Love Shall Not

a tale based upon the characters of "Beauty and the Beast"

by Nancy Lynn Knauff

cover art by Sonia MaCorral

Acknowledgements

Several people are to be thanked (and blamed!) for this work. First of all, the Beauty and the Beast fandom and all fan fiction writers - you inspired me to write from my heart the tale I needed to write. To Kayla and Merrie from CABB Connections-thanks to your efforts with questions I posted online and in chat, not to mention your wonderful advice, I was able to (finally!) finish this zine and get it to the printer.

Wendy DeVeryard - thank you for your advice on printing zines. Your email is STILL in my folder- I will never erase it! I could not have done this without you.

To Kaly, one of my first online friends - thanks for the video you (finally!) sent me. lf not for all of the 'extra' footage on 'Though Lovers Be Lost', I would have never been able to be as precise as I wanted to be with some scenes. Thanks!

And, of course, to my cover artist, Sonia - you make me speechless with your magic. Thanks ever so much for the beautiful cover!

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this story to the spirit that saved my life that cold January afternoon many years ago when I felt all was lost. You know who you are - if not for you. I would not have lived past that day. Instead your gentle guidance and love brought me to this point. This story is for you.

Notes

This story is a retelling of the Beauty and the Beast episode "Though Lovers Be Lost". Several scenes were transcribed using closed captioning. Although not used with permission, it is being used for entertainment purposes in random and no infringement is meant in any way.

The poetry used in this story is from Dylan Thomas' "And Death Shall Have No Dominion" and Sonnet 30 from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "Sonnets from the Portuguese". Thanks to College Misericordia's Bevevino Library for the use of their services, the University of Maryland's InforM website and the Women Studies Database for their last minute help.

Love Shall Not copyright 2002 by Nancy Lynn Knauff

cover art copyright 2002 by Sonia MaCorral

"Beauty and the Beast" and its original characters are the creation of Ron Koslow, and is owned by Republic Pictures and its owners. This story is written exclusively for the enjoyment of fans and no infringement is meant in any way.

Love Shall Not

PART I

He couldn't see anything. Am I dead? He must be, he couldn't feel anything. There was nothing. Where am I? He tried to remember what happened. I was surrounded by people, people who were cuing. Or was I reaching for something, for someone, beyond where I was. Reaching out to -

"Vincent, can you hear me? Vincent, wake up, please.... Vincent? Vincent." He heard the voice call to him. A familiar voice, but for a minute he couldn't place it. A woman's voice.... she was calling him. "Vincent, please... wake up." The voice, the woman was getting worried. He could hear it in the voice, almost feel it. He tried to obey the voice, but he couldn't open his eyes. His whole body wouldn't obey him. He tried to move again.

The voice turned from him. "Father, I think he's waking up." Again, he heard his name being called. "Vincent, open your eyes. please." He tried again to respond to the voice and managed to let out a moan of some sort. The voice rose in pitch and strength. "Vincent, wake up. I'm here. Vincent, I'm here. Everything's all right. Please, open your eyes for me.”

He could feel the sensation of his tired body slowly returning to him. Very slowly, which was odd. He usually woke quickly, even when he had been injured. This did not bode well, but he didn't dwell on it. He continued to listen to the voice urge him to wakefulness.

He was in a bed, that much he could tell. The voice was off to the side and almost over him. He could sense someone near his position.

"Vincent, wake up. Please." Finally, he managed to blink, and opened his eyes to his surroundings. Slowly his vision cleared and he gazed at the source of the voice calling to him.

He stared in shock at the tear-stained face of Catherine standing over him. Catherine!? But she's - she was - Catherine?!  He stared at her, not believing his own eyes. A dream, it must be a dream...

The object of his supposed dream broke into a huge shaky smile. A hand, her hand stroked his temple and breathed his name. "Vincent, thank God. You're awake."

At the contact of her hand against his face, he inwardly shivered. It feels so real, such a real dream...

And suddenly, he felt it. What he hadn't felt for what seemed to be forever. Oh, God...

Vincent felt the bond to Catherine's emotions flow through him.

She was real; somehow, she was here, alive! Here with him. She was fearful, relieved, happy and a dozen other emotions he couldn't name. And underlying it all, was love. A love for him, a love that encompassed her whole being, shone in her eyes as she looked down on him. Silent tears misted over his eyes, distorting the sight of that face over him. He tried to speak but failed. Tried to move but also failed. He could only stare at her in awe and disbelief.

But somehow, Catherine understood. "Shh, it’s all right Vincent. I'm here, I’m right here. Everything's going to be all right, I promise. Shh." His tears flowed over, he watched her as she gently wiped them away with her hand. His eyes locked with hers as he saw the tears in her own. "Shh." He relaxed under her gaze, her touch. She was here, safe, with him. She wasn't dead, she was alive, breathing the same air he was. His eyes grew heavy and finally closed as Vincent fell back asleep to the flow of emotions from his savior, his love, his life. Catherine… my Catherine...

She kept watch over him as he slept. Catherine breathed a sigh of relief and wiped a stray tear from her eye. It had been a hard road, and it wasn't over yet. Vincent still had a lot of healing left. But she promised herself that she would be there for him. She had to; she had almost lost him. He needed her close now.

These past few days she had felt a pull toward her ill love, almost physical in its strength. It tore at her constantly as she maintained her vigil at Vincent's bedside, reading to him, talking to him, sometimes only able to hold his slack hand in her own. This pull screamed to her of a need, his need for her constant presence. Catherine had no idea where it had come from, only that it had started when she had walked into the cave after Vincent.

Father came by her position at Vincent's bedside and sat down next to Catherine. He checked the sleeping man's pulse. It was steady, constant - definite improvement. Listening for breath sounds, he was surprised and relieved that his son's breathing was almost normal now. He matched Catherine's relieving sigh as he stood up from the bed. Catherine looked up at him, her misty eyes pleading. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"He'll be all right. He just needs to rest now." The woman nodded. He took back his cane from its resting place by the bed and walked toward the writing desk. "You need to rest as well, Catherine."

Her head snapped up. "No, he needs me." She looked back to Vincent.

She'd been repeating that for days. And so had Father. "Catherine, you've been here at his side almost around the clock. You haven't eaten either. You must rest." He sat down on Vincent's oversized chair, weary and spent. "He'll sleep for quite a while," he told her.

"I can't leave him." She looked again at Father, tears threatening to once again spill over her drawn cheeks. Dammit, not now... "I can't, Father, I just can't."

The older man sighed once more and leaned his head on his left hand. She knew he was frustrated and exhausted, they all were. It had nothing to do with her reluctance to leave Vincent, but it didn't help matters. What could she do though? Everything in her being screamed that he needed her close. She had to follow that, no matter what.

He spoke again, not to her, but to Mary, who was standing in the doorway. "Go tell Zach to bring in one of the extra cots from the hospital chamber." Mary nodded and left them. Catherine stared at him as he turned back toward her. "But I want you to go get something to eat. Go on," he said, a slight smile beginning to creep over his weary features. "I'll sit with him."

Catherine stood from the bed and gave him a quick hug. "Thank you, Father. I promise."

It was an hour later, when Catherine finally climbed into her makeshift bed, Mary had made the cot as comfortable as possible - two warm blankets and an extra-large pillow. It looked very inviting. She was about to collapse and probably hadn't slept except the few times she had dozed off at Vincent's side. He was still sleeping; Father had reassured her that he probably would through the night.

She had thought that she would be asleep before her head hit the pillow. Strangely enough, she found she couldn't. So she lay there quietly and thought of the last few days. Has it really been four days...

She walked toward the opening of the cavern very slowly, as if time itself had begun to slow. She could hear Vincent's strangled roars from the mouth of the cave. Father and some of the others were behind her before the entrance, waiting. She continued toward the cave, each step agony as Vincent's cries grew nearer and nearer.

She had no choice. He needed her, now more than ever. He had run off, afraid of hurting those around him. Afraid of hurting her in his present state.

She didn't quite understand what exactly was happening to him. She only knew she was losing him to whatever held him in its horrifying grasp. Paracelsus' scheme had nearly worked, but his own arrogance and need for power had caused his death. And now Vincent was in a struggle of his own, caused by that evil man. He was in a struggle for his own sanity, his very life.

He is my life. Without him, there is nothing. Catherine remembered what she had just said to Father. Vincent was her life; she would burn in hell before she let anyone, anyone, take him away from her.

That thought stayed with her as she entered the cave.

It was more of a series of caverns. Catherine kept walking forward, stooping where the wall pressed close. Each new room wound itself into another, as the woman desperately searched for Vincent. He was close; his roars and screams grew louder with each agonizing step.

She knew Father and the others were still hovering at the mouth of the caves. She didn't blame them. They knew she was the only one who could get through to Vincent now...

One end of the cavern she had moved into opened up into a passageway of sorts. She stopped at the entrance. She was here - where she needed to be; where Vincent needed her now.

Corralling all the courage she ever had, she slowly entered the passage.

There was no direct light, she could barely see. She slowly turned a corner, using the stone walls to guide her through the near blackness. He was practically screaming, his roars almost deafening. She didn't speak, she didn't have to. He knew she was there.

Or did he? He sat huddled at the far end of the passage as she stopped in front of him. In the dimness of the chamber she saw his face, stared into his blue eyes. Such pain! So much fear and pain... There was hardly a glimpse of the Vincent she knew in them. He had completely lost his hard-won disciplined self-control. Her heart almost broke at the sight.

He snarled at her fiercely, not recognizing Catherine. Suddenly, he charged, one taloned hand raised up, poised to strike. The eyes blazed at her. Time stood still as Catherine fearlessly stood her ground. She stared at him, searching for the man she knew was fighting inside. If he hadn't lost the battle, if her love was strong enough, she could still reach him.

There! There in the eyes...

"Vincent!!!!"

Her scream reverberated off the tunnel walls. Only at her cry did he stop his hand. She stood stock-still, trying to mentally send all of her love and strength to him. The silence was deafening. The only sound in the cave was his panting, as he stared back at her, frozen in place with horror. He recognized her.

But as he realized who was with him, he also recognized what he might have done. She saw this recognition, as his knees and legs gave way from under him.

Vincent crashed to the floor of the cave unconscious, toppling on top of Catherine. She tried to keep his head from impacting the floor as both fell to the ground. Catherine landed almost on top of him, but instantly scrambled onto her knees to face her beloved. Vincent was flat on his back, out cold. She whispered his name, fear crawling into her voice.

He was no longer breathing.

She quickly checked his pulse. What she had feared most had occurred-his great heart had stopped. "No... no!" She pressed one ear to his chest, all rationale leaving her brain. "No!" Not like this, Not now... "Vincent..." Hot tears streamed down her checks as the deepest despair she had ever felt clutched her wildly beating heart. "Vincent, you can't!" Catherine was crying freely now. I can 't lose him! "You ca-" She gasped onto the remains of his tattered vest, her tears sliding down her nose onto his slackened face. "You can't, not without me! I won't let you... I won't let you!" Her head went back to his chest, then she scrambled to get closer. Her voice caught in her throat. Not knowing what else to do, she lowered her lips to meet with his, and kissed him hard on the lips.

There was a flicker of something as she exhaled life-giving breath into him. She raised her head to look back at the still form, emotions of all soils crashing within her. She sensed rather than saw the shallow breath Vincent took. Her heart soared. She lowered her head to his chest and waited for him to take another breath. He did so, but it was too weak. He was in serious danger. She raised her head.

"Father! Father!!"

Seconds later, the patriarch entered the passage, flanked by several others. Father tossed his crutch aside as he knelt down by Vincent's unconscious form. He took one hand in his own. Blood trickled from where it was scraped.

"His pulse is weak," he muttered, more to himself than to Catherine. "Get that stretcher in here, now!" he cried to the others as he turned an ear toward Vincent's chest. "Dear God, what happened?"

"He collapsed. I think... he was trying to - to kill himself," Catherine told him shakily. "I wouldn't let him." She was trying hard not to break down, to keep in one piece.

The others came back in with the stretcher. It took several minutes to get Vincent onto it and out of the cavern. Catherine and Father each walked on either side of him as they headed toward the living chambers, monitoring him the whole way.

Catherine mentally blocked out her surroundings, willing her love and strength to Vincent. But she felt lost - almost as if there was a break in their connection. That scared her more than anything ever had. He has to be all right, she thought. A life without Vincent ...

No! She didn't even want to think about that. There was no life without him, and that was that.

The party made good time getting Vincent to his chamber. Carefully, they laid him on the bed and Father bent to work. Mary shooed everyone else out as Catherine hovered off to the side; she wasn't going anywhere. The younger woman watched fearfully as Mary assisted Father. Catherine's world was spinning into a downward spiral, gaining speed by the second. It was a while before Father looked up and walked over to her.

The news was grim. "His breathing is erratic at best and he has a very weak pulse. It was bad the last time, years ago, but now..." He sighed and glanced back as Mary continued to clean a few of the minor abrasions. He looked directly into Catherine's eyes, a troubled shade of grey. "At best from what I can tell, he's in some form of a coma." She stared past him toward the bed and Vincent, any expression masked. She barely heard him as he continued. "I can't do anything more. All we can do now is pray he awakens. Catherine?" He touched her shoulder with a concerned expression as she paled. It was the last thing she remembered as she fainted to the floor.

She woke up to a cool washcloth being placed on her head. She moaned, not knowing where she was. Catherine looked around the small room, trying to get her bearings and remember what happened.

"Catherine, you're awake." Mary sat down next to her on the bed. "I was starting to worry." She placed a soothing hand on Catherine's own. "Just relax."

It took a moment for Catherine to find her voice. It was very shaky. "Wh-where am I?'

"Father's bed chamber. After you collapsed, this was the closest bed."

"What happened?"

"You fainted, dear. You've been through so much."

She dwelled on that as her mind slowly began to regain function. Then her memory snapped back into place. Vincent... She tried to move to get up, but the older woman wouldn't let her. She struggled for a moment, as Mary held her ground. "Vincent. I have to go to him," she said, even as she gave up the fight. Mary was stronger than she looked and Catherine was surprisingly exhausted.

"Catherine, relax. There's been no change. Father is sitting with him. Relax," Mary gently persuaded her to lie back down, then smoothed back a lock of the younger woman's hair.

"How long was I out?" Catherine asked.

"Not long. Not even an hour." Mary helped her resettle on the pillows and brought the half-discarded blanket back around her. "Now, you stay there. I'll get Father."

Catherine waited for what seemed an eternity, before Father came to examine her, only to be told to stay in bed, despite her anxious protests. Father held the look of a broken man, but stubbornly refused to budge from his position. She didn't blame them - Father and Mary were only trying to do what they thought best. But something inside of her knew better.

She became more agitated as the night wore on. Something wasn't right. No one was telling her anything. Listening to the sounds of the pipes, almost silent as others waited for news of their friend and protector, Catherine heard instead the hushed sounds of voices emanating from Father's study. As she continued listening, the voices grew louder and more animated. Finally, with an exasperated groan, she flung the covers off, stood up in her stocking feet and padded out of the alcove.

Peter and Father were having an intense discussion as Catherine rounded the corner into the main part of the chamber. Neither man noticed her, so she leaned up against the entrance wall to eavesdrop.

"I'm telling you, Jacob, she needs to be by his side. You know this."

The patriarch shook his head. "No, Catherine needs rest. You weren't there. She crumpled onto the floor like a wet rag doll when I told her. It's too much!"

"And what about Vincent? You know as much as I do that her very presence gives him strength. And he needs that, more than ever right now." Peter was uncharacteristically angry, waving his arms toward the entrance that led to Vincent's chamber. "He's getting worse, Jacob. His pulse is down, his breathing is shallow, and he almost had a seizure! We can't do anything for him. He needs Catherine!"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Both men turned to stare at her, as Catherine bounded fully into the room to round on Father. "Why!?"

He looked in the woman's burning grey eyes with a haunted expression. His usual inner strength was gone: he looked so visibly shaken. If she hadn't been so angry, she would of felt sorry for him. "I-I couldn't," he finally stammered.

That did it. All of her frustrations, anger and fear were sent hurtling in Father's direction. "The man I love more than my own life is dying, and you couldn't tell me?!?!" Catherine spun on her heels toward the door leading out.

"Catherine, please! You need to -"

She quickly cut off Father's plea with a sharp cut through the air with her hand. Then she was gone, leaving both men in her wake.

Fueled by her fury, she practically ran into the chamber, startling Mary out of a fitful doze. As Catherine's gaze bent from the elder woman to her unconscious beloved on the bed, all of Catherine's anger suddenly scattered amongst the four winds.

It was as though Vincent's ever-present strength had been flushed out of him. He limply lay on his bed, blankets tucked in around him with care. His high cheek bones were gaunt, and his forehead was creased in a frown Catherine could only interpret as intense inner pain. She had never seen him look so defeated, so small.

But worst of all, what struck Catherine to the core of her soul, was what she felt. Or rather didn't. Even though she wasn't as powerful empathically, she could always sense Vincent's presence. She knew when he was close, especially when he reached out to her with the bond. Except now. Now there was only a hole in her heart where Vincent was supposed to be. She knew he was dying.

With a strangled cry she didn't know she uttered, Catherine sank at his bedside, grasping Vincent around the waist.. She rested her head against his chest.

"I'm here," she kept repeating, over and over. It was as much for herself as it was for Vincent. "I'm here, I'm here." She grasped his hand in an iron grip, as if holding on for dear life. It was all she could do.

He slowly opened his eyes again, and drank in the familiar sights of his own chamber. There were candles everywhere, but now most were unlit. He struggled to move anything and finally managed to move his head. He turned toward the rest of his chamber, searching. He had to make sure that what he had seen - who he had seen was not just a dream, mocking him in this vulnerable state.

"Vincent." There was another familiar voice calling to him, one he recognized as Father's. The older man limped to the bed to soothingly stroke his son's temple. "It's all right, Vincent. She's here, asleep over there." It was as though his parent knew whom he was searching for.

Indeed, his Catherine was resting on a cot nearby. Her face looked worn, but peaceful. Her slender body was curled up on her side facing the room, one arm under the pillow. He watched her for a moment as she breathed. Yes, she lives...

Thus satisfied, Vincent fell back into a deep, cleansing sleep.

***

For the next few days, Father, Mary and Catherine took turns sleeping and watching over Vincent. He woke only intermittently, always making sure that Catherine was in sight. There had been one instance that he had woken when Catherine had stepped out for a moment. Vincent became so agitated that Father thought for a moment that he would have to sedate him. Fortunately, Catherine had returned just in time. Instantly, Vincent had relaxed at the sight of her. Much to Father's surprise, Vincent actually managed to hold out a hand to her, which the woman had taken gladly.

What concerned Father the most, and Catherine as well when he later spoke to her, was the fact that Vincent had not spoken, nor had made any real attempt to do so.

"I'm not sure what this means," Father said while both were drinking their afternoon tea. Vincent was asleep again, and would be for a few hours. Mary was sitting with him, so Catherine and Father took leave in Father's study. "The studies that Peter brought about comas say this is another state - physically awake, but not fully conscious. The question is when, or if, he'll snap out of it." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat "Even if he does awaken... The longer he stays like this, there's more of a possibility of some loss of mental function."

"You mean, he might be brain-damaged in some way?" Catherine's heart sank. Everything rode on Vincent. If he never "woke up" from this, where did that leave them? Would he remember her? Remember the closeness, the connection they shared? And even if he did retain it, would he understand it? Would he still be the Vincent she knew? Or would he be forever changed because of that madman's schemes and the subsequent breakdown? Her shoulders visibly slumped, and a mental curse at cruel fate sounded through her head.

Father noticed this and quickly reached across the table to take her hand. Catherine looked up, her eyes starting to mist. "It's too early to tell, Catherine. Vincent has always been strong and a quick healer. We have no way of knowing that this'll be any different. We must give him time."

"What do we do? How can I help him?"

The older man sighed. "What we have been doing since the beginning of all this. You are his lifeline. Stay with him. And pray."

Catherine thought about their conversation that evening, as she gave Vincent his dinner. She was very worried but tried not to let it show. He had taken well to the broth she had been giving him, so William decided to try soup. While she offered the soup to him, she talked nonstop. Vincent seemed to react to her as she did so, always watching with those beautiful blue eyes of his.

"Samantha brought by a card that some of the children made for you. I'm not quite sure who drew the picture, but it was a lovely one of flowers, especially roses. They seemed to think they're your favorite." She softly chuckled at her own little joke. "Even little Naomi signed it. She spelled her name N-O-A-M-I though." She offered him another spoonful. "I'll show it to you later. It’s in Father's study."

For a moment, Vincent's gaze left hers and focused on the spoon in her hand. When he took another serving, he gazed back at Catherine with a look of recognition in his eyes.

This was the first time Vincent had shown interest in anything besides her. "You recognize the soup?" she said. "It's Cream of Broccoli. William said it's one of your favorites." She scooped up another spoonful, making sure it had a good amount of vegetable in it. Vincent took it eagerly, closing his eyes as he relished it. Catherine smiled. "It is good soup, isn't it?" she said to him. He opened his eyes once more and looked at her pointedly. She took it as a reaction to her statement. It was a reminder of their past; a good sign indeed.

After the soup was finished, Catherine settled him in, tucking his sheets and blankets around him. He watched her as she moved toward one of the shelves. Throughout her vigil, she had constantly sat and read to him- books, poems, even lighter parts of the newspaper that helpers brought down. She scanned the contents of the bookshelf, trying to find something to occupy them until he slept. She babbled as she went through the books.

"Let's see, what shall we read tonight? Browning? Another Shakespeare play? Or how about Cummings? There's that new Grisham novel that I brought down last month. Where did you put it?" She rummaged through the contents, searching for the elusive volume.

"c-C-Ca-Catherine..."

She spun around, dropped her now-forgotten book as she stared incredulously at Vincent. He stared back at her, almost as if he didn't believe the sound had been his own. A heartbeat passed, then she was at his side, holding his hand to her breast as tears formed in her eyes.

"Oh, Vincent! Vincent," she stammered, bringing his hand to her lips to kiss the back of it fervently. "You spoke!"

"Catherine," he repeated, unable to make anything else out but that one word. She inwardly shivered as she once again heard that wondrous voice. She realized just how much she had missed it. He sounded like the sweetest music to her.

It was then that Father came into the chamber to take his shift. "Well, did we enjoy the soup?" he asked. He frowned slightly at the scene before him.

"Father! He spoke!" Catherine never looked away from Vincent as she practically shouted the news.

The patriarch hurried over to his son's side. Vincent looked up at him. "F-Father." he said haltingly.

Fresh tears of relief formed in the elder's eyes. He bent down to kiss Vincent's temple. "My son," he said, overcome with emotion.

Vincent was beginning to look drowsy, but he fought it. It was almost as if speaking had taken every ounce of strength. Catherine soothed his hand with her other one. "It's okay, Vincent. We'll be here when you wake up. We’re not going to go away. I promise." She consoled him softly as he drifted back to sleep.

After a while, she bent down herself to kiss his closed eyelids. As she did, a new sense of peace surrounded her. She recognized it as Vincent's presence in their bond. He was back - in her heart where he belonged.

"I think he's going to be okay, Father," she said softly. "I think he's going to be just fine.

Vincent opened his eyes once again. He quickly found himself able to slowly move more than before. He flexed one hand tentatively. His body was still slow to respond, but there was definite improvement. He pushed himself up on the pillows; he was stiff and found that his muscles did not appreciate the movement. His whole body felt exhausted, as if it hadn't woken up with his mind. I am going to have to do something about that. He frowned at the thought. It didn't seem right, at least not for him. He had never in his life had to "do something about that".

There was movement from his writing table. He turned his head in that direction, then smiled at the welcome sight.

Catherine had fallen asleep at the table, her head resting on enfolded arms. A forgotten file, perhaps some legal paperwork from her office, lay scattered among the half-melted candles. Her face was turned toward him. He lovingly glanced at the peaceful look she held, how her bangs of her dark blond hair cascaded over her, shielding her closed eyelids from his sight. She was magnificent, even in slumber.

She stirred as he let out an audible sigh. Blinking her sleep-filled eyes, she ran a hand through her tousled hair, which didn't help. Then she blew her bangs out the way impatiently and stretched. He almost chuckled at the sight.

Finally, her eyes met and locked with his own. She smiled softly. "Good morning," she said good-naturedly.

His voice was quiet, quieter than usual, but it had more strength behind it. "Good morning, Catherine."

Her whole face brightened. "It's wonderful to hear you speak. We were so worried." Vincent frowned at that.

"What - what happened to me?"

Catherine awkwardly stood from the oversized chair she had fallen asleep in - she bad been in it far too long - and sat beside him on the bed.

"What do you remember?" she asked.

He pondered the question for a moment. At length he replied, "I'm not sure. Images, mostly. They're all….. jumbled." He looked at her for a moment with a pained expression on his face. "I know that you were gone, lost to me. My sense of you was gone."

She lightly grasped his hand, which he gratefully squeezed in response. "Can you sense me now?" He nodded. "It's okay, Vincent. I'm here, and I'm not going to leave you. Not ever." She was silent for a moment, letting that last statement hang in the air like an answer to a desperate prayer. Then she went back to the subject at hand. "Do you remember what happened in the cave?"

"No. All I remember is disjointed, distorted. I think I was... being attacked, but I'm not sure. What... happened?"

"It's not important, Vincent. What matters is that you're going to be all right." She took a breath and continued. "You collapsed. I found you, went after you. We managed to get you back here." She gripped his hand tighter, all of the emotions she held inside threatening to overcome her. "You've been in a coma. You woke up three days ago."

He closed his eyes at the news, felt her chaotic emotions through the bond. He leaned his head back further into the pillows. "How long?" he asked, his voice almost cracking with inner pain.

"Four days. You began to speak last night. You said my name."

Four days... he let that sink in too, trying to comprehend Catherine's words. His mind swirled with thoughts and images. What was real? What was imagined in his confused mind? He tried to confront those images, but they remained elusive. He lightly groaned, turned his head away from Catherine, but she caught his chin with her free hand, forced him to look at her.

"It's going to be okay, Vincent. It is. It will take a while, but we'll get through this together. I promise."

He sighed again. He still wasn't sure. His mind was full of doubts. There were nightmarish scenes in his head that were just out of reach - what was the truth? Then Catherine spoke again.

"Trust me."

He looked deep into her soft grey-green eyes. Even though he was confused and disoriented by all of this, he knew one fact. She had asked him to trust her. How could he refuse? She was there, staying with him. She may have even saved his life. She was alive! This woman was everything to him, always would be. He had no choice but to do so.

He boldly - for him - responded in a way that he never would have under normal circumstances. He grasped Catherine's hand, brought it closer to him, and lovingly kissed the underside of her wrist, never taking his eyes off of her. She shivered at the contact, his short whiskers brushing against her skin, the feel of his unusual lips against her wrist. Vincent was rewarded through the bond with a wave of love, trust, hope, and a slight stir of passion from the woman he adored. It was a response he hoped never to forget.

***

The next few days were a blur of activity. Once the community received word of Vincent's recovery, everyone, dweller and helper alike, wanted to come and see for themselves. No one was allowed to see him still, but the crowd in Father's study was tremendous. Catherine was inundated with questions, every time she entered the tunnels outside Vincent's chamber. Her patience was endless; she knew it was only because they cared so much about him.

Not only were there people coming in and out, but cards and gifts managed to pop up from just about everywhere. Several Helpers brought or sent flowers, books, and one Helper's daughter even brought her stuffed teddy bear.

"Vincent can borrow her until he's better, but I'll need Sadie back," she told Catherine as the woman accepted the gift for him. She had thanked her profusely, promising that Vincent would return well-worn Sadie soon.

Those living Below also gave gifts - Rebecca a special candle carved as a rose, Mouse a "gizmo" Father was still trying to figure out, and several of Vincent's students had written short stories, letters to him or original poetry.

She read those stories and poems to Vincent that night. It had been written by one of the newer children, one that a helper had brought down recently. She barely had met Vincent, but seemed to be entranced by him. No one, least of all Catherine, was the least surprised. He was special to those children; like an older brother, uncle, or second surrogate father none of them had ever had before living Below.

Vincent was now sitting up and his speech was much better. He still tired easily, his co-ordination was also a little off. That upset him more than anything else did. At that moment, he was trying to eat the butterscotch pudding that another Helper had brought clown that night; he kept dropping the spoon. Being Vincent, he was too stubborn to ask anyone's assistance. Catherine had learned a long time ago not to interfere until he was thoroughly exasperated. She read on, seated at his writing table, curled up in Vincent's oversized chair.

"Victorious one, that's what his name means.

Inspiration he gives to us, because he

Never gives up.

Catherine, his lady love, and

Everyone Below says this, too -

No one as beautiful can

There be - Vincent is the friend for me."

He almost choked as Catherine read the last line and his spoon once again clattered against the dish, then landed onto the floor. Suppressing a giggle, Catherine came over to the bed and picked up the spoon. She washed it out at the nearby basin, and brought it back to him. But instead of giving it back, she dipped it in the pudding and held it out for him. Vincent looked at her, his expression a mix of gratitude and consternation.

"Catherine, I can do it."

"Of course you can, Vincent. But you're still weak. Give yourself time to recover. There's nothing to be ashamed of," she added. as he hung his head, looking away from her. "Both Father and Peter said that it would take time. You've already improved greatly. The rest will come." He looked up, searching her face for confirmation. She was sure he was searching through the bond as well. Finally, he sighed and allowed Catherine to offer him the spoonful of pudding. But before she could it slid off the spoon and onto his lap.

"Damn," she swore, took the bowl away and went for the napkin at his side. He watched her with a touch of amusement, as he snatched it away and wiped off the stain himself.

"At least I can still do something," he teased, and was rewarded with a saucy grin and a playful swat.

"I give up," she said, gave him back the bowl and returned to her seat. But instead of picking up the poem again, she watched him for a while. Vincent finally placed the dish aside as Mary entered the chamber.

"Catherine, this arrived for you," the older woman said as she handed her a large manila envelope. Then she turned to him. "Are you done with that, Vincent?" Mary took the bowl and the tray out while Catherine tore into the package.

The younger woman's expression changed with a small groan. "More paperwork," she mused to herself. "Joe must be swamped this week." She pulled out a bunch of papers and transcripts. "I'm beginning to regret telling him I needed a leave of absence."

Vincent watched her intently as she pulled out her briefcase from under the table. She stuffed the contents of the envelope into it and pulled out some others and placed them into the envelope. She tossed it onto the desk and slid her case back into place. She sighed and looked at Vincent. His eyes blazed, and he held himself very still.

"What is it?" she asked, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"A leave of absence? You left your work for me?"

"Of course, Vincent. And I would again in a second." She didn't know what he was leading to. "You needed me, I was here. How could I leave you? You were dying."

His voice turned softer, but still his eyes burned into her soul. "You requested a leave? When?"

"Several days ago, after you woke up. I sent a note along with Peter that explained everything, but pretty vaguely. Peter told me Joe wasn't too happy with it, but knew he wouldn't lie to him."

"Then you didn't go Above?" Vincent asked, some tension leaving him. Catherine shook her head in reply, still confused. "But I'll probably have to in a few days just to reassure him.”

"NO!" Vincent's cry startled both of them. Catherine jumped at the sound; she hadn't heard Vincent's voice that strong since he'd collapsed. She moved to his side. His whole demeanor changed instantly, as if some inner pain threatened to overwhelm him.

"What? What is it, Vincent? Tell me," she asked, using the familiar words he used when she was troubled.

He touched her shoulder, forcing her to look squarely at him. "Please, Catherine, promise me that you won't go Above until I've healed. Please," he pleaded, his breath becoming more agitated. "I fear for you and your safety."

"Why? I don't understand."

"Because - because," he stammered, looking away from her for a moment, "as I am now, I cannot protect you. And something tells me if you go Above," he glanced back at her, tears forming in his eyes, "I could lose you. And I would not survive that."

"Vincent -"

"Please, Catherine. I don't understand it, but everything in me begs for you to stay. At least until I'm well enough."

Vincent had never asked her to remain Below before so vehemently. But if he needed her to... "All right, Vincent. I promise. I won't leave."

He let out a breath she didn't know he was holding. Catherine gathered Vincent into her arms and held him, murmuring softly of her promise to him.

It was that night that the nightmares began.

Since Vincent had completely awakened, Catherine had moved into the guest chamber at night. She had fallen into a deep and relaxing sleep when something woke her up. At first she didn't know what it was. It sounded like the wind howling, as in a children's story, but much more intense. She opened her eyes, turned over onto her back to listen more intently.

Strange, she thought to herself. Where have I heard that before? It was a voice, she realized. A voice that -

Vincent! She flung the covers from her and raced out of the chamber, still in her bare feet.

She quickly entered his chamber to find Vincent tossing and turning in bed, roaring, practically screaming at the top of his lungs. Covers were everywhere, and from the looks of it, he had ripped apart one of his many pillows. She had never seen him during one of his nightmares; it nearly broke her heart.

She grasped his shoulders, tried to shake him awake. His cries were deafening, he was practically convulsing, but still she held on.

"Vincent!" she yelled, shaking him stronger. "Vincent, wake up! Vincent! Please, wake up!"

Suddenly, he bolted straight up in bed, nearly knocking Catherine over. "NO!" he cried out, his eyes wide with fear. His heart beat as if trying to escape from his chest. His face was wet with perspiration.

"Vincent!" she still yelled, managing to get through his dream-fogged mind. He stared at her for a moment, as if not believing she was before him. "It's over, just a dream," she said in a softer tone. "It's okay now."

His response was to hold her to him tightly, and she managed to wrap her arms around him, whispering and rocking him back and forth until he fell back asleep.

She held him in that fashion for a long time. Father was silently standing in the doorway as she carefully laid Vincent's sleeping form - not an easy task for he was very heavy compared to her - back onto the bed. She lightly tossed the ruined pillow aside and straightened the covers around him. When she turned to face the patriarch, he motioned her outside. She was reluctant to leave Vincent, but he finally seemed content, so she softly moved out of the chamber.

Father said nothing until they reached the kitchen. He busied himself making two cups of tea. Catherine herself sat at the corner table and rubbed her face, trying to wipe away the sleep from her eyes. Finally, Father supplied her with a steaming mug. Once he had his own cup, he sat at the seat next to her. She tried to smile, but her heart wasn't in it.

"I was hoping this wouldn't happen," Father said at length, after he and Catherine had sipped their tea for a few moments. "I thought that possibly with you here, he wouldn't have nightmares."

She sighed heavily, wrapped her cold hands around her mug. The steam was enticing, but she had other more pressing issues on her mind.

"Father, what he went through was horrible. Between the reporter, Paracelsus, and his own breakdown, he's lucky he's alive. He still doesn't remember half of what happened. And there's something else," she said, looking into Father's surprised eyes. "He's afraid. Terrified, actually."

"How so?" Father asked. She took a breath and proceeded to tell him about the conversation Vincent and her had shared earlier in the day. When she was through, he set aside his empty mug and frowned. "This doesn't surprise me. Vincent's dreams have always been very vivid. Several times, they've been even prophetic, as I'm sure you know," he said to her as she nodded. "For him, dreams can be very real."

Catherine finished the thought for him. "So, you think that his fear of my going Above might have something to do with his dream tonight? What he might have seen?" The patriarch nodded. "But I've already promised not to go until he's well. And he knows I will not break that promise."

Father stroked his beard thoughtfully. "That may be part of it. But there's something else we're not seeing. And until Vincent tells us what that is, I'm afraid his nightmares will continue."

He was right. For several days, Vincent woke every night, and sometimes several times a night, crying out from nightmares. Every night, Catherine rushed to his side to comfort him. As a result, no one in the Tunnels got much sleep. Vincent wouldn't talk about them during the day, despite Catherine's patient prodding. Father had even less success. Vincent would only clam up completely, curl up in bed and not look at either him or Catherine. It was exasperating for everyone involved.

One night, Catherine decided to rest on the cot in Vincent's chamber rather than the guest chamber. Sure enough, she was awakened.

She opened her eyes, instantly aware of him. Vincent hadn't cried out, however. He was talking in his sleep, something Father had told her he did when he was deeply troubled. She tiptoed over to the bed to listen closer.

"Must find her," he whispered. "Must find Catherine." He turned in bed in her direction, wrapping his arms around himself She heard his voice crack in fear as he spoke her name once more.

Find me? I 'm right here. What is he dreaming? she thought to herself as she watched him become more agitated. He continued to call her name, his voice growing in fear and intensity. And then...

"Though lovers be lost," he whispered. Catherine's eyes bulged as she recognized the line.

Thomas, is he dreaming of reciting that poem? What is going on here? By that time, Catherine had heard enough. She started to shake him awake.

Her efforts got nowhere fast. He started to cry out loudly, a wail that hit her to her soul. She shook him harder, calling out to him. The pain she heard in his voice was overwhelming, and tears started to form in her own eyes.

"Dammit, Vincent, wake up!" she called out, her own voice burning in her throat. "Vincent, I’m right here. Wake up!"

Instantly, his eyes popped open. She didn't notice for a moment, though, and still continued to shake him.

"It's just a dream, Vincent. It's not real."

He reached out a hand to rest against her arm, and she looked at him. They were both crying now; Vincent's tears being of fear and pain, Catherine's those of frustration.

"I'm right here," she repeated, and stroked his temple. His tears subsided, as did hers. "I'm not in danger, Vincent. I'm safe, here with you." He was silent for a long time, content just to watch her watching over him.

"So, are you going to tell me what is wrong?" she asked the next morning. She stood in the doorway of his chamber. "And don't keep it from me, Vincent, please. Tell me what is the matter. I want to help.”

She was exhausted, not to mention worried. With a lack of restful sleep, Vincent had started to lose the gains he had recovered. His face was thinner, and his wasn't regaining his strength either. She knew Father was at his wit's end, only because she was as well.

Once again, Vincent turned from her. "I can't," he finally stated.

Well, that's something, she thought to herself. Not much, but something. She walked up to the bed and sat down beside him. "Why?" she asked. He still said nothing, wouldn't even look at her. But the way he set his shoulders told her he was ready to talk about it. She gave him the opportunity. "Is it about me?"

"In a way," he said, finally turning back to look at her steady gaze. "But it is more than that."

"Is it your memory? Has it returned?"

He sighed mightily, let his head fall back. "Only parts of it. I remember what happened with -" his eyes hardened with pain and hatred, "him."

She closed her eyes for a moment then stroked his temple once more. "Vincent, what you did, you had to do. He gave you no choice. Paracelsus -" she spat the name like a curse, "baited you. He lied to you, confused you, made you believe things that didn't happen." She placed her free hand on his chest. He lined his head to look at her again. "Father told me the truth. Anna Pater found you, brought you to Father. You were an innocent baby, Vincent, an innocent child."

"I know that."

"Then what is it?" Catherine was beginning to get frustrated.

He sighed again, then placed his own hand over hers. He visually struggled for words. At length, he said "From the time I left everyone for the Catacombs, my memories are jumbled. I don't know what is the truth and what is in my mind." He looked at her again, his beautiful blue eyes pleading. "I need help, Catherine. I need to know what the truth is."

It must of taken everything; every bit of inner strength he had to admit this, she mused silently. To him she said "Of course I'll help, Vincent. I'll always be here for you. You know that."

She rested her head against his shoulder. His heartbeat was strong, and the arms that wrapped around her comforting, everything that she remembered. But this time, it was different. He had finally admitted that he needed her. Needed her help to get through this. It was a step, a very large step in the right direction. She snuggled closer to him. She had missed this.

He held her to him for quite a while. He finally stirred slowly, and she reluctantly moved away.

"Catherine, could you help me out of bed?" he asked her, much to her surprise. He had never asked her before. She immediately nodded and slipped off of the bed to help him up.

They talked into the night. Apart from his recent nightmares, Catherine learned why Vincent had asked her to stay below. "I had no idea," she told him after he had explained. "That must have been a horrible dream."

"It was more than a dream Catherine. It was before I woke up for the first time. When I saw you, I thought I was dead." He took a moment, calming himself before continuing. His sharp nails dug into the armrests of his favorite chair as he continued. "You were dying in my arms and there was nothing I could do. I didn't find you in time. I couldn't find you," he moaned, as his head fell into his hands. Catherine, already kneeling at his feet, wrapped an arm around his legs, giving him her strength.

"You have always been able to find me, Vincent."

He shook his full mane of hair. "Not in this vision. The bond was gone, I couldn't sense you. I didn't know where you were, or if you were in danger. When you needed me most, the bond failed me. It failed us."

She shifted, raising herself to her knees to face him. "Vincent, it didn't fail us. I didn't die, and I have no intention of doing so until I'm old and gray. I'm right here, beside you. You feel me in the bond now. And when I go Above again, it will still be there." He raised his head to look into her calm, steady eyes.

As a result of their conversation, Vincent's nightmares began to lessen. He still had them, but he no longer would scream in fright night after night. Still, Catherine would check up on him. Sometimes, she would find him awake waiting for her, and they would talk into the morning about his dreams. Much to Father's relief, he regained weight and his strength continued to improve. Even his coordination returned to him. Finally, he was allowed out of his chamber for more than a few minutes.

Vincent hadn't been in Father's study since he had left for the Catacombs. He felt like he was truly coming home. With Catherine supporting him, he walked down the steps and set himself in a favorite chair. Father beamed from his desk and Peter stood behind his friend, also looking as if ten years had been taken off his face. Catherine smiled at them warmly. He looked from one to the other, already feeling less like a healing convalescent and more like the prodigal son. He didn't know what to make of it.

Catherine laid a hand over his shoulder. "Don't worry, Vincent. In a few days, they'll both be ignoring you and trying to beat each other at chess again." Her remark got a reply from the two older men, much to his delight. Father sputtered, Peter chuckled at her, then at Father as he tried to redeem himself in his son's eyes.

"I'd hate to see Father get bored," Vincent countered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Especially since he hasn't beaten Peter for -"

"If you people are through trashing my good name," Father growled, but Vincent could see the mirth in his parent's eyes, "There are a few people who would like to see you, Vincent." The younger man looked up eagerly as Mary entered with some of the children.

They hadn't known that Vincent would be in Father's chamber, so the exulted cry from the motley group warmed his heart. Instantly, they were all over him. Little Yvette, all of two years old, managed to climb into his lap, clinging to him like a life preserver. He hugged her close, whispered something into her ear, and kissed her on the head. She smiled at him.

"Vincent all better now?" Yvette asked.

He smiled at her, a small one that didn't expose his large canine incisors. Her speech had improved since he had last seen her. "Yes, I'm feeling better."

"But he's still healing, so be careful with him," Catherine softly admonished, staying by his side as he greeted each child with a hug or a ruffle of hair. Eric ruffled Vincent's long mane hack as he said hello. Geoffrey smiled too, as he handed him another card that they had made for him recently.

"I'm glad that you're better," he told Vincent, who placed a hand on the older child's shoulder. "We missed you a lot."

"I missed you all as well. I want to thank you for everything." He looked at Catherine at that last statement, eyes shining in love and affection. "For everything."

"Vincent?" That was Samantha, giving him a huge hug. -Don't ever go away like that again. promise? You scared us."

He returned the hug gladly. "I promise, Samantha. I promise."

She sighed relief. He gave all the children one last smile as Mary herded them out of the study. The place was beginning to get crowded; Pascal's message that Vincent was out and about reached just about the entire community. Everyone was thrilled he was getting well, they all wanted to tell him so.

Too soon, Catherine placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked at her again, knowing her concern through the bond. Her insight could be as amazing as his sense of her. He had all but forgotten that. Vincent finished his conversation with Jamie, then slowly stood up from his chair.

"Good night, all," he said, eyes sweeping across the room. Smiles were all around him.. Vincent had never felt so much love from his family concentrated in one direction. He was suddenly grateful that he was still here to feel it. "Thank you seems... too small for what I feel right now." No one else spoke, the looks on their faces were enough.

At the stairs, a wave of exhaustion came over him. He glanced at Catherine, feeling her worry. She was trying to suppress it, she knew he didn't want to appear weak in front of his family. It was a noble gesture, worthy of the phenomenal woman she was. But he knew better.

"Catherine," he said, reaching out an arm to her. She took it gladly, helped him up the stairs and into the hall.

She helped him to his chamber, arid bent down to help untie his boots. "I think it went well," she said, pulling off one boot and going for the other.

Vincent watched her, still amazed that he would actually let her help him. It was just another reminder of how much he had almost lost and how much he had gained.

She went to his chest of drawers to retrieve a nightshirt for him. "The children were especially pleased to see you."

"As was I," he agreed. "I've missed them."

"Everyone has missed you," Catherine reminded him, handing him the long nightshirt and pants before temporarily vacating so he could dress. It had been the routine for the past few days. Once Vincent was dressed and in bed, Catherine returned with two cups of lemon honey tea. They sat in companionable silence, sipping their tea and relaxing.

After a while Catherine set hers down. "Can I ask you a question, Vincent?"

"Of course."

"Why do you recite parts of that poem in your dreams? The Dylan Thomas one that you recited when you came to my apartment?"

He closed his eyes as he lowered his tea mug. How do I tell her this? he thought. It was hard enough for him, what would to be like for her? He took a breath and looked at her.

"In the vision I had, it was the last thing you spoke to me before you died. She visibly shivered, and Vincent felt from her a profound sadness. That confused him for a moment, until he figured out that it was directed toward him. He asked, "I take it you read the rest of the poem?" She nodded assent then he continued. "When I brought it to you, I thought that I might lose myself to that... darkness. I thought that upon hearing it..."

His beloved's emotions intensified as she shifted in her chair. He knew she was feeling sadness that was now mixed with muted fear. "No words could ever lessen my grief if I lost you." He looked from her fora moment, understanding. "But instead -"

"Instead, it became a mantra for me that I had lost you."

He looked up to find her watching him with that expression he so loved: compassion and love singing through those beautiful eyes. God, he loved her! All his love, desire for her, and relief that she was indeed alive and here with him, marched through his heart. He knew that he couldn't hide what he was feeling at that moment; she could probably see everything etched on his unique face. And, even more surprising, right now he couldn't care less if it did show.

The next day, Catherine told him about her plans to return Above.

She broke it to him at the Mirror Pool, where he had escaped with her from the constant flood of visitors and well-wishers. He took it well, he thought, although he felt a deep sorrow seep into his bones. Catherine was quick to point out that this wasn't as horrible as the dreams that still haunted him at night.

"Joe is getting completely swamped with new cases up there. He's spearheading a cross-department investigation right now and he needs everyone at their best. But I don't know about doing my best," she said while leaning against his broad shoulder, "while I'm worried about you."

He held her to him, thinking about the best way to go about this sad news. "I will miss you terribly, Catherine. These past few weeks have been - I have no words for what you have given me. My life, perhaps my very soul. Having you so close during my recovery -"

She snuggled closer to him, and he knew be needed no words to tell her how he felt. Her emotions mirrored his own.

He breathed a kiss into her hair. "I needed you, and you were there at my darkest hour. I can never thank you enough."

"I will always be there when you need me, Vincent. Trust in that." She turned in their embrace to look into his blue eyes, tinged with sadness. "I don't leave until Sunday. That gives us a few days. But I don't want to go. I'm still not sure you're completely okay."

He glanced out toward the water. It was daylight in the world Above. The Mirror Pool was dark, as it usually was during the day. Only at night did the stars reflect on the water from its unseen vantage point. He took a breath, steered himself for this next thread of conversation.

"I will be all right as long as some of the danger you're exposed to is lessened somehow.“

That statement clearly surprised her. If he hadn't felt the surprise that stabbed through her in the bond, he clearly felt it in how she uncomfortably shifted in his grasp.

"How? By giving up Investigation?"

"No," he quickly countered, stopping her before she went on about how her job didn't matter to her as long as she was with him. They had had that argument before, he didn't want to open up that particular - what was that expression? - can of worms.

"You enjoy your job. You help so many people. I will not have you give up something that you gain so much pleasure from."

"Besides," Catherine capitulated, "I don't think Joe would allow me to, at least not without a fight." She was silent for a moment. "What do you have in mind?"

"Only that you will be careful of where you go. And if it's possibly dangerous, that you will send word to me." He sighed. He couldn't help the feeling that she was walking into danger. "I know it's much to ask -"

"Vincent, don't be ashamed of wanting to protect me. It's part of who you are. It's I who should be ashamed."

He felt that emotion from her as she turned slightly away. "Why do you feel that way?"

"Because," she struggled for the words while he waited for her to continue, "I started to rely on you to save me. I took you for granted and it almost killed you." She wrenched herself out of his embrace and stood up, unwilling or unable to look at him. "Every time you came for me, I saw how - difficult it was for you to come back. And I ignored it." Tears were starting to trickle down her cheeks, and he felt the despair knife through her. "I ignored it because I refused to see how fragile that balance was. Because of me and my - carelessness - you almost died."

"Catherine," Vincent quickly went to her, before she could turn and flee from him. Tenderly, he wrapped his arms around her once again, bringing her head to rest against him. "My – breakdown - was no one's fault. It happened, and it is done. Please, don't blame yourself for what we both ignored." She pulled back a bit, Vincent's arms still enfolding her. "All my life I have fought the balance between who I am," he leaned his head against hers, "and what I can become. The control I maintain has never been easy, it never will be. I cannot expect you to understand it."

"But I want to, Vincent. I want to understand everything about you," Catherine said, reaching up to take his chin in her slender hand. "I want to understand, because I love you."

He felt that, too, shared it as he held her close to him, holding on as if his life depended on it, knowing she felt the same way.

That Sunday night, Vincent and Catherine traveled to the threshold below her apartment building. It had been the longest Vincent had traveled in quite a while, but he would not let Catherine leave without a proper farewell. They held each other close for a long time.

"Take great care," Vincent told her when she pulled back from him to look into his eyes. "Please, take great care, Catherine."

"I promise, Vincent. Your vision was only a dream, not a prophecy," she reassured him. "It won't be too long. I’ll see you soon." She hugged him close again, not wanting to leave, Vincent not wanting to let her go. Then she reluctantly pulled away from him. He held onto her hand, rested it against his chest. After a moment of staring at each other, their emotions burning in each pair of eyes, Vincent bent his head to kiss the back of her palm. He felt an electricity pulse through her once more by the touch of his lips against her skin. Vincent could also feel that in himself.

"I love you." Catherine smiled at his words. Vincent sensed the glow emanating from his love, momentarily eliminating the sorrow he felt at her parting.

There was only one answer for her. "I love you, too," Catherine said, squeezing his hand in response before letting go. He watched her walk into the blue light from above her, making her seem to disappear into it. Then she was gone.

Vincent stayed in the threshold for as long as he dared. Father and the others would worry if he stayed too long. He still felt her, she was home in her apartment now. She was safe. Still...  He then silently prayed that she would remain so.

Part II

Catherine should have known that Joe would have his "radar" out, searching for her the second she walked into the office. She didn't even make it to her desk before he zeroed in.

"Hey, Radcliffe!" Joe sauntered up to her, a huge relieved grin crossing his face. "Am i glad to see you!"

"Hi, Joe." She walked behind her desk to put her briefcase down. She hadn't had much sleep last night. Between the alarm going off - several times - she chastised herself, and the unexpected dawn light coming from the bedroom balcony windows, she started this Monday off on the wrong foot. Well. Cath, you knew this was coining. Spend three weeks underground and you deserve what happens to you. Right now, she didn't need a mother hen flocking over her.

Unfortunately, Joe was in full 'mother-hen' mode. "And just where have you been? No phone calls, no telling me where to reach you, just kids bringing these little notes and the paperwork I've been getting. What's going on here?"

"Nothing, Joe. Everything's all right. Now," she added, internally checking on Vincent. Her sense of the bond they shared was not as strong, but she knew he was okay. He probably had experienced another nightmare last night, she had woken up to his emotional dishevelment. She had laid in bed for a long time, focusing on him and the love she had for him. Eventually, the vague feeling of panic had subsided and she had fallen back asleep.

It was amazing to her. The bond was definitely stronger in her now. She had contemplated that off and on during the night, looking back at her extended stay Below. When had it started? she had asked herself. There was only one answer for her - when Vincent had woken up and she had felt the jolt of the bond re-asserting itself within both of them. Her heart had nearly broken when she felt his surprise at seeing her, when he had awakened from his coma. It wasn't until he had told her about his vision that she had fully understood what he had gone through.

She brought her mind back to the present. Joe was still giving her that protective brother look she alternately found charming and annoying. And right now, the latter emotion seemed to be winning. But, her friend did deserve an explanation - as soon as she could figure out what to tell him.

"I'll tell you later," she finally said to him. "First I'd like to tackle whatever -" she mentally groaned as she looked at the rather large pile of files and papers stacked on her desk, "I have here."

It seemed to placate him, although she knew it wouldn't take long before he started hounding on her again. He seemed to know that there were some parts of her life she kept private. Inwardly she thanked him for that.

"All right, Radcliffe. You can check with Rita to see what you've been missing out on." He grinned lopsidedly at her. "See what happens when you play hooky?" She couldn't help but laugh as he sauntered away. It was good to be back.

At the end of the day, however, she almost retracted that thought. One of the child abuse cases she had worked on so hard had been thrown out of court with the child still in foster care. She was going to be at it late tonight on another case, one dealing with a gang and drug-smuggling mess she had read in the newspapers that had been sent down by Helpers. It was about two in the afternoon, but to Catherine it felt like it was already evening. She ran her hand through her hair, wistfully thinking of how wonderful a bath might feel in one of hot springs Below. Wishful thinking, she told herself. She couldn't afford to think about how much she wanted to just toss everything off of her desk, rush down to that magical world and into Vincent's arms....

A throat clearing nearby caused her to look up from the deposition she was reviewing. A delivery boy, probably some high school kid, was glancing over her desk. "Yes?"

"Catherine Chandler?"

"That's what it says on my desk," she answered, in what she hoped was as cheerful a manner that she could muster.

The teen lost the joke, but his soft fawn-brown eyes seemed to stand out from the delivery jumpsuit and baseball hat he wore.

"These are for you," he said and from behind him, he placed a cellophane package on her desk that she still couldn't see the top of. "Very special delivery." He grinned at her as he started to walk away.

Catherine called him back to quickly hand him a tip, then she tore open the wrapping, already knowing what was probably inside. Sure enough, the fragrance of roses greeted her nostrils. But who would send her flowers?

She looked closer at the bundle. This was no ordinary flower arrangement. The roses were of two different colors - white and red roses intertwined within the baby's-breath and soft ferns. Her suspicions where confirmed when she found the note attached to them, a familiar stationary with her name written in a very familiar, very neatly flowing penmanship. Her heart did a double take as she set the bouquet down and read the note.

Catherine.

I felt your frustration.

"I see thine image through my tears to-night

And yet today I saw thee smiling. How

Refer the cause? - Beloved, is it thou

Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte

Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite

May fall so flat, with pale insensate brow,

On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and vow,

Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight.

As he in his swooning ears, the choir's Amen.

Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all

The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when

Too vehement light dilated my ideal,

For my soul's eyes? Will that light come again,

As now these tears come-falling hot and real?"

Know that I miss you as well.

Vincent

The words began to blur as Catherine read and re-read the poem. Somehow she gathered enough of herself to keep from crying in the office. Fifteen minutes later, Catherine found a vase from her desk and the beautiful roses adorned it as she renewed her work with an energy she had all but forgotten. Vincent stayed in her thoughts all day as well, a source of strength she was relieved to feel once more. She was loved.

***

A sense of panic overwhelmed her, driving her from the recesses of her troubled dream. She bolted up in bed, the satin sheets of the bed sticking to her like a second skin. The silver nightgown she wore also clung to her from sweat.

Another one, she thought. She inwardly searched through her memory, trying to figure out what exactly her unconscious imagination had conjured up this time.

She had been in the tunnels, running. She had been running to find Vincent. He wasn't in his chamber, Father's study, he was nowhere to be found. And find him she must, she had to tell him, tell him... Tell him what? Catherine asked herself.

Then she was in an alley, alone, still running. She sometimes dreamt of it, usually when reliving the initial attack that had brought Vincent and her together. But this time, there was no van chasing her, no men grabbing her, ready with knife and violence. There was only Catherine, running, trying to find her beloved -

And there he was, at the end of the alley; crumpled and defeated on the cold, hard ground.

Crying out in fear, she fell at his side, cradling his limp head in her lap. He was so weak, so vulnerable, as he lay dying in her arms. She cried, tears streaming down her face as she called to him. Her heart pounded as she could feel his own flutter close to death, hardly even there as she rocked him back and forth, unable to help him.

"Catherine," he faltered, looking into her eyes with pain-filled blue ones, knowing it was for the last time. "I tried, I tried."

"I know," she said, her own voice gripped in pain and grief. "Don't leave me," she begged of him.

"Though lovers be lost," he whispered to her, "Love shall not;" he faltered, as he tried and failed to honor her request. With a final breath, he recited, "And death shall have no dominion." Then his eyes closed forever, and he collapsed into her embrace.

Her heart broke entirely as he died. Tears fell, splashed against his face as she held him, willing the life to return to him. Don't leave me, please., don't leave me, her soul begged of him. But it was no use, he was gone, his soul torn from her bleeding and forever empty soul.

Catherine shuddered as she remembered the dream. This had been a particular ugly one. Almost every night this week had been interrupted by them. And everyone the same - running to find Vincent, only to find him too late. By now, she knew exactly why he woke up screaming from them. She had done that as well - several times.

She had to face up to the fact that they didn't come from Vincent. Yes, he still had nightmares, but they did not affect her own this deeply. Catherine had been reluctant to tell him about her own dreams, but the last time she had seen him, yesterday in fact, he had insisted that she do so. Still unable to leave the tunnels on his own, he was terrified that someone was trying to do her harm, until she broke down her resolve and told him about her own nightmares.

She had to do something. Something was eating away at her, she had to figure it out. Going back to sleep was not an option she cared for, so she left her bed, threw on a robe and padded into her kitchen for a soothing cup of tea.

Thus armed, she stared out the French doors of her dining alcove at the night. Knowing that Vincent still couldn't travel to the balcony, she was reluctant to step out there, only doing so to care for her plants, including the rose bush. Sipping the warm liquid, her mind wandered toward the early days of their relationship.

She still felt guilty over his breakdown. Despite what he had said to her, she still felt it was her fault. In the beginning, when she had been in danger, Vincent had come to her, but she wasn't totally helpless. She fought back against the people wishing to do her harm, with Vincent coming to her aid if she needed it. But as their complex relationship had progressed, she had relaxed, knowing that he would come to save her.

Hadn't she once said that she didn't ever want another attack like the one that had almost killed her that April night?

She hadn't known of the bond then; indeed, she thought she might never see Vincent again. She was on her own, vulnerable, and she hated that feeling. She wanted to reach out, to help others - that had led to her job at the DA's. Despite that, she also wanted to be a survivor, not a victim. Isaac had known that, had seen it in her eyes the first time she had stepped into his training center...

That's it, she thought, the solution to my problem. She didn't want to only rely on Vincent, not when his life, his balance was so precarious. She had to truly be a survivor, to use her own training to get out of hairy situations. And there was only one way she could do that. Catherine took another sip as she planned her strategy for the next day.

***

Catherine walked through the sitting area of Isaac Stubbs' Training Academy with trepidation. She hadn't been here for almost two years. The last time she had even seen Isaac, it had been when both of them had traversed the Lower East Side of Manhattan looking for an injured Vincent. She had been so relieved to find him alive that night that she hadn't even thought of what to say to Isaac afterwards. When she had realized that Isaac had indeed seen him, Catherine just didn't know what to do, especially since Isaac himself had never asked her later. She had put this off for far too long, it was now time to pay the piper.

Walking into the training area, she was surprised to see Isaac out in the open for once. Also, he was with another student, who was currently learning the different places to properly hit an intruder in certain delicate areas. The student looked like a scrawny high school kid, huffing and puffing away like a freight train. Catherine stood off to the side as Isaac stopped the lesson, obviously tired. She watched as the younger man spoke with the teacher for a moment then shuffled off to change.

Isaac took off his head protection, shaking his head for a moment. Catherine gave him a chance to reflect before announcing herself. She stepped forward, her shoes clicking on the tiled floor. Isaac looked up from the towel he had picked up from a nearby table. When he saw her, it was almost a double-take.

Her former teacher placed his towel around his neck. "I never thought I'd see you again."

She gave him a small smile. "Hi, Isaac," she said to him. Another few steps brought her to the carpet.  Isaac stood where he was, taking in her appearance. Just like old times. It was Saturday, so Catherine had dressed in tapered jeans and a short-sleeved button-downed dress shirt. It was obvious she was here as a friend, as was her intention. "It's been too long," she said as he looked back up to her face.

"Agreed," he replied. "After that whole mess with the Silks, well," he stepped closer to her as well, a smile beginning to form on his dark well-worn face, "I wasn't quite sure what to believe." A moment passed between them easily. "But Cathy," he said, lowering his voice although there was no one else in hearing distance. "I told you that you could trust me."

She smiled back at her former teacher. This was easier than I thought it would be. She had anticipated a more frenzied response or, more likely, a rejection. Two years and Isaac still offered the hand of friendship. She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding in.

"I made a promise to him, Isaac. I couldn't tell you."

Isaac nodded. "And now?" His voice still held that friendly tone.

"I need your help," she answered. "As a teacher and as a friend."

He nodded, once more correct in his evaluation of her. "Give me a minute to shower, and we'll talk," he said, motioning to his sitting area as she followed.

Sometime later, Catherine and Isaac were settled on the couches of his living area. Catherine had a half-drunk mug of decaf coffee and Isaac had downed almost three cups of water from his cooler. His demeanor was relaxed as Catherine told him what she could.

"So, he found you in the park? When you were attacked?" She nodded. "And you've been friends with him ever since?"

She glanced down at her lukewarm mug, suddenly shy. "It's more than friendship, Isaac. He's my life."

"You love him."

"More than anything."

"I thought so," he told her. "So, what brings you to me?"

The woman took a breath, then got down to business. "I almost lost him a month ago. There was a man," at the memory, her voice curled with anger, "as evil as they come, who tortured him so badly he almost died."

"Man, no one deserves that, especially not someone like him." She agreed. "Is Vincent all right?"

"He's still recuperating. It's slow. He was in a coma for almost a week." She put down the coffee. "I still feel as if it's my fault, though."

"Why's that? You let this guy get to him?"

"No, but he used me to get to Vincent," she replied. "It isn't just that," she continued. "I started relying on Vincent to save me, instead of using my training. I knew that when I was in danger, Vincent would rescue me. What I wasn't seeing was how much it was hurting him, until it was almost too late. No," she corrected herself, "I saw it, but ignored it. We both did. Each time, a little more of him would slip away. Until he finally couldn't..." she blinked back the tears, unwilling to break down in front of Isaac.

Isaac gave her a sympathetic look. "I can see that. That's only a human response. His body knows they'll be okay, they won't fight back." Catherine pondered his words for a moment. She knew he was right, but it didn't make it any easier to live with.

"So what I need is a refresher course," she finally said to him.

"With all due respect, Chandler," said Isaac, putting down his paper cup and rising from his seat, "what you need is advanced training. Come on, let's get started." He moved back toward his workout area as Catherine gathered up her gym bag. Once again, she followed Isaac. Only this time, there was a smile on her face as well.

***

Between the hammering she received between Isaac and the DA's office, Catherine's life flew quickly. Almost every night she went Below to check up on Vincent. He was getting stronger - he was taking longer walks in the hub. Vincent still could not travel long distances (despite his protests to the contrary) but everyone knew that eventually Vincent and several others would have to travel to see what might have happened to Paracelsus' followers.

In fact, Catherine was less worried about how far Vincent could travel, than about his demeanor. Father, Peter, and even Catherine herself would not let him go Above yet, and by now Vincent had a major case of cabin fever. Catherine felt sorry for him - he was literally crawling out of his skin.

She spoke to Father about the situation, once she realized Vincent badly needed a reprieve. The patriarch finally relented to a walk in the park, as long as someone went with him, just in case. Vincent wasted no time. When Father and Catherine asked him if he wanted to go, Vincent practically vaulted from his chair, grabbed his cloak, quickly took Catherine's hand and took off for Above.

They were halfway there when Catherine pulled back on his hand. "Wait, Vincent, slow down."

Quickly realizing he was practically dragging her, he immediately stopped. "Catherine, I do apologize. It's just that -"

"I understand, Vincent, truly I do. I know how much going Above means to you."

"Still, I have no right to behave foolishly."

Catherine smiled, silently chuckling. "You're not being foolish, Vincent. You're excited, that's all."

They reached the tunnel entrance to the park a few minutes later. For a moment, Vincent eyed the mechanical door suspiciously as it slid open.

"What is it?" Catherine asked him.

He shook his head. "I'm not sure, I just thought... it was almost as if I was expecting a hole in it."

"The door?" she asked him.

He dismissed it with a quick glance. "It makes no sense." He swung the gate aside as Catherine pulled the lever to return the door to its original position. As they emerged from the drainage culvert, she was rewarded with the sight of her beloved standing in front of it, his head thrown back, the hood of his cloak covering his mane of fire-blond hair, taking in deep lung-filled draughts of the night air. It was a perfect night for them - not too humid, the late afternoon shower and evening drizzle had left a foggy haze that settled over the dark green of the park. Both of them stood there, taking in the sights before them.

"I have missed this," Vincent practically whispered. Catherine closed her eyes to the sound of his voice. It held a wondrous quality, almost as if another piece of him had once again returned to its correct place in the puzzle.

"I know," she replied, unwilling to completely break the languorous mood that had settled over the two of them. Vincent looked back at her, and she inwardly gasped at the sparkle in his soul-speaking crystal blue eyes. She smiled at what she saw there. That's the Vincent I know, she thought as he looked up to gaze at the stars. I knew that he would come back to me.

***

Wearily, Catherine walked into her apartment. It had been a wonderful night. A few nights after their walk in the park, Vincent and she had visited their spot underneath the stage in Central Park. The music was glorious and both were wrapped in Vincent's cloak, making it quite cozy. As she switched on her lights, she smiled as she remembered what he had said.

Blessed.

He felt blessed. She had been there at his darkest hour, continued to be with him as he recovered. It was the only word he could use to describe how he felt. There were still the nightmares, but slowly they were diminishing. Relief coursed through her. It looked as if everything would be all right.

She shrugged off her wrap, tossing it on a sofa and picked up a package she had bought on her lunch hour earlier that day. Inside was a new leather-bound journal she had bought for Vincent. It seemed appropriate; this was a way of closing the door on the dark past and opening a door toward the future.

She wanted to write an inscription on the inside before she gave it to him. She opened the inside cover of the book, knowing that Vincent preferred pure white pages to lined paper. She smiled as she found the perfect spot to write her note, but for the moment everything she thought of sounded cliché and trite. Maybe later, she thought, sighing as she replaced the journal in its gift box.

She looked toward her answering machine and saw it blinking. She had bought a new machine after that lunatic stalker last April. Instantly, she walked over and pressed play.

"Ms Chandler, this is Miriam from St Clare Hospital's ICU unit. Your friend Joseph Maxwell was involved in an accident this evening. Please contact us at -"

Catherine hit the stop button. God, Joe. A large lump formed in her throat and her heart started to pound. Instantly she whirled around and hurried into the bedroom. It took only minutes to change and rush out the door, her heart in turmoil over her friend.

Sometime later, she was allowed to see him. Joe lay quietly on the bed, badly bruised and lacerated. He was a mess, a bandage on his forehead, almost swallowed in IV tubes and electrodes. Cathy had never seen him like this in all the time she had known him. She swallowed her nerve and took a step forward.

"Oh, Joe, look at you."

His eyes slowly popped open. He tried to smile but the effort only produced a grimace of pain. Joe tried to speak, but nothing came out. Her heart went out to her friend. She leaned against the bedrail. For a moment, she didn't know what to say as she stood there. Catherine hated hospitals. She hadn't since she was very young.

"The doctor says you're lucky," she finally managed to say.

"Yeah? Some luck." That was more like him, even if it was a bit groggy. She began to relax.

"You're alive." Wasn't that what Vincent had said to her, long ago?

"You call this living?" was his slurred answer. Catherine could sympathize, she had been where he was now. She didn't say anything more, he had been through hell. Joe needed her compassion right now, the rest would come in time.

"The book."

Catherine frowned, looked back at him. He repeated the two words to her.

"Don't try to talk," she soothed.

But Joe needed to. "In my jacket... there's a book." He whispered the words to her, fighting off the sedatives she knew they had given him. "Important..."

She tried to make sense of what he was saying. "A book?"

"Pat gave it..."

"Patrick Hanlon?" That had been the name of the man who had been killed in the car explosion.

He looked at her, pain lacing his face, but he was determined to make her understand. "Why... he was killed."

"I'll get it," she promised. "In the meantime, try to get some rest." She lightly touched his hand, trying to reassure him. He relaxed finally, closed his eyes, his strength at its limit. Catherine stayed with him until he fell asleep.

Once security showed her where Joe's clothes were, she went through the locker. Sure enough, in the inside pocket of his trenchcoat was a ledger. When she leafed through it, it made no sense. All the writing was in numbers and initials. The form looked vaguely like an accounting format, but otherwise she couldn't make head or tails of it. Quickly, she shoved it into her purse and put away Joe's things.

She didn't even notice the nurse from the blood bank as they passed each other in the hallway.

The next afternoon she marched out of Moreno's office even more puzzled. She had too many questions and damned few answers. This ledger was quickly becoming an obsession. John had allowed her to reassign her other cases. Catherine sat at her desk and massaged her temples with her fingers. She frowned at the ledger in front of her. No lunch and I have a headache, she thought. This is not a good day.

There was some progress with the ledger during the course of her research. Some of the numbers were actually dates in European form. She had already tried cross-referencing the codes with the SEC records and everything on Hanlon, but got nowhere fast in that area. As she had told Moreno, she had made out two sets of initials - Malloy-Davidson and Hanover Norton Trust, two of the largest contractors in the region, both based in Manhattan. But other than that, she could make out nothing. John had looked as frustrated as she felt when she had told him.

It was late at night at home when it dawned on her. Rita hadn't been able to find anything about either of the companies that might have shed some light. Neither had her father's old law firm when she called up Marilyn that afternoon. Something told her that going directly to the contractors themselves would get her nowhere. There was one person Catherine knew that might have had some insight into this mystery.

***

Elliot Burch sat across from her the next afternoon in his plush office, frowning at the ledger Catherine had placed in his hands.

"Are you going to tell me what I'm looking at, or am I supposed to guess?"

Catherine ignored the jibe. "Do you know a man named Patrick Hanlon?" At Elliot's acknowledgment of the man and his trade, she continued. "He died two days ago and it has something to do with that book."

She felt a little awkward sitting in his office opposite him. The last few times she had seen him hadn't been too pleasant. But he was the only one she knew who could help her with this.

Elliot gave her a glance then closed the ledger. "Well, that's too bad, but what does this have to do with me?"

She sighed inwardly. This was going to be the toughest part. Part of her was telling her forget it. Cathy. He's not going to help. He's got enough problems on his hands to be concerned about one lousy mystery. But another voice overrode that impulse to leave, reminding her that Elliot, like everyone else in the world, was capable of both good and bad.

"Hanlon was dealing with Malloy-Davidson and Hanover Norton Trust," she told him. "I thought that maybe -"

"Cathy," Elliot interrupted, "listen, I've got news for you. l don't know many people who haven't dealt with either of those groups." He shook his head with a hesitation and lightly slapped the book down on the coffee table in front of her. "No. this is the last thing I'm going to get involved with."

She took a breath as he stood up to cross the room to his desk. "Elliot, if you could just -"

"No! Absolutely not."

"Just look through it, that's all I'm asking."

He stopped behind his desk, pointing down to the desktop in emphasis as he leaned on it. "No, Cathy, and I mean no!"

She wasn't about to give up. Something told her not to. She raised her voice a notch. "Help me find something to follow up on; a name, a place, a dollar amount, anything?"

He crossed his arms, as stubborn as she was. "Absolutely not."

Her patience, already worn thin with the case, ended right there. Great, now we're arguing like an old married couple. Just what I need. Catherine gestured helplessly, her voice taking on the exasperation she had felt all day.

"I'm stuck, Elliot." He was silent at that. She didn't like to reveal her vulnerability to him but what choice did she have? "I need some help."

It was in his hands now. She stared up at him, the man who had once proposed to her on her balcony in the early dawn, one of the richest and most powerful men in Manhattan. He looked back at her with a look of annoyance that she had the audacity to ask this of him with a hint of adoration for her that made him still charming in his beard and shoulder length hair. Then he made his decision, keying the intercom button to his secretary in the next room.

"Cancel my three o'clock."

Realizing her mouth was left ajar, Catherine closed it, trying not to show her amazement. A breath she didn't even know she was holding escaped her, relief filling her for the first time all day.

But he wasn't though with her yet. Elliot crossed back to the couch, still frowning. "You knew I was going to say yes." She shook her head slightly, letting a small smile grace her face. He relaxed then, sat down next to her again. "How'd you know?"

I didn't exactly, she thought to herself, but no way am I telling you that. Then she remembered something Vincent had once told her, something that had followed her all of her days since then.

"'Cause I know you."

Elliot smiled at her then, the tension gone as her friend regarded her, then picked up the ledger to look through it again.

Later that day, at the office, she took a minute to daydream. She hadn't visited Vincent in a few days. Catherine missed him, seeing his eyes light up as she entered his chamber. Whenever they had been together these past few times, she had noticed a small change in him. Throughout his recovery, he had been attentive and quite reluctant to let her leave. He still needed the reassurance of her touch, she reminisced, even going so far as to kiss her hand or wrist. She welcomed the change, also needing the tactile senses to convince her that he was real, alive, and still with her.

A telephone startled her out of her revelry, but it wasn't hers. An idea formed in her mind; she was going to take the night off from this maddening case and visit him. Cheering up immediately, she took out a sheet of personal stationary and started a note to him.

"Any luck with those names?" Moreno came over to her desk, hands in his pockets. The man looked beat, as if he had the weight of his world on his shoulders. Catherine could relate, she had felt like that on more than one occasion recently.

"Yeah, it's starting to come together." She had given him a progress report when she had gotten in from her visit uptown. Hopefully with Elliot's enlisted help, she could finally manage to assemble this puzzle and get back to helping Vincent recover. Then, she remembered the reason she had taken up this investigation in the first place.

"How's Joe doing?"

Moreno smiled at that. "He asked me to smuggle him in a cheese steak sandwich and a cold beer."

Typical, she thought, chuckling as he left.

***

Vincent sat in his favorite chair, silently regarding what he had just written in his journal. He needed a new one soon, this one was getting filled quickly. He reread the words he had just written, as if absorbing them be could make sense of all he felt in his heart.

He was slightly worried. At her last visit, Catherine had been quite upset. At his insistence, she told him about Joe's injury and the mystery left on her hands. She didn't give him details, but it was enough. Something had grasped a hold of his heart then – what, he didn't know. She had sensed it, seen his tense reaction and had instantly dropped the subject, letting him know that she would be careful. He had felt her remorse, reluctant to burden him with any turmoil. They had reassured each other then, content to wrap themselves in an embrace and think of pleasanter moments.

Despite himself. Vincent couldn't shake off the nagging concern growing inside him. Something was wrong, and it had something to do with Catherine. It wasn't her; indeed, every time he saw her now, the feeling vanished. He was still in awe that she was alive, her heart beating in conjunction with his own. He instigated caresses now, no longer content to just gaze upon her. He knew she was real, the bond always a constant reminder of that blessing, but it was as if he had to physically know she wasn't a figment of his imagination. She accepted it, even took pleasure in it, let him move at his own pace.

Father entered his chamber as Vincent was putting away his pen. "This just arrived for you," he said to his son, handing him a note. "It's from Catherine."

He instantly recognized the stationary as he accepted the paper. Glancing at the contents, he inwardly smiled. "She's coming later tonight," he told Father. "After her visit to the hospital."

"Good, good," the patriarch replied. Vincent knew he wouldn't admit it, but he knew the older man missed her too. He lightly smiled as he stood up from his seat, the knowledge that his father looked upon Catherine these days as a beloved daughter-in-law giving him comfort.

His parent frowned as Vincent picked up his cloak. "Are you sure you fee! strong enough to travel?  It's a long way. I could send someone with you..."

"Father, please." For some time now, Vincent had been restricted to light duty, only going. Above with Catherine to the park or visiting his favorite haunts with one of his friends. He was glad for the company, but Vincent needed his solitary treks, they were a part of him. Being able to move through the tunnels or the alleys Above helped him to think clearly at times. That was probably why he paced when he was upset, much to Father's dismay and the wear of his carpet.

The expression of worry that crossed his parent's features touched him. Father was only trying to help in the only way he knew how. "My life must begin again," Vincent told him as he settled into the familiar cloak. "I'm ready."

Why do I let myself get talked into these things? Catherine scolded herself as she stepped out of the parking garage elevator. The armful of law books and other things Joe wanted her to bring tonight were heavy. Along with her overstuffed briefcase, Catherine was beginning to wonder whether she'd be able to see Vincent tonight after all. I did send the note, she mentally argued. I will not go back on my promise. Not even for you. Mr Joe Maxwell.

It had been an exhausting day. The evening sun peeked in on the side of the garage, leaving Catherine with a vague feeling of guilt for leaving while it was still light. Still, she had been working for 10 hours straight that day; she deserved the respite. She let the emotion evaporate, determined to get to the hospital, home and then Below in record time.

As she rounded the corner to her car, she thought she heard footfalls in the distance. She looked around to see who it might be. There was no one else on the garage floor. Must be my imagination running away with me, she thought.

For a moment, Catherine concerned herself that the owners of the book Joe had given her might come looking for her.

That's silly, she scolded herself. Not every case you work on becomes dangerous. Cathy.

She pulled out her keys as she approached the car door. Making sure that the papers didn't hit the ground while she got in was a challenge, but she managed it. She had turned the ignition and put the gears in reverse when she saw a man approach her driver side door. He wore a dark tailored suit. Catherine surmised he was a lawyer or another professional she dealt with at the office. Another suited man hovered at the back of her car.

The man bent down to her window with a courteous smile. She didn't hesitate to roll it down to speak to him. When he suddenly pointed a gun at her, a stab of sick fear went through her heart sharper than any knife. Instinctively, she stomped on the accelerator and floored the pedal. The suited gunman fired before the impact of the car threw him to the ground, shattering half of her driver side window as she smashed rear first into the other one, now also brandishing his own weapon. She threw the shift into drive and sped off, both men on her heels.

She inwardly cursed, her rising panic and fear making her drive erratically as she tried to get away from her pursuers. She made it around two corners when the office maintenance van loomed in front of her. She smashed into it blindside but didn't stop the car. She backed up as the two men came running down the ramp after her, the younger of the two firing into the car followed by his companion. The bullet tore through the rear windshield as Catherine went forward again, tires squealing, in front of the van and down another ramp. The men stopped at the corner still firing as she drove on.

Gotta get out, stampeded through Catherine's mind as she quickly turned the next corner. She knew she was vulnerable the longer she was in the garage. If she could only make it out of here, they might not be able to catch her. She scanned the parking floor from side to side as she drove on but there was no one in sight to help her. She risked a glance at her rearview mirror, hoping not to find them still chasing her. It was wishful thinking; between her training with Isaac and her past experiences, these people meant business. It didn't alleviate the dread and alarm colliding in her stomach one bit.

She made it down three flights when she realized she didn't stand a chance in hell of outrunning them.

Catherine slammed on the brakes in front of the garage elevators, grabbed her purse as she got out. She ran pell-mell to them, pushed the buttons, not caring if it went up or down. "Come on, come on," she told the doors impatiently, hearing the squeal of tires descending upon her. Big surprise- they were still after her. The doors didn't obey, stubbornly refusing to grant her asylum. She took a few steps back, surveying other options. There were none.

"Come on, come on!" she repeated, whipping her head around to glance behind. She heard rubber tires screech and a slam as the maintenance van collided into her car.

At the same time, the doors to the elevator slid open. Catherine instantly rushed in, hitting the button for her office floor instinctively. She barely looked up as the two men chasing after her tried desperately to reach her before the doors slammed shut again, cutting them off from her.

She didn't waste any time pulling out her own gun. She had been keeping it in her purse since the stalker last April. She quickly checked her ammunition. She had a full round in the barrel. Pointing it at the door, she readied herself for whatever might greet her as the elevator reached its destination and the doors slid open.

Relief lulled her for a moment as she recognized John Moreno standing in front of the elevator doors. She took a step out, her voice breathless and slightly shaky.

"Oh, John, thank God. I...”

She stopped when another man in a light suit stood beside her boss, pointing an assault rifle at her. Her fear mounted higher than ever before when another suited man appeared. John, no emotion on his small face, turned away as the two men joined Catherine in the elevator.

***

It felt good to be out patrolling again for Vincent. After his extended convalescence he was about ready to jump out of his skin. Now that he was back on his feet he could return to his daily routine - at least part of it. He was still too weak to venture Above alone, where his reflexes were called upon to be ready at a moment's notice.

Here Below, traversing the tunnels, familiar passageways greeted him like old friends welcoming him back into the fold. The pipes sounded, its message traveling along to its destination. He turned a corner, moving into another passageway to check the lock, making sure it was well fastened before moving on.

He was moving toward an intersection of the level he was on when he felt Catherine's fear course through him like a sick drop of dread into his stomach. Her heartbeat, threaded into his own, jumped into overdrive as she tried to finagle her way out of immediate danger. Fear of death slammed into him; he reached out to steady himself against the tunnel wall.

Catherine!! His mind screamed. in a split second a thousand scenes, each worse that the last, stampeded across his mind's eye. Images from his recent nightmares flashed by him, driving a forced roar of "NO!" from his throat.

I must protect her; they will not hurt her this time! was the instant response, all rational thought of injuries or ability gone. He turned back into the tunnel he had just left and rushed, at a breakneck pace, frantic with worry for Catherine.

***

Both men held onto her as they dragged Catherine back into the parking garage. Her gun was in the hand of the man to her left. The other one, in a dark suit, signaled to his partner to pull her toward the exit ramp. She struggled with them to the best of her ability, unwilling to go without a fight.

She mentally ran through her options quickly. Calling out was useless. There was no one else in the garage this late in the day. Neither men said anything, only pulled her toward a Lincoln Town car.

Fear and anger coursed through her. Shock from John's betrayal had numbed her momentarily in the elevator, but now she fought her captors for every step. An image of Vincent and his visions flashed through her mind. He knew, she thought. Somehow. he knew I would be in danger. Oh, God. he's probably ...

No! I've got to get myself out of this, she scolded herself. She twisted in the men's grip. Dammit. something! Their hold was unrelenting.

At the car, the men who had chased her before signaled to Catherine's unwanted escorts. One was nursing a few bruises on his arm from when Catherine had rammed into him with her car. The other one seemed to be the leader of this gang of suits; he sauntered up to Catherine and company with a smug smile.

"You gave us quite a chase, Ms Chandler." To the others he ordered, "Get her in the car." Catherine wildly tried to get loose at that statement, but the two just pulled her in its direction. Another man held the door open, Catherine managing to stick her feet on the edge of the entrance, fear making her strength exceed its limit.

Suddenly the head suit looked up, as he was descended upon by a snarling black and fire-blond ball of furious rage.

For a moment everyone froze as Vincent, roaring at the top of his lungs, tore through his victim with sharp nails and deadly primal accuracy. All eyes watched in horror as he ripped through jacket, shirt and tie, leaving the man, just now screaming, bleeding from sternum to shoulder. A powerful right hand blow finished the job. Then he turned to Catherine's captors, rage and fury bellowing out in a full-throated roar, his blue eyes flashing dark and dangerous in the harsh neon light.

Recovering from shock quicker than the others, Catherine took the opportunity. She broke free of her captors' grip and swung the car door into the dark suit in front of her. Catching him in the midsection, he went down. Another one made a grab for her, but she was ready. She slammed a palm in his face, grabbed him and kneed him in the groin. An elbow went into his back as he dropped her gun and he doubled over. Scooping up the weapon, Catherine left him there and ran toward Vincent.

The leader fell lifeless at his feet, as Vincent grabbed Catherine's extended hand. Both ran toward the exit ramp. A shot rang out, sailed past the two and ricocheted off the wall. The driver took cover as Catherine shot back. She quickly glanced as the two men recovered from her own attack. A van pulled up; she took another shot as more suited men took cover inside.

"Catherine,” Vincent's anguished cry tore her from her attempt to stay their pursuers. Turning back toward the ramp, they ran, Vincent taking the lead, his cloak sailing behind. Halfway down, he leaped down to the next level. Catherine followed, Vincent catching her in a mighty grip so she wouldn't twist an ankle.

She quickly tossed her heeled shoes off, anxious to move faster. "Come on," she said breathlessly. Both ran across the wall. Above them, muffled yelling and footsteps signaled the men attempting to follow them.

Catherine's heart was pounding in her chest fiercely. She was, for the moment, more worried about Vincent than her own safety. Even if they managed to flee the parking garage, the nearest tunnel entrance was several blocks away. It was still an hour from dusk at least. She thought of her damaged car and the van now two levels up. Maybe I can still get the car working, her rapidly spinning mind thought. How did he get here, anyway?

It seemed Vincent had other plans however. Once more taking her hand, they went down another level and headed towards the stairs. By now the others were behind them. Catherine and Vincent dodged another bullet and dived through the metal double doors.

Once in the basement of the garage, Catherine relied on Vincent to guide her through the murky shadows. After a few minutes, she saw ahead of them the broken doors of a storage closet. Vincent pulled her inside.

The place was a mess. Cardboard boxes and such had been flung aside. She almost tripped over a mop on the floor. There was a shelf overfilled with boxes, cleaners and supplies. Catherine ducked behind it; gun poised and ready.

"Now what?" she asked Vincent, glancing behind her.

But Vincent wasn't behind her. He was at the far wall of the closet, quickly feeling around. "An entrance?" she asked him. "How long has it been here?"

Still trying to find a purchase. Vincent didn't turn around. "I had Mouse start on it when you went back Above." His voice was tense.

She would have replied but at that moment they could hear some of the men after them coming down the stairs. Hoping it was too dark for them to see her and Vincent, Catherine stood from her hiding place and joined him just as he found the pressure point.

The wall swung outward slowly, too slowly for their liking. Catherine could hear the men advancing toward them. "Over there, those doors are open." "They can't have gone far."

Vincent, growling in frustration, threw his weight into the door. It finally started to move, just as someone shouted "There they are!" and fired.

Catherine shot back twice. When she tried a third time, the revolver was empty. "Dammit!" she swore.

Suddenly, two massive furred hands grabbed her and deposited her behind the swinging door. She stared in horror as Vincent shut the protesting door with his weight, cutting himself off from the entrance.

"No!" she shouted, just before the trick door closed, trapping her securely in the adjoining tunnel. Catherine's mind whirled. "Vincent," she whimpered. Instantly, she pushed back at the door, trying to reopen it. It didn't budge. Beyond thought of her own safety, she dug at the wall, desperate to find the opening.

A lever, something to make it open, she thought frantically. Quickly glancing around, she finally spotted her target in the corner. She grabbed the makeshift lever. Something made a clang, and the lever went slack in her hand. Her heart sank. She slammed her fist into the wall in frustration, but even that couldn't come close to the despair clutching at her.

Catherine sagged against the wall. Her strength had been exhausted. "Vincent," she sobbed. Her arms wrapped tightly around her body as she began to softly cry.

She was still in that position some time later, when Mouse, Jamie and a few others found her. Mouse went up to her cautiously, almost afraid of her reaction. When he placed a tentative hand on her arm, she looked up at him.

"Mouse," she whispered, her voice shaky. It didn't sound like Catherine at all. "The door..."

He didn't need any more coaxing. Mouse and a few other men went to work as Jamie gently pulled Catherine to her feet. The men pulled away a hidden console as Catherine watched. Mouse stuck his head in with a few tools and tried to fix the broken lever.

After a couple minutes nothing happened. Mouse emerged from the console and banged the mechanism with a wrench. "No good, no good, no good!" he yelled at the thing. "Need better parts for Vincent's door." He went back in and pulled out some of the gears. Then he scrambled up. "Push," he said to his friends.

Instantly, all three men threw their weight against the door. Jaime and Catherine joined in as well. Their combined strength managed to finally open the stubborn entrance. As soon as they got it open Catherine almost darted through but Mouse stopped her.

"Catherine, could be dangerous. Wait here." Mouse and a few others slid through the entrance while Jamie stayed with Catherine. It seemed to take forever before Mouse called out to them. "Okay, good; okay, fine, Catherine." She flew out the door like a light before he was even finished speaking.

If the storage room had been a mess before, it could now be considered a disaster area. The shelves Catherine had used as cover were overturned. Larger boxes had been torn apart, as if someone had looked inside them.

What struck Catherine with bone-chilling fear was what she didn't see. Vincent was nowhere to be found.

Cautiously, the little group moved through the basement. One of the other young men found Vincent's second victim. His neck had obviously been broken. Another two had been tossed aside near the stairwell. Jamie, with her crossbow ready, headed up the stairs, Catherine and Mouse close behind.

The group expected Catherine's assailants to ambush them as they entered the garage. They entered it to find no men in suits with guns waiting for them. In fact, most of the garage was deserted, including any trace of Vincent.

The others began to emerge from the basement and spread out, trying to locate him or a clue to what had happened. Nathaniel stayed with a totally bereft Catherine.

"Over here," called Jamie to the others. She found tire marks on the asphalt., near the exit. She looked up as Mouse came over. "Anything?"

The tinkerer shook his head. "Not good," he decreed before moving off again to resume searching.

Catherine found her voice. "He's gone," was all she managed to croak out.

"We're not giving up yet, Catherine," Jamie told her, placing a consoling hand on her arm before resuming her own search.

Catherine was beyond consolation. In her heart, she knew those men had overpowered Vincent and taken him.

They'll kill him, or worse, she thought. And it'll be my fault. I led him here.

She looked back toward a couple of empty cars. Between two of them, something caught her eye. Bending down to pick it up, she recognized the leather pouch she had made for Vincent. Opening it, she found her mother's rose she had given him on their first anniversary. Miraculously, it wasn't even cracked. The only damage was the pouch string- it was broken in two. She placed the rose back in its pouch and clutched it to her, dread threatening to devour her.

A complete search of the garage revealed nothing else. Both the men's car and the van had vanished. Catherine's car looked to be totaled, but rather than chance the men coming back and taking Catherine they had left it. The driver of the van she had crashed into had been shot, supposedly by the men who had chased her.

Catherine sat in Father's library holding a forgotten cup of tea someone had handed her. Mary and Father watched over her.

Father was visibly upset over Vincent's disappearance. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, one look from Catherine's mournful face and he bit his tongue. He knew his temper was fierce. Just about everyone had felt its wrath from time to time. Guiltily, he knew Catherine had heard more than her fair share since she had come into their lives. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her more. She was already in enough pain.

She didn't even lift her head as Eric popped in. Wordless as well, he scurried up to Father with a message from Pascal, then hurried back out to his post.

All sentries and runners were alerted to the situation. They were keeping a closer watch than usual- to keep the tunnels from detection and to watch for Vincent's return, just in case. Pascal, calling an "all quiet" on the pipes, was holding vigil: listening for any message that might lead them to him.

Until Vincent was safely home, mused Father, it was up to the community to protect the tunnels, and Catherine as well.”

Jamie entered the chamber with a small tote bag. She placed it by the entrance and walked down the stairs as Father looked up again.

"Well?" he asked.

"I found the spare keys where Catherine said they would be," Jamie told him. Upon hearing her name, Catherine lifted her head, but it looked like she was only listening halfway.

Jamie continued. "When I got there, her apartment was completely torn apart. I grabbed what I could then hightailed it out of there. I went down to Benjamin's, told him to call the police."

"Thank you, Jamie," said Father. Grabbing his walking stick, he moved from his desk to the table where Catherine sat. She was staring past her now-cold mug. "Catherine," he spoke softly, settling down on the chair beside her. "You need to rest. Let Mary take you to the guest chamber."

She looked at him finally. From the troubled look in her grey-green eyes, he knew she hadn't heard a word. "It's my fault," she said.

Father shook his head. "No, Catherine, it wasn't your fault. What's done is done." He paused, trying to find the right words to say. "Vincent takes your safety very seriously. That's part of who he is. Wherever he is now, he can take comfort in knowing you are safe.

"Over a year ago, I probably would have assigned blame," he admitted. "But I've come to know you and your love for my son. You had no way of knowing what was going to happen." He placed a comforting had on her shoulder. "I'm sorry if I've caused you any grief in the past," he told her softly. "Now is the time to leave that behind and focus on getting Vincent back- together."

Both Catherine and Father's eyes were misted over. She nodded, a little of the hurt she was feeling fading from her face.

Mary took that moment to remove the mug from Catherine's nerveless hands. "Come, you need some rest." They were almost at the stairs when Catherine turned back to him.

"Thank you, Father," she said. She held her place for a moment in thought, walked back to the patriarch then kissed him lightly on the forehead in a very Vincent-like manor. Then she left with Mary, leaving Father deep in thought.

The two women walked into Vincent's chamber. Catherine had requested to stay there, where she could feel closer to him.

"Good-night, Catherine," Mary said after a beat, giving her a quick and much needed hug. "You know where my chamber is if you need me."

"I know. Thanks again, Mary. Good-night."

Once Mary had left, Catherine looked around the room. Most of the candles were unlit, the ones that burned still were on their way out. Their light gave the chamber a low flickering glow. Rather than stare at a room that felt emptier without its usual occupant, she blew out the candles and crawled into the oversized bed.

There was no way she was getting any sleep tonight. She stared at the stained glass window inset, then settled her gaze onto Kristopher's portrait, hanging on the rock wall facing the foot of the bed. If she focused on the painting real hard, she could almost feel those strong arms around her, holding her close, encircling her with his strength and love. Closing her eyes, she imagined what it would be like to be in that pose, leaning against him, holding his arm closer to her...

"Catherine?"

Her eyes popped open. Young Samantha had entered the chamber, her hands clutching a book. She looked scared, as if disturbing Catherine could be considered a mortal sin.

The woman sat up on her elbows. "Come in, Samantha."

"I'm sorry if I woke you."

She shook her head. "It's okay. I couldn't sleep." She lightly patted a section of the mattress. Samantha gratefully climbed up. "What is it?"

The girl sighed. "Right before Vincent got sick, we were reading 'Jane Eyre' in class," she told Catherine. "We never finished it, and we decided we wouldn't until he got better." She held out the book. "This is the best copy we could find. I planned to give him this at our next class." She stopped, raising tear-filled eyes to Catherine's. "What happened to him?"

She had an idea, but the ramifications of that were too frightening to speak of. "I don't know, Samantha," she told the girl. Sitting up, she gave the girl a reassuring hug. "But we'll get him back, I promise."

Samantha sniffed. "Can I leave the book here for him when he gets back?"

Catherine gave a small smile, her first in hours. "Sure. Right there on the desk. It'll be the first thing he sees."

Feeling a little better, Samantha slid off the bed, gingerly placed the book on the writing table, then bid Catherine goodnight.

Alone once more, Catherine laid back down in thought. Her shock now wearing off, she could focus on the events of the past few hours. Mostly, she thought back to what Father had said earlier.

Now's the time to leave that behind, he had said. He was right, in more ways than one. Now was the time - to leave the guilt, the what-ifs that had sounded through her head since the attack in the garage, the wishful thinking that she could wake up from this living nightmare. She had to leave the feelings of helplessness behind if Vincent had any chance of getting home. He believed in her, trusted her, knew her to be strong. And damn it all if she wasn't going to be as strong as possible to bring him home.

I need a plan, she thought. No, we need a plan. Father said they would find him together. But as determined as she was to figure it all out tonight, the physical toll on her was too great. Resolving to speak to Father bright and early the next day, she quickly fell asleep.

***

The first thing he noticed was the pain. It traveled from the back of his head to his shoulders then back again. It was a dull ache but there nonetheless. He kept his eyes closed, willing it away.

He felt the cool air around him. That in itself wasn't unusual, considering were he had grown up. What was odd was the amount of moisture in the air and the scent - it wasn't the usual earthy, candlesmoke smell of his home. The air carried the scent of staleness, as if he was in a basement of some kind.

What further confused Vincent was the fact that his arms were restricted.

Opening his eyes, he was met with harsh artificial light. He blinked, willing his uncooperating eyes to adjust. Once they did, he was able to look around.

Vincent was restricted all right. Not only were his hands shackled with irons, he was also in a cage. His heart sagged, dread and fear following with it. His memory returned to him, the last few moments in that dreaded parking garage...

Catherine! Concern for her made him test his bonds, to no avail. Whoever had secured him obviously knew what they were doing. Struggling would only make the pain he was still feeling worse. He closed his eyes to the fluorescent lights, searching for his beloved's feelings. He sighed, his weakened muscles abandoning their tension. She was safe, asleep, although her distress was still apparent even in slumber. At least she is no longer in danger, he thought to himself. That left only his escape.

Which would not come easily. Even if he had been at full strength, he would have difficulty freeing himself from the irons. Not to mention the cage bars. These were thick, hard to bend. Having been in a cage before, Vincent could bypass the feelings of hopelessness that had threatened to overtake him at first glance. As long as Catherine was safe and alive, the rest didn't matter.

Opening his eyes again, Vincent tried to take a look outside the cage he was in.

On the wall to his left was video camera, pointed directly at him.

A sense of déjà-vu swirled around him, making it hard for him to breathe. Suddenly, it dawned on him where he had seen this scenario before.

It was still hazy, but he remembered a part of his vision where he had been a prisoner in such a fashion. And if this part was coming true, then...

No. The dread returned. It made sense now, why he had felt so strongly about the vision, as he had felt before with others.

Somehow, he had known it wasn't just a dream. Only this time, he was the captive, not Catherine. And if he was here, if the case Catherine was currently working on was the same, then -

Vincent yanked the chains as far as they would go, hurtling himself toward the nearest bars. The electric current flowing through them stunned him, throwing him back against the wall, plunging him back into the unconscious abyss he had emerged from.

Part III

Catherine caught quite a few stares as she walked into the DA's office. She gave it only a passing thought. She was dressed casually, as were Jamie and the young man who had accompanied her from the tunnels. It felt somewhat unnatural to her to be in jeans and a sweater; she always came to work dressed in her best business attire. But then again, she wasn't here to work today.

Rather than head toward her desk, she headed directly through the melee to John Moreno's office. Her heart was in her throat but she wasn't going to let it stop her. Neither was his frantic secretary when she realized Catherine wasn't stopping.

"Ms Chandler, wait a minute!" She sailed right past her, not even bothering to say hello to the poor woman, and walked in unannounced into Moreno's office.

The District Attorney for the city of New York was talking animatedly on the phone when Catherine barged in. The frown on his face was replaced with utter shock when he realized who it was.

"I'm sorry, Mr Moreno," stuttered the secretary, stopping at the door behind Catherine. "She just --

John recovered well. He waived the other woman away as he muttered, "I'll call you back," and hurriedly hung up the phone.

If Catherine hadn't been past caring, she would have felt a twinge of pity for the morose look on the small man's face.

"Let me get right to the point. I have a message for your friends from last night. I don't scare easily. If they think they can keep me from this case, they're dead wrong. I will find them. You tell them that."

John's eyes actually bulged, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Catherine continued. "And if they harm one hair on his head, I will make them sorry they ever heard of Catherine Chandler." She turned, but thought better of it and turned back to him. "Why John? Why betray me? Why betray Joe?"

Moreno was dumbfounded. It was painfully aware he was not prepared for a confrontation. It took a minute before he swallowed again and spoke. It was the voice of a broken man, one trying to use a poor defence.

"I had no choice. You don't know these people."

That wasn't good enough for her. "They don't know me." After a pause, she added, "You obviously never did." She pulled the office door open. "I suggest you don't leave town," she told him icily before she stormed back out, leaving a wake of stunned onlookers and a nervous district attorney adjusting his tie at the sudden stifling air around him.

It was late at night when Dr Peter Alcott heard a knock at his back door. That in itself wasn't unusual- Peter was by his very nature a night owl, as many of his friends knew. It came with the job description. Putting down the novel he was reading, he headed toward the kitchen.

A cloaked figure hung in the shadows of Peter's door. The last person he expected to see peering from under the hood was Catherine's.

"Cathy!" Peter hissed, then hustled her inside, taking a glance outside before shutting the door. Catherine slid the hood off; it was more of a hooded poncho than a cloak. Peter regarded her after he locked the door.

"I'm sorry if I startled you, Peter, but I couldn't exactly call you."

"What's going on, Cathy? The media's frantic - first Joe Maxwell's injured and then you were reported missing."

Catherine stopped him. "Vincent's gone, Peter."

"What?"

"Someone kidnapped him in the garage when they tried to grab me."

"Good God." Peter leaned against a counter for a minute, then helped his guest out of her poncho. "I think you had better tell me everything that's happened."

Sometime later, Catherine was working through a cup of tea, sitting in Peter's study. The elder doctor was nursing his own cup as Catherine told her story. Afterwards, Peter stared at his cat lying on another chair, then glanced back at Catherine.

"This is incredible. You have no idea who these people are?"

She shook her head. "The key is in that notebook. If only I can crack it, I can find Vincent." She put her cup down. "I still can't believe Moreno's been bought. He was always so dedicated...," she trailed off.

Peter interrupted her reverie. "Where is this notebook?"

"With Elliot Burch. I don't think he's involved, but I can't risk going to him. I need it back, along with whatever he's found."

"You leave that to the Helpers," Peter told her. "If I know Jacob, he's already working on that."

Catherine agreed. That had been one of their major concerns when Father and herself had laid down a so-called battle plan early that morning. She had been impressed with the efficiency and focus of the tunnel leader. If things had been different, she mused, Jacob Wells would have made one hell of a lawyer.

"What else do you need?" Peter asked, startling her out of her introspection.

She paused. "I'm worried about Joe. He's probably heard of my MIA status by now. I'm sure Moreno won't tell him about my visit this morning. But I'm sure they're watching him, whoever 'they' are. I have to let him know I’m okay."

"I'll take care of that," Peter immediately stated.

"Before you volunteer, Peter, consider the risks," replied Catherine. "If you're connected to me in any way, you could become the next target."

Peter smiled, that same mysterious smile he always had whenever he was about to bring up the old 'How I met Cathy' joke. "Me? I'm just an old doctor checking on my patient."

Catherine smiled back, something she hadn't done all day. She got up from her chair. "Thanks, Peter," she told him as she placed a daughterly kiss on his brow. "You are a lifesaver."

She stood outside the drainage culvert in the park, looking up at the stars. Having accomplished her goals for the day, she allowed herself a moment to reflect.

It had been busy. Most of the morning had been spent with Father and other tunnel dwellers discussing options, plans, and who to contact. All helpers had been notified of Vincent's disappearance. Some had offered to even help with defending the entrances, along with the usual search being conducted by Mouse and Pascal. It was moot; they knew that - Vincent was obviously being held against his will somewhere. But at least they felt as if they were contributing. Mary had said that was the most important thing. It kept the fear at bay.

And she was right, Catherine reflected. Without an errand to occupy her time, her fear for Vincent returned with a vengeance. She fought it, though. No point losing myself in emotion, she thought to herself. It won't do me or Vincent any good. She still needed her wits about her if they were going to pull off their big stunt tomorrow. She had doubts but Father was confident the helpers involved were up to the task.

She sighed, trying to loosen some of the tension in her. It was nice here in the dark quiet of the Park. This late at night there was no one here. Catherine could understand Vincent's attraction to this place more clearly now - she had felt a similar thrill sneaking to Peter's place undetected. Still wrapped up in the black poncho she thought she understood Vincent a little better at this moment.

Catherine listened inwardly, trying to reach out with her heart to him, wherever he was. Her empathic abilities were no match for Vincent's but there were times when she could touch him. He was there, she knew it, somewhere in the city, holding onto what strength he had left to him. She closed her eyes to the shadowed trees before her, willing her strength into him. She thought she felt despair trying to overshadow his waning stamina. There was also another emotion she sensed - a burgeoning anger. He was fighting it desperately, his exhausted soul keeping his defensive nature in check. She could sense the struggle, felt it in her own body, and her own heart filled with sadness for what he must be enduring. If only she could find him!

Call out to me, Vincent. she mentally told him. Scream my name. But do not lose hope. Do not lose faith that I will find you. I will find you. I will find you. I will not stop. I will search until I find you. Or until l am dust.

Vincent opened his eyes. Nothing had changed; be was still enclosed in his prison. Glancing at his hands, he was surprised how little damage his palms had received. The surge he had felt had knocked him halfway back in his cell. He shook his head to clear it as the effects of the shock wore off. He wondered how long he had been out. His sense of time was completely gone. He tried to look for a small window toward the ceiling to help. There was nothing but grey walls and the video camera.

He glanced at the floor to his left. A plate had been left by the cage door for him. Not hungry enough to partake of his captor's offerings, Vincent ignored it and moved toward the wall he was chained to. There was nothing to sit on but the cold floor. After settling in the best he could under the circumstances, Vincent took a deep breath and contemplated his situation.

"You're awake."

He twisted his head around the cell to pinpoint where the voice had come from. It was an eerie voice, full of cold hatred and evil. It was the kind of voice that knew violence and reveled in it. Yet the voice had no face, no body to connect it to.

He pulled himself out of his position to search the room again. He found a speaker connected to the camera. It moved by remote, focusing its eye toward Vincent. He stared into it. making no sound of his own.

"You understand me, don't you. I'm glad. it'll make things easier.” Vincent still said nothing. Any advantage, even as small as the ability to speak, had to be kept if he had any hope of escaping with his life.

The voice went on. "You killed four of my men. Impressive. I wish to thank you for helping me. It's hard to find good help nowadays." Vincent gave a nonplused stare into the camera lens. "It was the woman I desired, although you are a bonus - a unique bonus. She has something I want, something very valuable. Perhaps you know where I could find her? "

Vincent turned around sharply. He knew it was giving away the fact he could understand him but at this point it was moot. This man already assumed he could understand what was being said. He sat back down on the floor, unwilling to play whatever game this man was playing.

"No matter. I will find her." Silence. For a few minutes, Vincent thought the man had left him alone again. "You could be very useful to me. No one could resist your strength, your power. Certainly my men didn't."

Vincent turned his head away from the camera. He didn't need this man goading him. He was vulnerable and he knew it. Any violent reaction would only entreat this madman further. He closed his eyes to his surroundings. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to relax himself as much as possible. It wasn't easy - between the wild pounding of his heart pumping adrenaline throughout his body, the despair threatening to devour him and the continued taunts from the unseen speaker, he was lucky he could breathe at all.

"You would be my greatest asset," the man continued. "Anything you desired, any one you desired would be yours for the taking."

He fought back a derogatory snort. This was no less than the lies he had heard from Paracelsus. He had been no different than this man in the world Above; hungry for power and capable of anything. Vincent continued the relaxation technique, forcing slow even breaths into his lungs. He would not be deceived. Again.

"Or is the woman's life nothing to you?" Vincent's eyes popped open, instantly starting to take a defensive posture. "You shall join me, fight for me, be my champion. If not, I promise the woman will die." He paused, letting the words take meaning. "I have people everywhere. I will find her."

Vincent searched through the bond he shared with Catherine. He could already feel her muted fear, her sorrow; every emotion he knew she must be feeling since his abduction. He probed further, testing his weary control over his own emotions.

She was safe. Thinking of him, sending her love and devotion through the distances to him. He felt her strength intermingle with his own, bolstering the waning hold on his psyche, the part of him that wanted nothing more than to find this hated man and break his neck for threatening her. Catherine's determination coursed through him, giving him the resolve to endure this living nightmare.

The hunched shoulders visibly relaxed. Vincent's fingers lost their stiffness, and he sighed, letting his sense of Catherine fill his soul. The man could torture him, berate him, even kill him. Vincent leaned back against the stone wall. Despite what this man could do, he could not win. The simple fact was this man, despite everything at his disposal, would never find Catherine. Vincent took great comfort in that.

***

Elliot looked tip from the newspaper and sighed. It had been a long night: it promised to be an even longer day. Still in his shirt and tie from yesterday, he tried to wipe the fatigue from his eyes. It did no good - he was exhausted from lack of sleep.

Where the hell was Cathy? When she had failed to show up two nights ago at his office, he had gone to her apartment. The place had been trashed and the place crawling with cops. He had called his investigator from the car. Cleon could let him know what the police might find that didn't make the papers. Manning had called him last night to let him know Cathy had shown herself at her office,  spoke with her boss briefly, then left again. This left Elliot even more confused. If the people she was investigating didn't have her, where had she gone?

He pulled open a drawer from his desk and stared at its content. The notebook she had given him seemed to stare back with a malevolent air. The entire code wasn't cracked - not by a long shot - but what he did know now could make him the next one to disappear.

A noise startled him out of his revelry. He slammed the drawer shut, looked up quickly, then took a few breaths to calm his thumping heart and frayed nerves when he realized it was only the intercom signal. A brief burst of anger hit him as he answered the hail.

"What?"

His secretary, quite used to his moods, usually gave no sign of surprise. Something must have rattled her cage, he thought.

"Mr. Burch, there's a..." she paused, something she never did either, "Sofie Langer here. She's insisting on seeing you and refuses to leave. I told her you didn't want to be disturbed…"

"Send her in." He said it before he even realized it. `What the hell' was written all over his face. This was the last thing he needed right now.

The door to the office opened and a short, plump elderly lady walked in. She obviously had only a lowly fixed income by her attire and she carried an oversized purse. Elliot raised both eyebrows, his curiosity getting the better of him. He would have smiled of this hadn't been so absurd.

"Can I help you?"

The woman looked lost, almost like a timid mouse. But there was a determination around her like an aura. "My name is Sofie Langer, Mr Burch. You used to own the building I live in." She closed the door and slowly made her way to his desk. She produced a letter and handed it to him. "This is for you."

Still curious, Elliot took the note and glanced at it. Immediately, he glanced back up at the elder, his amused look wiped from his face. "Sit down, Mrs Langer."

He read on.

Dear Elliot,

First of all I’m all right.  I’m sure you’ve read the papers by now.

Someone tried to abduct me from the court garage a few days ago, but I managed to escape. Please don’t ask where I am, just know that I’m safe with good friends. I still need to find these people. Time is valuable and I have very few people I can trust. I can’t go back to the office – Moreno’s been bought. I would have come to you personally, but my friends fear for my safety.

Please give Mrs Langer the item I gave to you. She will make sure it gets to me safely. You might become the next target if they even suspect you have it.

I keep asking you to trust me, it seems, and I give nothing in return. I’m sorry, Elliot. All I can really give you is my friendship.

Take care of yourself. I’ll contact you when I can.

Catherine

Elliot mulled over the letter for a moment. He had considered that it might have been trap until the end. If Catherine was being coerced, she never would have included that last paragraph.

A few minutes later, Mrs Langer left his office with the notebook in her purse. Elliot actually picked up the phone to call Manning to have the Jewish woman followed, but thought better of it. Cathy kept asking him to trust her; it was time he started doing so. He did ring his secretary to hold his calls. He was going to take a much needed nap.

Catherine was sitting at Father's table when Zachary practically flew down the steps. She looked up as the boy stopped, trying to catch his breath.

"It's here, Catherine."

"Great. Thanks, Zach," she told him as he handed her a package. Opening the box, she pulled out a purse. She unzipped it as Father came over and leaned on the boy's shoulder.

With a small smile, Catherine exhumed the notebook. She thumbed through it quickly, relieved that all the pages were still intact

"Remind me to personally thank Sofie when this is over." She looked up. "How many helpers did this go through?"

"Too many to count, Catherine," Zach told her. "You've passed notes, you know how it works."

"I do, Zach. Notes are one thing, this is quite another," Catherine explained, shifting her glance to Father.

"Every helper volunteered, Catherine," the patriarch assured her. "Each one knew the risk." He reached over, took her hand and gave it a fatherly squeeze. "You're not alone in this."

She gave him a small smile, then focused her attention on her prize. Both Father and Zach moved off to give her privacy. Catherine went through the notebook again, trying to remember her notes from what she had figured out on her own. She flipped a few pages, silently cursing at all she had yet to uncover.

She was still at it hours later, still in Father's study. The patriarch was at his desk, dozing off; his unread novel resting in one hand. Everyone else was either in bed or on watch. Even the pipes were eerily silent. Only Pascal's hourly chime rang through, sounding hollow and foreboding to her.

Catherine put down her pen, tried unsuccessfully to massage the kink in her neck. She was getting nowhere fast - she hadn't slept well in two days and was no closer to finding Vincent. She felt like crying. Despair was grasping at her heart, its talons of fear and self-doubt robbing her of her resolve. Two tears slid down her face and fell onto her notepad, smudging the words she had written.

Dammit, she chided herself. I cannot fall apart right now. Vincent needed her strength, needed her to find him. Not only her beloved was counting on that strength, Father, the children, the community were all looking to her to bring him home. Without their protector and friend, they looked as lost as she felt.

Right now she felt the weight of this precious world squarely on her delicate shoulders. Now I understand why Vincent takes his responsibilities so seriously, she thought. He was a symbol of strength and security to all who knew him, both here and Below. Trying to maintain that and rescue her time and time again, Catherine mused, it was nothing short of a miracle he hadn't broken down months ago.

And when we get Vincent back, she said to herself, making sure she didn't think if’, I swear there will be changes in both our lives.

She picked up the purse to put away the book, too frustrated to look at it anymore. Stuffed at the bottom of it were a few more papers. Catherine knew she had all the pages of the book but curiosity got the better of her. She pulled out one to read it.

Cathy,

I still can’t say no to you.

Elliot

Shaking her head, she examined the papers Elliot had added. One of them was a key for her, listing what certain codes were in construction. Another paper, not in Elliot's hand, was a listing of building sites and warehouses. Elliot's scribble indicated that his investigator had found a few buildings not directly owned by Hanover-Norton Trust.

She quickly cross-referenced what Elliot had provided with what she had already uncovered. The entries themselves started to make sense. As a former corporate lawyer, she quickly recognized the accounting formats used throughout the ledger. Thank you. Dad, she thought.

Wait! Catherine stared at all the information in front of her. Building sites, construction lingo and account formats, were these time codes? Why would they need...

"YES!" cried Catherine, startling poor Father almost out of his chair. She saw him dart awake and was immediately contrite. "Oh, sorry, Father. I didn't mean to -"

"That's all right," said Father, cutting her off with his hand. "What did you find?"

"Paydirt," said Catherine with a grin.

Joe Maxwell flipped through the TV channels from his hospital bed. After several days, he was itching to get out of here. Whoever said patience was a virtue never had to eat hospital food, he thought. He squirmed, pulling himself into a better position. I don't have time for this!

He was thoroughly frustrated. First the accident - he still couldn't believe Hanlon was dead. It wasn't the first car bomb he had ever seen, but never had he personally known the victim. Not that they were ever bosom buddies, but still...

The worst part of all this was Cathy going missing. Joe felt responsible. He was the one who had asked her to take the notebook. He had placed her in danger, no one else. Yes, it was her job and she was one of the best, but she was also his friend, and damn everything to hell if she ended up getting killed on his account.

The door to his room opened to admit an older gentleman in a white coat who peeked in. "Ah, Mr Maxwell, how are you feeling today?"

Joe stared at the visitor. He looked familiar, but for the moment he couldn't place him. "Do I know you?"

"I'm Dr Alcott, Mr Maxwell," he said. coming in and shutting the door behind him. "We've met before, I think."

The memory hit him. "Yeah, now I remember. You're a friend of Cathy's." Then he frowned. "Why are you here? You're not my regular doctor."

Dr Alcott smiled. "Who do you think sent me?"

It took Joe a minute for that to register. "You mean Cathy's okay? She's alive?"

The older man nodded in the affirmative, then pulled up a chair. There are a few things you should know about what's been going on."

***

Catherine walked down the tunnel with a purposeful stride. She felt anxious, but she didn't hurry. That was the atmosphere of this underground world - up top it was rush, rush, rush. Here Below, she knew the message waiting for her would still be there. Still, she made good time.

They were making progress. A few helpers had gone to the Hall of Records and the Bennett Historical Library on Catherine's behalf. Between Elliot's information and what Catherine herself had gathered, Joe's acquaintance Patrick Hanlon had been working for an organized crime group.

She had little direct experience with organized crime. Yes, she had worked on several cases gathering documents and such. Her first year in the DA's office she had even worked on the Denton case, but Joe would call that case penny-ante stuff compared to what she had stumbled onto.

She stopped for a moment, feeling a sudden surge of anger and despair. Vincent... Her heart cried out in pain at the feelings he was experiencing at the moment. What are they doing to him? She closed her eyes, leaned against the wall. All her love for him soared through her at that moment, letting it all swirl throughout her body and through the bond to him. The moment passed, a vague feeling of gratitude reaching her mind and soul from him. She opened her eyes again, took a cleansing breath, and moved on again.

It had been stronger this time. Every time she had felt the feelings of panic, she had tried her best to surround herself in every possible positive emotion she could muster. She knew Vincent needed her strength now more than ever. Soon, she told him mentally. Soon, I promise.

As she moved through the cross-connector into another tunnel, she spotted Geoffrey waiting for her. She quickened her pace. Coming up to the boy. he handed her a small piece of paper with her name on it.

Cathy,

I've spoken to Joe. He's glad you're okay and sends you his regards. I gave him as much information as I could. He's also been warned about your boss. Good luck, keep in touch.

Peter

"Thanks, Geoffrey," she said, breathing a small sign of relief and giving him a small squeeze on the shoulder.

"Is it about Vincent? Did you find him?"

Catherine shook her head. "Not yet, but we're close." Indeed, they were. “Come on," she told him, guiding her young messenger back down the tunnel. "It's time to bring in the others on this."

The others she referred to were the Council members and a handful of tunnel members and Helpers. Everyone was assembled in Father's study by the time Catherine and Geoffrey entered a few minutes later. The boy, having escorted her to their destination, turned back into the tunnel to his duties as Catherine descended the stairs.

She got to the point without preamble. "Peter's contacted Joe. He knows about the ledger and that Moreno's a part of it. I have to contact him again when he's ready to act on what I've found.

"It took most of the night, but this book," she held it up from its place on the table before tossing it in the middle, "is a listing of contacts, drop-offs, pickups, amounts and dates."

"For what?" asked Mary, wringing her shawl in her hands.

"Drugs, illegal weapons, and worse," Father answered. "People who make their living by destroying others."

"You mean the Mafia?" That question came from Benny, one of the Helpers invited to the meeting. It had taken Catherine a moment to recognize him without his delivery bike and usual attire.

"This isn't like television," she replied. "Most organized crime groups don't hide behind such large corporations. Some very powerful people are pulling a lot of strings, all at the same time. I still don't know exactly who, but I’m a lot closer than before."

"Where does Vincent fit into this?" asked Pascal, having forsaken the pipe chamber for the moment to attend.

Father blew out a breath of frustration. "These are the people holding him somewhere Above."

"But he's alive," reassured Catherine. "I know he's alive." She nodded to Laura, who started to pass out papers to the others. "This is a listing of sites and buildings mentioned in the ledger, a few others were dug up as well. It's not much, but it's a start."

"This is strictly voluntary. We need people to watch these places, searching for any sign that Vincent could be there," the patriarch told them.

"Before you volunteer," added Catherine, as she saw several faces about to eagerly announce their assistance, "I cannot stress enough how dangerous this is. The men who attacked me, who took Vincent, are playing for keeps. Anyone spotted could be instantly compromised. Nowhere is safe, not even the tunnels, if something goes wrong."

Rebecca took a step forward. She simultaneously signed her words for Laura's behalf as she spoke. "Catherine, Vincent is our friend, our brother. He has protected our home, the children and all of us without complaint, sacrificed so much for so long. Both of you have. We will find him, all of us together." The candle-maker placed a warm hand on her arm. "Right now he needs us; his family and loved ones." Everyone voiced their consent.

Catherine knew they wouldn't back down from the challenge. The bad guys, for lack of a better acronym, wouldn't know what hit them. Father took charge at her approving glance, rolling out some of his maps, giving everyone instructions for their assignments.

***

He observed the creature from the safety of his office, watching one of the many camera screens before him. This was his inner sanctum. He fancied himself as a god looking down on his self-created world and his subjects, ready to strike down what displeased him, or rewarding what he alone deemed worthy.

Right now, this prize he had been given was indeed worthy. The creature was magnificent. Every line, movement, feature spoke of a power beyond most people's imagination. The nails were deceptively beautiful - their strength attested to by the mauled forms of several of his operatives. These had been some of his best men; their punishment for their failure suited him deliciously.

Intelligence radiated from the creature. He knew this instinctively - what else would it be? To have something this powerful and capable of being more than a worthless automaton? The possibilities were endless.

All of his adult life, he had been alone. That was the way he preferred it, actually - most of the people who worked for him didn't even know they did. Most of the ones who did know him, didn't even know his name. It was a precaution - in his business it paid to be ultra-cautious.

His heart was a hard one; it had been molded into that fashion. His father had been cruel and unloving, giving him only capacity for hatred and rage. The blood legacy would die with him. Modern medicine had been a blessing in that regard.

But he still wanted to leave something behind. If not a child, he could still be immortal by his empire. But that empire needed protection; secrecy would not guard it forever.

This creature was a gift. Properly guided, this wondrous, glorious being would protect him and his legacy forever.

It wasn't being obliging, however. He had spoken to his prize on several occasions, offering the creature gifts, even as much as one of his own men for amusement. The thing had totally ignored the frightened man; he himself had executed the associate later for his cowardice. The creature hadn't responded to any of his threats, either. When he had threatened to find the woman and kill her, it had almost responded - he reveled in the stiffening of the creature's body, the taunt muscles tensing from underneath the unique garments it wore, the almost snarl from its lips.

Disappointment reigned, however, when the creature had suddenly closed his eyes and seemed to lose its animalistic charms. A wash of peace seemed to envelop it. It had simply relaxed and ignored him again. Each time he had spoken to it, it was on the verge of what he wanted, and each time, the anger and power had simply vanished as if it had never existed.

He knew it had something to do with the woman. That was maddening as well. No one in his realm disappeared without his knowledge, no one. It was as a sin to a god. To make matters worse, she had reappeared suddenly the next day, and vanished once more. He knew she was still investigating the connection to the lawyer associate he had ordered killed. She was getting help from somewhere, yet all of her contacts - from the deputy DA that had left the hospital - to her physician - hadn't revealed anything useful to him.

Calm remained in his demeanor. There was no reason to lose one's control. He would find the woman, then he would have power over the creature. His interest in the notebook was forgotten - now the woman was the key to controlling his prize. She was the creature's weakness. He would exploit it, bring out its rage and anger, with the woman as the bait. A smile creased his thin lips as he continued to watch the monitor in front of him. Then he could use the creature to his own ends, the sweetest reward of all.

***

The rain came down hard; by all standards it was a bleary New York night. At least, by John Moreno's standards, as he looked out the car window. In the alley behind an abandoned warehouse, he gave a small sigh as he regarded his passenger, who was glaring not at the downpour but at him with the hard cold eyes of a predator.

"She's been difficult to find," the man was saying. "Impossible, really."

"I told you." Not that it mailers, anyway. This whole thing has turned into one long nightmare I can't wake up from. What had he gotten himself into? Where were his ideals, back when he was a fresh Stamford graduate, eager and ready to tackle the world if called upon? Gone, he surmised, gone as well as his morals and passion for justice and the law. He had become what he had once despised - another high-handed bureaucrat paid off to look the other way.

And Cathy Chandler almost paid the price. He still didn't have a clue how she had gotten away from them. His informers had told him precious little, and he wasn't about to start nosing into affairs too deeply. Actually, he was glad she had escaped. The shocked look on her face when he had encountered her on the elevator had haunted him since that night. The anger and barely-controlled rage in her eyes when she had stormed into his office the day after shook him to the marrow of his bones. He knew she had a fierceness to her. That's why she was so good at her job. Too good. Cathy, why did you have to get involved? Why did you insist on keeping that damned thing? That little ledger was going to get them both killed.

His companion gave him a pointed look, expecting another response from him. "Did you check her apartment?"

The man gave an almost silent chuckle, gazing out the front windshield. "Top to bottom. Nothing. Same with her bank box." He looked at the district attorney. "There are other ways."

John swallowed hard. His imagination flashed a half dozen "other ways" in his mind, each more sinister as the last. The district attorney shivered inwardly. If his companion meant what he thought he did, Cathy's friends - even Joe - didn't have a prayer.

Not that it really mattered to him anymore. He was a dead man - he knew it. It was only a matter of time. He looked away, unable to look anymore at the other man's cold stone face. "Just... do what you have to do." And maybe while you're concentrating on that, my friend. I can think of how to clean up this disaster I’ve created.

Shortly thereafter, the passenger left the car and it slowly meandered off. The rain slithered down his trench coat, gathered up closely with gloved hands as if to shield himself. He glanced at the retreating vehicle, gave a small cheerless smile and walked back into the darkness.

The stone-faced associate didn't even notice the patched clothed figure following him in that darkness, with stealth and the quietness of the small animal he had long ago been named for.

***

"Mouse, are you sure?"

Catherine glanced from Father to Mouse. The young man had burst into the patriarch's study just a minute ago, startling them instantly to their feet. Her heart was pounding still. It had instantly did a flip-flop when he had exclaimed, "Found him! Found Vincent!"

"I know what I know," said the tinkerer proudly, scrambling down the stairs from where he was perched. "Not anywhere else. Has to be there."

Father leaned on his cane, about to admonish the younger man when Catherine laid a hand upon the elder, her wordless gesture cutting him off. She found her voice. "Tell us, Mouse. What did you see?"

"Watching building. Two men in car - one tall, one short. Couldn't see tall one, but short one looked scared."

"The short one, was he… somewhat bald?"  Catherine asked, her heart pounding. Her mind went into a tailspin, fear and anticipation for Mouse's answer raging through her.

The tinkerer frowned, confused for a moment. "How'd you know that?"

"Moreno," she breathed, sinking into a high-backed seat. "It had to be." She stared into nothing, her mind stalling for a moment.

"Go on, Mouse!" Father urged, now eager for the rest of the story.

"Tall man got out, car drove away," Mouse continued. "I followed." He saw Father's look of exasperation, so he hurried to continue his narrative. "Man walked to dock, got on small boat. Watched boat head toward island."

The patriarch threw up his free hand. "That doesn't mean anything, Mouse. Vincent could still be anywhere."

"No, he's right," Catherine practically whispered. Both men had to strain to hear her next words, she was practically muttering to herself. "They couldn't just hide him anywhere. They'd have to know I'd crack the code by now." She stood up and walked distractedly over to Father's desk, picking up one of her legal pads, still muttering. "There's one building owned by a subsidiary of Hanover-Norton. It wasn't a warehouse or office building." She shuffled through her notes. "Where did I see this?"

"Catherine?"

She didn't answer Father, her attention solely on the papers in front of her. A moment later, a whispered "yes" filled the silent room. It was only as she looked up that she remembered anyone had been in the chamber with her. "Father. look at this." she requested, moving back over to the elder man. The patriarch quickly settled his glasses over the bridge of his nose. Catherine continued. "This house, it's an old style mansion, really, listed as a historical landmark, but there's precious little information on it.”

Father glanced where Catherine was pointed. "The address is Staten Island."

"Island, island! Told you," Mouse gave his two cents.

Both gave him a passing look as the elder gentleman raised a question. "Was this from the ledger?"

"No. it was on the list of owned buildings that the helpers brought down from the Hall of Records." She looked up at Father who was still not quite convinced.

"Father, it feels right. Don't ask me to explain it. Vincent is there, I know it."

"Told you! Found Vincent, right Catherine?"

"Yes, Mouse," she told him, moving forward to surprise the young man in a bear hug. "You found him all right."

***

It had been a long day. Joe slipped from the elevator on his floor and hurriedly moved toward his door. He looked over his shoulder, but the gentleman who had accompanied him in the elevator didn't follow him into the hallway. You're getting paranoid, Maxwell, he berated himself. Not everyone is a mole for the mob.

His first day back on the job had been pure hell. Not only did he have to pretend to still respect Moreno, he had to keep ignorant of the case. He had still asked Moreno to let him look into Catherine's disappearance. His boss knew him too well; to not ask would have raised suspicion. John had agreed, but asked him to only report to him, not even to Levinson. If Joe hadn't known anything was amiss, that alone would have thrown a flag on the play. In all the years he had been working there, Moreno had never asked him to keep something like this from anyone else in the office.

He worked his locks over, slid into his apartment and leaned against the now closed door. He didn't like this, not one bit. And where the hell was Cathy? Despite the assurances from Dr Alcott, he was still worried. He hoped that she would contact him soon. Anything was better than this sneaking around. You'd better be taking care of yourself, Cathy, he scolded her mentally. The last thing I need to find out is that these guys got to you.

Joe dragged himself into his bathroom. A short shower helped relieve some of the tension between his shoulders. On the way to the kitchen to fix dinner some time later, his doorbell rang. He frowned. He hadn't expected anyone to come by.

His thoughts turned back toward the guy in the suit he had met on the elevator as he went to open the door. He doubted the snoop - if he even was one - would be polite enough to ring the doorbell before breaking and entering.

Opening the door, Joe was slightly startled to see a young woman standing at his door with a grocery bag. He sized her up quickly. She was small, but looked strong and quick. She was dressed quite oddly; the patched sweater and shawl were like something out of medieval times. Her light eyes glanced at him, taking in the sweats and bare feet, sizing him up as well.

She took a quick glance at the closed elevator door, then back at him. "Joe Maxwell?"

"Yeah?" His voice grated. He didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed.

The young woman didn't flinch. "Delivery for you, Mr Maxwell,"

`What the hell' was written all over his face. "I didn't order anything." The elevator doors chose that moment to open, and another suited gentleman got out on the floor. Joe didn't recognize him either, and his heart suddenly throbbed to fill his entire chest. The suit glanced at them. Joe didn't want to take any chances. He went to close the door, but the girl's arm blocked the entryway.

She gave him a pointed stare. "Well, sir, I have the slip here. It was placed earlier today, on the Radcliffe account."

"Radcliffe?" Joe echoed. Then it clicked. That little... "Okay, kid, give it here, what do I owe you?"

He took the bag from her as the girl lit up in a smile. "It's already paid for, Mr Maxwell. Would you like to place your next order with me now?"

For the first time all day, a small smile crossed his face. Leave it to Cathy to find another strange way to contact me. Joe opened the door wider to admit the young woman. "Yeah, I just remembered I need a few things..."

***

"No, absolutely not!"

"I have no other choice, Father," Catherine tried to explain to him. Both of them were still in the study, Jamie just returning from her task at Joe's. Still clutched in her hand was Joe's letter, telling her he would now move on the investigation armed with the information she had sent. "It will only be a matter of time, days probably, that Joe will find the mansion. We have to get Vincent out before then."

"I know, but what you're proposing is suicide! I cannot let you go in there alone!" Father stood up from his desk, leaning on it for support as he faced her. "It is simply too dangerous!" The patriarch took a breath, continuing with a softer tone before Catherine could interject. "You were the one they were after. You need to stay here, where it's safe."

"I cannot not allow anyone else from this community to jeopardize their safety, Father. It's my fault this happened in the first place." Catherine's face crumbled; on the verge of tears as she sank into a chair.

Father's own expression took on a note of compassion. "We forgive you, Catherine. You had no idea. You were doing a favor for a friend." He walked over to where she was, pulling another chair over to sit beside her. "Vincent would not want you to blame yourself. You have tried everything to find him. Now is not the time to do something reckless. I want him back as much as you do. We will find another way."

Catherine would not be consoled. She sprang up from her chair. "I told you once that Vincent was my life. He is. It doesn't matter whether it's a mansion of mobsters, or a mental breakdown in the Catacombs. Where he is, I follow." She pointed to her heart. "I feel him, Father. Maybe not as strong, but he's there, in my soul. And I know he's in trouble. I can sense it. We have to get him out now. He needs me."

She had made her way to the stairs leading out of the study when they both heard a new voice.

"Sounds like you need help." To her astonishment, Isaac Stubbs entered the chamber, glancing around the room quickly before settling his brown eyes back at her.

She was speechless for a moment. "Isaac, what - I mean... how?"

He gave a short laugh as he walked further into the chamber. "I got invited. Believe me, I wasn't too sure any of this was real." He gave another good look, taking in all the books and knickknacks that made up Father's home. "Quite an interesting place you've got here, bet the rent is a bargain, too."

Still dumbfounded, Catherine glanced at Father as he rose from his seat to greet his guest. When she didn't see a similar surprised look on his face, everything clicked. "You arranged this."

"Guilty as charged," Father replied. "I knew you would demand on marching into that den of thieves and I remembered Vincent telling me about your teacher. So, I found him."

"You went Above yourself'?" The older man nodded. She glanced back at Isaac. "I can't ask you to do this. These people -"

"Hey, what am I always telling you? Friends do for each other, Cath. He's right, you can't go in there alone. Someone's gotta watch your back. If we're gonna get your Vincent out, it has to be by surprise and it has to be fast." He came down the stairs, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I didn't come all the way down here to turn back now. I'm coming with you." Catherine gave him a tight smile, nodding her consent.

As word spread of Catherine's plan, Father's study tilled up fast with tunnel members and helpers alike. The patriarch, Mouse and several others were gathered around the desk pouring over maps of both Above and Below. Catherine was systematically going over her notes with Jamie's help, double-checking facts and contacts from the ledger. The children had been put to bed hours ago, but Kipper and Zach were still up, unable to sleep and ready to help where they could. Samantha had fallen asleep in an oversized chair, undisturbed by the quiet rumble in the chamber. And watching it all stood Isaac, still a stranger, yet accepted by all those around him.

He stood fairly close to Catherine, who was gathering a few more papers together. "Tomorrow morning, regardless, this has to be given to Joe Maxwell," she was telling a helper. "It documents everything in the ledger that l didn't include in my first package, and the information from the Hall of Records and the Bennett Record Library. His eyes only; if he's not there, wait for him."

"I will, Catherine," the woman promised.

"Catherine? Isaac? We found a route," called Father. The two came over to the desk to take a glance. He pointed at the sketch with his glasses. "Here. There's an old heating system right below the place. Mouse will guide you there. After that, though, you're on your own." He glanced back up at the woman. "Are you sure about this? We can get more men, maybe -"

"No, Father," Catherine told him, shaking her head. Her expression was unyielding with determination. "Isaac's right, we need the element of surprise. I can find him, I know I can." The patriarch nodded grimly.

The group went out into the tunnels, accompanying them as far as the Long Reach. Mouse headed the pack, his flashlight helmet glaring at the tunnel walls. Jamie took point, armed with her crossbow. She was to be second guard at the tunnel entrance, to cover their escape once they found Vincent.

Father pulled Catherine aside for a moment as Isaac adjusted the pack he was carrying. "I want you to have this," he told her, giving the woman a small package from a hidden pocket. She accepted it from him, slowly pulling it open from its cloth wrapping. She gasped as her eyes beheld a gun, the same one she had obtained for him months ago.

"This was your gun," he told her solemnly. "You brought this gun to us." Sheltering her from anyone who might be looking, he lowered his voice to the smallest whisper. “It was during a time of great danger in our world." She glanced up at him in shock as he waited for a moment to collect himself. "But now the danger is Above."

"Thank you." There was nothing else she could say. She tucked the weapon securely in her jeans, hidden from the black leather jacket she wore. She risked another glance at him. Despite all the conflicts they had gone through over the years, she loved this man fiercely. "I'll bring him home."

"Take great care," he told her, gathering her to him in an embrace. When they parted, he placed a fatherly kiss on her forehead, just as he would for the son she loved so well. "1 should be going with you."

"You are." she told him. Her gaze wandered from him to the others for a moment, then she turned toward her fellow travelers, anxious to begin her journey.

***

"She is dead.-

Vincent's mind whirled at the sound of the man's voice. The past days had tried his inner strength beyond his limit with this man's taunting. It had taken every ounce of strength, and then some, to keep his inner balance - to keep the madness away. Vincent didn't know how much longer he could hold on to his fragile sanity. He had to continue, that he knew. His very life depended on it.

Thank the Fates for Catherine. Every time he had felt his psyche slipping, he had reached out to her through their connection. The first time had been instinctive, the action unconsciously made. The reaction from Catherine had been deliberate however - instantly all her love had surrounded him, bolstering and giving him the strength to continue. It was almost shocking to feel the vastness of her emotions compiled in this way, but again and again Vincent had reached out to it, knowing this new source was within his grasp. There was no feeling of remorse from him, much to his surprise. He would have felt shame in any other situation for using Catherine in this way, but he knew she would not think the same. She gave herself to him freely. He knew he was not strong enough alone right now.

"I found her, she can no longer help you."

He felt like laughing despite the horrible predicament he was in. Vincent knew this man was lying. To even attempt to lie to him about Catherine's death was absurd. If only you knew, he thought. He ignored the voice and closed his eyes, consciously reaching out to her.

The woman's proximity to him startled Vincent for a moment, almost causing him to open his eyes. He struggled for a moment against calling out, to give any sign to his captor, his fear and joy both filling him at knowing she was at last coming for him. He could tell she wasn't alone either. His fear for her safety won out for a moment, Be careful, Catherine, he mentally told her. Take the greatest care.

An inward sigh passed through him, gathering what strength he had left. It was now up to him to distract the man until Catherine could get to his prison. Opening his eyes once more to the harsh lights and electrified bars of the cage, Vincent stood up, the chains that bound him rattling until he regarded the video camera with his full attention for the first time.

"No."

There was a pause. No doubt the man was reeling at Vincent's one-word reply. He continued. "You are lying."

The other recovered quickly. "And what makes you so sure that I am lying?"

Vincent gave the camera a snort, then turned away. "Because you are desperate."

That statement obviously goaded Vincent's captor, a cold anger filling the sound of his voice. "You will join me or die."

Vincent straightened himself to his fullest height as best he could. "Never." He turned to the camera once more. "You will never find her. She is not dead, not while I breathe."

A similar snort came from the camera. "How would you know that?"

"I know. She cannot die, not without my knowledge. We are connected, and nothing you do can ever tear that bond apart." He gave the camera lens the most deadliest stare imaginable. "You can taunt me, even kill me, yet I will not die. As she lives, I live. You have failed."

The silence that filled the room pricked Vincent's skin. He had succeeded at distracting his abductor, while Catherine continued her journey to him, but he was unsure at what cost to his own safety. He had his answer a moment later when a bright bolt of electric pain lashed through Vincent, driving him suddenly to his knees. The agony of the electric shock continued like knives of torture throughout his taxed body, driving a forced cat-like scream out of him.

Over the pain, he heard the voice again, dripping in hatred "You are mine. Join me or die. And she will never find you."

Another stab of shock punched through his chains, making Vincent double over in agony. Despite the pain, he managed to look up at the camera once more.

"Catherine … find me. She …. will."

Already he could feel her, reaching out to him, knowing he was in pain. He fought against a second scream, trying desperately to shun her from his own torment. A memory surfaced then, and he mentally grasped hold of it as tightly as he could. His voice wavered with each new bolt of pain, but he held fast, reciting the memorized poem in defiance

"Though they go mad they shall be sane,"

Another shock lashed through him.

"Though – they - sink to the sea, they shall rise - again,"

The agony filling him was intense, but still Vincent held on.

"Though lovers - be lost, love shall - not:"

The last line rumbled through his winded chest and he roared the last words in contempt.

"And death shall have no dominion!"

With that last cry taking the last of his strength, Vincent fell to the floor in unconsciousness.

They were nearly there, when Catherine suddenly collapsed in intense pain. She fell to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut as a distant yet excruciating pain racked her entire body.

Her three companions instantly surrounded her. "Catherine," Jamie called to her. "What's wrong?"

Catherine couldn't speak for a moment as she tried to figure out the answer. Isaac was searching the tunnels with his eyes, wary of anything. "Vincent," she whispered to them. She held onto Jamie's arm for support. "He's - in pain," she told them.

"Not good," said Mouse. "Need to go back."

"No," said Catherine, starting to recover. "It's not me, Mouse. It's Vincent. He's hurt." She opened her eyes. "We have to keep going." She knew Vincent was shielding her the best he could from his suffering. A feeling of fierce anger lashed through her. If I get my hands on the person who is doing this to him...

Isaac helped Catherine up from where she had fallen. "You all right?"

She shrugged. "Our connection, the bond between Vincent and I. Do you remember what I said before?" Her dark skinned friend nodded. "It's stronger with him than me; but I know when he's in trouble," Catherine told him as all four started down the tunnel once more. "He once said that my pain was his pain. Well, I just found out that his pain - is mine as well."

Isaac shook his head. "That's incredible, like something out of a fantasy story."

Shaking her head, she held onto her former teacher's arm as another wave of pain engulfed her. "I learned long ago that truth is indeed stranger than fiction."

They again traveled in silence for a time, making the best time they could to their destination. Behind Mouse with Jamie taking up the rear, Catherine lightly held onto Isaac's arm, thankful that her friend and mentor was with her. She stopped for a moment when she felt a loss of feeling from Vincent, but when she saw Jamie's worried face, she shook her head and went on. The bond was still there - he wasn't dead, only unconscious. There was no point in worrying her friends any further.

They reached the entrance point underneath the mansion. Catherine glanced at the raised grate leading into the old system. Then she met Isaac's glance at her.

"Now what?" he asked her.

"Time for Mouse," the tinkerer replied instead, disappearing into the grate before Catherine could stop him.

"I thought he was going to cut off their electricity after we were inside," Catherine said to Jamie.

"He is, but you'd better hurry. You won't have that much time," Jamie replied. Holding the grate door open, the young woman gave Catherine a grim nod. "Good luck."

Isaac hoisted Catherine into the grate then scrambled in after her. With the door closed, she could barely see. The air was musty, the space tight, and she was sure she detected more than a few old cobwebs. She took a breath of courage, giving a silent prayer, then moved ahead, her teacher following her lead. They crawled as quickly as they could up the passageway. Several times both of them had to use their feet and hands to maneuver themselves up a shaft into a higher level of pipe. She heard Isaac accidentally slam his head more than once emerging from the shafts, then a muttered curse. They didn't stop until they reached a fork in the system. Two different paths beheld them - one led to her beloved, one did not.

Nov it was up to her. Catherine focused on the bond to Vincent, trying to find her way to him. He was awake once more, groggy, still feeling some residual discomfort from his injury. He was weak; she knew that, but his presence was stronger. Then she felt it, a pull leading her in one direction. It wasn't just her, she knew Vincent was guiding her somehow. She glanced back at Isaac, giving a nod toward the left pipe.

"This way," she told him, as she crawled into the chosen tunnelway.

Vincent kept his eyes closed and kept an inner ear tuned to Catherine's movements. He had no idea how he was leading her toward him, only that he was. The connection between them was stronger in her now, and he wondered at that. Had it grown while she had cared for him during his recovery, and he was just noticing it now? Or did the seriousness of the situation heighten her conscious perception of it, as it had happened before? He didn't have an answer, either seemed a logical conclusion. However it had happened, he was truly grateful, even though it meant she was now in terrible danger attempting to rescue him.

It hurt to move. He was still on the floor of his prison where he had awakened a few moments before. His arms and legs still ached from the electrical discharge he had absorbed. He could smell the charred remains of his shirt cuffs and arm wraps. He could equally feel the burns on his wrists. He stayed where he was, trying not to give any clue to his awakening to anyone who might be watching. Not that he could move much anyway.

The silence filled the room. Either the man who had been speaking to him had left, or was just watching him in silence. There was no way to tell. Still, Vincent didn't want to move, dreading another round of torment. His entire body ached, the position he was in was not the most conductive. He didn’t think he could stand another round, nor did he want Catherine to endure more of his pain. She had enough to worry about. Silently he prayed they both got through this.

He watched the creature once more from the security screen. It hadn't moved since he had punished it for daring to rebuke him. He was surprised; he had seen men die with fewer afflictions from him, yet this creature, in the greatest pain, still managed to defy him. On the other side of the desk stood one of his most trusted associates. The assistant waited patiently for him. That was something he did frequently - the man would not be hurried for a conversation with a mere underling, no matter how worthy of his presence he was.

Finally, the man spoke. "I thought he was a gift. My gift to mold, to shape into the perfect warrior." He looked away from the monitor, sitting back in his leather chair, staring into space, contemplating. His fingers rested on each other into an arch as he spoke. "It has so much potential, so much to offer, and yet refuses to see it. Such a waste." He looked up at the other man in the room. "I wanted to give it life, meaning." He swerved in his chair until his back was completely turned to the assistant, as if dismissing a servant. "Kill it."

"Yes sir," was the expected reply. The aide turned to leave and carry out his instructions when the lights and monitors went out. The aide froze, the other rising to his feet.

"She's here." The aide didn't ask to whom he was referring, much to his credit, but he supplied him with the information anyway. "The woman. She's come for the creature." He managed to maneuver himself around his desk. "Put everyone on alert. She must not be allowed to leave." The other man nodded and quickly left to his task.

He knew the generator would return the power in a few moments but he wasn't going to wait for it. He left his office, determined to make sure the woman didn't continue interfering with his plans. Perhaps with her out of the way, he could finally begin to control his possession.

***

Catherine and Isaac silently moved through the lush corridor of the mansion. They were in a furnished part of the basement, having exited the crawlway in some supply room. They crouched near a doorway, trying not to be seen by the two gun-toting men in suits standing at attention. Catherine hid behind a plant, Isaac behind her. This was as close as she dared for now. Her companion tapped her on the shoulder until she glanced up at him. Isaac's eyes questioned silently, the woman nodding in the affirmative. Vincent was behind those doors, she was sure of it. All they had to do was find a way to distract the men and get inside.

Without warning, the lights went out. Way to go, Mouse, she thought, glad that the mop-haired young man was on her side. Both Isaac and herself stayed absolutely still as the two men began to talk to each other.

"What the hell?" said one.

"Fuse must've blown," said the other.

"Oh, really, you think?"

"We better see what's causing it, before 'he' gets mad."

The first man wasn't budging. "We're supposed to be guarding this door."

"No one's gone in there for days. Whatever is in there ain't gonna bust through because the lights went out." The second one began to move down the hallway. "Fine, you stay. I’ll find out what's going on." The first one grumbled but let the other one go.

That left one remaining guard. In the dark, Catherine and Isaac had the advantage, even if the sentry had a gun. They silently moved toward the door. She was almost before the guard when he turned in her direction. "That you, Baker?" He didn't get an answer, just a left hook from Isaac that left the guard sprawling onto the floor unconscious with a soft thud.

She tried her hand at the door, but it was locked. Isaac fumbled around the guard's pockets for a minute and presented the keys. She tried a few and got the door unlocked on the third try. It swung open at her command, both quickly stepping inside.

Isaac produced a flashlight from his pack and quickly scanned the room. It was barren and sparse but she detected a steel cage of some sort across From them in the corner. In the center lay a recognizable figure face down.

"Vincent!" she hissed, all other thoughts instantly erased from her mind. She bounded over to the prison cell, her fears for him momentarily stunning her. He wasn't moving. "Vincent," she called again, feverishly trying the remaining keys to open the barred entrance. Isaac shone the flashlight on her work, returning the focus to their goal once she got the door open.

Kneeling down next to him, her heart tore in two when she saw the ruins of his shirt and wrist wraps. She held one slack manacled hand in her own, brushing back his hair with the other. "My God, Vincent, what did they do to you?"

At hearing her voice, Vincent slightly lifted his head. His voice wavered as he murmured  "Catherine..." and leaned into the palm of the hand caressing his tired face. Tears threatened to overtake her; she had only heard his voice so weakened the night he had first spoken her name after he had awakened from his coma. She gave an inarticulate cry then, wrapping an arm around him, trying to physically give him her strength.

Isaac bent down next to Catherine. "We have to get moving fast, Cathy. It won't be long until they have power back."

She sat up as Vincent turned to the stranger, fear in his eyes. "It's all right, Vincent. This is Isaac. My friend."

Recognition flared briefly as Catherine removed one of his bonds. They were electrically sealed - their removal was accomplished in record time. Getting Vincent to his feet took more precious seconds. Once his considerable weight was equally balanced between his rescuers, they had him out of the cage quickly.

They had managed to maneuver Vincent into the corridor when the power came back on. Vincent groaned at the sight of the bright florescent illumination.

"Hurry," whispered Isaac as both guided him the way they had come. Catherine kept one ear open to any sound of pursuit. When she heard footfalls behind and above them, she helped Vincent lean up against the wall behind a stairwell.

"Wait here," Isaac told her as he moved ahead to hide.

Vincent tensed, but he was in no condition to offer assistance. Catherine placed a reassuring hand on his chest to calm him. A guard sauntered down the stairs and instantly into Isaac's ambush. The darker-skinned man elbowed him in the back, then used the momentum to backhand the other's face when he turned. The suited man countered quickly; it was obvious he was trained but Isaac was determined. He managed to block the lighter man's blow, using his weight to slam his adversary against the wall.

Another guard came down the stairs. This time Catherine was ready. She kicked the man in the shin before he could see her, blocked a blow to her head and brought her right around to slam against his ear. She then turned into him, just what he wasn't expecting, elbowed him hard in the ribs. He grabbed a hold of her, trying to wrench her out of her attack. She was ready for that. Sensing her attacker was off balance, she actually raised the heavier man onto her hip and threw him off of her. He crashed into the stairwell, knocked unconscious.

Isaac's assailant was equally knocked out, slightly bleeding from the mouth. He looked admiringly at her own handiwork. "You pass."

"Nice," was her muttered answer, giving her instructor a mock annoying look as both settled a semi-conscious Vincent between them. "Come on, the tunnelway isn't that far now."

They reached their exit in the supply room a few minutes later. Catherine and Isaac maneuvered a crate underneath the high grate to help Vincent into the entrance. They gathered up their injured companion again and moved toward their exit when they heard a voice behind them, cold and sinister.

"Stop."

All three tensed, halting their steps. Vincent growled, but it was so weak that Catherine only felt its vibration from where one hand supported him. All three turned to see a tall wiry man dressed in a white suit brandishing a gun. He would have looked incongruous to the environment if it hadn't been for the stone hard look of controlled rage in his dark eyes. His face of icy heartlessness gave Catherine a sudden chill. It was obvious by Vincent's reaction that this was his tormentor and the mastermind of the organization that had tried to hunt her down.

He gave a cheerless smile as his steely gaze settled on Catherine. She thought he might hand her some cold comment, but he remained silent, giving her a full perusal. His eyes traced her body as one might scrutinize a prize sculpture up for auction. Catherine's heart lurched into her throat, a wave of nausea slamming through her. Beside her, Vincent's growl grew in intensity, deeper in his throat, stayed only by Catherine's hand on his back. The man completely ignored Isaac as he finally spoke, his voice betraying the barest hint of fury in its calm.

"The creature is mine."

Red-hot anger almost got the best of her. Catherine practically spat out, her own voice low and menacing, "His name is Vincent. I am taking him home."

His gaze shifted from her beloved back to her. The man looked at the woman as if she was beneath him.

"You have no idea who I am, Ms Chandler. No idea at all." He took a few steps toward the trio, until he reached her. The sick knot in her stomach tightened as he lightly grasped her chin with his cold fingers. "So beautiful, so unaware," he said, as if he alone could decree fate. "Your sacrifice will not be in vain."

He would have said more if it hadn't been for Vincent. As the man regarded her, Vincent froze, stirred by his tormentor's possessive gaze of Catherine. When the man grasped her chin, his harsh, cold words practically spat in her direction, they nearly undid him. Isaac jumped back as Vincent took a halting step toward their captor, his continuing growl erupting into a full snarl, the sharp and deadly incisors now exposed.

The man, now just seeing Vincent's fury focused on him, realizing he had no protection from an attack, stepped back. That was all the distraction Isaac needed. Mostly ignored during the exchange, he had no problem kicking the gun out of the surprised man's hand. Isaac took the offensive, struggling with the other man as Vincent, spent, sagged to his knees.

Catherine kicked their captor's gun away from where it had fallen at her feet, reached for her own gun still tucked in her jeans, and tired one shot into the air. Both men stopped in their tracks; Vincent looked up in surprise. She leveled the gun at the man in white.

"Isaac, get Vincent into the passage."

The dark-skinned man and Vincent both tried to protest. "Cathy!"  "Catherine!-"

"GO!" shouted Catherine, calm eyes leveling onto her target. Seeing the look of fierce determination in her eyes, Isaac had no choice but to haul an objecting but exhausted Vincent to his feet and guide him into the grate, disappearing behind him.

She didn't relinquish her watchful eyes from the man before her. He returned the stare, face hard as stone, but his eyes betraying his barely controlled rage. He regarded the small gun she held as if it were merely a toy.

"It doesn't matter, Ms Chandler," he told her, a sneer crossing his hard features. "No matter where you take it, I will find the creature again. I will possess it again."

Her eyes narrowed as the man in white spoke. He really believes that, she thought, her mind spinning in a maddening anger she had never felt before. Catherine felt as if she were in a trace, as if time itself were slowing down in front of her. She sensed its wheel turning before her feet waiting for her to act. Catherine saw the sneer in the man's face. The stillness of the air prickled her skin as she cocked back the safety from her weapon. Nothing moved; she only saw the contempt leave his face as she leveled the gun more securely at him.

"Never," she told him, her voice low and still, her silver-green eyes dancing in rage. "He is my life." He had no time to lunge at her, unable to stop her as she fired one shot point blank at him.

The bullet was dead on, piercing him in the heart. Crimson blood oozed from the wound, as he slumped to the ground. His face had registered a final look of surprise; his now vacant eyes - still open - staring up at her. She stared back, holding her breath, unable to move or to think. She still held the gun pointed at the body, not registering for a moment that he was indeed dead, that she was the one who had killed him.

Finally lowering the weapon, she recoiled, as if sprung from a spell of utter madness. What had she done? Had she just killed a man in cold blood?

No, she told herself, the shock of her deed keeping her rooted to the spot. I did it for Vincent, to protect him. What she had done was no more than Vincent had done for her, countless times in the past. She had seen Vincent at his worst, the times he had come for her, sensing her fear, his sheer madness in the cavern below the Catacombs, even his rage in the garage where he had been taken. She accepted that, loved him all the more. It was part of who he was; she wouldn't change that even if given the chance.

Yet all of those times be had protected her - from those who mean her harm, even from himself in instances. Now it was Vincent who needed her protection, needed her to keep him safe. She understood now, truly understood the rage she had seen in Vincent's eyes, as he had roared to her rescue countless times. She had felt it in herself, filling her until there was nothing left but her determination to shield her beloved from all that would harm him. It didn't make it any easier to live with. But it had been necessary.

Suddenly realizing that others might have heard the gunshots, she quickly scrambled over to the entrance, kicking aside the empty crate, tucking the smoking gun back into its place in her jeans as she pulled herself up into the opening, securing it behind her and vanished into the darkness.

Opening the grate, both Mouse and Jamie struggled to help Vincent from the entrance. Isaac followed, then closed the grate. As the two younger adults settled Vincent into a sitting position, Isaac found a rudimentary first aid kit from his pack and began to administer to Vincent's wounds as best he could. Mouse worried over the two as Jamie glanced back at the gate.

"Where's Catherine?" she asked.

"She stayed behind," the dark-skinned man told her.

"Getting Catherine back," decreed Mouse, starting for the entrance but stayed by Isaac's strong grip on his arm.

"She has to do this on her own," he told him, turning from the tinkerer to Vincent, who looked at him, fear and exhaustion warring on his unique face.

The injured man nodded, understanding his new friend's words. He felt the smoldering anger in Catherine through their connection, had felt it from the moment she had produced the gun in the supply room. It had confused him at first, then as he realized the feelings were indeed coming from Catherine, surprise and shock. Vincent had known Catherine's anger before, even had been the target of it on occasion. Yet in all the time he had known her, he had never felt such intense rage from her. What he felt from her at this moment, he had felt in himself when lost in madness, when stirred to protect her or his family. Those feelings he had always associated with himself as too different to be human, were now coursing through the woman be loved.

A moment passed as the four of them waited. Then Vincent sensed a release of her fury, followed by shock and horror. He gave the barest struggle; he was simply too weakened to rush to her. He moaned, closed his eyes and leaned against the tunnel wall. He knew these sensations well; every time he had killed they had filled him. The shock of seeing the carnage his madness inspired, the horror of blood on his hands when he bad emerged from that darkness, all those emotions he could sense now in Catherine.

His mind was reeling with jumbled thoughts, the implications of what had just occurred were too much to bear right now. When he could rest, recover from his ordeal, he could look on these new developments with a clear mind. He opened his eyes to see Isaac still attempting to care for his burns. Mouse fretted and Jamie fingered her crossbow nervously. Isaac looked up at him as Vincent placed his right hand on Isaac's to stall the teacher's tending. She was safe; Catherine was coming back.

He sensed her movements long before anyone heard Catherine's exit through the disused pipes. When she suddenly emerged from the grate, both Mouse and Jamie excitedly rushed to help her down. Vincent looked worriedly into her haggard face. What he saw in her eyes astonished him. What he saw were a myriad of emotions - shock, shame and remorse, all warred within her silver-green eyes. When she looked back at him, part of her expression changed. Her love for him, more intense than ever before overtook her features, softening her troubled visage. He felt all of this within her as well as they exchanged glances; her fear for him, her guilt and determination flowing almost visibly to him. In that instant, Vincent knew what she had done in the name of love. And why.

Isaac and Mouse helped Vincent up from the floor as Jamie gave Catherine a quick hug. "What happened?" The younger woman asked her. Catherine said nothing, only gave Isaac a glance. He didn't reply either, letting her silence say it all.

Still, Vincent had to hear confirmation. As Catherine moved to take Mouse's place at his side, he whispered, “The… man?”

She looked directly into his eyes, but everyone heard her low, still voice, so different from her normal well-mannered speech. "Let's just say he won't be bothering us again.” There was no need to say anything more.

The trip back was uneventful. Upon seeing his son burned and exhausted, Father said nothing, giving him a grateful hug and kiss. All the rest was a blur to Vincent. Once in his welcomed chamber, the patriarch swiftly treated his injuries, assisted by Catherine. Then he knew no more, as slumber cast its healing spell upon him, sweet in the comfort of family, home and cherished love.

Long after Vincent had fallen asleep, Catherine remained at his side, absently smoothing away the strands of fire blond hair from his now peaceful face. Father also remained, quietly replacing his profession's tools from his doctor's bag. The older man kept a close watch on Catherine, who only had eyes for Vincent. She stayed there a few minutes longer, tucking in the folds of the blankets around him, then slowly, so as not to disturb him, rose from the bed.

Father picked up his bag as she made her way to him. "He'll sleep now, probably for the better part of a day," he told her. She nodded, but it was clear she wasn't listening. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the familiar cot behind her. "I thought you'd want to stay near." She looked back at him gratefully for a moment, still not saying a word.

Her hand drifted over the writing table, finally resting on Samantha's gift to Vincent - the leather-bound copy of Jane Eyre. As Catherine fingered the binding, all of her emotions from the past horrifying hours came crashing down on her, along with the repressed feelings of the last few days. Silent as stone, the tears she refused to shed before came pouring out, unable to hold back the tide any longer. The woman stood transfixed to the spot, unable to move. Father, to his credit, said nothing, merely wrapping Catherine in a tender parental embrace, his own heart breaking at her torment, as Vincent slept on, oblivious to all around him.

Vincent's eyes opened upon his chamber. He blinked twice, not believing he was actually here, safe in his home once more. A feeling of déjà-vu encompassed him.

He had dreamed. Actually, as he contemplated the muted light coming through his stained glass inset, it had been a memory. He had seen himself in the cavern, beyond the Catacombs, where he had gone when his madness had overwhelmed him that last time. But he hadn't been alone. Vincent remembered the last possible moment, when her cry had reached his mind, his soul, and he had recognized her.

One memory suddenly brought back others and he instantly raised himself on his elbows, muscles protesting. "Catherine?" Nothing. His heart leaped into his throat. "Catherine? Catherine!!"

Instantly, she was awake, tearing herself from the cot where she had drifted off. "Shh, it's all right, Vincent, I'm here. I'm here. Shh..." He relaxed, let her gently push him back onto the pillows as she sat by his side, One slender hand drew back his mane from one temple, easing away the lingering tension there.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting her gentle touch soothe him. A heartfelt sigh passed his lips and he reopened his eyes to see her soft green eyes gaze into his own. Lost in the depths of the love he found there, he whispered, "I knew you'd come for me." She said nothing, continuing her caress with a small smile. A moment passed by, before he spoke again wishfully. "Tell me it was a dream."

Catherine sighed, shifting from her position on his bed, moving her hand away to rest on his own bandaged hand. "It wasn't a dream," she told him, the sad note in her voice reaching him through their connection.

Turning his hand to grasp hers, Vincent's voice caught with emotion as he whispered. "What you did -

"I did what had to be done," she told him simply. Their gazes caught for a moment, then she continued. "You are everything to me. I would do anything... anything." His heart constricted in love and grief, as Catherine's eyes brimmed with tears. "I almost lost you - twice."

What can I say to her? Vincent thought. He knew the turmoil she was going through all too well. How many times had their roles been reversed, when he had been the one to come to her, to rescue her from the evils Above - or Below - that tried to claim her. He had lost count of the times he had comforted her in sorrow, loss or pain. And he would also sacrifice anything - even his sanity - to keep her safe.

Suddenly, Catherine straightened. "Oh! I almost forgot." She reached underneath her sweater quickly and pulled out a familiar leather pouch. Vincent lay speechless as she opened it to reveal her mother's rose, still safe and unbroken inside its nest. He had thought it lost forever. "You dropped this," Catherine told him. She placed the rose back inside the pouch, then placed it into his open hand.

Moved beyond words, Vincent did the only thing he could do in response. He opened his arms to her and she went to him gladly. As she curled up beside him, he embraced her tenderly. As they both drifted off to sleep again, Vincent felt a sense of peace and love wash gently over them both. They were whole again.

Epilogue

A few days later, Catherine walked into the DA's office again, leaving behind the barrage of photographers and reporters being held by police outside the office doors. It was early morning and the department was already bustling with clerks and lawyers. Taking a quick look around, she spotted Rita's form bent over what looked like quite a full file pulled from computer records. Joe was nowhere in sight. She took a breath and joined the fray, squeezing through several people in an effort to reach her desk.

She had managed to put clown her briefcase and hang her trench coat on the coat rack when she saw Joe walk into the office, a trail of what looked like federal agents, police detectives and a few uniformed cops behind him. They headed directly toward the executive section of the office. She followed.

One agent passed by the protesting secretary and straight into Moreno's office. Several joined him, and she heard one say in a loud booming voice "Mr John Moreno, come with us. You're under arrest."

A few minutes later, the district attorney was led out in handcuffs; head hung in shame and surrounded by police. Everything in the office stopped as the entire department's denizens watched in amazement.

John lifted his head as he passed by Catherine. The morose look on the small man's face would have moved a more sympathetic being. It took everything she had to control the desire to slap him as he was escorted from the office. She held his gaze for a moment, her smoldering anger flashing in her green eyes. Then he was gone, tossed into the sea of the shouting press waiting impatiently outside.

"Cathy." She turned as Joe came up beside her, enveloping her in a welcomed hug. She returned the embrace gratefully before pulling away to look at her friend's almost healed face. "Am I glad to see you," he added. “You have no idea how worried I was."

Not half as worried as I've been, she told him mentally. She had only left the tunnels late last night, after Vincent had fallen asleep. He had almost completely healed in two days, much to everyone's surprise.

Her friend was still talking. "It's a shame. He was a good man. At least, I thought he was." They turned, Joe gently herding her back to his office. "Did you know the ringleader was killed?"

Catherine hoped she looked surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. One gunshot, point blank in the heart. No leads, can't even find the murder weapon."

Catherine said nothing. When she had bought the gun months ago for Father, she had used less than legal means to do so. She knew that if the weapon were ever found, it would raise more questions she couldn't answer. Father didn't want it the tunnels again either. So, one of the first things she had done after bringing Vincent home was toss the damn thing into the Abyss.

Walking into his office behind her friend, Catherine closed the door, as Joe propped himself on the edge of his desk. She took a position on the armrest of the faux leather couch. "Who was he?"

"The Feds are still trying to figure that one out. Seems the guy went through a lot of trouble making identifying him damn near impossible. We do know he was a silent partner at Hanover-Norton. This whole thing is a mess."

She nodded agreement.

He regarded her for a minute. "And how are you? Really?"

"I'm okay, Joe. Really."

"Come on, Radcliffe," he told her, his voice taking on a sincerity she knew lay beneath that cynical facade of his. "You go MIA for weeks, come back and get tangled in this web of organized psychos and you're missing again. It's not like you to hide. There's more going on here than just this case."

She sighed, looked away from him. She had a feeling he was going to ask. Dammit, I might as well, she thought. I owe the man some sort of explanation.

Taking a cleansing breath, she began, still not able to look at him. "There are parts of my life I keep private."

Her friend crossed his arms. "I had a feeling." That much was obvious. "There's someone in my life that... I care very deeply for, Joe. Someone that I love."

Joe's face was a cross between happiness for her and surprise. "Oh... well, that's great, Radcliffe.” 'What the hell is she telling me this for?' registered in his eyes as she took a quick glance at him. But there was a true smile on his face when she looked up, which gave her the strength to continue.

"He's been- going through a difficult time lately." She felt the familiar knot rise in her throat. Is that the understatement of the year.

"What's the problem?"

Catherine looked down once more. "He hasn't been well. I almost lost him."

"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't know." She fought back the tears. "I've been praying," she said, looking up at him with a tearful smile.

He held her gaze with a smile as well. "I'm glad you told me this."

His sincerity for her made Catherine relax since starting this conversation. "Me too." She smiled a little more. "You have a heart like his." It was clear that Joe hadn't expected that, but he accepted it.

Joe pulled himself from his desk, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She placed her own hand over it, grateful to him for his acceptance. Who knows, she thought. Maybe someday...

Giving herself a moment to put herself in order, she took the Kleenex Joe offered her, dabbing her now puffy eyes. She stood from her perch, smiled thanks and was headed out the door when Joe spoke again.

"What's his name?"

She knew he wasn't expecting an answer but she gave it to him anyway. "Vincent." At that moment, her voice softened, and his name drifted from her lips like spun sugar. She looked up at him again, saw the recognition in Joe's eyes. Catherine then walked out of the office, hope once more surging in her heart.

***

Stepping from the bathroom in her apartment, Catherine placed her brush on the nightstand, fluffed out her still slightly damp hair, and opened the French doors to the balcony. Dressed in a summer silk nightgown and matching kimono robe, she rested her hands on the ledge and contemplated the city beyond.

It was peaceful tonight, more peaceful than she had seen it in a long time. Looking inward, she thought that maybe the restful calm floating in her own heart could be the cause.

She was at peace. Granted, there were still worries. Her job was still the same, the frenetic pace that she led in the office couldn't be placed on hold. Even though Moreno was gone, there were still plenty of others to take his place. Levinson was to take over the administrative duties until the election in November. Even so, she knew she'd be working a lot of extra hours these next few weeks. And she was still concerned over Vincent's full recovery - although the physical wounds had healed quickly, both her and Father had voiced their worries that his nightmares might return. The mental anguish Vincent had suffered from the man he had named 'Gabriel' - why she had no idea - had been considerable.

But the fact that Vincent was talking about it, gave her great comfort. In the past, he had tried to shield her from what he considered his own personal demons. It was a rift between them, one she had fought against time and time again. But something had changed. It had changed that dark moment in the cavern, when she had called him back to her, reinforced when she had rescued him.

It was more than just their connection. As she looked out over the city, she quickly went through all of the events of the past few weeks. There was an understanding between them now. She understood him better; the balance between his intellectual self and his more baser, instinctual side. She had fought that herself, in the basement of that horrific mansion. She knew some of the demons he faced because she had stared them down only a few days ago. And she knew that more evils would rise up against them, it was inevitable in this world and in the one Below. Only now they would face them together.

There was something else. In the past, Vincent had always held her a little farther than she would have liked. Oh, not in the embraces they shared or in the bond between them. It was as though he was preparing himself in the event they would be parted. He had even tried to separate himself from her during the Spirko crisis. Not since the cavern, though. Although he still would not instigate a kiss, he had accepted a closeness between them he had not allowed before. He had even held her last night, as some of the children read to them in his chamber. She smiled at the memory - both of them lounging on his oversized bed, his strong arms enveloping her as Samantha sat engulfed in his large chair reading from his new copy of Jane Eyre.

There was a gentle breeze out tonight, soothing her from the heat of today. It was a perfect night, one that should be shared. Her heart twisted for a moment as she sighed, missing him, furtively wishing Vincent could join her to enjoy the balmy evening.

Another breeze enveloped the terrace, its silent song wrapping her in comfort and safety. She knew that feeling, knew it deep in her soul. Her pulse quickened in anticipation as she turned, hoping against all irrational hope.

There he was, watching her watching the night. For a moment, she thought he might have been an illusion, his mended cloak leveled over his broad shoulders, his fire-gold mane of hair shining like a beacon to her tear-filled eyes. His own bright blue eyes captured her silver-green ones. Her mind locked when she registered the depth of love, the gratitude and longing in them. At that moment, she knew that he was real. Despite the odds, the healing still left, Vincent had come to her this night. She turned fully, her back now to the city as she silently watched him.

Before she had sensed his presence, Vincent observed her as she looked out over the city. He had not come to her balcony in some time, not since she had nursed him when he had collapsed in her apartment, a lifetime ago. Before the cavern...

Vincent had spent much time contemplating all the recent events. Yes, he had suffered horribly. Yes, he still had to heal. His wrists were still lightly bandaged, but Father had assured him that no lasting scars would remain. Yes, he knew the aftermath of his abduction would come to play in the coming months. All that was inevitable, given his nature and all that had transpired.

But in the end, he would heal. He would overcome the nightmares, of that he was sure. All thanks to the woman before him.

Earlier today a realization had come to him. What Catherine had done out of love for him was no different than every instance when he had protected her. The only difference was she had used a gun, while his protection was instinctive, a part of him. He had felt a weight lift he had never known existed until that moment.

Incredibly, Vincent had briefly seen himself through Catherine's eyes. And what was there amazed him. She truly understood him, all of him, more than he had ever realized. She knew the madness, the horrific rage that engulfed him. She had experienced it, protecting him from the evil his tormentor had been. Before the cavern, a revelation such as this would have horrified him. Vincent had always tried to protect Catherine in all things. He had even tried to do so in the cavern, he knew that instinctively. But now, a peace washed over him as he watched her, the breeze wafting over her soft hair as she turned to him. He saw the love in those striking grey-green eyes, mirrored in her heart, calling to him through their bond. She knew him!

His heart swelled in gratitude and passion, feeling her wordless answer echo in their connection. He turned inward, reveling in the miracle their bond was. Tears welled up in his eyes, their love sweeping all the remaining thoughts aside.

Neither had moved or spoken. No words were needed, each saw the other's emotions in their eyes, felt it envelope them as a balm in the stormy seas of their thoughts. A single tear escaped from Catherine's eye, unnoticed as she felt the certainty, the love from her beloved. Vincent had seen the truth. Even if self-doubt and fear reared again, she knew it would never have the same effect on him again.

Unable to withstand being apart any longer, Vincent took three quick strides and stood in front of her. Catherine raised her chin to look at him, majestic in the dim light, his exotic features softened by the love-filled tourmaline eyes. Then, to her surprise, he lowered himself on one knee, still gazing at her for a moment, his loving expression leaving her completely without breath. Then, his arms encompassed her waist, pulling her to him as be rested his head against her breast. She embraced his head, holding him as tight as he held her, their tears now falling freely. Vincent let out a soul-rending sigh, pulling her even closer. Catherine's response was to rest her own head atop of his, as both began to cry.

They stayed that way for what felt like forever, sharing their tears and love for each other, never a word spoken between them. All the words had been said. Their connection resounded with love, wrapping the lovers in its tender embrace, each safe in the other's arms. Each heart beat for the other, each soul reaching out, combining together in that moment in pure selfless love, the purest love of all.

Catherine is my life...

Vincent is my life...

Without the other, there is nothing...

THE END