me! Please don’t leave me…”

The old man hesitated, looking back as he hefted his cane. But he didn’t have it in him. He looked down, ashamed.

“Don’t... don’t be afraid. I’m going for the police officer.”

He slid open the door and stopped to stare. A clawed hand reached out and pushed him aside. The old man fell into a nearby seat and watched what unfolded next in disbelief.

The vigilante silently approached the couple at the other end of the car. The girl had stopped struggling. The creep was breathing heavily over her sobs. A large shadow fell across them both, and the girl reacted with shock, and then hope. A clawed hand grabbed the creep’s hair, yanking his head back sharply before a second set of claws went for his throat, poised to slash.

In the same moment the transit cop entered from the next car. For an instant, he failed to realize that anything was amiss. Then he saw what was happening and ran, forward, drawing his gun.

“Hold it right there!”

The vigilante dropped the creep to the floor and whirled around at the cop’s shout. The cop stared as he saw a terrifying bestial face and clawed hands covered with fur.

He wasn’t fast enough to avoid an expert karate kick that sent his gun flying, and he dropped to on knee, cradling a broken hand. The vigilante jumped up to the overhead bar and his hands closed around it. He kicked out the window with both feet.

The cop struggled to his feet and tried to tackle him. They grappled briefly, but it was no contest. The vigilante was faster and far stronger. He shoved the cop aside and raked him with a clawed hand. As the cop fell, the vigilante bounded onto the seat, reached outside, grabbed the roof with his claws, and pulled himself out and up.

He landed silently on the tracks beside the train. As the lights recede into the distance, the vigilante ran the other way down the track. He stopped to press a clawed hand against what seemed to be a section of solid wall. A section of wall pivoted to reveal a secret door. The vigilante vanished inside it, and the door closed.

When he was gone, a young tunnel girl stepped silently from a shadowed alcove, and stared at the false wall. Marking the spot in her mind, she ran to a tangle of steam pipes, as complex as any jungle gym, and began to tap out a message.

*****

Father was bent over some tome at his desk, when a runner entered, breathless. “Father! Lana saw him,” the boy panted his message.

Jacob straightened. “Run and find Vincent, have her show him where. Go quick! Quickly now! There’s no time to lose.”

He grabbed his walking stick and followed the boy from the chamber.

*****

Catherine sat at her dining room table, working late. A mug of cold coffee sat by her elbow, and the table was covered with law books, legal pads, briefs, and a set of New York subway maps.

Her radio was on, and a man’s voice was updating the public on the Subway slasher. ‘As the city awaits the next attack of the subway slasher, many New Yorkers are hailing him as a hero, the savior of the subways. According to the young woman who was rescued by him last night, the mysterious beast-like creature with claws, wearing a black cloak, appeared out of nowhere, slashed her assailant to death, critically wounding a transit policeman…’

Catherine listened as she pored over the map. Suddenly there was a gentle tapping on the glass balcony doors to her bedroom.

The radio went on, as she got up to hurry to open the doors. ‘…then escaped out the window of the moving train. In a joint news conference, Police Chief Reardon and District Attorney Moreno confirmed that they are following several leads, but declined to comment further. And now more news from Metro Station…’

Her heartbeat quickening with anticipation. The curtains had been drawn across the balcony, but Vincent’s broad shadow was outlined clearly through them.

Catherine opened the curtains and doors, and walked tentatively out to him. “I thought I might never see you again.”

Vincent stared at her. “There is too much fear in your world already, Catherine. I could not bring you more.”

Catherine took his hands, hesitantly turning them over. Moonlight shone softly off his claws. She looked up into his eyes.

“Vincent, I’m so sorry that I doubted you.”

“Catherine, stop. You were right to be afraid,” he replied, slowly and sadly. “Your heart knows the truth.”

She heaved a sigh. “My heart knows how gentle you are.”

“Even the gentlest man has a demon locked inside him.”

“No. Not you. Not a demon.” She paused and then said softly, “A terrible angel...” She turned away to look out over the city lights. “I’m so confused, Vincent. This killer, this vigilante... I don’t even know what to call him. There’s a man, Jason Walker. He’s both good and evil. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Sometimes good men do evil things, Catherine. All the demons of hell were angels once.” He paused, wondering if he should tell her. “We’ve seen your vigilante. He has a secret door from your subways to the older tunnels. The secret tunnels.”

Catherine turned her him, her face alive with determination. “Vincent, if you show me, I can go to the police. They can stake it out.”

He turned away, troubled. “Catherine, there are a thousand miles of tunnels beneath this city, all connected. If your police find his door they will hunt through all of them.”

Catherine nodded her understanding. “Then we’ll do it some other way from above, not below. I promise Vincent – I won’t betray your world.”

“They hunt this man as they might hunt me, if they dreamed of my existence.” He looked down at her. “You have your laws and your courts to tell right from wrong, your police to protect you. We have only ourselves. By what right do I condemn him? Am I so very different?”

“Yes, Vincent. You are,” Catherine assured him earnestly.

He looked down into her eyes for a long moment, and nodded slowly. He turned away to stand at the balcony wall, staring out over the city lights.

“Bring me a map.”

Catherine hurried inside to grab the maps from her dining room table. She re-emerged with them in hand, and she and Vincent leaned over them, talking.

Vincent’s usually keen senses did not detect they were being closely observed. Unseen by either of them, Red squatted on the roof of a nearby building, wearing his white beret, studying Catherine’s building through a pair of binoculars.

He concentrated on the unusual couple on Catherine’s balcony, standing close together as they talked. Red lowered the binoculars slowly, a look of absolute astonishment on his face. He shook his head and quickly looked again.

*****

The D.A.’s office snack room possessed nothing to recommend it. It was a very plain, functional space, filled with sturdy tables and chairs, its walls lined with coffee machines, soft drink machines and a microwave. Those people with the time, and ability to escape, hurried outside into the sunshine, getting as far away as possible.

Devoid of such luxury today, Catherine and Edie stood in front of a machine that dispensed sandwiches, pies, and other dubious treats. Catherine handed her a quarter and Edie put it in the slot, over and over again, until the machine finally delivered a plastic-wrapped microwave cheeseburger.

Edie grimaced, as she snagged her treat. “Why is it that whenever you’re paying for lunch I wind up down here?”

Catherine smiled. “If you found what I need, I’ll buy you dinner at the Four Seasons.”

“Why didn’t you say that last time I did you a favor?” They crossed to the microwave as they talked. Edie put the burger inside, closed the door and punched a few buttons. “Push-button food, push-button job – soon as they come out with push-button men, I’m set, babe.”

Catherine went to another machine to get a drink. Edie shook her head sadly, as she stared at her revolving food. “Your place was built in 1872. If the city has plans on it, they sure ain’t in nobody’s computer.”

The microwave dinged that her burger was ready. Edie removed it, and they crossed to a table and sat down.

Catherine opened her drink. “Could you find out anything about its history?”

Edie opened her food and peered at it dubiously. “It was a seedy rooming house for fifty years before The Protectors made it into Kung Fu Central. Originally it was a cheap hotel for sailors. The Seaman’s Safe Haven. I found mentions in a couple old newspaper indexes, but just the name. Even still, the stories aren’t on any computer, yet.”

She frowned at Catherine’s reaction. “Don’t look at me that way, girl. I don’t go digging round in no musty files. You know all that dust makes my eyes water.”

Catherine smiled broadly as she got to her feet. “Edie, I love you.” She dashed for the door, leaving Edie to call after her. “Hey! Who’s gonna pay for my dessert?”

*****

A small, tasteful brass plaque on the building’s front declared it to be the BENNETT HISTORICAL LIBRARY - JOURNALISM ARCHIVES. Catherine stood in a small, cramped room with a long wooden table in its center, looking at its walls lined ceiling to floor with bookshelves. Huge oversized volumes of bound newspapers from the 19th century lined the shelves.

She carried a dozen thick volumes back to the table, and sat down before opening the first. Dust flew everywhere when she flipped open the heavy cover, making her want to sneeze. She suppressed the impulse as she began to turn pages slowly, her eyes flicking over the columns of faded newsprint. Bright afternoon sunlight poured into the room through a high window.

The hours flew by and Catherine was still at work, turning pages, though it was now night outside. The room was dimly lit by a small hanging fixture. Catherine was very weary, yet determined to find what she was looking for. Then she turned a page, noticed something, and gasped.

She was looking at a page from the New York Mercury from 1888, the stories all racked in narrow single columns with multiple descending heads.

DREADFUL MURDERS IN SEAMAN’S SAFE HAVEN

Twenty Sailors Thought Slain

Culprits Escape-Through Secret Tunnels

Byrnes Promises Arrests…

Below the story, rendered in a crude woodcut, was a map of the network of secret tunnels under the hotel. “Through secret tunnels…” Catherine whispered, as she leaned over the newspaper and frantically began to scribble notes on a yellow legal pad.

*****

Catherine hurried from the library, crossed the sidewalk, and climbed into a taxi that was waiting conveniently by the curb. She slid into the back seat. “The D.A.’s office, on – ”

She broke off as the taxi door opened again, and Suki got into the back seat beside her. At once, Catherine reacted, and grabbed for a door, but the cab lurched into sudden motion. As it pulled away, Catherine saw that Red was the cabbie.

He glanced at her in the rear vision mirror. “Don’t even think about it, Miss Chandler. Not safe to jump from a moving cab. Besides, I know you’re good, but you don’t want to go up against the two of us.”

Suki put a hand on Catherine’s arm, reassuring her. “Take it easy and nobody will get hurt. Jace just wants to talk.”

Resigned to the situation, Catherine settled back in her seat. But she was still looking for the first chance to escape the pair.

*****

ACT FOUR

Like King Arthur…

“Nobody's perfect. We're all just one step up from the beasts and one step down from the angels...”

Jeannette Walls

Jason Walker was pacing restlessly when his office door opened, and Red and Suki escorted Catherine in. They remained by the door, flanking it like a pair of sentinels.

Catherine stood her ground. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. Really.”

Walker smiled thinly. “You don’t scare easy, do you? Please, sit down.” He frowned at her hesitation. “Don’t make this difficult, Catherine. There’s no need for melodrama. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Catherine took a seat. Red had taken her purse. He opened it, handing the folded sheet from the legal pad to Jason, who scanned it briefly, shaking his head. “The sailor murders. I’m innocent, I swear. My granddaddy was a sharecropper in Alabama when all this went down.” He let the paper flutter to the floor and smiled pleasantly at Catherine.

“Did you know when you bought the building?” Catherine asked suspiciously.

“No. We were doing renovations in the basement, and we stumbled on the tunnels. They had been sealed for almost a century. At the time, we had no idea why they were there. It’s a regular maze down there. Side tunnels, dead falls and dead ends. So old, you can’t imagine.”

Catherine replied wryly. “Can’t I?”

Walker stared at her. “The story of the demon protector, the angel from below. The city needed him.” He shrugged as he sat behind his desk, looking away. “Frightened people need symbols to make them feel safe. Sometimes a man in a blue uniform or a white hat is enough. But when the fear is so strong, the symbol needs to be stronger as well.”

He turned toward Catherine and smiled. In his manner she knew all the secrets were out. They both knew now.

“So many people hurting, frightened. More every day, day after day, year after year. I had begun to doubt, to question whether one man could make a difference. No longer.”

Catherine bristled. “You call that making a difference? Killing a few muggers?”

Walker shook his head as he stood again. “The deaths weren’t important. The legend was. It’s time for them to be afraid now.”

“And the policeman? He’s still in critical condition, I hear.”

Jason walked around the desk toward her. “Legends never make mistakes. They never miss, or stumble, or strike out in panic. They never hurt those who don’t deserve to be hurt. The problem is, men do all those things.”

Catherine met his gaze squarely. “It’s too bad your legend doesn’t really exist.”

Walker smiled icily and sat down beside her. “Oh, but he does. And you’re going to tell me all about him. Aren’t you?”

*****

Vincent stood alone on one of the ledges of the Whispering Gallery, looking out over the abyss. His cloak swirled slightly in some wind that stirred from the yawning gulf beneath his feet. There was a torch mounted in a stanchion in the wall, and he held a book in his hand. His crooked finger marked a place, as if he’d just left off reading. His expression was melancholy, meditative.

He began to walk, slowly, going nowhere in particular, simply walking and brooding and savoring the vast, silent, immensity of this ancient place. As he walked, he heard faint whisperings from the world above, carried down through the tunnels by the strange acoustics. The whispers came and went in many different voices. Each could only be heard at one particular spot, so as Vincent walked there are brief wisps of conversation and longer moments where the only sound was his echoing footsteps in the stillness of this place.

An unknown voice whispered, “Take the D train out to Brighton Beach and change...”

Then another. “No, hustle. Oughta trade the bum, what’s he batting now?”

A third voice said, “No, I mean it, really, that’s not just a line, you’re something...”

Finally Vincent reached a spot where the whispering was not a human voice, but music – an orchestra playing Beethoven’s Fifth. He stopped at that spot to listen, closing his eyes in concert with the beautiful music, allowing it to carry him away from all his cares and concerns.

*****

Catherine repeated her previous statement with careful patience. “How many times do I have to tell you – I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Walker sighed roughly. “Catherine, you’re trying to protect him. Fine, I admire that. But it’s pointless. Red saw you together. He watched you for more than twenty minutes.”

Catherine lifted her chin and defied him. “Red needs a reality check.”

“Hey, I know what I saw!” Red reacted angrily.

Walker tried for a conciliatory tone. “Catherine, whoever he is, he has nothing to fear from me. We’re alike, he and I. We’re mirror images, twins. We’re the same...”

Catherine reacted too quickly, and with horror. Walker was articulating her deepest fear. She got up quickly.

“I’ve had enough of this. Am I going to be allowed to leave?”

Red and Suki exchanged looks, but Jason seemed calm enough. “If you insist.”

He walked behind his desk, admiring the array of weapons, then reached out and touched the blade of the samurai sword. It swung down easily and there was a loud click before a secret panel in the wall swung open, revealing a narrow spiral staircase. Jason held the door open for Catherine.

“After you,” he said, gallantly.

Catherine backed away. “I don’t think so.”

“I insist.” Walker gestured, and Red and Suki stepped forward to either side of Catherine. She looked back and forth before surrendering to the inevitable, and entering the stairs.

*****

Vincent stood in the Whispering Gallery still lost in the beauty of Beethoven’s music, his face rapt. The symphony was approaching its conclusion and he inhaled deeply, allowing the music to blot out everything.

*****

Catherine entered the tunnel reluctantly. It was old, walled with rock and pitch black. She would have stumbled over the uneven ground beneath her feet but for the flashlight beam bobbing ahead of them, as Red led the way down. Catherine and Walker followed, with Suki bringing up the rear. They entered a large, underground chamber filled with trash, where their footsteps echoed. Jason found a Coleman lantern and lit it, bringing up the flame. He reached to hang it from an iron hook in the wall. The room was still dark and gloomy, dripping with water. Catherine looked around nervously.

Walker smiled at her reaction. “Cozy, isn’t it?”

“Not the word I’d chose,” Catherine snapped testily.

Walker turned to his henchmen. “Watch her.” He vanished into the darkness, his footsteps slowly lost in the gloom.

Catherine turned to Red and Suki, forcing a smile. “So. How ‘bout those Mets?” She tried for any distraction she could invent, as her sharp mind worked on any way to escape this madness.

The other two didn’t move, even as they looked confused, troubled by her strange behavior. The three of them exchanged looks, each unsure of what to do next. Catherine shivered in the subterranean chill.

*****

The beautiful music ended, and was followed by tumultuous applause. Vincent turned with a smile on his face and began to stride purposefully down the gallery and over a bridge, heading toward home. Whispers came and departed as he walked, much shorter snatches of conversation now, because he was walking faster.

“How much for a transfer?”

“A side of fries, and... what do you want?”

“Going for a leveraged buyout. You know the drill.”

“You don’t love me anymore…”

Then Catherine’s voice suddenly cut across the others. “You must talk to him...” It sounded closer and more powerful than the rest.

Vincent was already past it before the voice registered. He reacted to the sound, stopping and taking a step back, finding just the right spot. Then he heard her again more clearly. It was definitely Catherine.

“He’ll listen to you. He has to give himself up. If he keeps on, he’ll destroy himself and all – ”

In the dank, underground room, Catherine spread her hands. She was trying to talk sense into Suki and Red.

“All the good he’s done. He’ll undo everything he’s accomplished, betray the trust of all the people who believe in him, good people like Isaac. It’s gone too far, you have to help me reason with him.”

Something in their faces made her turn as she heard footsteps behind her. Jason stepped out of the darkness. His face was covered by some kind of mask – primitive, perhaps tribal, with long strands of coarse hair, brutal slashes across the cheeks, long glittering teeth. His eyes seemed to shine in the dim lantern light: red, demonic, merciless.

He was dressed entirely in black, and on his hands were his claws – not metal ninja claws like those in his office, but animal claws six inches long, from some huge bear perhaps, mounted in fur – and leather gauntlets that laced half way up his forearms. The familiar handsome, charming, articulate Jason Walker was gone entirely, submerged in this primal and frightening figure.

Catherine was aware it was Jason – but it also wasn’t, not entirely. She gasped and shied away. “Jace…”

“Tell me.” His voice was deep, emotionless and icy cold.

Catherine shook her head. “No.”

Suki stepped close to restrain her. “Don’t fool with him when he’s like this.”

Catherine fought back. “Jace, you promised that no one was going to get hurt, remember?”

The creature said softly, “Jace would never have hurt you.”

*****

Vincent hurried up a long tunnel, drawn to Catherine. Once out of the Whispering Gallery, he could no longer hear her, but now that she was in real danger, his empathy drew him to her. He moved very fast, his face showing his deep and fearful concern.

*****

Suki shook Catherine. “Don’t be stupid. Tell him!”

She twisted upward on Catherine’s arm, and she winced in pain. But she still wouldn’t talk. Silently, Walker stepped closer and brought his hand up under her chin. He pressed gently. His fearsome claws began to dig into her flesh.

Behind them, Vincent stepped into view out of one of the black tunnel mouths, and he roared in anger and fear for his love. Seeing Catherine in danger, he charged across the room.

Jason whirled, all catlike grace and lightning-quick reflexes, instinctively prepared to face this new danger before he can truly see him. Vincent went for him, but Walker did a flying ninja leap over Vincent’s head, spinning in midair, and landing behind him.

For a split-second he was in a position to rake Vincent from behind, but he finally realized what he was faced with. Awestruck and stunned, he froze. He was the imitation come face-to-face with the real thing, and his astonishment made him hesitate for just an instant too long.

Vincent backhanded him savagely, and Walker was sent flying across the room, slamming into a wall, and sliding down to the floor, stunned.

Catherine took advantage of the distraction. She slammed her elbow back into Suki, breaking her hold. She grabbed the other woman by the wrist, and gave her a shoulder flip. Suki slammed into the ground and stayed down.

Simultaneously, Red went into a karate stance and give an ear-splitting yell. Vincent answered with a roar that shook the room. Red changed his mind instantly, dropping his hands before running for his life in the other direction. Vincent, his face a mask of bestial rage, all mercy and compassion gone from him, started to follow, but Catherine reacted and stepped quickly in his way.

“No!” she cried.

Vincent snarled and raised a hand, as if to claw her aside. Catherine didn’t flinch, and Vincent stopped just in time.

He trembled as the rage passed from him, and he realized what he almost did. Shame gleamed in his eyes. He turned away from her.

Watching them, Walker got slowly to his feet across the chamber. He’d never been hit so hard in his life. He considered his situation briefly, then darted for the nearest exit. It was a different tunnel to the one Vincent emerged through. Vincent saw him run, and he quickly followed.

Leaving Catherine behind, Vincent pursued the interloper in his world. Walker reached a fork in the tunnel and darted right, blindly. He was not running to anything, but away from the nightmare he could hear closely pursuing him. He reached and scrambled down a rickety ladder as fast as he can go.

Vincent reached the tunnel fork and hesitated, looking down both branches, then took the right by instinct. Ahead he could hear stumbling footsteps echoing back to him.

Jason ran down a steamy tunnel, pipes covering the walls, steam rising around him, as his footsteps echoing all around. He could hear a tapping of metal on metal, which also seemed to be coming from above and below him. Nothing now was making any sense. He’d travelled well beyond his usual haunts, and had quickly become lost in the maze of tunnels and chambers.

Vincent quickly descended the ladder. The tapping on the pipes alerted the world Below to an intruder, and sent out word for Vincent. He smiled grimly as he pursued the sound of running footsteps up ahead.

Jason emerged through an access door onto a catwalk above a cavernous chamber. He looked back, stopping to listen, and heard distant footsteps. He glanced in both directions along the catwalk, then climbed up on the rail and leap out over empty space, catching hold of one of the overhead pipes, and began to swing across from pipe to pipe.

Vincent charged through the steamy tunnel, the echoes loud around him, as he emerged through the access-way just in time to see Walker vanish through a door on the far side. He looked for a way to cross, but found none. He was forced to climb atop the rail. But instead of crossing as Walker did, Vincent leapt from one side to the other with a single, stupendous leap.

Walker dashed down an old section of tunnel. The floor descended sharply, and half the time he was scrambling and sliding downhill. He kept looking back over his shoulder. He heard Vincent’s close pursuit. A dimly-lit opening appeared at the tunnel’s end in front of Walker. He dashed through it, and stopped dead.

The Whispering Gallery murmured and creaked as he emerged from one of the highest tunnels, at the end of an ancient brick bridge. He stood awestruck, gazing out and down at the subterranean vista that surrounded him. Then he heard Vincent’s footsteps, and ran out onto the bridge.

Vincent emerged from the tunnel, and saw Walker. He followed him out onto the bridge, stalking him with watchful eyes.

Walker had made it to the apex of the bridge when he stopped suddenly. To his consternation he discovered the tunnel at the end of the bridge was bricked shut. Now there was only one way out, back the way he had come, straight through the awesome beast who was now stalking him on stealthy feet.

There was no place left to run. At last he turned and faced Vincent. He went into a martial arts stance, claws outstretched, waiting for his prey to come to him. He was confident in his ability to overcome. There was no room for error in this insane place of chasms and dark shadows.

Vincent advanced toward him slowly, assessing his options. “Jason – ”

As Vincent spoke his name, Walker attacked. He flew forward, hitting Vincent with a piston kick, slashing at him with a clawed hand. Vincent dodged the blows adroitly. For a moment, high atop the bridge, they fought. Jason attacked with his razor-sharp claws, Vincent defending himself against a flurry of blows. Walker was very fast, and finally he raked Vincent across the chest.

Blood welled from the slashes and Vincent roared with pain and anger. The humanity fell from his face as the beast emerged, ferocious and implacable. He roared again, deafeningly and enraged. The sound echoed and re-echoed up and down the whispering chamber.

Jason was distracted, snapping his head around wildly, as the echoes made it seem as if he was surrounded by a dozen, ravening beasts. Vincent lunged at his distraction, slamming into his assailant, and carried both of them off the bridge and into the abyss.

They still struggled together as they fell. They slammed into a second bridge with Vincent, underneath, taking the full brunt of the blow. The bridge was very old, and they landed hard. The bridge began to collapse beneath them, huge sections of its brickwork tumbling down into the abyss.

Jason managed to roll to safety as the bricks fell away from beneath Vincent, leaving him suspended above an endless drop. Vincent caught hold with his elbows blocking his fall. But now he was completely helpless.

Walker stood over Vincent, drawing his clawed back to strike the blow that would send Vincent plunging to his death... and then he hesitated. In that moment he became Jason again, the compassionate man with so much to give.

The exchange of looks between Vincent’s eyes and Jason’s, peering through his hideous mask, said everything. He did not strike. Instead, he whirled, running and jumping across the dark chasm, heading for the other side of the fallen bridge, as Vincent dragged himself up and climbed to safety.

He watched in silence as Walker, in slow motion, vaulted gracefully across the space, as he glanced back for one last look at Vincent. The jagged remnant of the bridge was festooned with the glowing moss that huge like ropes. Jason can’t quite make the distance, but his hands managed to close around the hanging strands of tangled moss. He started to pull himself up, confident now he had won his escape from capture and death.

But his claws began to shred the moss, and it started to tear and disintegrate in his grip. As the moss gave way, Jason shouted a final scream of defiance as he began to fall, twisting round and round and round until his body was lost in the darkness far below…

Vincent stood on the bridge and watched the doomed man’s passage in silence. There was nothing he could say or do to prevent what happened. His face filled with sorrow, he turned and walked away…

*****

Catherine stood on her balcony, wearing an old, bulky knitted top against the chill of the night. She pulled to closer around herself, shivering with reaction. She listened carefully as Vincent told her of Walker’s fate.

“So you never found a body?” she asked.

Vincent shook his head. “The children say that abyss goes down forever. Too deep and too dangerous for us to plumb. He’s dead, Catherine…” He hesitated, and then said softly, “And his shadow has lifted from your heart.”

Catherine smiled a sweet, sad smile for him, knowing he was right, that her fear was gone. Then she turned and looked out over the breaking dawn.

“The killings will stop, but... they’ll never know... never know if he’s dead or gone or just... waiting. Waiting down there until he’s needed again... like King Arthur. I think Jace would like that.”

She looked back at him. “How can one man have so much courage and passion and empathy and so little mercy?”

Vincent moved closer to her. “Perhaps he lost it somewhere, Catherine. But he found it again, in the end.”

They moved closer together and embraced warmly, as the sun rose over the city.

*****

“Hurricanes couldn’t remove you from my mind. You’re my world and I’m incapable of not loving you…”

Billie-Jo Williams

*****