Beauty and the Beast

36th Anniversary 2023

Together Forever Volume VII:

The Truth I Will Always Know

Treasure Chambers.com

September 25, 2023

*****

Dedicated to all those who have                      the courage to keep dreaming.

*The 2023 Treasure Chambers digital online zine is an amateur publication and is not intended to infringe upon the copyrights of Ron Koslow, Witt/Thomas Productions, CBS or any other holder of “Beauty and the Beast” copyrights or licenses. Our only intention is to have fun.

**We hereby give permission for the readers to print, copy, or share this zine for PERSONAL USE ONLY and NOT for sale or resale.

All future rights to original materials herein are reserved to the individual authors and artists who created them. Please contact them individually if you wish post or use their work in any way.

***All art and original work in this publication

have been used with permission.

Beauty and the Beast

36th Anniversary 2023

Together Forever

Volume VII

The Truth I Will Always Know

TreasureChambers.com

September 25, 2023

Featuring stories, art, and poetry, inspired

by the characters created by Ron Koslow

and so beautifully brought to life by

Linda Hamilton and Ron Perlman

from 1987-1990

A Treasure Chambers Publication

Acknowledgements

OnZine Host

Angie@Treasure Chambers

Editors

Barbara Anderson

Linda O’Leary

Contributing Authors

Allison Duggins

Angie

Anne Alden France

Barbara Anderson

Cindy Rae

Janet Rivenbark

Jessica Rae

Judith Nolan

Kamie Harper

Mel

Michaela Buzsaki Struchova

Nelly

PearlAnn SnowStar

Contributing Artists

Barbara Anderson

Judith Nolan

Lynette Parker

Lynn Wright

Mel

Michaela Buzsaki Struchova

Letter From the Editors

Dear Fellow Dreamers,

Welcome to Treasure Chambers and our 7th year of producing the online zine “Together Forever” about the show we all love.

This is an All-Season Zine that welcomes every imagining and re-imagining of the characters we have come to know and love. But never fear, the “Classic” stories have been separated from those that fall into the “Season 3 and Beyond” genre. In the “Season 3 and Beyond” section you will find SND stories as well as Season 3, and even Alternate Universe story lines. The stories are clearly labeled for those who prefer one genre over another.

Of course, everyone has their own preferences, and we hope you will find something you enjoy as we celebrate diversity in our Zine.

In a world that seems to be increasingly divided and contentious, we have attempted to give every author a place to shine. We aim to celebrate our differences by emulating the principles that Beauty and the Beast taught us- that being different is okay, and all are welcome here in these Tunnels.

We would like to extend a very heartfelt “Thank You!” to Kamie Harper who so graciously shared her experiences as a child actress on the set of Beauty and the Beast.

We would also like to give a special shout out to our artists. Virtually all of the new art we received this year is Digital Art. One might think that digital art is homogenous, but you will see that each artist has a distinct and unique style, just as traditional artists do. You will also see that we have been blessed this year with an abundance of riches in the art department.

So, we present to you Together Forever Volume VII, The Truth I Will Always Know We hope you enjoy our gift to all of you in our fandom! It is truly a gift from our hearts.

Your editors,

Barbara Anderson and Linda O’Leary

*****

Table of Contents

Dedication/Book Plate Page

Title Page

Acknowledgements

Letter From Your Editors

Table of Contents

Classic

Beauty and the Beast Behind the Scenes by Kamie Harper

When I Am an Old Woman, I Shall Write Fanfic by Cindy Rae

Letter to Catherine by Nelly

Glory In Your Touch by Judith Nolan

Until Now...by JessicaRae

I’m Okay, I’m Okay by Barbara Anderson PG-13 Violence

Every Time I See Your Face by Judith Nolan

We Walked for Miles Together by Cindy Rae

Written On the Rain by Anne Alden France

A Year Ago Tonight by Allison

The Warmth of Friends by Angie

Covers To The World by Angie

Caroline’s Bargain by Cindy Rae

Lou by Allison

The Return by Michaela Buzsaki Struchova

Letter to Vincent by Nelly

‘In My World’ Short Stories by Jessica Rae

When De Time Is Right by Allison

Humbug by JessicaRae

The Phone Call by Allison

Baby Mine by Judith Nolan

Season 3 and Beyond

Introduction to Season 3 and Beyond

Painted Love by Mel Season 3

Hello... Again by Janet Rivenbark SND Rated R

With Love Forever by Michaela Buzsaki Struchova SND

How Do I… by Joan Stephens w/Expansion by Allison Duggins S3

Welcome To the Dark Side by Michaela Buzsaki Struchova S3 SND

Relativity of Truth by PearlAnn SnowStar S3 SND

Time Let Me Play by Michaela Buzsaki Struchova SND

No Romcom by Mel Beyond Season 3

Another Blessing by Mel Season 3

I Will by Mel Season 3

Catherine’s Blessing by Barbara Anderson Season 3

The Truth We Will Always Know by Barbara Anderson SND

“Til You’re Home” Beauty and the Beast” fan video, by Judith Nolan

The Truth of Down Below by JessicaRae

*****

Beauty and the Beast

Behind the Scenes

by Kamie Harper aka “Ellie”

In “A Children’s Story,” Ellie says to Eric, “It’s like a dream, isn’t it?” Working on set felt like walking into a dream. The underground scenes were filmed indoors on a set. The ambience was surreal. Instead of walking in on a set, I walked into a different world. Watching through the eyes of a child, a fog machine relentlessly shot out billowing clouds that I could walk through. The rock walls felt soft and spongy, like a pillow-top mattress. There were many wonderful children to play with and amazing adults to learn from.

In the episode “Ashes, Ashes,” the bubonic plague was unleashed. While Ellie was busy dealing with her first crush in TV land, a respiratory infection broke out in real life, and some of us were actually ill. I must say though, it’s hard to feel sick when you’re in the middle of a fairytale.

As I lay in a makeshift bed, getting into character, I noticed a calmness sweeping across the set. I closed my eyes, listening to the faint sounds of Linda practicing her song. Another actor casually reciting lines from a Shakespeare play.

I made a conscious choice to remember as many details as I could from this experience. I knew I was in the middle of a priceless moment, one that I never wanted to lose. This had become more than just a “job.” It had become a part of me, and I a part of it. I gained a newfound respect for performing as a craft and felt eternally grateful for everyone in the crew, especially the wardrobe team as I had a habit of spilling things on myself.

Being a part of Beauty and the Beast has left me feeling truly blessed. No matter how magical you may think it was, I promise you, it really was just like a dream, only Better!

*****

~~

Inspired by a conversation had with the marvelous ladies of

“The Treasure Chambers.” And by the poem “When I am an Old Woman,

I Shall Wear Purple,” by Jenny Joseph.

~~~

Thank you, my Friends.

When I Am an Old Woman, I Shall Write Fanfic

by Cindy Rae

~~~

When I am an old woman, I shall write Fanfic.

In a Vincent t-shirt that looks baggy,

And doesn’t suit me.

And I’ll spend my money on zines and candles,

And say we’ve no money for printer ink.

When I’m old,

I’ll go to Comic Book Conventions.

And Other Such Gatherings.

Ones where other Vincent-loving people

Who write Fanfics go.

Just in case we’re a little bit tribal.

We’ll buy comics together,

Because our show had those,

And posters, and crystals, and roses and such.

And we’ll browse the celebrity guest list.

And make connections, everywhere.

Someone will bring up “Star Trek.”

Or “Teen Titans,” or “Harry Potter”

Or “Sons of Anarchy,” or Guillermo Del Toro.

Or video game voice-overs.

So, I’ll bring up Ron Perlman.

Of course.

Someone else will mention “The Terminator.”

And I’ll say “Linda Hamilton!”

“Game of Thrones?” remarks some innocent,

Queued up in an autograph line.

“Roy Dotrice, and George RR Martin.” I’ll reply.

I can do this all day.

All roads lead back to “Beauty and the Beast,”

When you get old, and start writing Fanfic.

It’s just that Disney stands for Tony Jay,

In “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

And Disney’s own version

Of “Beauty and the Beast.”

And Ron, again, for “Tangled.”

It just is. They just are.

Listen, I don’t make the rules!

And I certainly won’t when I’m older,

And writing Fanfic!

BatB is ubiquitous.

And fanfic is even more so.

Don’t ask me to explain it.

I couldn’t if I tried.

Not now.

And certainly not when I’m old!

Because when you’re an old woman,

(Not that I am, mind you, - cough.)

This is where your mind goes,

Should you decide to write a Fanfic.

Or a couple dozen of those.

Because “Beauty and the Beast”

Is everywhere!

It’s in music, and Shakespeare, and plays.

It’s in minor characters

With walk-on parts

And recurring ones

We wish had stayed much longer.

It’s in Hollywood Royalty,

And Oscar winning makeup artists.

In writers, and costumes, and sets.

It’s in places, and people, and things.

Real things. And some not so real.

That’s just how it is.

It’s in Manhattan and Central Park,

And South of Oz and North of Shangri-La.

It’s in the Golden Globes,

As it spans the real globe.

It just is. It just does that.

Or so I’ve heard it said.

By other people,

Those writing people,

The ones who wrote Fanfics,

(Once they got old enough.)

And Beauty and the Beast has a calendar all its own.

(More than one. Just ask me. I have several.)

And I’ll still save room enough

To wish someone would make just one more,

If anyone would so desire.

(Because Fanfic isn’t the only thing you can make

When you’re old, and making Fanfic.)

So, I’ll mark the Calendar for Winterfest,

And circle September 25th.

Vincent’s birthday is in January,

And everyone knows what April 12th is.

They just do.

Writer’s deadlines will loom….

Then pass…

Then loom again.

I hear that’s how it goes,

When you’re a Fanfic writer!

I’ll (probably) collect paperbacks

From the show,

And treasure my Winterfest candle,

Made by a friend.

I’ll store DVD’s in a “special” place,

So no one can find them but me.

Once I’m old, and writing Fanfic.

What begins as a hobby

I can fit in a shoebox

Might start taking over a small corner, somewhere.

(And then, perhaps, a bigger one.)

Maybe it’s good

That the kids will be gone

By the time I’m old?

So I can have their rooms

To spread out in?

Just in case I need room for my Fanfic?

I’ll wish I’d studied knitting, and could crochet better.

I’ll wish for a treadle sewing machine.

When I can barely use a real one.

I’ll decide wood carving and mural painting

Are something I might try,

Because it looks so easy on TV!

That boxy bastion of Fanfic inspiration.

And I’ll wonder,

“Can I make a stained glass window for real?”

Once I’m old, and writing Fanfic?

Why not?

I’ve shown no particular talent

For such things in my youth.

But that doesn’t mean

My dotage won’t be different!

A Life With No Limits!

And Fanfics the Same!

And an old woman’s Fanfic reach

Should exceed her Fanfic grasp

Else what’s a Fanfic heaven for?

I’ll write stories for strangers,

And some just for friends.

Tales large and small,

(Prompted by the episodes, of course.)

But that will just be the beginning of my inspiration.

I’ll also write thanks to a stray song lyric,

Or a turn of phrase, or a turn around a corner,

Or a beautiful painting, Or a fine line from a poem

By an author I never knew…

Until I did.

Or I’ll seize on a story idea

Thanks to a digital photo mash-up

Sent by a friend, one close to my heart,

Yet half way around the world from me.

(Because these things happen, you know,

When you get old. And write Fanfic.)

And I’ll start a story in the middle,

Then flesh it out front to back.

Or I’ll begin at the beginning,

And go 200 pages without a plan

Of how this thing will end.

(Don’t ask me how I know. I’m just guessing.)

I’ll write with my friends. I’ll write alone.

I’ll get up at midnight and just start typing.

Then sleep ‘til 10:00 a.m.,

And re-watch the Pilot,

Searching for nuance.

Why not? There are no limits!

No limits on me!

No limits on you!

Especially when you’re old!

(And writing Fanfic!)

You can do what you want!

Just anything you please!

It’s your world, down there,

Down that deep, spiral stair,

Your world… And Vincent’s.

And someone might hate it!

And some might adore,

And someone might ask you

For one story more.

Or teach you to drabble, to vex you.

And all that is good.

And perfectly fine,

More than just good, it’s almost divine.

You don’t know what’s in store

For you, when you get old, and begin writing Fanfic.

I’ll live for those times that a fan-made video

Will awaken something inside me.

Some small bit of “ah-ha!”

That turns into “something,”

Which then turns into “something more.”

Because that’s what Fanfic is, you know.

It’s “Something More.”

“Something Wonderfully More.”

(Or at least, I’ve heard it said.)

So, I’ll double drabble even as I backstory!

I’ll “Between the scenes” and blush at Steam.

I’ll AU and “What If?”

And decide which Season ended how.

(But not until I’m old, and writing Fanfic.)

.

I’ll change the fate of everyone in the show!

Then change it back, again.

I’ll follow the scripts as written,

Or just throw them across the room.

Because you can do that, when you’re a Fanfic Writer.

Everybody gets a “Happily Ever After.”

If you want them to.

So, I’ll re-read the scripts,

As well as the transcripts.

I’ll feature minor characters as major players,

And wonder “What would have come next

Had there only been more episodes?”

I’ll rise to The Challenges!

Or fall to them.

Not every effort has to be a masterpiece.

That’s a good thing to know

When the muse is being snarky

Or real life gets in your way.

It’s a good thing to know

When you’re old. And writing Fanfic.

It’s okay. It really is.

It all is.

And sometimes, it’s downright incandescent,

What those Fanfic writers write,

When they’re writing.

Incandescent. Like a candle.

Like a Winterfest candle.

And I’ll read what I’ve written

To my daughters and my husband.

(But only sometimes. Just because.)

They’ll nod and smile, as they indulge me.

And do that

“Try not to make eye contact with the crazy lady” thing.

That’s okay, too.

It’s good that they love me.

As I love them.

And my editors.

Who I’ll really love,

For making my stories better.

For after I’m old. And writing Fanfic.

And Fanfic?

I’ll love Fanfic.

Or at least I think I will.

(You can never tell about these things

Until you’re doing them.)

I think I’ll leave unfinished plot bunnies

Hopping on my hard drive,

And labor over multi-chapter epics,

As I struggle with double drabbles.

And titles. And split infinitives.

And “What episode is that from?”

And I believe I’ll let the laundry go begging!

Take that, dirty clothes!

My husband will go matched sockless,

And wonder where all his clean shirts have gone,

As I tap on a keyboard, dreaming.

Dust bunnies will gather under the furniture

While the plot bunnies go bounding!

Housework? What’s that?

Don’t they know I’ve got a deadline?

This kind of Make Believe is hard work!

(Or so someone told me. I think they were old. And a Fanfic writer.)

I’ll use the bottom of my closet

To hold all my Fanzines

And swear I’ve no room for shoes.

I’ll dream about a bench in Central Park,

And a story that started near there,

Back in 1987.

“Once Upon A Time

In The City of New York.”

What a lovely thought.

Can I try to expound on that, as a writer?

I think I can.

When my senior years come, writing Fanfic.

I’ll treasure The Treasure Chambers…

And wonder if my friends

On the Other side of the world

Are up at 2 a.m,

So we can talk, online?

(Writer’s block. It’s a beast.)

But not a Beast. That’s Vincent.

And everyone reading this understands what I just wrote.

But if you don’t know what to believe,

Just remember (as Vincent says)

“It’s all true.”

What a comfort that will be,

To know that.

And even to make it happen,

Just a little, for myself,

And for others.

When I’m older,

And writing all that Fanfic!

Maybe, when I’m old, I’ll get a tattoo

That says “It’s All True,” Or “Once Upon A Time.”

(Or maybe I’ll just get

Another piece of Great Fan Art.)

Yeah, that sounds easier. Much.

I’m looking at you, Kevin Barnes,

And more than a dozen others,

Too numerous to list.

Thank you all for your gifts,

Also too numerous to list.

I’ll continue to gaze in wonder what you created,

Once I get old, and write Fanfic.

But perhaps… just perhaps…

I should start now?

Just so my transformation

Won’t be quite so shocking?

Perhaps that would be the thing, yes?

Perhaps I’ll start typing away by candlelight.

Near a purring, orange cat,

And a sweating glass of sweet iced tea.

And I’ll put my bare feet

Up on an old ottoman,

And settle in for a night of muse-coaxing,

And tunnel running.

I’ll dig out old Shakespeare quotes,

And Dickens, and Rilke, and Byron, and Keats.

I’ll idle with “Idylls” and ruminate with Rumi,

All the while praying this computer

Lasts another year.

Just maybe?

Or maybe I can browse Ebay just a little more, now?

Just in case some Great Treasure

I missed comes up for sale?

Some autograph, or photograph,

Or some other small bit of

Potential future muse fodder?

(You can’t start too soon when you’re making allowances

For your art, you know.)

Perhaps I should explore what other

Tiny changes I can make

So my personal metamorphosis

Isn’t quite so… meta?

For that show I loved

That ended, incomplete,

And gave us the meta-level tagline,

“Once Upon a Time… Is Now.”?

Perhaps I should. Perhaps I really should.

I think I should just start

Getting ready right now.

Get started preparing a space

To receive more.

Just More.

More fanfic, more art, more music, more quotes,

More hand-crocheted blanket throws

That could always use one row more.

More stargazing. More wool gathering.

More exploring just what it means, to be a human being.

More books, more posters, more candles,

More crafts, more poems, more videos, more parables.

More understanding of what real Beauty is.

Both without, and within.

More tolerance, more understanding, more curiosity.

More passion, more conversation, more joy.

More accepting others as they are,

Just exactly as they are,

As I hope that they accept me.

More inspiration.

More ideas.

Better ones, than the ones I’ve had before.

Be large. Contain multitudes.

And speaking of “large”….

I’ll need a bigger computer!

With more space on the hard drive!

For all I’ll do.

(Or think I’ll do,)

Because you never truly know what you can make

Or what will make you,

When you’re old and writing Fanfic.

I’ll be transformed!

With all the sharing I’ll do!

And still, I’ll need more,

My multitudinous self,

Being all old and writing Fanfic.

More roses. More crystals. More sharing.

More loving, more giving, more caring.

More Urban Legends

To go with the regular ones.

Because you can never have enough of those.

More limits to push, more hope, more compassion.

More myths. More princesses. More monsters.

And the wisdom to know the difference.

More heroes and heroines, both beautiful and brave.

More fantasy. More fairy tales. More fables. More fun.

More … Friends?

Because BatB friends are Friends, uppercase,

And they’re just the very best kind.

Never doubt it.

Yes! I think I should.

I think I should do all of that!

And I think I should start right away!

Just so I don’t shock the children,

Or terrify the neighbors,

On that day when I decide:

“I am an old woman,

And I shall write Fanfic.”

~~~

No matter where you are when you’re writing

(or reading) Fanfic, I wish you love.~ Cindy

*****

Letter to Catherine

by Nelly

Dear Catherine,

I’m with you, always and no matter what.

Now you can’t see me, but you can feel me because I’m in the most beautiful place ever: your heart.

Don’t be afraid of this slight distance between us. Please, don’t cry, you miss me like I miss you but know that I’m watching over you, I’m listening to you, I’m feeling you. I wipe away your tears, I share your smiles. I face your pain and I enjoy your triumphs.

I left you when you were a child. Now you are a woman, a REALLY GREAT woman: sensitive, brave, strong, and caring. You, see? You’re just like me!

Now you have found love.

We hadn’t time to talk about these things, but I’ve guided your father in teaching you all the values a girl should need and believe me, he did a great job and I’ll always be grateful for this.

Live your life following your heart. You’ll learn from your mistakes, you’ll get back up after being knocked out, you’ll shine in small and great things and, above all, you’ll always make me proud of you.

This is the truth I will always know and now, so do you.

Talk to me, Catherine; your heart’s voice will always be listened to.

I love you with all my being.

Your Mother

*****

Glory In Your Touch

by Judith Nolan

“Thanks to the human heart by which we live,

Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,

To me the meanest flower that blows can give

Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears…”

William Wordsworth

Catherine,

Tonight, I finally told you the truth. You dragged the confession from me with the depths of your abiding fears and concerns. You had so many questions. There was so much I could not tell you. So many things you wanted to know. Tonight, the words could no longer be contained.

You were sitting up in my bed with your head and eyes still swathed in bandages. I was feeding you some of William’s excellent vegetable soup.

“Do you like it?” I asked, seeking to break through the silence of your suffering and pain.

You grudgingly admitted, “It’s good soup...”

Then, oh Catherine, then you asked the question I had been dreading for the last eight days. “Vincent, tell me … where are we?”

I froze, wondering what I could say to allay your fears. I looked around the underground chamber I had called my home for as long as I could remember. It had always been filled with carefully selected cast-off items, artifacts from the disposable culture Above. The furnishings – lamps, table, cabinets – had all been found or ingeniously assembled from salvaged parts. Mouse’s skills in this area are legendary among the Tunnel folk.

On one wall there is a mosaic of photos I’d cut from magazines, photos of the great people of our time... Einstein, Stravinsky, Ali, John Lennon… people I would never see or know beyond the two-dimensional images pinned to the wall.

I inhaled ruefully and shook my head just as a train rumbled overhead, jerking me from my introspection. “Somewhere there’s an elevated train,” you remarked with concern. “Brooklyn? Queens?”

“No, not Brooklyn or Queens...” I replied slowly.

That was when the stark fear returned to your voice. “Am I still in New York? Vincent, please tell me! Where are we?” you asked tremulously.

What could I tell you? What could I say to allay your fears which only grew larger in your darkness? But I could not afford for you to see me or know anything about me. It was impossible.

“I have to keep it as a secret,” I replied, lamely, seeking a way around the truth.

“Why?” you questioned quickly.

Yes, why? “Because, a lot of good people depend on this place for safety,” I managed to say.

You bargained then. “I’ll keep your secret...”

I inhaled deeply. Somehow, I believed you, a woman I barely knew. But your promise was expressed sincerely, softly. I believed you, even while everything inside me shouted and pleaded to tell you nothing…

Before I could reply, someone began tapping on the pipes. I concentrated for a moment on the distinct rhythmic patterns. The message was prosaic. Helpers were needed to bring down the weekly gift of vegetables and fruit from Meng Fu’s Chinese restaurant in Chinatown. If I hadn’t been with you I would be on that journey to the surface and the world Above.

“And that tapping, it never stops…” you commented restlessly.

“It’s people talking to each other, tapping on the master pipes...” I said quickly, hoping to divert you from your previous question.

“You mean messages?” you asked softly.

“Mmmm...” I offered you the soup spoon, wondering if I had escaped speaking the ultimate truth.

But no, your mind did not wander far from what you wanted to know. “Vincent, please. Tell me…” you begged.

I sighed deeply. “We’re below the city, below the subways. There’s a whole world of tunnels and chambers that most people don’t even know exists. There are no maps to where we are. It’s a forgotten place. But it’s warm and it’s safe, and we have all the room we need. So, we live here, and we try to live as well as we can, and we try to take care of each other. It’s our city, down here...”

“Of course, your sharp mind went to the thorny question, the single thing Father had forbidden me to mention to you. “What are you doing down here? Why are you here?”

Why am I here? I sighed inwardly. I had nowhere else to be… nowhere else where I could exist in peace and safety. “I was a baby, abandoned, left to die. Someone found me and brought me here to the man who became my father. He took me, he raised me - he taught me everything. He named me Vincent... That’s where I was found, near the hospital – St. Vincent’s.” I laughed softly, trying to reassure you. I could find humour in it now, after all the years that had passed.

“I… I don’t know what to believe...” you whispered.

“It’s all true...” I replied, trying to reassure you.

I was feeding you from the bowl of William’s excellent soup, using a spoon. A simple process, surely there was no danger there. I advanced the spoon toward your mouth, watching your hesitation.

Unexpectedly, you reached out to touch my hand, seeking to find a connection with someone warm and alive. Before I could pull it away, your fingers touched mine as they held out the spoon.

My heart felt as if it was breaking then. There was such glory in your touch, in the simplicity of your fingers resting on mine for the briefest of moments that I wished could last forever...

But the truth intruded into that precious moment of connection. Your indrawn gasp was sharp and shocked, jerking me from the incredible sensation of your touch. In your blindness you wanted to make contact with something normal and human. Something you could understand on the most basic level.

Instead, your fingers touched my hand… something furred and animal-like. Your touch brushed across my nails which some have described as claws, things to harm, not help or heal.

I can make no excuses for what I am or who I am. I have no answers, no pat truth I could tell you.

You did try to cover your astonishment, but it was already too late. I drew back sharply. I was so mortified that I’d frightened you in your terrible darkness… in your pain and anguish.

I moved away, quickly…too quickly. I knew I’d betrayed the faith you put in me but how could I stay? How could I explain it in a way you could understand?

I stopped and looked back from the doorway of my chamber. You lay in my bed, resting on my cushions and pillows. You lay there in a world of blindness, unwilling to even consider the possibilities of what you had just touched. I could feel your fear reaching out to me, enveloping me with shame and consternation.

I knew I should have insisted on sending Mary to tend to you… a woman, soft in both voice and manner… a non-threatening presence to guide you from your darkness into the light of the world you came from.

I will send her in to you from now on. I will not return here until you have gone Above, Catherine…back to your world and your life. A world and a life I could never touch or inhabit… not in any of my dreams or vivid imaginings of what could never be, no matter how much I wished for it to be so…

But you, I will always remember for as long as I may live in this hidden world of mine. The glory of your touch, that briefest of moments which touched my heart and left you there, forever sheltered by my love and belief in you…

You’re safe. You are truly safe now…

Vincent

*****

Until Now...

by JessicaRae

Through tunnels he paced with nervous tread,

His eyes distantly lost in fear,

He kept imagining the look of dread

On her face that would appear.

First toward herself, he watched it play out

Unable to make it ache the less,

Then toward him too, the fear and doubt,

As his motives she tried to guess.

There he stood, an unusual being,

Hovering in the doorway of her escape

A terrible sight was all she was seeing,

Fearing claws and teeth would seal her fate.

Her reaction was honest, he did not deny,

T’was what he had earlier expected.

The same look so clear in every viewer's eye,

Came each time he had been detected.

The ache of walking inside the skin of fear,

Was something of which he was aware

But at her cry, and on her face a tear,

He knew never before had he cared.

So what, if the world saw him as a terror,

And could not see the love in his heart.

As he stood there now, he saw his error,

As they both waited, so near, yet far apart.

As the very time froze, his thoughts, they gathered,

And his fear became a gentle voice.

Nothing else now could have possibly mattered,

And with his actions, he gave her a choice.

A choice to accept what he could not change

And accept him as he was.

Or leave this world so different and strange,

And simply just go back Above.

But as he entered the room again,

Unsure of her coming response

Rejection he felt from himself within,

And loneliness a frequent, dark haunt.

There she is, so fragile, he feels

A Bond already for her in his heart.

He sensed she still would need time to heal,

And he spoke before she could start.

He spoke softly, with gentle eye and hand,

As she waited with worried brow,

“I have never regretted what I am,

Until Now.”

*****

I’m Okay, I’m Okay

by Barbara Anderson

An Arabesque expansion story.

*This story is interspersed with scenes and dialog from the Beauty and the Beast episode: Arabesque written by Virginia Aldridge.

PG-13 for Violence

Catherine Chandler had learned from experience how vitally important it was to always be aware of her surroundings. The now faint scars on her face and the scar on her back from Mitch Denton’s bullet, were constant reminders of that. She knew more than most that for all of its wonders and beauties, New York City was also a dangerous place with a sinister underbelly that showed little mercy to those who fell prey to it. She also knew that her safety, and even her very life, depended upon her constant vigilance.

In practice, however, Catherine had discovered how difficult it was to be on her guard every single moment. In the weeks and months after her face was slashed, she felt as if danger lurked in every alley and around every blind corner. That fear eventually took its toll on her mental and emotional well-being. In an effort to find a balance, she had made a conscious choice to eschew the fear and distrust in humanity that nearly paralyzed her and embrace faith in the inherent goodness of humanity… even in New York City. It was the only way she could find the courage to step out of her front door every day. Well… that and training with Isaac Stubbs in the techniques of street fighting.

Unfortunately, that choice had backfired on her more than once. She was well aware that if not for Vincent and the Bond they shared, she more than likely would have lost her life on more than one occasion. And though she worried about the toll it might be taking on him, she still struggled to find the balance between living in constant fear and finding the courage to live her life in spite of any dangers she might face.

‘Sometimes your fear can keep you alive, Catherine.’ Vincent had counseled on more than one occasion. ‘You should listen to it more often.’

How many times has he told me that?  she wondered. Then she would remind herself that it was Vincent who had also encouraged her to face her fears.

How can I do both? she often asked herself in frustration. How am I supposed to live with fear and face my fears at the same time?

She had only recently begun to realize that her newfound courage in the presence of danger came at great expense to Vincent. She knew that now. He had sent her away after the incident with the Outsiders. After what he was forced to do to protect his Tunnel home and her from certain annihilation, he couldn’t bear for her to look at him. His terrible shame had driven him deep beneath the city where she could not reach him. He had sent her away and then disappeared for weeks afterward. At the time, she feared she might never see him again. Fortunately, he had returned to her, and she had resolved to be more cautious in the future.

Unfortunately for them both, fate had other plans…

***

It was mid-March but it felt more like April as Catherine stepped out of her office building in Lower Manhattan. She breathed deeply and was sure she detected a hint of spring in the air. After a long, dreary winter and a long day cooped up in her office behind a stack of case files it felt like blessed freedom. It was dark, but after ten hours trapped behind her desk, she just couldn’t bring herself to be cramped in a taxi for the duration of the ride home.

I think I’ll walk for a while, she decided. She had a lot on her mind and walking always helped to clear her head. Besides, she concluded, if I keep to the busy, well-lit streets, I should be fine.

Despite her good intentions, Catherine’s surroundings disappeared as her thoughts drifted to the last conversation she’d had with Vincent.

***

Catherine met Vincent at the Central Park Tunnel entrance to tell him what she had discovered about his old friend, Lisa Campbell. She expected him to invite her in, but he seemed uncomfortable and reticent to let her even approach him. So, Catherine kept her distance.

“She’s involved with a man who’s about to be indicted for arms smuggling,” she informed him. “There’s a good chance she’ll be called to testify against him.”

Vincent sighed heavily, “For Lisa to come back to us, I knew there were other reasons.”

“I’m sorry,” Catherine said. “Her performances were cancelled. She’s probably gotten herself out of the country by now.”

“Catherine… she’s with us,” Vincent admitted, reluctantly.

Her response was one of surprise. “She is?”

Why didn’t he send me word? she wondered. That isn’t like him.

Nodding, he confirmed his previous statement, knowing Catherine would wonder why he hadn’t sent word to her sooner.

“Well…” she said, trying to smile, “At least we know where she is.”

Her response did nothing to dispel the tension between them.

“Yes,” he replied uncomfortably. He sighed heavily, not knowing what to say next.

As she regarded him thoughtfully, Catherine could tell that something was terribly wrong. He was bent forward as if he were carrying a great invisible weight on his shoulders. His sadness hung like a heavy cloud between them.

“What does this woman mean to you, Vincent?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. “Can you tell me?”

He stared at her for a moment, searching for the words. The pain and shame in his eyes tore at her very soul.

As if reading her thoughts, he turned away from her gaze and leaned against the gate, as if he didn’t have the strength to stand on his own.

“There are moments,” he finally said. “Images I remember so clearly… burning so deeply...”

“Tell me about those moments,” she asked gently as she stepped closer to him. She wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to take him in her arms and soothe away his pain. But his pain was so deep and so wide that it created a terrible gulf between them. She didn’t know how to reach him.

Finally forcing himself to look at her again, Vincent began, “It was a time when I first felt the tremendous joy that dreams could bring. Intoxication of sending your heart soaring into the realm of hope, at that same time that I...” He stopped and sighed again, then forced himself to continue. “…I learned that for me, dreams could bring more pain than I could ever bear. Enough pain to destroy me; even those around me.”

Catherine was astounded. She needed to know what was tearing him apart, but at the same time she dreaded what he might be trying to tell her. “How? What happened?” she finally asked.

Hanging his head forlornly, Vincent remained silent.

“You can tell me,” she assured him. “You can tell me anything.”  And she meant it. No matter what happened between them, she concluded. It couldn’t be worse than not knowing and fearing the worst. She could see that whatever it was, it was tearing him apart.

Vincent, however, was certain that telling Catherine the truth of what he was and what had happened between himself, and Lisa would destroy their dream.

NO! he decided. If I tell her… it would ruin everything… everything.

“I once thought that,” Vincent said looking at her doubtfully. “…but there are things... things that I had dreamt away.”

Catherine could hardly believe what she was hearing as she realized he intended to keep it from her, despite a promise he had once made to her. She could feel the heat rising in her face as she reminded him, “We’ve never withheld the truth from each other…never.”

Vincent studied her closely, the disbelief and pain in her expression breaking his heart, ripping his soul to shreds as he came to realize that he had always kept the truth from her.

“I know,” he said disconsolately. Slowly he entered the portal and closed the gate behind him, leaving Catherine standing there, bewildered and alone. He looked at her one more time before pulling the lever and shutting the heavy steel door behind him.

As the darkness closed in around her, Catherine felt as if he was shutting her out of his life for good.

***

The pain of that night was still raw. “Vincent—” Catherine whispered aloud, aching to find a way to help him,

“Hey… what…?” she exclaimed as she felt someone put an arm around her shoulder and steer her roughly toward the street.

“Let’s go for a little drive, shall we?” a sinister yet oddly familiar voice growled in her ear. It was then that she detected what could only be a gun sticking into her side.

Colin Hemmings, Lisa Campbell’s ever faithful and fearless watch dog, had been trailing her, waiting for just the right moment to grab her, and shove her into the back seat of his car. Catherine had only let her guard down for a few moments, but one careless moment was all he’d needed.

“You must think I’m stupid, Miss Chandler…” he sneered sarcastically as the car pulled into the traffic. “Brookhill School of the Arts…I checked… there is no such school… never has been. Is Catherine Chandler even your real name? Or is that fake too?”

“Try the white pages,” she said, with false bravado. “I’m in the phone book.”  Catherine tried to put on a brave face as she attempted to get her bearings.

“Where is Lisa?” Colin demanded, still pointing the gun at her.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, ignoring his question as she tried to catch sight of a street sign as they drove through an intersection.

“Someplace we can have a private conversation,” he answered cryptically. “Unless you tell me where Lisa is now, and then I’ll gladly drop you off at the next street corner.”

She scoffed at his false promise. “I’m not stupid either, Mr… Hemmings, is it? I’m sure Mr. Taggert isn’t very happy that his ‘ever faithful and fearless watchdog’ has lost his favorite prima ballerina. Leaving stray witnesses roaming around wouldn’t help you get back in his good graces, now would it?”

Colin’s eye’s widened as he realized she knew much more than he had realized. “Where… is… Lisa?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

Catherine knew full well that he would kill her as soon as she gave him the information he wanted. Anyway, she surmised. I don’t know exactly where she is, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. She decided the best she could do now was to buy herself some time and hope she could think of a way out of the mess she was in.

“I don’t know where Lisa is. I haven’t seen her since the night of the ballet.” Technically what she told him was true, though she knew Lisa had since taken refuge in the Tunnels. But there was nothing that would ever induce her to divulge that to anyone. She had long since made a promise not to betray the Tunnels, and she intended to keep it.

“Liar!” Colin yelled as he slapped her across the face. “I’m finished playing nice. There’s more where that came from if you don’t tell me where she is!”

Catherine felt the sting of his hand on her face but refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt. She could feel the welt beginning to rise where his ring had scraped across her cheek but remained silent.

It was then that Catherine thought of Vincent. He must know I’m in danger by now, she realized. Then turning her thoughts directly to him she attempted to send a message. Don’t come for me, Vincent! STAY AWAY! It’s too dangerous!

It wasn’t long before the car pulled in behind a derelict building. The windows were boarded up and the area looked dark and deserted. She was pretty sure they were somewhere in Hell’s Kitchen and wondered if she could make a run for it if given the chance. All I need to find is a manhole, or a basement tunnel entrance, she thought hopefully.

Unfortunately, she didn’t get that chance. Colin and his driver dragged her from the vehicle and into the building. Catherine went limp in an effort to slow them down, but they were much larger than she was, and it didn’t take much effort for them to drag her up the stairs to the top floor of the abandoned factory. At the top they pushed Catherine forward and shoved her to the floor.

Looking up she noticed the moon shining in through a hole in the dingy skylight just above her.

***

“Do you remember the first time you saw the moon?”[1] Vincent asked.

Catherine laughed. What a ridiculous question, she thought. “Who would remember the first…” she began to ask. Then it occurred to her that Vincent might. She looked at him curiously and asked, “Can you?”

“Mmmm-hmmmm,” he answered simply.

When they turned to look back at the moon, Catherine wondered what other seemingly ordinary things she had always taken for granted had special meaning to the man she loved…

***

Isn’t it strange, she wondered, the things that come to mind when you’re about to die?

It was then that Colin’s companion lifted her up from the floor and slammed her back against the wall.

“I think it’s only fair to warn you,” Catherine began. “… that there are people who will come looking for me. You’ll never get away with this. Even if you kill me, they’ll find my body, and then they’ll find you.”

Colin’s companion back handed her with all his brute strength. The shock of it took her breath away and she could taste the blood where her teeth cut into the soft flesh inside her mouth.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Miss Chandler,” Colin said. “We will get away with it just like we have many times before.” He looked around the room and laughed sadistically. “This building is going to be demolished tomorrow morning.” Then pointing to the exposed rafters, he said, “You see… up there?”

Catherine’s heart fell when she looked in the direction he was pointing and realized he was telling the truth. She could see that the building had already been rigged with explosives.

Colin laughed again. “So, Miss Chandler… by this time tomorrow there won’t be anything left of you to find. You will be ground to dust in a pile of rubble.”

Without saying anything, the nameless thug began hitting her again. Catherine was barely able to catch her breath between strikes, but she felt strangely calm and refused to show them how much pain she was in. Just as she thought she might lose consciousness, he stopped momentarily.

“Now tell me! Where… is… Lisa?!?!” Colin demanded once again.

“I… don’t… know,” Catherine replied breathlessly.

“Wrong answer,” Colin said. Then tapping his companion on the shoulder, the two men switched places.

As Catherine began to crumple to the floor, Colin took hold of her with one arm and pulled her up. Towering threateningly over her he spoke softly. “All right, let’s try again, shall we?”

He then nodded to his companion and several rotted pieces of wood went flying as the man used his arm to break a decaying portion of the wall.

“You see,” Colin began in a sickeningly sweet tone that made the hair on Catherine’s arms stand up. “It’s just that easy with a human limb. John’s done it a thousand times, haven’t you, John?”

John, Catherine took note of the man’s name. His name is John.

Both men smiled eerily, as if contemplating breaking her bones gave them some sort of sick pleasure.

Colin reached up with his free hand and gently brushed the hair from Catherine’s face, making her feel nauseous at his touch. “And you wouldn’t be the first woman—”

His words were suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Vincent’s rage, as he came crashing through the filthy skylight just above their heads.

Shards of glass and debris fell on John as Colin grabbed Catherine attempting to use her as a human shield from whatever it was that had interrupted his little faire la fête.

As Catherine struggled with Colin, Vincent lashed out at John, slashing his face before throwing him through a wall.

Satisfied that John posed no more danger, Vincent turned to Colin in time to see him holding a gun to Catherine’s head. When Vincent bared his teeth, Colin decided to point the gun in Vincent’s direction.

In a split-second, Catherine saw that Vincent was in grave danger. She knew instantly that she must do something, or she and Vincent would both be dead. Either that or Vincent will have another death on his conscience to deal with, she realized.

I won’t let him carry this burden alone, she decided in that instant. Not anymore!

Whether it was her street-fighting training with Isaac Stubbs or sheer animal instinct, she found the strength to swing her elbow with all her might into Colin’s gut. As he doubled over, she grabbed for the gun, and they began to struggle for their lives. Catherine knew she had no choice but to overpower him.

Vincent stood frozen, watching in horror as the scene played before his eyes. When the gun went off, Vincent felt his heart stop in terror. Rushing to Catherine, he embraced her from behind, as Colin, mortally wounded, fell to the floor.

Vincent lowered Catherine to the floor as she seemed to go limp in his arms.

As he checked her for injuries, she breathlessly assured him, “I’m okay… I’m okay.”

I almost lost her, he thought as he rocked her back and forth. I almost lost her. Holding her ever tighter he pressed his cheek against her head and kissed her hair.

“Catherine… oh, Catherine…” he whispered as he continued to rock back and forth.

“I’m okay… I’m okay…” she said again.

No, Catherine, Vincent thought. You are not okay… we are not okay.

***

Three Weeks Later…

It was nearly midnight when Vincent entered Father’s study with his cloak folded over one arm.  He stood at the top of the steps silently watching as Jacob read from one of his favorite volumes. The Tunnel community slumbered at this late hour and the pipes were quiet. It was the only time of day that Jacob Wells was able to spare a little time for himself and Vincent was reluctant to disturb him.

“Are you going to just stand there? Or are you coming in?” Father asked, peering over the top of his glasses.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Father,” Vincent replied. “I know you have precious little time for yourself.”

“Is there something on your mind, son?” Jacob asked, even though he could clearly see that there was.

Vincent came down the steps and laid his cloak over the chair in front of Father’s desk but chose to keep standing.

Noticing the cloak, Father said. “You’re going Above, I see.”

“Yes, I… I received word from Catherine that Lisa testified in front of the grand jury today. It appears that her testimony will put her, uhm… the man she was involved with behind bars for quite some time.”

“And what is to become of Lisa?” Father asked, worried what havoc she might cause if she wished to return to the Tunnels. His concerns were quickly put to rest.

“She is in protective custody until the trial is over.” Vincent informed him. “… or until the prosecutor is satisfied that there is no longer any danger to her. I don’t know what will happen after that.”

“And I suppose you are going above to see her one last time… to bid her farewell?”

“No…” Vincent replied, leaning on the back of the chair with both hands. “Lisa and I… we have already said our goodbyes. I’m going to see Catherine. I need to tell her… about Lisa… about what happened between us… about what I did to her.”

Father removed his glasses and scrutinized his son. “Do you think that’s wise?”

Vincent’s blue eyes clouded over. “I don’t know if it’s ‘wise’” he replied. “What I do know is that it’s the right thing to do. It is what I must do.”

Father considered Vincent’s words carefully. “You told me once that it was Catherine… your relationship with her… that was the only thing keeping you alive. Do you still believe that?”

Vincent nodded. “Yes,” he answered simply.

The expression on his face was impossible for Father to read.

“I’ve been wrestling with this ever since Lisa returned,” Vincent continued. “The guilt of keeping it from Catherine has become unbearable. She deserves to know the truth.”

Father leaned forward, looking at his son with great concern. “And you are willing to risk what the two of you share by telling her this truth?”

Vincent began to pace back and forth, clearly agitated. “I must…” he finally said. “I owe her that much.”

“Even if it means you might drive her away for good?”

Jacob realized the irony of his attempt to convince Vincent to change his mind. There was a time when I would have welcomed any reason for Catherine to stay away from him, he acknowledged. Now I fear what will happen if she does.

“When Catherine was here for the first time…” Vincent tried to explain as he leaned against the desk. “…when she was healing… I promised her that she was safe here… with me. She believed me, Father. She trusted me. Can you imagine what that meant for me… to me? For someone as beautiful, and fine, and gentle as Catherine… even after what happened to her… that she could trust… me. It meant the world to me.”

“Yes,” Father replied. “I know it did, but you have never broken that promise, Vincent. She has always been safe with you. You have saved her life on more than one occasion—”

“And she has saved mine, Father… in more ways than one,” he said, beginning to pace again. “Her courage has saved me as well as others who live here on many occasions…” Then turning to face his father, “…including you.”

“I know that, Vincent… and I am grateful… truly I am… for all she has done… all she has come to mean to this community. But I still do not understand why you feel the need to tell her the truth now… after all this time.”

“Because I made another promise as well… when she was bandaged… frightened… in the dark. I promised her that I would never withhold the truth from her.”

Father looked perplexed. “You promised her what?” He stood up, shocked by what Vincent had revealed to him. “How could you…? I mean…” he stammered. “Why… would you? When you knew…”

“When I knew I could never keep that promise?”

The two men stared at each other.

Vincent threw his hands up in despair. “Because I… I wanted her to feel safe…” Vincent tried to explain. “… and because I wanted it to be true.” He dropped heavily into the chair facing his father and slumped in despair and regret, holding his head in his hands.

“‘We’ve never withheld the truth from each other,’” he said in a whisper. “That’s what she said. That is what she believed… until now. Now she knows… she knows that I have always withheld the truth from her.” He looked up at his father again. “I’ve betrayed her trust, Father… I’ve broken my promise.”

“Is that why she has stayed away for the past few weeks?” Father inquired. “Because she is angry?”

“No…” Vincent huffed at the very thought and shook his head. “Catherine is not angry. I have felt many emotions in her over the last three weeks, but anger is not one of them… although I believe it would be justified.”

“How can you be so certain that she isn’t angry?” Father insisted.

“Because I can feel her, Father,” Vincent said, putting his hand over his heart. “I can feel that she’s worried, and hurt… even disappointed. I can only guess because I have let her down… perhaps because I didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth in the first place. But over all of that… I can feel her love for me… a love I am not worthy of. I expected that she might attempt to close herself off to me, but if anything, it feels as if… as if her heart is more open than it has ever been… as if she is consciously trying to communicate her love through the Bond we share.”

Father was confused. “If she wants to communicate with you, why doesn’t she just come here and speak with you in person?”

“Because I shut her out. And because…” Vincent sighed heavily. “…when she asked what Lisa meant to me, I… I was so consumed with shame that I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. Instead, I… I closed the portal and left her standing alone in the dark… in Central Park… in the middle of the night…” He shook his head in disgust as he recalled his actions of that night. “That act in itself is unforgivable. But instead of being angry… she is waiting for me to come to her… in my own time… when I am ready. She still has faith that I will.”

Vincent stood again and resumed pacing the floor. “All this time…” He clenched his fists and growled in frustration. “All this time… I told myself that I was keeping the truth from her because I didn’t want to frighten her. But now I realize…” He sat down again, not wanting to utter the hopeless truth aloud. Finally in a much more subdued tone, he admitted, “Now I realize that I was afraid that if she knew what I truly am… what I am capable of… that she would turn from me… that the dream we share would crumble to dust in my hands.”

Opening his hands, he looked down and hated what he saw. He hated his great, hairy, clawed, and deadly hands. Hands he was convinced could never safely love someone as beautiful and fine as Catherine.

“And now you are ready?” Father asked quietly, trying not to agitate his son any further. “You have kept the truth from her all this time. What has changed… what is different now?”

Vincent looked into his father’s eyes. “She killed a man.” Saying it out loud made it seem more real somehow. “She killed a man… trying to protect me.”

Father sat forward in his chair, unsure he had heard correctly. “Catherine did what?” he asked incredulously.

“The night I brought her here, bloody and beaten… the night Lisa’s bodyguard abducted her off the street. They were trying to force her to tell them where Lisa was, but she would never betray our secret. By the time I reached her, she had already been badly beaten…” He stopped, horrified by the memory and the possibility of what could have happened to her. “We fought with them… I killed one. Catherine was struggling with the other. He pointed his gun at her head and then at me.”

Father listened in horror. “Good Heaven’s, Vincent!” he exclaimed.

“When he pointed the gun at me, I… I saw something… a flash of something in her eyes… a primal fear when she realized he was going to kill me… and suddenly she…”

“What? Vincent… please tell me,” Father begged.

“She became… different… menacing and wild. She hit him with a strength beyond her own, and they began to wrestle for the gun. He was much larger than her, but she was so fierce… somehow, she overpowered him, and then… the gun went off. He closed his eyes momentarily against the vision.

“In those few moments…” he finally said. “I saw something in her that…”

“Something that you have only ever seen in yourself?” Jacob suggested.

Vincent looked at Father in disbelief. And yet, he knew it was true. “She killed that man… to protect me. She risked her own life to save mine because…” He fell silent at the very thought.

“…because she loves you,” Father said, finishing his sentence. “She loves you more than she loves her own life… with the same intensity and fierceness that you love her.”

Vincent nodded somberly. “But that love is based on lies, half-truths, and broken promises. That is why I must tell her. She must know that I am not worthy of her love.”

“My boy,” Jacob replied tenderly. “If only those who were worthy of love received it… this world would be a very dark and miserable place.”

Refusing to be comforted, Vincent replied, “At the very least, Father, she deserves to know what I truly am… that it is not safe for her to love me… or for me to love her. She must know that the things she dreams for us… can never be. These hands… can never love her.” He held his hands out to Jacob, as if to prove what he was saying was true.

“Even if it destroys what the two of you share, together?” Jacob asked, worried beyond measure for the life of his son. “Even if it destroys you?”

“Yes… even if it destroys me,” Vincent said resolutely. “I owe her that much.”

“And what if it destroys Catherine?” Jacob asked.

Vincent shuddered at the thought of causing her more pain, but he could see no other path. Shaking his head, he answered, “I don’t know, Father. She nearly went to her grave not knowing the truth I have kept from her. What I do know is that continuing to keep the truth from her will destroy what we have. I can feel it has already begun. Catherine must be free to decide for herself and to do what she must. I promised her once that I would never withhold the truth from her. It’s time I started keeping that promise.”

Father stood and came around the desk. Putting a hand on Vincent’s shoulder, he said, “Then I will be praying for you, Vincent… I will be praying for you both.”

Vincent stood to embrace the man who had loved him and stood by him through thick and thin his entire life. “Thank you, Father,” hugging him tightly. “Thank you.”

***

Vincent had been standing in the darkest corner of Catherine’s balcony for more than an hour. The apartment was dark, and Catherine was sleeping, albeit restlessly.

He sighed, remembering the first time he had come to her balcony. I hid in this very corner, he thought. She welcomed me with open arms.

This may be the last time I ever come to her balcony, he realized. Just the thought of a future without her filled him with dread. He could feel his heart beating in his ears as he contemplated the words he must say to make Catherine understand the truth of what he was. Trying to imagine how he might go on with his life without her in it filled his heart with dread.

Catherine was the end of my aloneness, he thought. I don’t know if I have the strength to face it again.

She’s restless, he realized, looking toward the room where she slept. Her bedroom light came on, softly illuminating the balcony through her sheer curtains. She’s not sleeping well. Is it because of me? he wondered.

Just then the door opened, and Catherine stepped out. She looked like a vision of loveliness to Vincent as she stood breathing in the cool spring air. He knew the lights of the city always calmed her. He didn’t have to guess at what she was thinking. He could feel the aching in her heart and knew that he was the cause of it.

“Catherine,” he whispered, trying not to frighten her.

She turned toward him and smiled softly. “I wonder if I’ll ever not be surprised to see you there,” she said, welcoming him with all her heart.

Instead of being warmed by the love she conveyed, he was convicted by it.

Unable to look into her eyes, he bowed his head in shame. “We’ve never withheld the truth from each other,” he uttered with deep regret.

“No,” was her simple reply.

“Catherine…” He breathed deeply, summoning the courage to go on. “There are things I must tell you about who I am… and what I am.”

Catherine approached him carefully, knowing instinctively how fragile and vulnerable he was in that moment. “Vincent, she said, speaking slowly and clearly as she walked toward him.  She wanted to be sure that he understood exactly what she was saying to him. “to me… you’re beautiful.”

He closed his eyes and let her heartfelt words wash over him, wishing to the very depths of his soul that they were true. Then forcing himself to look her in the eyes, he said, “What I have to tell you is not beautiful… it’s terrifying and shameful, but it is the truth.”

Drawing ever closer, she opened her heart fully to him, and looking into his pain filled eyes, she said, “Then I want to hear it.”

“It’s about Lisa and what she meant in my life,” he began.

And in that moment, old and deep wounds finally began to be healed.

*****

Every Time I See Your Face

by Judith Nolan

“We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit

the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty…”

Maya Angelou

Kneeling before the Mirror Pool, Vincent had never felt so lost and alone in every fibre of his being. His chin rested on his upper chest, his eyes staring unseeing at the moon’s steady path across the surface of the pool. He’d come here to think, and to plan, to make some sense of what it was that plagued his sleep, and driven him to wander the tunnels alone.

But all his thinking and planning had only led to one inescapable conclusion. He could not live without seeing Catherine again. His single visit to her balcony a week ago hadn’t slaked his need to feast his eyes on her beautiful face. A face he would have known in a sea of ten thousand faces. So etched was her image in his troubled mind.

Earlier in the evening, he'd sought Father’s wise counsel once more, trying to make some sense of these feelings that roiled within him. But all Jacob could offer was the same sad truth. “You are well aware any further association with her will only end in your ultimate unhappiness. I would spare you that, my son. You know it cannot be. It’s impossible.”

Vincent had responded tiredly. “Then I’m prepared to be unhappy. But I simply cannot forget her. She is connected to me in ways I am only just beginning to understand. I feel and understand all she is thinking and feeling.”

Father had shaken his head sadly but forbade to comment. He knew all too well where this strained conversation was leading and he wanted no part of it.

Vincent’s breath had rushed from him in a great sigh. “For your sake, Father, I wish I did not feel this way, but it is inescapable.”

At a loss, Father had done his best to comfort him. “Vincent, your empathic powers are extraordinary. It’s the gift you were born with. Do not allow that same gift to destroy you now.”

Vincent had felt the weight of his whole being crushing his chest, making it difficult to breathe. “If it is to be, then so be it.”

He had left Father’s chamber before he said something they would both regret. There was no way back now. The die had been cast and he was tangled in feelings and emotions he had never known before, let alone had any control over.

He became aware of the angle of the moon’s path. It signalled that it was already late. Soon it would be too late to go Above in time to beat the sunrise.

He rose slowly to his full height. His dusty cloak unfolded to swing around his ankles as he turned away from the pool.

He sensed Catherine had finally left her desk at the D.A.’s office and was heading for home. He would meet her there if only to see her again and speak with her for one final time.

***

Catherine walked from the elevator to her apartment on feet that ached cruelly. She longed to kick off her shoes.

She needed to take a long, hot shower and then tumble into bed. She couldn’t even think about food, even though her empty stomach growled a soft protest. It had been hours since she’d eaten.

“Thank God tomorrow is Saturday,” she murmured as she inserted her key into the lock on her apartment door.

The whole week had been a nightmare of continuances and long days and nights. She had no intention of moving from the warmth of her bed until at least midday. And if she spent the rest of the day in her old grey sweatpants and top, who was going to see or care?

She pushed the door shut behind her with her heel, turning to lock it before kicking off her shoes, uncaring where they landed. Her heavy shoulder bag got dumped onto the end of one of her dinky couches. She stretched thankfully, trying to ease all the kinks and knots from her aching spine.

“Shower and then bed,” she decided, not bothering to turn on any lights as she made her way toward the bedroom.

It was then that she saw the large shadow pass across her balcony curtains before turning and walking back again.

“Vincent?” she breathed disbelievingly, not quite trusting the evidence of her grainy eyes.

She rubbed a hand across them, blinked and looked again. The shadow remained, now pinned like a giant moth to the very centre of the curtains as he became aware of her presence.

“Vincent…” Catherine’s heartbeat picked up with gratitude and anticipation.

She hadn’t expected to see him ever again. He had said he would not return. There had been no more books or messages. She’d thought of seeking him out but knew her efforts to find him would be in vain.

All she could do was wait and hope he would come back to her. And now he had.

“Vincent!” Her pulse rate increased as she flew across the darkened lounge to throw the curtains back.

He was there, on the other side of the windows, watching her with fathomless eyes, darkened in the fitful moonlight. Her fingers fumbled with the window catch, as she sought to reach the shelter of his embrace.

His impatience communicated itself to her as she finally managed to work the locks and shove the windows wide. She jumped up the single step and onto the tiled balcony, throwing herself headlong into his arms.

“Catherine…” His strong arms closed around her once more and it was like coming home.

“Vincent…” She breathed into the quilted grey fabric of his vest.

All thoughts of a shower and bed deserted her as she pushed even closer into him, trying to hold as much of him against her as she could. She nuzzled her face into the curve of his shoulder, turning her cheek to rest against him.

“I didn’t think I would see you ever again…” she whispered raggedly.

“I had no thought of returning…” he replied pressing his lips against her hair. “But I could not get your face out of my mind…”

“I’ve felt the same way,” Catherine murmured. “I kept seeing you in my dreams. We walked together in the sunshine.”

“Yes…” Vincent sighed. “I know I must forget you, but…” He shook his head slowly.

“I’ve tried,” Catherine replied. “I know we cannot go on meeting here, but what choice do we have? We have no place in each other’s worlds.”

“It seems we have no choice,” Vincent told her, in a resigned tone. “Sometimes I think there are forces at work here that we can only guess at.”

Catherine nodded. “I think the same.” She turned her head to look out over the moonlit city. “Sometimes it seems as if there’s someone or something out there smiling at us.”

“Yes…” Vincent pulled back to look down at her, seeing her tired eyes and slumped shoulders. “Perhaps wishing us well.”

“I would love to think so, Vincent.” Catherine lifted one of his hands to her lips, kissing the back of it softly.

“You’re tired…” he said softly, moving back further still but keeping his free hand resting on her slim shoulder. “You should sleep…”

“Yes…” Catherine sighed gustily.

Now she didn’t feel like sleeping. She wanted to rest against his warmth and strength. She wanted him beside her and with her.

Her small fingers twined eagerly through his, clutching them tightly. “Come inside…”

“I… shouldn’t…” Vincent drew back sharply. “I should go. I cannot stay.”

“Yes, you can. Come inside with me…” Catherine persisted, her fingers tightening around his, tugging gently.

“You need to sleep…”

“I will sleep if you are with me to watch over me,” Catherine persisted, her grasp on his hand becoming even more insistent. “Come inside with me, please…”

“I…” Vincent tried to hold his ground against her appeal for comfort.

He knew she was asking for no more than his warmth. His uncomplicated presence beside her. He was aware he could break the fragile contact at any moment and leave her standing there, alone.

He became aware he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t turn and walk away. He had looked into her face again and been lost to all caution. He sighed deeply as he allowed her small hand to draw him into the darkness of the living room.

He turned to push the doors closed with his free hand, twisting the lock back into place. Now the soft darkness greeted them.

“Come here…” Catherine encouraged him toward one of her small couches. “Sit down…”

“It’s too small. It may not hold me…” Vincent complained worriedly as he eased his bulk down onto the tiny piece of furniture.

“If you break it, I’ll buy a new, sturdier one.” Catherine chuckled as she followed him down.

She curled her legs beneath her as she nestled herself against him, burrowing deep into his solid warmth. Vincent lifted his arm around her shoulders, sheltering her beneath the vast wing of his cloak.

“Sleep…” he encouraged, resting his cheek against her hair. “I will be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” Catherine asked sleepily. “The sun might be up by then.”

“I promise even if the sun is up by then…” Vincent sighed as he closed his eyes and silence settled in the room.

“Then you’ll have to stay here for the whole day,” Catherine breathed. “Father will not be pleased…”

“I think I could manage that…” Vincent smiled as her breathing evened out and he knew she was asleep.

Unknown to her, there was the small sound of her empty stomach rumbling. He rubbed his cheek on the top of her head, knowing she hadn’t eaten all day.

He turned to kiss her hair softly. “And in the morning I will make you some of William’s excellent pancakes,” he promised with a smile. “It’s just as well tomorrow is Saturday…”

*****

We Walked For Miles Together…

by Cindy Rae

Many thanks to Barbara for the inspiring graphic.

**

“It’s a remarkable thing… to feel the beat of a woman’s heart… on a distant shore.” – Father,  A Distant Shore

***

We walked for miles together.

I read your words in the letter you sent. I hear them in some part, some deep part of myself, and I understand them. I hear them in my mind, Catherine, your voice, soft and breathless, speaking to me, speaking to my inner ear. So, I hear them there …

And I hear them in my heart.

You had gone, and I was missing you. Three thousand miles stood between us, still stand between us. I felt the distance even as I felt your nearness. I closed my eyes just for the pleasure of feeling your heartbeat.

I was wistful the other day.

Wistful because you were gone… wistful because you are in California, and I felt lonely.

I sat by the mirror pool and contemplated the water… how the same water that fills the place might have, in times past, been where you are now. How some gift of rain or ocean tides, or … magic… might have carried it to me, to this room of memories, so far away… so far from you and where you step right now.

Where you step on that distant shore.

We walked for miles together.

Did you see me there, on that shoreline with you? You write that you did. But did you feel it, as well? Like a dream you never thought to have, but one that was somehow, some way, happening to you? And you knew that it was, that it was all true, and all good, and that this magic, this wonderment, this… impossibility… it was yours, and you could keep it? Forever?

I touched my hand to the water before me and I did. I saw it. I felt it.

I did, Catherine…

We walked. And there was sand beneath my boots. And a quick rising sun over my shoulder. The sun warmed the air. It kissed your soft cheek. The wind played in your hair, and all I could think was…

That I so wanted to be that sun, to be that wind.

We walked for miles together…

There were gulls in the sky, like the ones we saw that October - no, not October, by then it was the first day of November - morning, when the sun came up by the river. There were gulls then too… the same, but different… so different.

I can’t explain “why.”

Perhaps it’s because these were “our” gulls, yours and mine, together. I don’t know. For how could I be certain about anything now? You are three thousand miles distant, and I, I am… I was…

Walking… with you.

Our gulls dove for breakfast and made a screeching cry. The sound made you smile and the gentle, ocean waves lapped at your feet. You were dressed in gossamer white, and I should have been too warm inside my heavy cape, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t, Catherine.

How strange that that is a thing I am thinking of, when there is so much else to think about. The sun was hot, and I was dressed as I always am. Yet, I wasn’t uncomfortable there, walking with you. I felt like I belonged.

You in your summer dress and me in the heavy cape I wear all year… we looked like two strangers from different places, from different times, perhaps. Like two lost travelers who’d stumbled upon each other on that wave-swept beach.

The sand was beautiful and soft, and it yielded to us as we passed. It was two different shades of tan, dark where the waves brushed it smooth and glistening with salt crystals where the water couldn’t reach it and the sun had baked it dry. In some places it was almost white.

But not as white as your lovely dress. Not as light, as airy as…

As the way I felt.

As the way we felt.

Summer and Winter, we looked like opposites, walking along that shore, yet also like we belonged together somehow. Perhaps that’s something the ocean does. It makes everything look like it belongs there.

Or perhaps that’s just what we do. What a blessing to believe that’s true, if it is.

Still, we looked like opposites there, strolling along the sand. Like two different parts of a mismatched set. I suppose we always do. I suppose we always will.

But a mismatched set is still a set. It’s still a thing that has found belonging, no matter how unlikely.

I smile at that. We are unlikely… yet we are happening, just the same. We don’t match and shouldn’t be together, except for the part of us that insists we do, and we should. We were there, impossible us, on that impossible beach I never saw… until I did. And we looked like we belonged there.

For I felt like I belonged with you there… like I belonged near that ocean, being caressed by the same wind that was caressing you… like I was a part of it, just like the waves and the sand and the gulls were a part of it.

And you… beautiful you. You looked like you belonged there, of course. And for once in my life, on a bright, sunny morning, I felt as if I looked like I did too. I looked like I belonged.

I can’t explain it.

For how can anyone explain what it feels like to be part of someone else’s dream, even as you’re a part of your own?

We walked… and walked… for miles.

You had a hat. A thing I’ve never seen you wear, yet you had one. It was white, and wide-brimmed. I think it was supposed to protect your fair skin from burning, but you carried it in your hand the whole way.

And in your other hand…

You carried me.

You reached for me, as you always do, no thought of the fierceness of my nails or the roughness of my work-calloused palm, and my hand slid into yours, welcomed and accepted. Every time I take your hand in mine, a part of me whispers a word… just a small word.

A word you are very far away from right now.

Home.

Every time I touch you, a part of me whispers that word. It’s a thing I’ve never told you.

Home. You feel like “home” to me.

But what I cannot help but wonder is…

How can I feel like I’m “home” when we are both walking on a distant shore? How can I feel like “home” when nothing I see is familiar, save the lovely sight of you?

I see you in profile as we walk. The beloved face I could draw from memory, and yet, it looks different here. More relaxed. More content. More “you.” Perhaps more you than you’ve ever been.

Am I more “me” as well?

Your eyes are the same color as the ocean, and the sun blush on your cheek is the softest peach-and-pink shade you’ll ever find on the inside of a seashell. You turn your face toward the ocean, and even your profile is obscured from me, for a moment.

You watch the waves glint with the rising sun, and I can feel your smile. You’re pleased. Pleased with this place. Pleased with the morning sun and the cry of the gulls and the smell of the salt and the gentle sound the water makes as it slips back and forth on the darkened sand.

In an eons-long dance that never ends, the water moves, and the sand either gets pushed up, or swept away, as the sun climbs.

I suppose it’s always been that way.

But you’re pleased with all of it, so pleased, so content, and so happy just to be there.

And you’re pleased with me. You’re pleased that I’m there. There, and with you. For who would want to take such a walk alone?

I know I wouldn’t, and neither would you.

Your fingers tighten on my hand, just a little, just a reassuring squeeze that lets me know that we’re here together, and that you see it all, feel it all, love it all… even me… especially me.

Do you have any idea what a gift it is you give me, Catherine?

Safe. We’re safe now.

It’s the last thing I should be thinking, out here in the open, my hood down around my shoulders, away from all the hiding places I use, away from my family, my Tunnels and my home.

But you are “home.” I’ve confessed it already. So perhaps, in being with you, I’m not so very far away from that after all.

The sun lays claim to all the shadows, as it shrinks them away. Shadows I live in. Shadows I use to protect myself, as I have to hide from strangers, to keep myself safe from hate and from harm.

A thousand prying eyes could be spying on us. I’m too far from shelter and the cool night, with its concealing darkness, is nowhere near.

I should feel exposed or on my guard, or at the very least, concerned about it. But I’m not.

Safe. We’re safe, now.

The beach holds no one but us. Yet, I cannot help but feel that even if a throng were present, they would all just nod “good morning” and smile at us, as they walked along, enjoying the beach as we are, taking in the sounds of the gulls and the feel of the noon sun as it reaches its zenith. I feel that we could walk, and walk, and no one would look twice. I know that it is fancy, that it is fantasy.

But isn’t that what all of this is? We walked for miles together.

The sun climbs higher and the sky turns the palest shade of blue known to the human eye. The sea glitters, as the breeze teases the water into choppy peaks. They rise and fall, holding to their own rhythm. The sea changes constantly, as the waves move.

I suppose you can’t look at the same ocean twice.

Which is an amazing thing to think, since… how can I even be looking at this one?

But I am. I am looking at it. As I’m watching you look at it.

We walked for miles together.

The sand we’re walking on drizzled out of the box you sent. I have the shell near me and I swear that if I hold it close, I can hear it whisper. It has a secret, one I don’t have the words for… ocean words… ones that rise and fall with the rhythm of the tide, in a language everyone hears, but no one uses anymore, if they ever did. A language only shells remember… a language only spoken in soft, shell-whispers. I hear it and try to understand it. I hear it and try to let all my understanding go.

Perhaps it’s trying to tell me all that it’s seen. Perhaps it’s trying to tell me what journeys it’s taken, what stories it knows, what wisdom it’s learned.

Or perhaps it only wants to tell me what it felt like to be held in your hand… held protectively, and with love.

Perhaps there is just that, in its whispering sound.

I squeeze your fingers back, on our beach-swept walk. Just an answering pressure to yours, letting you know that I already know that feeling, that pleasure has already been mine… that of all the pleasures of this day, that one feeling, that sensation of your hand in mine… that is the one I would trade all the rest of it to have, if I had to.

But I don’t have to. I don’t have to trade anything for that feeling, that wonderful “take your breath away” feeling of your hand in mine… because you always gave that to me, freely.

You embraced me the day you left my world for yours, but you took both my hands in yours only months later.

Months later, the night I came to your balcony.

You reached for my hands and tugged me down, wanting me to stay, wanting me to be with you. I’ll never forget that moment, never forget how it felt, how good it was, how kind it was, how much…

How much it opened the world for me.

The world, Catherine.

Not just “your world” or “my world” or the world beyond my Tunnels or your balcony… but all the world… the entire thing… the whole world, and all of its parts, dark and light.

This world, for instance. This world on a beach, pacing a shoreline I’ll never really see, watching a sun that, for me, is already setting, thanks to the difference in time between here and there.

As we walk together, the still-bright sun arcs over us, and the sandy shoreline is dotted with large, black, seaweed covered stones. They look like sentries who’ve been here a thousand years… as if they’re silent witnesses to this walk, to this … miracle.

I wonder how many other miracles they’ve seen…

And how many more they’ll see after we’re gone?

How many times have they seen a first kiss, or a marriage proposal, or a child finding a special shell in the sand, one they gifted to someone they love, just for the pleasure of sharing it? How many times have they observed someone looking out into that great water and watched them make a decision that changed their lives? How many soft “goodbyes,” and sweet “hellos” have they witnessed, those stones?

Well, here is one more miracle for them, I suppose. One for them,

And one for me. For us.

I never before truly understood that old saying, that you can treat life either as if nothing is a miracle or everything is.

Well, I understand it now.

Because we’re walking on a distant shore, hands entwined, and we’ve come for miles, and the only thing that’s about to stop us are our sentry-stones, our tall, silent companions. They block the path in spots. It’s all right that they do. The day is passing its prime anyway.

The sea is changing from blue to purple and I look at it and marvel. It will never look this way, not exactly this way again. And I was here. And I saw all of it.

I look backwards, to the way we came, and our sandy footprints are a testament to how far we’ve walked. They wind so far back that I can’t make out where we began, it was so far.

We’ve come far, my Catherine… in more ways than one.

The tide must be coming in, because it laps at your footprints and fills them with water. It changes their appearance from sharp to vague. The sea takes back its own, I suppose. Soon, it will claim my trail as well. Soon, it will erase all evidence that we ever came this way.

It’s all right that it does. I know we were here.

The sea is a friend to us. It will keep our secret. It will erase our footprints and tell not a soul of our passage. The water will keep moving, even if we are still. It will brush at the sand until no trace of our adventure remains.

I smile inwardly to realize that the sea is a Helper.

The waves push in, and the sound of the water is like a sigh.

I sigh too. And the sound comes from a deep, contented place inside me… the same place where our bond first stirred to life. The place inside me that knows my aloneness is ended, that my heart is secure, that the woman I love will return to me.

A place I remember, on a day I remember, where I don’t think either one of us spoke a word to the other …

But we walked for miles, together.

***

No matter where you are in your own walk, I wish you love. - Cindy

*****

I always wanted to give voice to what Vincent was thinking and feeling during the concert scene in “Chamber Music,” so…

Written On The Rain

by Anne Alden France

Catherine: Is that lightning?

Vincent: I think it was.

~ “Chamber Music”

**

Some love letters are written on paper or parchment,

lined, or unlined. Others are written on the rain.

**

I offer you my cape but you refuse. You’re kneeling beside me, arms out,                  palms up, your hands ready to catch the first raindrops. Your head is  upturned, and a sliver of moonlight has broken through the clouds, illuminating the grate above your beautiful head. The soft light is there, then gone. We both know a storm is about to break.

All around me, my senses feel heightened. There’s a charge in the air. Above us the crowd mutters, restless and unsure. The leaves over our heads rustle, wind-tossed, yet clinging. There’s a pressure in the air, mixed in with the Schubert. There just is.

There’s an energy in you as well. Your skin is luminous. Your dress is lovely. I don’t have a name for the color, so caught it is between deep turquoise and emerald. Pearls dangle from your ears and swing as the thunder rumbles. The sound is chasing the lightning… the brief flash that, for just an instant, touched your face with silver.

You are so beautiful… so beautiful to me.

I sit here in silent wonderment, thinking of all this and drinking it in, just as the first drops of rain begin to fall. Cooler air rushes in and it lifts the silken tendrils of your hair.

If I had my journal near, I’d be reaching for it, furiously scribbling down all I’m thinking, all I’m feeling right now… writing it down like a love letter.

A love letter, written on the rain.

You laugh, and I love the sound, low and husky. I’ve always loved that sound. Your head is thrown back to catch everything above you, above us both, as the scattered raindrops are borne to the ground. The music still plays, and the low bass notes mingle with the next peal of rolling thunder. The storm starts in earnest. The crowd changes from restless to evacuating, as they give up on a night spent in the open air listening to the symphony. They give up.

But you don’t give up.

Moving your knees a little wider for balance, you wait to receive heaven’s gifts, as the clouds over your head split and spill. They send their bounty to us. You don’t give up and why should you? Why should you when there are such blessings to be had?

The concert-goers run for cover, and the rain begins pelting down. The grate is no protection from the water… indeed, it begins to drip, great, fat drops mixed in with the smaller kind, and you laugh again, as you look my way.

“Vincent! It’s raining!”

Your smile is full of childish delight, and I can only answer with one of my own. It is raining. It is. And for a reason both of us understand but neither of us can explain, we’re delighted by it.

You’re delighted by it.

Footsteps run by overhead, some go right across the grate, but it’s okay. We know we won’t be discovered. But oh, what they would see if they only knew to look down. What they would see, Catherine.

They would see you.

My Catherine, my love.

For I can call you that in this love letter, this letter I compose only in my mind, this letter I send to you, written on the rain. I can whisper it here, tucked beneath the cross-hatched grate, with the ivy trailing down, and dripping. I can say it inside, and I know it’s real, and… it makes me smile.

Almost as much as you’re smiling.

The musicians are losing time, but you’re looking up again, palms still open to the rain, a Goddess accepting her Offering. Heaven shares its bounty with you and you’re getting wet. Your fine hair starts to darken, and then it starts to run.

My love is a Mermaid… my love is a Queen.

Everything south of Oz and North of Shangri-la.

The rug we’re on is taking on water, and the sand near us will turn to mud, as the dry earth drinks its fill. The sounds of the Unfinished Symphony fade and falter, as the orchestra falters. Now the song is “Unfinished” in another way. That would make it the unfinished Unfinished Symphony.

I wonder if that would make Schubert smile?

The orchestra gives up, just as the crowd did. But you never did. You never gave up… on us.

The music is stopping, but I hear the orchestra’s tune in my head even as I write this moment on my heart. I know I will never forget it. Beautiful, beautiful, so beautiful… ‘She walks in Beauty…’ even when she’s kneeling.

I wonder what Byron would think of that?

I think to myself that I wish this moment would last forever… then you change my mind by making it better. You turn to me joyfully laughing, drenched with rain, and you fall against me, turning in my arms so we can both look up at the grate, at the dappled moonlight, at the running patrons, the dripping ivy, the dark night sky, and all the rest of it, and I feel you against me, and I feel it all, see it all, love it all… with you. I’m a part of something. A joyous part of a joyful something, and that feeling draws itself upon my heart, in a place that will never forget it, and will always hold it close.

Just as I am holding you close.

Your head rests on my shoulder and I swear it fits there, Catherine, it fits there so perfectly, as if that spot was made for this, was made for you. The rain keeps coming and the music is all gone. The crowd is thinning, and all I can think (again) is…

I wish we could stay this way forever.

It could rain on us all night and I wouldn’t care. The thunder could drown out our voices, and I’d just call it “music of a different kind.” You could stay there, against me, my arm around you, your soft hand pushing your damp hair away from your face, and I’d simply call it “Paradise.”

“She walks in beauty, like the night…”

I know we won’t stay here much longer, but part of me wonders why we don’t just.

You’re happy in my arms and inside our Bond, and your hand rests on my chest, then your fingers clutch at my vest, holding tight, as a fresh torrent of rain comes through. You laugh again, at being pelted, a child’s sound of absolute… glee. The shelter of the Tunnels is close, but you don’t want to move there. You want to stay here.

It’s then that I realize that you don’t want it to end either. I feel you chuckle against me as the wind pushes the rain through, and I know I will remember every detail I can, to save it for my journal later, so I can write down on paper what I’m writing in my head now.

I tighten my grip on your shoulder, just to let you know I feel as you do. We can stay. We can stay as long as you like, Catherine.

Let the rain pour down, then subside. Let us sit here, covered in raindrops, the echoes of the music and the crowd, in heaven’s benediction and each other, with the strains of the Unfinished Symphony even more unfinished now, trailing in our ears. Let us hear the remnants of the crowd fade to nothing, as the storm passes over us. Let the lightning fade to distant flickers. Let the thunder grow softer, as it rolls across the night sky. Let the rain follow it and go where it will.

New York will show it where to go. It always does. New York is large. It contains multitudes.

And then, when it has all passed, then… then let there be peace in the stillness that follows. The kind of peace I told you about, more special now… now because you are here, and you’re sharing it with me.

With me… here, in a place that will never be the same for me… for us.

You are the end of my aloneness. I’ve never felt that more than I do right now.

I need to remember all of this. I need to remember that it started with the lightning. I want to record every detail. I want to read the story of it and re-read it, fascinated and whole. I need to remember all of it so I can write it down on paper.

No. Wait. No. No, I don’t. I don’t need to do that. I can just… enjoy this moment. Enjoy it, content that it all is as it is, and whether it happens again tomorrow or never again, I know I’ll always hold the memory of it close.

As close as I’m holding you now.

Absent paper, I can only write on what is near. Very well then.

I have my odd love letter already written, already complete… my unusual, storm-soaked billet-doux. This… ephemeral confession of my love for you and for all that we are together…

Written on the Rain.

**

Up sprung deft shadowy patterns by degrees,

And nature’s face her soul made manifest.

~ ‘Rain in Summer’ by William Stanley Braithwaite

*****

A Year Ago, Tonight

by Allison

“It was a year ago, tonight.”

Catherine turned at the whispered sound of his voice behind her.

Vincent held out his arms in welcome. ''How remarkable you are, remembering such a dark moment with dancing light.''

Catherine took a step towards him. ''I found hope again that night. I found you.''

They kept walking until they were close enough to touch. Vincent reached out and gently took Catherine in his arms. As she laid her head gently on his shoulder, Vincent whispered, “Every moment since that night, I'm reminded of what a gift life is.''

Catherine lifted her head and smiled. Vincent looked at Catherine for a long moment then asked.

"Are you busy tomorrow night?"

"I don't have anything planned. Just a quiet evening home. Why?" Catherine replied.

Vincent hesitated, then quietly murmured. "Would you meet me in the park by the drainage culvert?"

"Of course, I will."

Vincent slowly released her, then walked to the balcony wall. "I wish to show you a place."

"Something new?'' she asked.

"No, but it's a place I think you should see."

"All right, I'll meet you."

Vincent inclined his head at her agreement, then slowly placed one leg over the balcony wall.

"Until then, Catherine."

''Until then," she whispered as he slowly disappeared from view.

*****

The next day Catherine made sure she left work on time for once, even though Joe tried his darnest to keep her there longer. She managed to catch a cab as soon as she walked out of her office building and hurried home to change into more comfortable clothes.

Since they were meeting at the culvert, she figured he was taking her Below somewhere. There was no children's recital, no special dinner or occasion was coming up that she knew of. She pondered what he had in mind as she put on a comfortable pair of jeans, a soft sweater and grabbed her jacket as she exited the apartment, though it really didn't matter what, just as long as she was by his side.

Catherine made her way across the park and soon the culvert was in sight. Its dark opening sometimes frightened people when they saw it. To her, it was a place of hopes and dreams. A place where she truly belonged if life was kind enough to allow it.

A rustling alerted her that Vincent was near, as the Bond they shared also announced his arrival.

"Catherine, thank you for coming." He gently embraced her.

"Vincent, I would go anywhere with you." She replied as she returned his embrace.

"It's not far, but it is a little difficult to get to.''

"With you to help and guide me, the way will be as nothing."

As Vincent released her, Catherine turned toward the culvert entrance, expecting Vincent to lead her Below. Then he placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned surprised eyes to him when he gestured ahead, away from the entrance.

"We aren't going Below?" she questioned.

"No, there is a place here in the park that I wish to show you."

'I thought I'd been to every spot in Central Park."

"This place is quite different."

*****

Vincent led Catherine to the 79th Street drive-through. The moon made visible their path clearly. Catherine recognized the general area they were walking toward.

"This leads into the Ramble."

"Yes, the place I wish to show you is just through there."

As they strolled deeper into the trees and brush, Catherine realized that Vincent was leading her into one of the most isolated areas of the Ramble that it was well known should not be visited at night.

Vincent sensed Catherine's apprehension. “It's not much further, Catherine."

I'm sorry, Vincent. I was always warned to stay out of this part of the park, especially on foot. With you, I shouldn't fear it. You always make me feel safe."

Vincent smiled at her comment.

"Why are you bringing me here? There's nothing but the dark tangle of brush. No one ever comes this far into the Ramble for fear of getting lost."

After a few minutes of walking, they finally arrived at the base of a small incline. The glow of a streetlamp could barely be seen above their heads in the distance.

Suddenly a strange sensation of deja’vu hit Catherine. "I've been here before, haven't I? I can't recall exactly when, but it seems so familiar."

Vincent pointed to the base of the incline. "This is where I found you that night a year ago."

As Catherine stepped closer, Vincent pointed to a patch of grass several feet in front of them.

"Here?"

Vincent nodded.

Catherine looked around in awe. The place was so remote, she was surprised he had found her.

"Thank you for bringing me here. I have always wondered where you found me."

"I was out walking, taking in the sights and sounds of the park. I wandered aimlessly for some time and then suddenly I felt this pull. It led me to this area and you know the rest."

"What a perfect way to spend our anniversary, seeing the place where it all began."

Vincent nodded his agreement. They stood in the moonlight, holding each other and pondered what the future would hold for them. Slowly they turned and made their way back to the culvert and disappeared from view

*****

The Warmth of Friends

by Angie

Vincent sat on his bed, recalling this and that, friends and family, past and           present. Then one night, he recognized the aide memoire where he sat - the quilt he had received at 18.

Each piece was personal. There was Devin, Winslow, Father, Mary, Pascal Sr, Elizabeth and Peter. Paracelsus, also, he realized with shock. Who else would have worn that dark, expensive fabric? Pieces of his own clothing recalled adventures, plays, birthdays, danger, joys, and sadness.

He hugged the quilt carefully, his heart memory full, and grateful for the tunnel stitchers and their memory quilts, who never lacked for material.

*****

Covers to the World

by Angie

1

Vincent knew where all the manhole and storm drains were on Manhattan Island, and a few elsewhere. He had been marking their locations on Father's maps since he was 9, the first time he had gone beyond the home tunnels as a boy. They gave him a strong sense of the world above, one he could get no other way, because they were on every street, in every park, and even in the subway tunnels.

Unlike the storm drains, manhole covers gave access to miles of maintenance tunnels, as useful to the tunnel community as the New York Public Works.

2

Vincent suspected that he and Devin had helped the NYPW complete their work expeditiously. Nothing that would invite unwanted attention from the police, just odd sounds the boys generated from found objects, just where they could be heard.

They knew they gave the men pause and possibly frightened them. The sounds were definitely not usual below ground in the big city. There were clop-clops, metal clangs, and Vincent's favourite, a loud slither along rough gravel that stopped abruptly.

The men, beyond an oath, usually said nothing, but the sound of their quick steps to the access manhole was very satisfying.

3

Vincent's patrol of the tunnels and manholes was both useful and fascinating.

He had discovered the music chamber and sat there often, listening to Park concerts. He now shared that with Catherine, a place uniquely their own.

The covers shed light in his dark world, literally and figuratively, danger-free. He often paused when he heard singing, laughter, arguments, music, scrapes, booms, squeaks - even cat fights. Even the Whispering Gallery couldn't match it.

In the city that never sleeps, the daytime noises were as interesting as that of the night. It pleased him to be a curious, hidden eavesdropper below.

4

Vincent and Devin had made regular visits to the grates in busy areas of the city. They found little treasures; keys being the most common, dropped by fumbling drivers who'd had a few too many drinks.

Sometimes, the boys found the prize, coins dropped through grates in error, at parking meters. They were a secret from Father, guardian of the official cash meted out only for essentials. The boys collected a hoard, which Devin used to buy treats for them. That disappeared with Devin, unnoticed at the time.

Vincent now saved them to buy a single perfect rose, for Catherine.

5

The covers had other stories to tell.

Vincent used them to exit the world above, but one night he had been too weak to lift one.

Catherine and Elliot had escaped into one on the docks. He had carried Tony to one, and had brought Catherine below using them, when he had gone to her aid.

The children used them too, when there were enough to lift one. Father's admonitions fell on deaf ears.

Now, his bond with Catherine allowed him to shadow her below, as she went about her work above. At night, especially, he was never far away.

*****

Caroline’s Bargain

by Cindy Rae

Our story is set Once Upon a Time in the city of New York, ~ in the 1950’s.

Because that’s just how it had to happen.

***

Chapter One

The Luckless One

“I’m sorry, Caroline,” Peter Alcott said, offering her the latest medical                 report. “I know you were hopeful, but…” he let the sentence trail away as the words “Pregnancy test: NEGATIVE” jumped out readily at Caroline Chandler, for what was now the third time.

Her beautiful eyes looked up at him, despair in their green, lovely depths. “But… but I was so sure! Peter, can you run the test again? My period is over two weeks late! And my stomach… I’ve been feeling queasy, especially this morning …”

There was hope and sorrow in her soft eyes. It was a look Peter was becoming uncomfortably familiar with.

His voice was gentle and calm. It was the kind of voice doctors used to soothe fractious patients, especially when delivering bad news.

“Caroline, I did the test myself, twice, but of course I’ll do it again, if you like. Your cycle has always been irregular. We talked about this. It’s part of why you’re having such a hard time conceiving in the first place.”

Caroline’s shoulders, impeccably clad in Dior, slumped. She knew in her heart that Peter was right, that the butterflies in her stomach this morning were likely of her own making, her wish to have a child, not the result of carrying one.

The damning pregnancy test results glared back at her, its red word wholly unwelcome.

Negative. Negative. Negative.

The narrow shoulders slumped further. “No. Don’t bother. I’m sure you’re right.”

Her skin was winter fair. Still, he didn’t like how pale she’d become.

Easy, Carrie, we’ll get through this, he thought.

She took a tissue from her clutch and began to dab her eyes. The tears were as hot as they were unexpected. Years of being raised by uncaring parents had long ago taught her the uselessness of them.

“I… I’m sorry. I never d-do this.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes, trying to preserve her carefully applied makeup.

“It’s all right, you’re due,” Peter replied, offering her another tissue from the box he kept at his elbow. She took it.

More realization struck Caroline. “Oh, God. That means I have to tell Charles. He’s going to be so disappointed in me… in us.”

Peter reached over and placed a loving hand on the shoulder of the woman he’d known since her girlhood.

“For you maybe, but not in you.” Peter was careful to enunciate the difference. “He’s a good man and he loves you, Caroline. He’ll understand. And just because it didn’t happen this time doesn’t mean—“

“Of course it does!” she exploded, shaking off his hand and rising from the leatherette couch in his office. “He’s… he’s so ready for this. He wants to be a father. But… we can’t! I can’t.”

She paced a little and reached the only conclusion she could, considering. “It…it means I’m no good for him, that I’m a failure, that God won’t give me… won’t give me one damn break in this universe.”

She’d been raised strictly to know that ladies never swore, but at the moment, she clearly didn’t care.

“Damn it!” she repeated the curse.

She twisted the tissues into a hard rope between her well-manicured hands. On the third finger of her left hand, her expensive bridal set gleamed.

The physician’s voice remained soothing. “Caroline, don’t let the disappointment of this moment overwhelm you. Don’t let it dictate your choices, your reactions.” Peter knew it was sound advice, even as he also knew this might not be the right time for it. He was correct.

Caroline seemed to ignore him.

“Charles wants children, so do I. We’ve been married almost five years. We’re both more than ready. In a way… in a way, realistically, we’ve been trying since our wedding night, and what do we have to show for it?!” She paced some more as she listed her perceived failures.

From his perch on the edge of his desk, Peter knew to let her move. She was burning off steam, and she needed to.

“Months, no, years of failure.” Her hand swiped the air. “And six months ago… a hard period that was so painful, I swear it was a miscarriage. Peter… what am I going to do?” she asked. “We both know it’s my fault.”

Peter rose from the edge of the desk and drew closer to the woman who was wearing out a path across the rug. He knew that she was also a woman who had managed to overcome a difficult, all but loveless childhood, but now seemed to be having a crisis all her own in adulthood.

Peter well knew how destructive this particular crisis could be.

A few more laps and she slowed down enough for him to put himself in her way and give her a gentle embrace. He was encouraged that she accepted it.

“It’s my fault,” she repeated.

“Carrie,” he began, using his childhood nickname for her, “We’ve talked about this too. We don’t use the word “fault.” There’s no “fault” here. This isn’t a character flaw, or a mistake you made, or something bad you’ve done. And you’re not being punished for the way you were raised.”

Her reply sounded reluctant: “You’re the only one who really knows about that,” Caroline said.

He did, and the knowledge brought him no pleasure.

Peter and Caroline shared a distant aunt in common. In that, Peter considered himself the luckier of the two of them. He’d drawn the emotionally supportive side of the family, while Caroline had drawn the emotionally distant one. She’d mostly been raised by a fairly disinterested grandmother, a woman born before the turn of the century.

Materially, Caroline’s every need had been met. The family was well fixed. She’d moved in higher social circles than most, had been taught how to dress well, put strangers at ease, and plan the social gatherings that made millionaires out of entrepreneurs, as business contacts were made. She’d known her way around New York’s elite even before meeting her husband. She had received a good education, and done the almost obligatory tour of Europe after graduation.

When she came back she met Charles Chandler, student of law, at Columbia University. The rest was history.

“I remember the day you married Charles, you told me you were going to let the past stay in the past. How did you put it? ‘You can’t step in the same river twice, and sometimes, that’s a good thing.’”

The quick, knife-like glance she shot at Peter told him she wasn’t so sure of that anymore. Right now, the past seemed to loom large for her. For years, Caroline had declared herself bereft of luck. It was a thing her marriage to Charles seemed to change for her.

Now, it looked like they were back to square one on that score.

“This is so hard, Peter.” She was raised to never complain, never.

This felt that way to her and Peter knew it.

His grey eyes held nothing but kindness. “It is, I know it is. I’m not trying to minimize what you’ve endured, you know that.  But this… this setback is something you’re going through, both of you. And for whatever it’s worth, I think Mother Nature can be a capricious nag.”

He gave her soft shoulders an encouraging squeeze. “Every test I’ve run on you says you can conceive.  We just have to… to get you there, and make sure everything goes well once we do.”

Caroline broke their embrace and tossed the worthless tissues into the nearest trash can.

“You’re about to tell me there are other ways; tracking my cycle, taking pills, another surgery to see if they missed anything the first time, or we can adopt, if it comes to that.” Her tone was harsh.

Peter refused to be baited. “As a matter of fact, there are, and you can. We can try another round of hormone therapy. Science has come a long way on this. Some of it’s very experimental, but they get better results every year. You can keep tracking your temperature so you can predict when you’re ovulating—“

She held up one hand. “Or there’s surgery… again, to tell me nothing is wrong with me. But there is, Peter!”

“Carrie…”

“It’s incredibly expensive, and there are absolutely no guarantees,” Caroline replied, quoting back to him his own literature on the subject.

“Charles wants for you only what you want for yourself, and he’s hardly a pauper, Caroline.”

She shook her head, and her soft, sandy hair moved over her shoulders with the motion. “The firm is just getting started, he shouldn’t have to spend money on this, not on this.” she insisted.

Peter could see the self-damning conclusion in her eyes… why is something that is so easy for others, accidental even, and unwelcome, so hard for me?

She sighed and sat back down on the couch. “I made the mistake of telling him I was late, and that I’d been feeling queasy. He… he brought home a children’s book yesterday. Said it was his favorite, and he was going to read it to our child, when the time came. The Velveteen Rabbit. Even I remember reading that one.”

“He didn’t do it to make you feel guilty, Caroline,” Peter said. “He’s dreaming too. That’s a good thing. I swear.”

Is it? Are you so sure of that, Peter?

She raised her hands and let them fall back into her lap. “I’m too irregular for a calendar to work. Tracking my temperature is about as joyless an experience as we’ve ever had, like we have to have relations right then, no matter how tired he is from scaring up clients, how exhausted I am from whatever I’m doing.  I refuse to call him at work to tell him he has to come home from a partner’s meeting to service his wife.  I refuse to turn my marriage into that. The hormones didn’t work, and they made me insane for three months.”

“I warned you that it takes time, honey.” Peter reminded.

“Time? Peter, I was climbing the walls, coming out of my skin. I cried in the greeting card aisle. I thought it would be best if we just got a divorce. I lost twenty-one pounds from not eating, and not being able to hold anything down.” She dropped her head so that her honey colored hair fell forward, hiding her face.

Yes, it was hard on you, harder than it should have been. Unfortunately it’s like that for some people, Peter thought.

“And still no baby,” she concluded.

She rose again and took her winter coat from the hook where she’d hung it. She shrugged it on and fished her leather gloves out of her jacket pockets. “I’m losing hope,” she admitted.

Peter knew she was.

“Carrie, there’s a specialist in Boston—“

“Who’s going to tell me the same things you’ve told me, for double the money and no guarantees,” she interrupted.

Peter knew she wasn’t wrong, but he desperately wanted her to get a second opinion.

“I want you to call this number.” He scribbled a phone number down on a prescription pad and extended it to her.

“I’d be back at square one,” she said, taking it anyway.

“A fresh pair of eyes never hurt. You can still track your temperature, just in case Charles isn’t at a partner’s meeting, or scaring up business for the firm. I’d still like you to consider a fertility specialist, Caroline. It might be the answer for you, for both of you.”

The sentence seemed as damning a thing as any Caroline had ever heard. “So we can go into an office and Charles can provide another sample for them? I can go put my feet in a different set of stirrups, and hope for the best? Peter, this is the most undignified thing, for him and for me. He’d do it, for my sake, but it’ll just end up the same. Another year gone by and nothing but disappointment. How long do I put Charles through this? Because you know he’ll stay. You know he’ll do whatever I asked him to.”

Peter knew she was right. She was throwing up roadblocks at this point, hopelessness did that to a person… dangerously.

“Call the number. Jack is the best in the business. And take your vitamins.” He noted her pale skin. “Test results say you’re a touch anemic.”

“I’ll try to remember.” She tugged a dark scarf down from the rack and put it on. It made her look even paler.

“How bad has the nausea been?” Peter asked, not forgetting that she’d mentioned it.

She shrugged. “It’s there. I guess it’s just nerves.”

“I can give you--“

“No.” She cut him off. “The world doesn’t need another society woman on Miltown, or some other pill. I’ll manage.”

“I was going to say ‘an address in Chinatown.’ There’s a tea emporium there and Wong has several remedies for an upset stomach.”

“How very… homeopathic of you,” Caroline said, watching him scribble the address on a pad.

“You don’t respond very well to most of the over-the-counter remedies, and I don’t want to prescribe something stronger until we know we have to.”

“So we can fix some other part of me that’s broken,” she replied, unable to keep the resentment out of her voice. She accepted the folded scrap of paper he offered her.

Caroline knew she sounded bitchy and that the man in front of her was one of the few who knew her whole story, but had always cared about her anyway. She met Charles thanks to him, back when Charles was a law student from a good family, studying hard to pass the New York Bar Exam, and she was… well, what she was.

She inhaled deeply, remembering the good manners that had been drilled into her by her strict grandmother. “I… I know I’m being difficult. I’m sorry, Peter. I know you’re only trying to help.”

He gave her a slightly crooked grin. “It’s okay, kiddo. I know this is hard, but we’re not giving up, not for anything. Go home. Have a glass of warm milk or something stronger. Maybe plan a ski vacation, or something.”

“You mean ‘stop obsessing about it and just ignore it and maybe something good will happen?’” she asked, her hand going to the door knob.

He tried to give her a slight, encouraging smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time it happened,” he concluded, as she left the office.

***

Caroline had four more days of hoping Peter’s test results were wrong before the bloody proof that he wasn’t showed itself.

She sobbed uncontrollably on the bed, glad that Charles wasn’t in the apartment to hear her.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair! I’d be such a good mother! And Charles… there would never be a finer father in the world than Charles. It’s so unfair! It’s so… wrong, somehow!

She wept until the pain of it made her throat raw and her sides sore. Not since her mother’s third failed suicide attempt did she remember having to bear such a savage storm of raw emotions. Somewhere, deep down inside, she hoped that Peter Alcott and his damning, twice-run test had been wrong.

Now, she knew they weren’t.

Failure. Failure. You’re a failure. All the pretty clothes in the world won’t hide it. Father was right about you. Mother was too. No wonder she wanted to leave. Disappointment. Disaster. I wreck everything I touch. I try, and I try… and for a while, I think I can pull it off. But in the end… in the end, I know. I’ll never be enough. I’m not like other women. I’m not… good enough.

She sat up and wiped her eyes with a sleeve designed by Coco Chanel. The tissue box beside the bed was long since empty, its contents used and crumpled on the bed around her.

I never cry. Now it’s twice in one week. What can I do? What? Do I have any options?

She threw the evidence of her weeping away. The storm of emotions left her draine, tired and nauseous.

She focused on the latter symptom, since she had no cure for the other two.

Tea. Peter said I should get a special kind of tea. I forgot. I … I’ll go tomorrow… I will. I’ll take care of it. One thing at a time, one damn thing at a time.

She took two pills for a headache, and prayed they would stay down. They did, barely.

She changed out of her clothes and slipped into something more comfortable, hoping a nap would help with the fatigue.

Vitamins. Did I take those today? she asked herself. She thought she did. But as with so much else these days, she wasn’t sure.

I’ll get the tea tomorrow, she promised herself. She adjusted the pristine white pillow and closed her eyes.

***

Caroline Chandler didn’t know it then, but her life was about to change, forever.

Chapter Two

Tea For Two

Chinatown was bustling, which was to say that Chinatown was doing what it almost always did. Bright colors, mostly red and yellow, streamed on signs and filled shop displays. Multiple pedestrians, wide delivery trucks, and numerous bicycles wended their way through the streets. A woman wearing tan cotton pants and a long coat carried a twenty pound bag of rice over her shoulder, heading around to the back of a restaurant. A man pushed a homemade looking wheelbarrow that was full of plants.

Chinese characters Caroline couldn’t hope to decipher shouted blankly down at her, while in many shops, their English counterparts were stenciled in almost as an afterthought.

Chinatown. There was no other place quite like it in all of New York, and that was saying something.

Most of the faces that hustled by Caroline were Asian, though many weren’t. The whole place was like stepping into a different part of the world, a part where live ducks were sold in cages and ox tail soup was on the menu, and image laden vases of every height and shape gleamed in window displays. A place where ceramic tea sets came with infusers and the tea itself was known by the province from which it was harvested.

It was a place that Caroline knew but seldom visited. It was a place that made her feel like even more of an outsider than she already did.

She checked the address on the paper and matched it to the numbers painted on the curb. The locals might not need English to get by, but Fire Rescue or other citywide services obviously did.

“Tea Emporium and Apothecary” stated the lone English sign on the wall. It had been hastily scribbled on cardboard and propped inside the window. As Caroline watched, an Asian woman – Caroline had no way of knowing what country or province she was from – emerged from the glass-paned door, the soft tinkle of multiple bells jingling behind her. She had a square package, wrapped in brown paper, and a shy, thoughtful smile on her face. Caroline took that as a good sign. She went in.

The first thing that struck Caroline when she entered the shop was the smell. It was tea, but not like the “tea” scent Caroline was used to smelling, and almost nothing like the usual tea she drank. Sharp, almost acrid smells, mixed with less discernible and milder ones. Orange vied with lemon, which vied with anise, or some other seasoning. Poppy seed cakes lined a tray, proof that someone had been baking.

All of the aromas greeted her curious nose; rice flour and plant smells, mixed with many spices.

A few other people stood in the room with her, three customers and the shop’s proprietor.

That must be Mr. Wong, Caroline concluded.

A short man in a vivid red coat, he stood behind the counter, rattling something off to his nearest patron in Chinese. Wong wrapped up half a dozen ingredients in paper and handed it over. The man answered, and paid with several silver coins.

Caroline hung back as the next man stepped up, giving Wong what sounded like a greeting. Wong replied.

Not a word of it was discernible to Caroline.

I hope someone here speaks English, Caroline thought, feeling more out of place than ever.

The man behind the counter turned around and ran his fingers along a huge set of square, wooden drawers, looking for something. When he found the one he wanted, he pulled it open, extracted a large portion of tea with a wooden scoop, put it in a tidy cardboard box and carefully closed it. Money changed hands, along with slight bows, and the man with the box left, as a petite woman behind him stepped forward.

Through an open doorway to one side, Caroline heard more Chinese being spoken. She caught a glimpse of low tables and cushions, and at least one set of table and chairs for those who wished to sit Western style. She could discern none of the writing around her, and for a moment, she seriously considered just leaving.

I should just go to the drug store, buy Pepto Bismol and pray it doesn’t constipate me, like it usually does. This place can’t help me. No place can, she thought, clutching Peter’s scrap of paper.

Then, like a soft bit of encouragement, she heard English. Heavily accented English, yes, and almost as foreign in its way as the Chinese dialect she’d been surrounded by, but it was English, nonetheless.

“Da bowl, it must be made from a fine jacaranda tree. Best if it was in bloom! And a spoon made of copper. Dat poor baby been cryin’ for t’ree straight days, I tell you. You help me find it, Wong?”

Caroline watched as a stocky, extraordinary looking black woman came from behind a drawn fabric curtain, having emerged from what was clearly a storage area of some kind, in the back. She looked dusty, and a little disheveled, from having been rummaging through the storeroom.

A hand knit, mostly rust colored sweater, fraying at the cuffs, adorned her torso, the sleeves looked like they’d been made with whatever yarn could be found. A (mostly) denim patchwork vest rode on top of that. Necklaces of every length and description lay in a cheerfully jingling tangle at her breast. A long, striped skirt, in every color of tan and brown, looked like it was stitched together from scraps. Standing mostly in profile, her hair was wrapped in a bright blue turban, and huge, beaded hoops swung from her ears. She was tall, and she moved carefully in the crowded space.

For all her eclectic attire, there was something almost regal about her, and Caroline watched, amazed, as she opened a drawer behind the counter and began rooting through it, as if she owned the place.

“Copper! Ah!” she said, producing a long-handled ladle. She tapped it on the counter and then opened the long vest and put the ladle inside an inner pocket.

Helping yourself I see, Caroline thought, surprised by the woman’s actions.

Caroline couldn’t begin to guess at her age, but her left eye looked milky, cataract-plagued. A huge ring, set with a raw, uncut purple stone, adorned one index finger, and wooden bracelets bumped into each other on her wrist. Her striped skirt had a patched pocket on one side, and the vest looked like it had been sewn from various pairs of jeans, from light blue to nearly black. None of it matched. But for a reason Caroline couldn’t explain, the black woman carried it off.

She fished a blue glass bottle out of her pocket, set it on the counter, and put Caroline-knew-not-what into it, capped the cork stopper and returned it to the pocket.

“Dat might help,” she muttered, patting her pocket.

She rummaged through a drawer for a second, then closed it decisively.

“Now we just need da bowl!” she declared, pointing to the heavens, with her index finger.

Wong waited on his current customer, but answered the black woman in Chinese-accented English. “Narcissa, I know I had it. Did you check the high shelf?” he asked.

The Asian woman Wong had waited on took her purchase and left. Neither Wong nor Narcissa seemed aware of Caroline, focused as they were on each other.

“High shelf, low shelf. All I know is de Father be holding dat baby night and day. He needs help! Narcissa knows a way to make de milk taste sweet!”

Narcissa. What a lovely name, Caroline thought.

Wong shook his head. “Father takes what help I can offer. But you? I’m amazed you’re even here, my friend.”

Caroline got the impression that the woman was seldom in the shop, in spite of the fact that she seemed to be comfortable commandeering whatever she needed from it.

Narcissa flapped a dismissive hand. “You know I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t important,” she stated, opening one drawer after another. “Dis will help,” she decided, liberating some vanilla. She put a small amount into an equally small box, and tucked it into the skirt pocket. Wong didn’t seem to mind.

The middle aged Chinaman checked beneath the counter, scanning. “I’ve used that bowl half a dozen times since Eli gave it to me. He should have just—“

Wong looked up, realizing they had company.

“Excuse me, Miss. May I help you?” He said it in the particular tones of a man trying to draw his companion into the awareness that they were not alone. He nudged his female companion and she turned to look.

If anything, the black woman was more remarkable dead on than she was when she was turned to the side. Neither old nor young, heavy lines trailed from her nose to the corners of her mouth, and though she could clearly see as she searched for what she wanted, the veiled eyes had a disconcerting quality to them.

She sees. She sees more than most people do, Caroline intuited. Then she dismissed the thought as being far too fanciful.

“I- uh, my doctor sent me here to get something, a certain kind of tea?” Caroline prompted. “But… please, don’t let me interrupt you. You were helping this lady.”

“I will see to your needs. Narcissa, go in the back,” Wong said, stepping so that the black woman was firmly behind him. It was as if he was trying to protect her from something, as if her even being seen was a taboo, of some sort.

Narcissa stepped around Wong, denying his protection.

“I already tell you I can’t find it. You look. I be fine.”

And what have we here? Narcissa thought, getting an immediate vibe, from Caroline.

Wong looked at Narcissa uncertainly, then did as he was told.

“You’re from the islands?” Caroline asked politely, meaning to pass the time with the usual pleasantries.

“Maybe,” the black woman smiled a friendly smile. Her white teeth were large and mostly even. “But dat was a long time ago.”

“How long?” Caroline asked, not knowing how else to respond.

Narcissa waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, long time. Longer den you been alive, I t’ink. But maybe it not so important where I be from. Maybe it more important where you be from?” she replied, her sing-song accent a pleasant thing to Caroline’s ears.

“My family is originally from Providence,” Caroline answered.

Providence. Fate. When something is meant to be, Narcissa thought. Good! That is good!

She took in the elegant, chicly dressed woman in front of her, easily discerning the dark cloud that had been Caroline’s upbringing. It, like the Cartier pin on her winter scarf, was a thing she wore, even when she wasn’t aware she did. It was a thing most people couldn’t see, but Narcissa clearly could.

Your eyes be kind. Even if dey have seen too much sorrow, Narcissa thought.

“Maybe de important t’ing not be where we from, but where we going,” Narcissa said. She held out her dark hand, the palm work-roughened and calloused.

“Give me your hand, chile. Old Narcissa wants to look.”

“You don’t seem that old to me,” Caroline said, offering the woman her hand. She put the black woman’s age at anywhere between just a few years older than herself and perhaps a decade more.

Narcissa chuckled a little at that. “Some of us are born old, like de big oaks dat look like dey were never little trees. Come.”

“Are you about to tell my fortune?” Caroline asked, resisting the urge to tug her hand away. She didn’t believe in such… hokum.

Narcissa did indeed turn Caroline’s hand over, palm up. What she saw saddened her more than a little. The line that predicted Caroline’s life was not a long one, but there was hope there too.

Poor lady. Your race is more than half run. Still… there is… something there… She trailed her index finger across the lines of Caroline’s palm, thoughtfully.

“The baby you seek… it may come.” A beautiful child. A shining one.

“How in the world did you know I—“

Narcissa gently passed her longest finger across the length of Caroline’s palm. A shiver went up her long, dark arm. Like she did so often, she saw much, too much.

You think you might have to leave your man. You want to be a mother. But you will not see her grow to womanhood. And… something. Something else. Something … vital. Like life itself is vital.

She traced the line of Caroline’s fate again. The shiver was even stronger, this time, but less clear in its intent. Narcissa got one impression, strongly.

This child, this girl. It must happen. It must be born. She is… important, somehow. Important to all of us.

“A chile. A beautiful chile,” Narcissa breathed.

“Don’t… toy with me. It’s cruel,” Caroline said. This time, the tears didn’t come, but anger did. She tugged her arm, but Narcissa didn’t let go right away.

“You think I play a game wit’ you? Poor lady. You t’ink to leave your man, that his life will be better. I say “no.” I say… I will help you.”

Caroline yanked back her hand, and this time, Narcissa let it go.

“You don’t know me. And I don’t think I want—“

“Want is not a care. Come. We need de back rooms. De private ones,” Narcissa declared.

“I… I’m going to leave. I need to go home.” Caroline was shaken by Narcissa’s intuition about her life. She needed time to think.

The black woman didn’t give an inch, even as she seemed like she had.

“Leave, then. Leave now… and your life will be… what it always been. And how much more of dat can a body stand?”

Caroline froze, her intention to leave gone as quickly as it had come. How much, indeed?

“How did you know… I was thinking of leaving my husband? It’s not because I don’t love him,” Caroline hastily tacked on.

Narcissa’s hand, the one that bore the heavy ring, waved dismissively. “O’course it isn’t. He a good man. You a good woman. Bad luck don’t change dat. Take a chance, lady. A chance on Old Narcissa.”

Narcissa took a basket from behind the counter and began gathering items from Wong’s supply, more than half amazed by what little she had just discerned from Caroline.

Your chile must be born. She must.

“A little bergamot, a little anise... cinnamon for fire, and the greenest, youngest tea leaves for new beginnings…” Narcissa muttered as she worked.

“A silver urn, a deep bowl, a wooden ladle…”

“Not a copper one?” Caroline asked, as the black woman took a silver tea urn from behind the counter and put it in her basket. “You might as well know, I don’t believe in any of this.”

“Believe, don’t believe,” Narcissa chided. “Let’s see… a stone pestle... a painted cup. Best we find one made by woman born in springtime...” She scanned the shelf where Wong sold painted porcelain tea cups. She held several of them, until she found the one she wanted. Then, she took down another one and put them both in the basket.

“We must drink togeddah.” Narcissa declared it as an edict, then took herself and her basket behind a beaded curtain.

Caroline stood for a second and watched the portly woman move through the beads, then watched them swing. They clacked together, then grew more still, as their motion quieted.

She was alone for the first time since she had entered the shop.

She knew she had a choice.

To her right was the door, the one to the street. She could simply leave the old black woman to what were likely her fantasies, and get on with her day. She could rationalize what Narcissa had said about her thinking of leaving Charles, tell herself that this was New York, and the divorce rate – high as it was – was higher here. Lucky guess. Woman’s intuition. Something.

She could return to Manhattan, browse for ties for Charles at Saks, pick up the dry cleaning, then go home to the apartment and… and wait for Charles to come home. Charles, who would pretend he wasn’t disappointed at all that had happened this week.

Or she could…

Take a chance. A crazy chance …

Before the curtain stopped making its wooden sound, she carefully stepped through.

It was a beautiful room, beautiful and foreign to her Western sensibilities.

The richly carpeted floor bore a single table, flanked by square yellow silk cushions, embroidered in shades of red, white, black, orange and purple Caroline knew she’d be hard pressed to find such bold colors in her subtle-yet-elegantly-appointed apartment.

Wood dominated here, a rich red kind that gleamed with polish. The table was low, and Narcissa was already kneeling before it, setting up the tea things. A painted gold screen, full of leaves and figural birds acted as a privacy wall, but the room was vacant, save for the two women.

“De water, it must be hot,” Narcissa mumbled, “But not too hot.” She set the silver urn over a small votive candle.

“Not drawn from a mountain spring? By nuns?” Caroline asked, knowing she was being intolerable. She apologized immediately.

“I’m sorry. That was rude of me. Whatever you believe… I’m sure it’s fine. It’s just not for—“

“Believe, don’t believe.” The middle-aged woman repeated, then chuckled. “You t’ink dis de first time Narcissa ever meet a one dat don’t believe? You should see de Father.”

The father? Your father? You must have quite the relationship, Caroline thought, wondering if Narcissa’s father was as colorful as she was. Probably not.

Or maybe you mean the father who’s with the baby, the one crying for three straight days.

Narcissa continued to speak as she worked. “You had disappointment dis week. It still wit you,” she said, settling her large body on one of the silken cushions. Caroline was surprised at how gracefully she did that.

“I did,” she offered, saying nothing more.

“Men of science… dey tell you ‘no.’ Maybe ‘no’ is right. But maybe not.”

The black woman began to spoon tea leaves into the warming urn. She glanced up at Caroline as if she was taking some sort of measure of her, then added another half spoonful.

She tossed the bergamot, anise and cinnamon into the wooden bowl and began pressing with the stone pestle. The aroma released was sharp and inviting.

Caroline carefully removed her high heels from her feet and sat down, aware that by her actions, she was consenting to something.

“I don’t want you to lie to me,” Caroline said. “I think… I think no matter what… that’s what would kill me most of all.”

Narcissa tilted her head to one side, sending one earring to swinging, as the other lay against her cheek. “You t’ink de other men be lying, Missy? You t’ink dey wrong?”

“Lying and being wrong aren’t the same thing,” Caroline defended her doctor… doctors.

Narcissa shrugged her broad shoulders, the gesture lifting then settling the long vest she wore.

“De truth gets served neither way,” the black woman observed, leaving Caroline to ponder that.

“So we… what? We drink tea together and you know the truth about what will happen to me?” Caroline asked.

Yes. That’s it. That’s exactly what I’ll know, Narcissa thought, but knew better than to say. I live where I do because I know too much, see too much, to want to live among people. De knowing, de sight I have… it be not always a blessing, lady.

“Truth be de only road we ever walk. What is, is. What is not, what we wish it to be… dose are the t’ings dat be wrong, dat be lies. Lies we tell to udders. Lies we say to ourself, to keep our place in dis world.”

Narcissa placed her hands across the opening of the bowl and muttered something over the combined ingredients, something that sounded old, and in a language Caroline didn’t understand. She got the impression she was watching a spell being cast.

Blessings. Blessings for you, and what we be doin’, Narcissa thought, hoping for the best.

She spooned the mixture of herbs and spices into the urn and stirred, thoughtfully. The thin wisp of steam that got sent up smelled heavenly to Caroline.

“De truth. It be a strange t’ing. Sometimes… you don’t want to know,” Narcissa warned. “De good… it comes wit de bad. Often. Dat be de bargain. De hard bargain. For me… and you.”

Caroline squared her shoulders. “I can handle “bad.” I was raised handling it. The only thing I can’t handle is… is the thought that I’m cheating my husband out of something, something precious, something irreplaceable.”

Narcissa considered Caroline’s words, as she considered the other woman’s erect posture.

Yes. Yes, you fought hard against de darkness. Good! Der is strength in you. Your baby… she gone need dat strength.

“And if no baby come? What den, beautiful woman?” Narcissa asked, still stirring. “What you do wid dat, as what you know?”

Caroline’s green eyes grew sad. “You already said it. I already know the answer to that. I’ll have to leave him… to give Charles his shot, his… his chance at fatherhood, at immortality. I’ll have to go.”

She looked down at her wedding ring, and her lovely eyes were sad. “One day… one day he’ll go to work. He’ll leave the apartment. When he gets back… “She looked back up. “I… I won’t be there.”

It was a heavy thing to say aloud and in such detail. And though she’d thought it often enough, Caroline realized that this was the first time she’d ever said such a thing out loud to another living soul.

“Dis man, dis Charles… you don’ love him enough to stay?” Narcissa asked. She lifted out the spoon and set it aside.

Caroline was immediately defensive. “It’s because I love him I know I can’t. He wants a child. He’d settle for anything, an adoption, a surrogate, shots, hours spent in a lab, years of trying…”

She watched Narcissa pour the slightly steaming brew into the two cups. She offered Caroline a pale one. It was painted with the figure of a Chinese lion.

“He’d settle for a dog if I told him I couldn’t do this anymore. He loves me that much. I can’t abuse that, can’t take advantage.”

Narcissa nodded her understanding.

“Da feeling in your stomach. Da one dat tells you you can’t eat? Dat is grief. Dat’s what de sorrow feels like when it takes hold of you inside,” Narcissa said, raising her own cup.

It bore the markings of a peacock, the bird with a thousand “eyes” on its tail.

How ironic, Caroline thought.

Caroline felt like some of those eyes were looking at her right now.

“Drink,” Narcissa prompted.

Caroline did so, and found that the tea was indeed, delicious. And for all her novice’s experience, she knew that the complex, orangey taste was having a far different effect on her companion than it was on her.

Narcissa took a long drink as well, set the cup down, then tilted her head back. She looked up, and then she closed her milky eyes, to better help her see.

Up. Up. Up. So high up. A princess in a tower. Brave, frightened, motherless. A lonely child, a lonely queen. Strong. Strong like you. Strong like you, is your daughter. And… what’s this? What… what is this?!

The babe they were nursing Below, the one named for the hospital where they’d found him, the one Jacob Wells feared might not live to see another day, was there. It was Vincent, grown into manhood. He was standing on a balcony, surrounded by candlelight, and this woman’s, this woman’s ethereally lovely daughter was standing there with him. She wore a long crystal around her neck. Spring was exploding all around them.

And the look on Vincent’s face… it was one of pure love.

“Anniversary.”

The word whispered its way across Narcissa’s consciousness.

A lone tear escaped the corner of Narcissa’s eye. She knew that this was only one possible future. That the others, for Vincent, were so much less. His path was not carved in stone, not clear. But in some of those, Narcissa saw only darkness.

In some, he did not survive his infancy. In others… they were too sad to contemplate.

“We must help your daughter be born,” Narcissa said, keeping her eyes closed just for the luxury of feeling the deep love Vincent held for this woman, and she for him, wash over her.

April. He finds her in April. Years from now. Decades. In April. It was an impression too deep to be denied.

“Daughter. I have a daughter? You’re sure?” Caroline asked, all but leaping on the sentence.

Narcissa’s smile was small and full of knowledge.

A beautiful daughter, and full of fire. She looks like you. And she… loves him. Very much. So very much. She’s brave. She’ll have to be.

“Little. Bright. Fierce,” Narcissa said, listing the young woman’s virtues, as she tried to help Caroline see at least some of what she was seeing. “Brave, even when she don’ be sure. Reckless, more than a little. Eyes like yours. Stubborn, some. She be needin’ dat. She be… honest. Trying. De Innocent Heart.”

Narcissa opened her veiled eyes, and they were full of so much sincerity that it didn’t even occur to Caroline to doubt her.

“But for dis to come true, I must say more. I don’ want to. You understand?” Narcissa asked. “It be part of de bargain.”

Caroline thought she understood. You have to say the good with the bad. It’s like a rule for you. You have to do it, or you lose this gift. Very well. You can tell me. If it helps my daughter be born, I want to know. I promise you.

“If it means I get to hold my baby in my arms… yes. I understand,” Caroline said, nodding.

Narcissa gestured for Caroline’s palm again.

“Is this the part where you tell me I’ll live to be a hundred, and be very wealthy? Because I’ve heard that one before,” Caroline said, nervousness making her babble.

“Money you already have.” Narcissa gave Caroline’s hand a regretful squeeze. The sad knowledge that crossed the palm hadn’t changed.

“But not a hundred. Not even… half dat. I’m sorry, pretty one. Deep in my bones, I am.”

Caroline blinked, and her eyelashes fluttered a moment.

A short life. She’s telling me I’ll have a short life. What in the hell…?

“But… my daughter. I’ll live to see her born?” Caroline pressed.

Narcissa smiled a huge smile. “Yes! Oh, yes. You will see dat. You will have years after.”

“But… but not enough, not enough to see her fully grown.” Caroline guessed.

The smile dimmed and Narcissa simply shrugged again and shook her head. “I can be wrong.  It happens. De path goes forward. De path changes. I can’t hide what I do see, but I can be wrong. De future… it not always so set a t’ing.”

So… you can be wrong. But you don’t think you are, do you? Caroline intuited.

“If I decide not to have this baby, not to get pregnant… do I get to be a feisty old lady? Like the one you’re going to be?” Caroline asked.

Narcissa tried not to chuckle at that, and almost succeeded. “Who say I get to live a long time? Mine is de only future I can almost never see,” she replied. “But…no. Dis chile. She be de one chance at complete happiness for you. She don’t hurt you.  She nothin’ but love.”

Nothing but love. What an amazing way to describe a baby. Caroline thought.

Narcissa unclasped their still joined hands and pushed her cup away. “More, I can’t see. I only know she be good, and she be yours. De rest be for you to say. You and your husban’.”

Choose, and choose wisely, lady. All our fates might depend on it.

“What do I have to do?” Caroline asked, assuming there would be instructions she had to follow.

“To have de chile? Or…”

“Yes, yes, of course to have the child! It’s everything I want!” Caroline said urgently.

Narcissa reached deep into one of the inside pockets of her vest. Caroline had the impression she was about to be given a potion of some sort.

She wasn’t far wrong.

From the deepest pocket of her vest, Narcissa produced a small glass vial. The liquid inside it was tinged with amber.

“Made by nuns,” Narcissa jested, handing it over.

Curious, Caroline uncapped it. It smelled like almonds, more than anything else.

“Almonds?” she asked.

“Almonds, nutmeg, acorns, rue. Udder t’ings. Oldest recipe I know. De night you drink dis… dat’s when you conceive your chile.”

“I guess I’ll have to make sure my husband is around then.” Caroline capped the bottle carefully, and slipped it into her bag.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, she thought. Or maybe I can. Science hasn’t worked for me. Maybe … magic will?

“What if I… spill it, or something?” Caroline asked.

Narcissa knew too much about the unseen world to have any doubts about her answer. “Den de chance is gone. You can’t step in de same river twice.”

You can’t step in the same river twice. That’s my saying! This… I can’t even think!

“And sometimes…”

“Dat be a good t’ing,” Narcissa finished for her.

Caroline was stunned. “You… you are telling the truth. Or at least… you think you are,” Caroline said what she was thinking, aloud.

“De truth be de only t’ing I ever bother to say,” Narcissa replied, setting the tea things back into the basket.

Caroline tried to explain. “I’ve seen doctors. I’ve even had surgeries…”

“Every step brought you to dis one. It be all right, lady. Old Narcissa say it. So you know it must be true.”

“This… this is crazy.” Caroline’s sense of dubiousness was trying to reassert itself.

“Don’t use it, den,” Narcissa said, knowing their meeting was coming to an end, one way or another.

But I t’ink you will.

Caroline stayed Narcissa’s busy hand with a light touch. “If I… If I have to believe in … magic, or fairy dust for this to work, I might as well tell you it isn’t going to,” Caroline admitted. I think that was the first thing I lost, back when I was a child. The thing I’ve been trying to find ever since.

“Believe. Don’t believe,” Narcissa said for the third time. “Dat not de bargain you need to make, chile.”

Bargain. That’s a word you keep using, but you haven’t asked me for anything.

“Bargain? What kind of bargain?” Caroline asked, a little suspicious that she was about to be belatedly hit up for a donation of some sort.

Narcissa’s milky gaze held Caroline’s, and her dark hand covered the other woman’s fair one. “De most important kind any woman can make. De one for a happy life. You want to be a mother? You have to be strong enough to let de past go. You have to know how to be happy. To accept de love your man gives. De love your daughter gives. To hold it close, and let de joy of it become a part of you. Let de disappointment, de sorrows… you have to let dem go, or dey stay wit’ you like poison. You let dem go.” She patted Caroline’s hand. “For your daughter’s sake.”

Caroline dropped her gaze. “You… you don’t know how hard being happy has been for me,” she began. “No matter how hard I try… something is always there to take it away from me. You believe in magic? Well I… I’m not sure I remember a time when I ever did,” Caroline confessed. She slid her hands out from under Narcissa’s and rose from the table.

But I’ll try. I swear I will.

“But I guess we’re all here on this Earth to try to be better people. Aren’t we?” she asked.

“Der be some who say so,” Narcissa replied, liking this woman more than a little. She rose as well, and gathered up the basket.

“I will try then,” Caroline promised.

Narcissa watched Caroline put on her shoes and start for the beaded doorway, before she decided to tell Caroline one more thing:

“Lady…your daughter… she will believe in magic, and fairy dust, and… how to love so much, so hard … until you make something real.”

Caroline’s head snapped around at the words.

“Love until you make it real. The Velveteen Rabbit. You just quoted the plot of my husband’s favorite children’s story to me,” she said, remembering the book Charles had brought home only a few days ago.

Narcissa smiled a mysterious smile. “Read it to your little one,” she advised. “Dat be a good story. A good story to be raised on.”

The two women passed through the beaded curtain. The waiting area was now full of customers, and Wong was very busy.

“I found the bowl, Narcissa! ... Thank you,” he said to his current customer, handing back change. If he was surprised to see the two women emerging from one of his private tea rooms, he was too busy to show it.

The jacaranda bowl was sitting at the edge of the counter. Hand carved and recently oiled, it looked ready for service.

“Good! Wid dis, I help dat sweet chile!” Narcissa declared.

“Um… good luck with the baby. I hope he stops crying,” Caroline said, meaning it.

Narcissa gathered up the bowl.

He will. And… I never told you it was a boy.

Narcissa smiled again. “I t’ink he will. Good luck, fine lady.”

Caroline gave her a slight smile. “My luck has rarely been good. I suppose time will tell,” she replied. She opened the door. The bells above it jingled pleasantly as the cold, January air swept in. She slipped her hand into her coat pocket, reassuring herself that the small bottle was still there. It was.

Caroline exited out onto the busy New York street, as Narcissa pulled the cloth curtain aside that led into the back of the shop.

“T’ings to do. So many t’ings. Goodbye, Wong, and thank you.”

“That woman… I never found out exactly what she came in for,” Wong said, putting money into the cash register drawer.

“No? Well. I t’ink she found it,” Narcissa replied, pleased with herself.

Chapter Three

And Baby Makes Three…

**

“You’re… you’re sure? You’re absolutely positive, Peter?” Caroline asked, her face beaming with joy.

Peter flipped open the manila file folder. The bright red word “POSITIVE” all but screamed at Caroline.

He stood from his seat on the corner of the desk and joyously embraced her.

“Congratulations. You did it, kiddo! Well, you and Charles, of course. You’re about six weeks along.” He looked at the wall calendar in his office. “I’d say “Valentine’s Day strikes again,” but it might have been a little earlier than that. Say, late January?”

Caroline’s smile eclipsed his. It was. Narcissa gave me the medicine on January 15th. It took me a few days to decide, then a few more to catch Charles. But… here we are!

Caroline hurriedly gathered her bag, any sorrow about Narcissa’s prediction for her own life all but forgotten. Everyone dies. But not everyone lives, truly lives. From now on, no sadness. Not from me. I’m going to embrace my life. A happy life. The past is gone, and I plan to keep it there.

“Oh, Peter. I have to tell Charles. He’ll be so happy! And we have to do everything we can to see this baby is born healthy!”

“Prenatal vitamins, some iron tablets, and plenty of fresh air and exercise. Maybe we’ll have an early spring, and in fall, sometime around late September… I’m calling it for around the 25th… a baby.” He tore a prescription for the vitamins from his pad and handed it to her.

“September! So much to do before then!” Caroline gushed.

Peter took her in. If the pregnancy test hadn’t confirmed it, everything else about Caroline Chandler would have. She was glowing.

“You and Charles will have to sit down and pick out names. I’m lobbying for “Peter, obviously.” His grin barely faded.

“It’s a girl. And her name will be ‘Catherine.’ It means “Innocent.” Like ‘Innocent heart.’ I looked it up.”

The grin became a chuckle. “Could be a boy. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Carrie.”

“I won’t. I promise.” She was folding up the prescription and tucking it into her purse.

Peter tucked his hands into his lab coat and enjoyed the moment. It had been a long time coming for Caroline. This is one of the best parts of my job. I love it!

“Now, I know you’ll think I’m being a mother hen, but I’d really like to see you every couple of weeks, at least in the early going. You know it took you a while to get here—“

“Yes, yes, every two weeks. I’ll make the appointment on my way out the door!”

Caroline bolted out into the reception area and did as she promised.

Behind her, Peter closed the door and looked over her file. Everything looked fine… better than fine.

Yep. A September baby, he thought, looking at her test results. September is a good month. A good month for a “Catherine” to be born. “Innocent heart.” I wonder where Carrie got that?

Outside, on the New York City sidewalk, the crisp, March air felt good, and like it might indeed hold traces of an early spring. Caroline loved the feel of it.

“Catherine. Little Catherine. Beautiful Catherine. Catherine Rose. Catherine Rose Chandler. Catherine Rose Chandler, Attorney at Law,” she said to herself, not caring who heard, as she rubbed her still-flat stomach.

She looked down at her abdomen. “My, that sounds like quite a mouthful to put on such a little one. Catherine. Kate. Katie. Trina. Cathy… yes, that’s it. You’re a Catherine, to be sure, but you’re going to be “Cathy” to me. My darling Cathy. Our Darling Cathy. Wait until your father hears!”

The bright sun shone down like a sweet blessing, like a promise of the good year that was to come.

Caroline hailed a taxi and for a moment, thought of telling the cabbie to take her to Chinatown. She hadn’t been back to Wong’s Tea Emporium since the strange day that still somehow felt like a dream, or at least like a day that had happened to someone else.

But it didn’t. It happened to me. A little luck. A little… unexpected magic. And now… a baby!

“Which way, Lady?” the driver asked her.

You can’t step in the same river twice. Somehow, she knew that even if she went back to the shop in Chinatown, that the unusual black woman wouldn’t be there.

“Uptown… the law offices of Chandler and Coolidge. And… take your time. I'm carrying precious cargo.”

The cab driver smiled at her. “I get that a lot outside Doc Alcott’s office. Must be something in the water, huh?”

Caroline thought of the tiny amber bottle.

“Must be,” she smiled back at him.

He eased them gently away from the curb and into the bustling traffic of New York.

Inside the cab, Caroline smiled and whispered softly to her daughter. “There’s a book your father wants to read to you. I think we’ll start this evening,” she said, happy beyond words.

I have a life to make, and to live. Long or short, I have a life. I have one, and it’s good, and it’s all mine.

“And I’m going to share it with you,” she promised her baby.

--

Far below the city streets, hiding his face from strangers, safe from hate and harm, a tiny infant was mewling hungrily for his lunch.

“He’s taking in more formula. It’s a good sign, Narcissa,” Jacob said, handing the baby over. Narcissa settled herself down in an old rocking chair that would one day hold Olivia, and then even Luke, but Narcissa didn’t know about any of those children yet. She only knew about the small, yet mighty being before her. One who was, even now, vigorously downing the formula mixture she still whipped up in the jacaranda bowl.

“He be growing, dat for sure. I t’ink de danger be passed,” Narcissa said.

Jacob seemed not so certain of that.

“With his features… I fear that the danger will always be there for him. But I understand what you mean.”

Danger, yes. But love, too, Narcissa thought. She’d had a dream last night about Caroline and her new condition. A very satisfying one. And one Jacob would probably want to hear nothing about.

A dream in which Caroline Chandler was determined to stick to her bargain about having a happy life.

Anna Pater ducked her head inside the doorway. “And how’s our little man today?” Anna asked, coming over to check on him. Her low heels made a soft sound on the faded carpet.

“Bigger. I think he’s put on another half pound, Anna,” Jacob replied.

Anna smiled at that, and tucked a stray lock of soft brown hair behind her ear.

“You’ll grow big and strong, won’t you, Vincent?” Anna encouraged, smiling.

Narcissa looked down at Vincent, then back up at her friends, and smiled a soft, secret smile.

Bigger and stronger than you know. And now… a chance. A chance at true happiness. A chance at love. The kind of love that opens your heart, and makes you see the possibilities. All the possibilities. The kind of love that changes you. The kind of love that changes… everything.

“Time will tell,” Narcissa replied, meaning more than the other people in the room were aware of. “Time will tell.”

And a few decades later, time did just that.

***

When people look only at the surface and that satisfies them and they think from that surface they see, that is to be truly blind. ~ Beah Richards

***

No matter where – or when – you are in your own fairy tale, I wish you love. ~ Cindy

Lou

by Allison Duggins

Vincent escorted Catherine back to her apartment after their dance in the Great Hall, and then headed to Father's chamber.

"Vincent, I'm glad you're back. There's something I'd like you to do for me." Father stated as Vincent took the chair opposite him.

"Yes, Father?"

"Since Paracelsus came here disguised as Lou, would you go to Lou's barber shop and check on him?  I fear the worst may have happened."

"Do you honestly think something happened to Lou?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I do."

"Very well, Father. I'll go immediately."

"I do hope I am wrong, and Lou is fine, but..."

"I'll be back shortly with news, Father."

***

Vincent made his way up to the surface and along the silent streets to Lou's Barber Shop. The lights were off. Vincent knew Lou lived at the back of the shop in a small apartment.

As he neared the back of the shop, he caught the faint smell of blood. As he entered Lou's apartment, the smell became stronger. Vincent's night vision soon caught sight of Lou’s body sitting at his kitchen table, a large trail of blood dripping down the front of his shirt. Vincent knew before he even touched him that Lou had been dead for a while. He bowed his head in sorrow. He looked around until he found the telephone and made an anonymous call to the police. They would be able to take care of Lou now.

Vincent made his way back to Father's chamber. As he entered, Father looked into Vincent's face and knew his worst fears were true. Father closed his eyes in pain at the death of his friend.

"Thank you, Vincent, for checking on him for me."

"I'm sorry, Father."

"I am too. Lou was a dear friend and will be greatly missed. I'm just sorry I didn't discover that John was impersonating Lou earlier during Winterfest."

"None of us did."

"Does anyone else know?"

"I made a call to the police. I didn't know what else to do."

"You made the right decision."

"Did Lou have any family?'

"No, his wife died a few years ago and they never had children. I'm not sure about anyone else. Maybe Catherine can use her connections at the DA's office to let us know what will happen next."

"I will ask her when I see her tomorrow. Goodnight, Father."

"Thank you, Vincent. Goodnight."

As Vincent turned to leave, he could hear Father weeping softly, mourning the loss of a dear friend.

*****

The Return

by Michaela Buzsaki Struchova

It was already dark when he found his way into her apartment… the usual way, of course. He remembered the first time he did it, eight months ago, and he had to smile. The look on her face when she saw him was worth the trouble. It had made his pretty miserable day so much better back then.

The apartment had barely changed; the soft pastel tones and elegant decorations oozed a romantic soul. He had to chuckle when he remembered their first encounter… she appeared anything but romantic, more of a choleric. There was something about her though, that made him like her right from the start. It was her obvious caring nature, her empathy… after he stopped lying to her… and her warm smile. He could never forget Catherine’s gentle smile that reminded him of his mother’s…

The sound of the door lock clicking to open brought him back to reality, and in a second, he was ready.

Catherine opened the door and reached for the light switch. She walked in, closed the door and secured both its locks. She was just about to throw her briefcase on one of the dinky couches when she jerked, seeing him spread out comfortably on the other couch.

“Your boss makes you work really hard, you should file a complaint,” he said, shaking his head. Then he grinned. “Hello, lady.”

Catherine’s mouth dropped, but then a wide, incredulous smile appeared on her face.

”Tony??”

***

The smell of hot cocoa enhanced the cosy feel of the room filled with friendship and warm memories.

“You know, you should really call me next time you want to see me.” Catherine raised her eyebrows. “It would save you the effort of picking my lock every time.”

The boy grinned. “It wouldn’t be the same. Take it as my trademark.”

“I hope you don’t practice on other properties,” she remarked dryly.

“Oh, no, you have the exclusive honour of that. I’ve been a good boy, I promise.”

Catherine couldn’t help but laugh. The boy she and Vincent helped to reunite with his grandparents the year before still occupied a big place in her heart.

“I must admit I’ve missed you,” she said, smiling.

Tony lowered his eyes shyly. “I’ve missed you too.” He quickly returned to his light-hearted nature. “That’s why I decided to pay a visit.”

“I’m glad… though shouldn’t you be at home with your grandparents now? It’s a bit late for you to be out.”

“No worries, they know where I’ve gone,” Tony reassured her. “I said if I’m not back by ten, they can call the National Guard. I am twelve, and I’m a traveller, you know?”

She chuckled. Good old Tony. No one can clip his wings...

“So, how have you been doing?” she asked with interest.

“I’ve been great!” the boy exclaimed with excitement. “My grandparents are wonderful. I’ve been helping them where I can, and they love having me around. I love making breakfast for them. Grandma said I cook better than her! Oh, but can you imagine? They want me to start school next term.” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “As if what Grandfather teaches me isn’t enough.”

Catherine laughed, remembering his opinion about the uselessness of school. “He only wants to widen your horizons, give you the best education you can get. I know life teaches you a lot, but school’s not bad either. And you can meet new friends there,” she encouraged him.

“I’ve got friends,” Tony countered. “You, for example.”

She smiled, truly touched somewhere deep inside. Her hand reached for his head, ruffling his dark hair. Never mind that he didn’t like it, she couldn’t help herself. Surprisingly, he didn’t pull away.

“Of course, we are friends,” Catherine agreed proudly, eliciting a beaming smile on his face.

“Speaking of… how is… Vincent?”

Tony’s careful way of asking the question warmed her heart. She was sure the boy never revealed the extraordinary man’s existence to anyone. They trusted him by letting him in on the secret in the first place.

“He’s fine,” Catherine replied. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to know you are doing well and are happy in your new home.”

“Shame we didn’t get more time to get to know each other better.” There was genuine regret in his voice.

“You never know, maybe you’ll get a chance one day,” she said enigmatically.

Tony sighed, hoping her words would come true. The truth was he couldn’t forget the leonine man who was so essential to his successful journey to happiness. Suddenly he remembered something and reached into his backpack, taking out a well-worn book. He showed the cover to Catherine, who smiled warmly, nodding.

“How could I ever forget?” she asked, a fond memory appearing in her mind.

He smiled and opened the volume. “Grandfather had it on his bookshelf, would you believe it?”

A shy and a bit uncertain glance into her eyes told her he was nervous about something, but then he looked down at the page he had just opened and surprised her.

“In the High... and Far-Off Times... the Ele-…Elephant, O Best Be-... Beloved, had no... trunk.”[2]

“Tony!” Catherine exclaimed, unable to contain her joy. It was still a bit wobbly, but definitely not too bad after only eight months.

The boy’s face was beaming with pride. “Grandfather has been teaching me to read.”

“That’s wonderful! It will make your start at school much easier,” his friend praised him.

He went silent for a moment, smiling shyly. “I’ve missed your voice…,” he said then. “I often remember how you read to me back then.”

Catherine smiled, put down her cup, then took the book from his hands and found the page he’d started reading a while before. “In the High and Far-Off Times the Elephant, O Best Beloved, had no trunk. He had only a blackish, bulgy nose, as big as a boot, that he could wriggle about from side to side, but he couldn’t pick up things with it. But there was one Elephant - and Elephant’s Child - who was so full of ‘satiable curiosity, and that means, he asked ever so many questions…” [3]

Tony made himself comfortable on the corner of the sofa and listened, his heart filled with warm feelings of happiness and contentment.

Catherine had read almost the whole story when suddenly she stopped and looked up at the French doors.

“What’s wrong?” Tony asked, mildly alarmed.

“We have a visitor, and I think he’ll be happy to see you again,” she replied with a mysterious smile and stood up, walking over to the door.

When she opened it, her young friend opened his mouth wide, and his eyes lit up.

“Hello, Vincent…”

***

They were sitting on the balcony, all together on a blanket and soft cushions on the tiled floor, leaning against the half-wall and catching up as if they had parted only yesterday. Tony sat between the two adults, enjoying the nearness of his special friends, whose company he had the pleasure of enjoying only for a short time back then. Among all the lively talk about his life during the past eight months, he felt something from his early childhood resurfacing, something from the days he shared with his mother and father…

He was excited to see Catherine again, but ever since Vincent’s arrival, he could barely take his eyes off the man with the magical face in a dark cloak. The information that Vincent had climbed onto the balcony to the 18th floor just reinforced his admiration for the mysterious man.

“Earth to Tony,” Catherine said cheekily, seeing her friend’s musing look.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologised, mildly embarrassed. “I was just thinking about the past.”

“Memories are not something to apologise for, especially if they are good ones,” Vincent remarked with a small smile.

“I was thinking of the night I saw you for the first time,” Tony stated, his eyes fixed on his friend. “I’ve never seen anyone like you before.”

Vincent chuckled, used to this kind of reaction from children. “As I told you then, there’s never been anyone like me before,” he said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” Tony apologised, embarrassed. “It’s just… How can you even walk down the streets? And where do you live?” He was fascinated.

“I have my cloak, and I have the night,” Vincent replied. “I know every street, every alley, every hidden corner in New York. And because I can’t be seen in daylight, I live Below, in the Tunnels.”

There was no doubt that the boy would keep this knowledge to himself. Of that, the leonine man was sure.

“So that’s why you knew the way to Grandfather’s house back then…” Tony concluded in awe.

“Yes. There are many maps and blueprints of the city. I memorised most of them a long time ago.”

“Cool!” The boy couldn’t suppress his amazement, making Vincent and Catherine chuckle. Then his face grew more serious.

“What is it, Tony?” Catherine asked with care.

“Down there, in the Tunnels… Don’t you feel… lonely? I’m sure I would.”

His concern touched Vincent’s heart, and he smiled. “Maybe I would… if I was alone,” he remarked. “But I’m surrounded by people who like me and have been my friends ever since I was born. They chose to live Below because the world Above failed them in some way. In the Tunnels, we all live with respect and love for each other, no matter what we look like.”

“It sounds like a perfect place,” Tony mused with awe.

Vincent smiled, shaking his head. “Just as there are no perfect people, there is no perfect place. Yet we try to live together peacefully, to help each other and live each day to the fullest, with gratitude.”

“How come you don’t live in the Tunnels?” The boy turned to Catherine.

For a brief moment, she felt a pang in her heart. Why indeed? She dared to look at Vincent, and his eyes told her he knew what she was thinking. She lowered her eyes shyly then started to explain.

“I am a Helper, as the Tunnel people call someone who lives Above but knows about them and regularly helps them in various ways.”

“Could I become one too?” Tony was genuinely interested.

“When you get older, you might very well, if the Tunnel Council agrees to it.”

Tony inadvertently embraced his knees, engrossed in hearing all about the wondrous new world. “How did you learn about the place?” he asked then.

Catherine sighed then chuckled.

“It’s a long story, but almost two years ago, I was attacked. I suffered bad injuries and was left for dead in Central Park… That’s where Vincent found me. He brought me Below to find help. His adoptive father is a doctor. Since then, we’ve been…”

She stopped, hesitating for a second. Her eyes found Vincent, who was watching her intently. Almost-lovers...

“Friends,” she added finally, unable to look away from the blue depths of the man she loved.

“Oh… I see…” Tony remarked with a grin, observing them with keen interest.

Catherine looked into the child’s eyes, seeing comprehension in them.

“Anyway…” She shook her head, trying to change the topic. “The world Below is a very special place, protecting Vincent and the people who live there. Do you understand what I mean, Tony?” she asked carefully.

”Sure,” the boy answered. “You can count on me… I’ll keep it a secret.” He winked at her then turned back to Vincent. “Grandfather mentioned you once, not long after he welcomed me to the family.

“What did he say?” his friend asked calmly, remembering his brief yet necessary visit to the old man not even a year ago.

“He said a mysterious dark angel visited him the night before the Kris and made him think about justice and second chances.”

Catherine glanced at Vincent, who answered with a gentle smile.

“You are very perceptive, Tony,” he remarked. “Thank you for keeping my secret.”

“I owe you one. It’s the least I can do for you,” the boy replied proudly and leaned back again.

The three friends sat in companionable silence for a few moments, watching the dark evening sky above them. Each immersed in their memories, each blessed to share this moment with each other.

“Will I ever see you again?” Tony asked suddenly, looking at Vincent with unusual shyness.

“If you wish to,” Vincent replied, smiling. “You know how to find me.”

“Cool,” the boy breathed happily.

“A bit more cocoa before you have to go, Tony?” Catherine asked, getting up, holding her empty cup.

“Sure, go for it, lady,” he answered, passing her his own cup. The warm smile on his face spoke about his gratitude for much more than a hot drink.

***

“Time doesn’t take away from friendship, nor does separation.”

- Tennessee Williams –

*****

Letter to Vincent

by Nelly

Dear Vincent,

You were so little and fragile when we met!

It was a cold winter night, and you were sick and suffering. But you stayed strong and fought every day. You always surprised us with your strength and will to live. One day you stopped crying and began to smile, and your wonderful blue eyes conveyed their splendor to all of us.

I’ve seen you growing up. You were a smart, sensitive, and strong boy.

I’ll always be grateful to Jacob, your FATHER, to have made you the man you are. Yes, Vincent, the MAN you are.

You faced hard times: isolation, aloneness, physical and psychological violence, the belief that you were different and dangerous. Luckily, real life made you realize that you are a special person and you returned to being that little smiling and proud warrior.

Forget your doubts and fears, you are my son and I’m proud of you, always and no matter what.

You have new and important responsibilities to handle and a world to protect. You’ll do it, this is your destiny. You have faced it since you were a baby and now it has brought you only beautiful things, the most important of which is your loving Catherine. Live your love for her and for your community. Love is the result of all your pain and misery.

This is the only truth I will always know and now, so do you.

Live, Vincent; I’ll always be beside you.

Anna, your Mother

*****

‘In My World’

Short Stories

by JessicaRae

These 500-word stories are just a few glimpses into the Tunnel folk that we know, and modern moments that bring our world into theirs. They are purposely ambiguous to allow the readers thoughts to wander, and to discover they will always have a home and a listening ear among those Below.

~Fire~

She stood upon the balcony, her robe wrapped tightly around her slim shoulders, watching for any faint glimpse of a star above her. A grey haze was moving in, little by little stealing the twinkling lights.

“You seem pensive, tonight,” a voice spoke softly behind her. She startled, turning quickly to see the new arrival, even though her heart had already known he was coming.

“It’s hazy,” she replied, willing her racing heart to calm itself in the presence of her true love.

“I know,” he replied sweetly, moving to her side and slipping a strong arm around her. She allowed him to pull her close and rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled like candle wax and dampness, tunnel dust and baking, of leather and something else that was just – Vincent.

He smelled like home.

“I did not mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” she replied faintly, shaking her head. “I was just quite lost in thought. I felt you were arriving, but in my head it just didn’t register.”

“Are you well?” Vincent asked quickly, his voice gravelly with concern.

“Oh yes,” she replied, looking up at him with honest eyes. “Just preoccupied with my world, I guess.”

“Your world has its frequent struggles, that is true,” Vincent agreed, pulling her to his chest and resting his chin atop her head. “Tell me which one of these troubles has you so distracted.”

“I don’t even know where to start. Right now, I am concerned about tomorrow. There are wildfires in the western part of the country and the smoke is headed in this direction, pushed by weather systems, and the air quality is supposed to be very bad by tomorrow. I will be fine, but perhaps everyone should stay Below until the air clears. I would hate for the children to become ill. You can see the haze is already covering the stars.”

“I will speak to Father,” Vincent replied. “Thank you for your concern. Be sure that you come Below as well. You know there is always a place for you there. I do appreciate how you look after our people. It is a luxury we have not often experienced with those living Above.”

“You are all family,” she murmured against his shirt. “It’s not like I -” she hesitated and mentally finished the statement, the pain of it too great to speak aloud. “It’s not like I have any family of my own.”

“We will always be your family,” he replied, sensing her thoughts through the Bond. “You are never alone.”

“Thank you, Vincent. You have no idea how much that means.”

“I think I do.”

She raised her head to look up at him and smiled. “Perhaps you do.”

“Those poor people,” Vincent said softly, his mind drifting to the haze above them. “Has assistance been sent to them?”

“Yes,” she replied softly. “Their world is quite turned upside down, with no promise of ever recovering. I pity the tomorrow they will awake to.”

~Listening Ear~

“Good morning, Father.” The cheerful greeting echoed from the library entrance and the grey-haired patriarch of the Tunnel folk turned to see who had arrived, removing the spectacles perched on his nose, his other hand shutting the old, leather-bound volume that lay open and nestled in his palm.

“Good morning, my dear,” he replied kindly. “A bit early for you today, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I was supposed to,” she replied, her tone slightly dismal. “I had every intention of going in.”

Father’s brow furrowed slightly. “Why don’t you have a seat? You seem a little out of sorts.”

She nodded slightly, dropped into his rocking chair, resting her head against the tall back and then closed her eyes. Father put his glasses back on his nose and laid aside the book. At her side, he slipped strong fingers around her wrist.

“Are you well?” He asked in concern, his doctor mannerisms slipping into the forefront of his expression, mixing with the fatherly gentleness in his tone.

“I’m not sick, Father,” she replied patiently, giving him a half smile. “I just had some news that was a bit saddening, that’s all. Nothing earth shattering, but it – well, it kind of ruined my day.”

“Ah,” he replied, nodding wisely. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shrugged and nodded. “Yes, I think I would like that.”

“Then give me a moment,” Father chuckled, patting her arm and leaving the small room.

After his exit, the room became quiet, with an almost reverent air about it. A myriad of candles flickered on the wall, placed safely away from the many valuable and ancient volumes that Father had managed to collect over the years. The air in the small room smelled of wax and paper, dust and ink, and it was a warm, comforting place. The sadness that had clutched hands tightly around her heart relinquished its grasp, one cold finger at a time, and when Father returned, she found she was breathing easier, and looking forward to his compassionate, listening ear.

“I brought tea,” he said conversationally, setting down a tray on top of the chess board. It was neatly arranged, small pots of sugar cubes and cream positioned alongside a sweet little teapot and plates of small cookies and macaroons. “Mary did it all, I must be fair. Her artistic abilities are much more proficient than mine.”

A becoming hint of blush crossed Father’s cheek at this statement, and he cleared his throat. “Now then, here is your tea, child. Drink the first cup… careful now it’s hot… before we speak of troubling things.”

“Thank you, Father,” she replied softly, taking up the teacup in cold hands. The warm porcelain was smooth and solid, and despite the worries of the day, it grounded her to the moment. This special, fragile moment, just her and Father, a cozy, warm library, tea, and cookies, and the promise that no matter what was wrong, he would do his best to help.

~Gentle Death~

“She’s dead!” Mouse charged through the Tunnels chanting to himself,

“She’s dead, she’s dead. Not good, not fine, more than bad, must tell someone.” He held a newspaper, its crumpled pages flapping as he ran. He turned a corner and ran straight into William, sending the heavier man reeling into the wall, and the cabbages he had been carrying went flying in the opposite direction, hitting Mouse squarely on the head.

“Ow!” Mouse exclaimed, while William heaved himself to his feet. “Mouse hate cabbages.”

“Boy,” William exclaimed, trying to catch his breath. “Slow it down in these Tunnels! It’s bad enough I got to deal with your thieving coon, but to be knocked about in my own Tunnels, now that’s just not going to fly.”

“Why fly?” Mouse asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “William can’t fly, nor Mouse. Wouldn’t fly anyway?” He retrieved his tattered newspaper from the corner and safely tucked it under his arm. “Mouse running, not flying.”

“That is just an expression,” William grunted, retrieving his vegetables. “Means it’s not going to work.”

“Not work?” Mouse repeated, his eyes lighting up. “Not work? Mouse can fix!”

“Not this you won’t,” William grumbled, rubbing his face with one broad hand, wearily. “Say, what was all that blasted running through here for anyway? You should know better than that.”

“Oh!” Mouse’s face became sad and lost again. “She died. Was on my way to tell Father. Saw it. She’s dead.”

“What she?” William asked, both worried and afraid all at once. Mouse saw this person die? Who? She? There were a lot of ‘shes’ in the Tunnels and depending on which one Mouse was talking about – it could be tragic for the Tunnel folk.

“Not Catherine or Jamie?” William asked hurriedly, not waiting for a response from the boy. “Or Rebecca or Mary? Come on, boy, who died?”

“Elizabeth,” Mouse replied brokenly. “Elizabeth is dead.”

William’s face paled and he stumbled back a step. Not Elizabeth. Their gentle painter, so quiet, kept to herself, but so beautifully in tune with creation and colors. Everyone would be hurting today.

“Saw it,” Mouse repeated, his voice still sad.

“You - saw – her. Okay, Mouse,” William said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. “Tell me exactly what you saw.”

“In the paper,” Mouse replied, holding out the newspaper he had been carrying as he ran. “Mouse went Above for swivel wheel. Looking for one to attach on chair. Needed four, only had three. Wanted to look for one more. Digging in dumpster. Not taking,” he added forcefully. “Just looking… borrowing. Found that. Seemed important. Wanted to show Father.”

Williams gazed in confusion at the tattered paper thrust into his field of vision. It was a New York Times article, entitled “Queen Elizabeth II Dies at 96”. “This is about a queen overseas,” William exclaimed. “Not someone we know, Mouse.”

“She’s pretty,” Mouse replied softly. “Felt like we ought to care a little.”

“That we should,” William replied gently. “Let’s go tell Father.”

~Silence~

“Has anyone seen Mouse?” Jamie asked at dinner. It had been several hours since Father and Vincent had been rescued from the cave in, and both were looking much more normal, having washed off the grey dust of the tunnel and bandaged up their various cuts and bruises.

“No,” Mary said softly, glancing around the room at those gathered to eat William’s celebratory dinner.

“Saw him in the pipe chamber,” Samantha offered, balancing one of the small children on her lap. “Was talking to Pascal, seemed fine.”

“That’s just it,” Jamie said bluntly. “He seemed fine. Yet, he isn’t here at the table with us. After the enforcement of the Silence, doesn’t it make sense that he would be trying to stay in everyone’s good graces?”

“The poor boy almost died,” Father replied, his voice a little gruff from the events of the day. “He may have just needed some time to think.”

Jamie chewed the inside of her lower lip for a moment, her face slightly mutinous, and Vincent, next to her, laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Jamie, why don’t you finish your dinner and then go look for Mouse.”

She ducked her head once in a nod, jaw clenching and unclenching as she fought the emotions rising up in her chest. Old feelings of abandonment, aloneness, emptiness inside, they all threatened to burst forth from her like a tidal wave of pain, and she swallowed them all down. Wouldn’t do to erupt right here in front of the entire colony.

Somehow, she got the last of her dinner down, mumbled a thank you to William, and was walking down the Tunnels, steps stiff and jerky with the need to run but the necessity to act natural.  The moment she disappeared from sight she began to run. She knew where he would be, where she hoped he would be. And ten minutes of running got her to that place.

Water tumbled in a great roar down the waterfall, into the impossibly clear water running through the underground stream. Mouse sat on a rock beside the bank, knees to his chest, hunched over, picking at the pebbles along the shore.

“Mouse, thank goodness. Are you alright? I missed you at dinner.”

“Mouse need to think,” he replied softly. “Mouse - didn’t think anyone notice Mouse gone.”

“Well, I did,” Jamie replied firmly, and Mouse turned and cautiously frowned at her.

“Jamie care?”

“Of course, Mouse. I always will.”

“Even in - Silence?”

“Look, Mouse, they meant well. They just wanted to make you understand how seriously important it is to keep us all safe.”

“Mouse knows,” he replied softly. “Just - Silence feels so - alone.”

“I know,” Jamie replied just as softly, sitting on a rock next to him. “But even in the Silence, I will be there. We can talk Above. The rules just say we can’t talk down here.” Mouse and Jamie exchanged mischievous grins.

“Mouse likes that.”

“You know, Mouse, Jamie kinda does too.”

*****

When De Time Is Right

by Allison

Jamie cried out as Vincent, Winslow and Pascal started off on their journey to rescue Catherine. "Wait!"[4]

Winslow, sounding annoyed, turned to look at her.  "What do you want?"

"I wanna go with you. Catherine’s my friend too." Jamie tried to plead her case.

"Jamie… Where we’re going is too far, and the way too dangerous." Vincent was very appreciative of his young friend's concern for Catherine.

"Too dangerous for who?" Jamie glared at the men standing there.

Winslow was aggravated by Jamie's attempt to join them. "For you!" He growled low, not realizing she heard him.

"I can take care of myself. I always have." Jamie stared down the cold look Winslow was giving her. She heard his comment and wasn't about to let that stop her.

Pascal couldn't help but grin. "She’s got a point!"

Winslow raised an arm into the air and gestured at Pascal.  "She’s crazy!"

Vincent was shocked at his outburst.  "Winslow!"

"Well, I’m right, ain’t I? Girl’s got no business coming along, we all know that." Winslow tried to stand his ground.

Vincent realizing Winslow was right, gently told her. "I’m sorry, Jamie…" Placing his hand on her shoulder, "It’s for the best."

As Vincent gently guided Jamie back into Father's arms, she called out one more comment before they left. "Best for who?"

Vincent turned and they started off down the tunnel.

Father spoke to Jamie and the others. "Come, let us return to the main hub. There's nothing more we can do now."

While the others slowly followed Father, Jamie stared down the tunnel at the retreating figures. For some unexplained reason, she just knew in the pit of her stomach that she had to go with them. She had to be there. Something terrible was going to happen. She couldn't explain how she knew but she did. She knew if she tried to tell anyone, they would think she's as crazy as Winslow said.

Suddenly she heard a soft footfall behind her. She turned and spotted Narcissa coming out of the shadows.

"Narcissa!" Jamie was surprised to see her.

"Jaamee, you must follow dem. Dey don know de danger awaiting dem. I tried to warn Vinceennt but he no listen to this crazy old woman. You listen, huh? Follow dem. Dey will need you."

This reassured Jamie more than anything that she was right to go after them. "What do I tell Father and the others? They heard Vincent, they will try to stop me"

"Don say a word. I will talk to de Father. Go. Take great care. Keep close but not too close. You will know when de time is right to join dem."

"Thank you, Narcissa." Jamie was genuinely touched by her words. Jamie gathered the pack that she had placed on the ground, and started down the tunnel. Jamie knew these tunnels as well as Mouse and Vincent. She knew shortcuts to catch up with them easily and places to hide until they had passed if need be. She would be there when they needed her.

How right Jamie was in the end....

*****

Humbug

A Beauty and the Beast Christmas Story

by JessicaRae

I think awhile of Love, and while I think,

Love is to me a world,

Sole meat and sweetest drink,

And close connecting link

‘Tween heaven and earth.

- Henry David Thoreau

Chapter One

The streets Above were sparkling and white under a blanket of newly fallen snow. Across Central Park, the glitter of the lights strung in the trees shone brightly, making the pathways seem as golden as the daytime, even at midnight. The jangling of the bells on shop doors created their own continuous song, as the busy holiday shoppers trotted up one street and down another, their arms laden with oddly shaped packages and their noses red with the chill. Cheerful music danced lightly in the air, and with every flake of soft, gentle snow that fell, the joy of the season drifted down with them onto the shoulders and hats of each person that trudged through the streets.

High up on top of the fluffy, snowing clouds, a lone figure sat, watching the happy goings on below them through a slight break in the fluffy mist.

"It's a shame, Jason…a downright shame."

A taller figure drifted from a different vantage point to stand next to the sitting one. "What is a shame, Chester? Are you watching earth again?"

"Yes, I am watching earth again. They are all quite busy tonight. It is a shame that everyone cannot be equally as happy. The spirit of the season, Jason, ‘tis such a mixed emotion for so many."

The tall figure smiled and laid a gentle hand on the shoulder of the older man. "I agree, Chester. Some spend Christmas, the glorious time of good will and peace on earth, brooding over gain and receiving of gold and silver, and hoarding it from those in need, while others would spend their last cent to aid the loneliness of another at such a happy time, but they do not have the means to bring that joy to others, let alone feed their families more than crusts of bread. But their heart is in the right place, to be sure. You say it well, Chester. Tis a shame."

Chester smiled. "You have a heart of gold, Jason. Your compassion is greater than your wisdom, and that is not necessarily a bad thing. Listen to the Father and He will guide you to the wise side of your tender heart. Say, why are you out here upon the clouds? It is dangerous, you might fall."

Jason laughed heartily. "I might ask you the same, Chester. You come out here on the clouds whenever you want, and I don’t see anyone stopping you."

Chester shook a scolding finger at the laughing young man. "But I have wings, Jason. You have not earned them yet. One step through a thin spot of cloud cover and you will fall all the way to Earth and must earn those wings then through pain and suffering on Earth. You have only a few more weeks till those wings are yours. Why can't you stick with palace duty until then, where it is safe and there is no risk of falling?"

Jason sighed faintly and sat down on a puff of clouds. "I want to watch them, Chester. They fascinate me. Some so kind, some so evil, yet they all get the same planet to live on, the same air to breathe, the same ground to be buried in. They create their own social statuses, their own lines drawn to keep others out. Yet they seem to forget that they are all made of the same dust. I have never been sent to the aide of an earthbound human. I know sometimes He sends us when they are in danger, or lonely, or troubled, or are finally ready to leave the confines of the earthly realm. But I have never had that privilege, myself, and have wished I could be sent."

"All in good time, Jason." Chester spoke kindly, waving his hand at the impatient young man. "Once you have your wings, the Almighty will give you your place among the messengers. You may tend to both the angry and gentle hearts of the earth dwellers then."

Jason nodded absentmindedly and propped his chin in his hand. "How am I to be patient until I get my wings, Chester? How did you do it? It seems as if an entire eternity has passed already."

The older gentleman smiled. "Just keep watching what the messengers do, and learning, and following orders, Jason. Your time will come. It did for me."

Jason nodded again and stood, pacing atop the cloud, his impatience still quite evident although the furrowed forehead above his gentle eyes had relaxed. "Sure, Chester, sure. I hear you. But I can’t help it if a little piece of me is just so all out eager to be of some real help. How long did you wait for your wings? I feel like I have been waiting for years!"

Chester opened his mouth to reply again patiently, but an unnoticed widening of the crack in the shifting cloud cover swallowed Jason completely before the older messenger could register it and warn him. As the angel yelped in surprise and fell, Chester rushed to the edge of the cloud and peered over the wispy perimeter, but Jason was already lost to sight. The angel sighed and sat down again in his position of watchfulness. He would not see Jason again in the clouds until the young angel had made his choice of whom to serve. His loyalty hung in the balance, and now Jason would have to earn his wings the hard way. If he survived the darkness of the season that could swallow a man whole down on Earth. If he survived the fall.

The busy hustle of the holiday season above had spread quite thoroughly into the hidden tunnels of Below. The usually quiet tunnels were filled with the ecstatic laughter of children, the continuous tapping of goodwill messages ringing through the pipes from Helpers below, and the rustling of cloaks traveling to and fro as chambers were lit and decorated.

A tall, lion-like man walked slowly beside an older gentleman, a black cloak draped over his face, hiding his features. The gentleman had the proud, angular face of a distinguished aristocrat, but the calm, familiar air of a commoner. His own cloak brushed the ground as they walked, hiding a slight limp that kept him from walking at an even pace.

The hooded man was speaking kindly.

"Father, Rebecca and the candle makers have completed their allotted number of candles required for the Christmas ceremony. The children have been working daily on the music arrangements, and Jamie and Mary have so much food in preparation that I think we may need to invite some Helpers after the festivities to come down and take some above to the homeless."

The older gentleman smiled and patted the lion-man on his broad shoulder. "Well done, Vincent. I do believe we shall have a grand Christmas, despite the bitter cold that is predicted. Temperatures below zero, it has been reported. Please be sure the children know that they are not to go Above after tomorrow night without an adult such as Mary, Winslow, or yourself."

"I will do that Father, and I believe we shall have a wonderful Christmas. You can feel the gentleness of the season settling into every crevice of these walls almost immediately on the morning right after Thanksgiving. Oh look, Geoffrey somehow got the holly hung over the doorway to the library. He originally came up with mistletoe from somewhere, and I instructed him against it. I thought you would think that was wise."

Father cast a quick glance over his glasses at Vincent and nodded dryly, but a tiny corner of his lips quirked up in mirth. "Well done, my boy. Wherever would he have gotten that? And how would he have known to put it above the doorway, of all places. " Vincent smiled and followed his father and mentor into the well-lit library.

"From Mouse, I assumed." Vincent replied thoughtfully.

Father chuckled and sat down heavily at the quaint chess table where he and Vincent had battled for kings and queens so many times through the years. "A well-determined guess, I am quite sure, Vincent. Fancy a bit of chess before dinner?"

Vincent seated himself across from Father, removing his hood, letting it fall onto his broad shoulders, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "A most useful way to spend the afternoon, Father. Tea would be nice. Shall I send for Mary?"

He stood again as if to leave, but at that moment, several of the littlest children, followed by Jamie, appeared quite frazzled, her hair hanging in strings across her damp forehead. The small ones raced clamoring into the usually quiet room, launching themselves at Father and Vincent. For a moment there was pandemonium as several climbed onto Father's lap, and Vincent's chair, and others jumped up and down, arms raised, for Vincent to pick them up, all talking at once. Suddenly, a shrill whistle pierced the air. Everyone immediately fell silent and froze.

Jamie placed the whistle back into her pocket. "Now, you little heathens, mind your manners. This is a library. Father and Vincent, the children, unfortunately quite zealous in their excitement, have something to tell you."

“Ah,” Father chuckled, balancing one of the little ones on his knee. “Pray what is this incredible news that has you all disturbing the peace in this library?”

Amused, Father and Vincent waited as the children all glanced at each other, then spoke as if in one voice, "The Christmas tree is ready to decorate!"

Amid the new chorus of excited children's clambering, Father spoke to Jamie. "I see that Winslow has kept the chain of command running smoothly and there were no casualties on the way down to the Great Hall with the tree Peter sent? What kind of help exactly do you wish from Vincent and I, child?"

Jamie rubbed a hand across her damp forehead, face scrunched in stress. "Well, Father, I - we - need someone there to just - keep order. Winslow and William are setting the tree up - it is quite beautiful - and they are doing a fine job, but when the children start shouting and there are decorations everywhere, I just worry that there will be accidents, and William starts muttering, and Winslow gets that mutinous expression, although we know he wouldn’t hurt a fly, because they simply can’t think for the noise, and they are looking at me because I’m supposed to be in control, but it’s all out of control, and you know, I am barely a kid too, and the kids hardly listen to me at all during things like this, but they are genuinely just excited, they can't help it after all, it's Christmas." Jamie finished her exhausting rant in such a depressed voice that Father couldn't help but chuckle in sympathy.

"Now, now, Jamie, child. I will come and help. Vincent, why don't you see if Rebecca has the candle deliveries ready for distribution to the helpers, and I will take these munchkins down to the Winterfest chamber and keep order."

Vincent smiled. "Father, you are becoming quite a softie."

Father scowled over his glasses. "Vincent, I do not wish to ever hear that from you or anyone else again." For a moment, everyone fell quiet and were worried that Father was angry. He straightened his cloak around him and then pushed up his glasses. "It would not do a thing for my image."

He spoke in a fake-haughty tone, causing everyone to burst out laughing. Vincent clapped a paw on Father's shoulder. The laughter brought an instant good mood over the little group and they began the little journey toward the Great Hall, the sounds of joy ringing through the tunnels.

A young man scurried along the dark alleyways, his shaggy hair nearly hiding his face. His careful movements kept him shielded from the view of any chance passersby. In his hands were clutched random pieces of metal, and a long spring swung from his thumb. He ducked beneath a gate that was half crumbling and turned toward the hidden entrance that would take him Below. His name was Mouse. A gatherer, he was returning to Below with finds that he could use to create his inventions. He had been working on Christmas presents for weeks now, and just needed a few more things to finish them. He had been successful in his hunt, and just needed to get Below and finish so they could be given at the Christmas celebration. He stopped behind a row of garbage bins and reached for the hidden handle of the door that would lead him Below, out of the bitterly frosty night. At that moment, a groan reached his ears from the shadows behind him. Instinct told him to run and quickly hide, but the groan was not that of someone that appeared to be able to threaten the secret he needed to hide. There was pain in the sound, and Mouse knew it. Worry flooding his young heart, the young man quietly laid down his small treasures and tiptoed around the garbage cans. There before him on the ground lay a young man. He looked to be in his late twenties, wearing a white shirt and khaki pants. His arms were laying at odd angles, almost appearing to not belong to him at all. He seemed to be in a lot of pain and was moaning a quiet mewing sound that only those severely injured can make from lips that were rapidly turning blue. His lack of warm clothing shocked Mouse and the tunnel dweller crept closer, careful to be quiet and out of sight.

He stepped on a tin can by accident, and he saw the stricken figure stiffen at the sound, although he did not actually move, his chest rising and falling quickly in obvious panic and pain. "Who - is - there?" The fallen figure spoke hoarsely, his accent different from the typical New York accents that Mouse was familiar with.

Mouse crept closer and knelt cautiously beside the young man. "My name – is Mouse. Not move. You - hurt bad. Must get Father, not good, Father will help."

The young man faintly nodded once, his breathing labored and harsh.

Mouse furrowed his brow and touched the man's bruised arm. "What - happened?"

The young man opened blue eyes and raised his head, looking straight into Mouse's worried face. "I fell – from -  Heaven."

And he fell back unconscious.

Chapter Two

"He told you he was from where?"  Father gazed at Mouse incredulously.

""He said - he -fell from-Heaven." Mouse replied uncertainly, tossing his hair out of his worried eyes. “Seemed sure, all he said.”

Father rolled his eyes and helplessly threw up his hands. "And he is now down here among us. He's probably a psychopath or lunatic or something. Fell down from Heaven indeed."

Peter, the kindly doctor from Above, walked down the steps from the hospital chamber to where Father and Mouse stood in a frustrated stance. "Take it easy on the boy, Jacob. It is what the man claims. He has spoken of nothing else except someone named Chester, and praying to the Almighty, since I began working on him. He has a long road ahead of him to recover, the poor man."

Father rubbed his face with a calloused hand and sighed in frustration. "Fell from Heaven, it just doesn’t make sense. What do you think? So we really do have a raving lunatic on our hands, Peter?"

Peter chuckled and clapped a hand on the older man's shoulder. "Somehow, I don't think so, Jacob. It is the Christmas season, and -after all - anything is possible."

Father frowned. "Oh, come now, Peter. You don't actually believe him?"

Peter smiled kindly, a knowing sparkle in his elderly face. "Christmas is a time for magic, Jacob. don't tell me you have forgotten it after all these years."

"Well, I have not forgotten it, but I also know how to keep a grasp on reality. Unlike some people." Father glanced at Mouse pointedly. Peter laughed again.

"Oh, calm down, Jacob. It could be a touch of delirium from his injuries. He seems to have a great deal of trouble seeing, and has some facial bruising and scrapes, and has sustained several broken ribs, a fractured knee, and a pretty good knock on the head." Peter's elderly face took on a grave, worried expression that Jacob caught quickly.

"What is it, Peter? What else is there?"

The kindly physician shook his head. "Jacob, I may be going out on a limb, but based on where his body was positioned, and the snow around him, and on the buildings around, it looked as if he had fallen off the roof of that old warehouse behind the trash cans."

Jacob raised his eyebrows. "Well, there you go. That is what happened, and he is just delirious about it and thinks he fell from heaven."

Peter shook his head. "No, his injuries are more extensive than what that small of a fall would do to him. It looks like he hit the roof face first then fell off of it. He didn't appear to have fallen on his face on the ground. And he was too out of it and broken to have turned over once he was on the ground."

Jacob sighed and shook his head. It was getting more confusing by the second.

Jason awoke with a barely suppressed groan upon his lips. He felt as if every bone in his body were broken into a million small fragments, but as he lifted his left arm slightly, he realized that it couldn't be all that bad if he could move his limbs. His eyes could barely make out dimly lit walls around him that appeared to be made of stone. Used to a much brighter, cleaner environment, Jason found from 10 seconds of attempting to see everything about him that he didn't know anything about Earth after all. "Should have paid more attention to Chester," he groaned to himself. He attempted to move his legs, but found one of them bandaged up to the hip and splinted and intense pain shot through it as well as his ribs when he started to sit up. His shirt was gone and replaced with clean, white bandaging wrapped tightly around his torso. Stinging pain when he moved told him the ribs were probably cracked. He didn’t know that could happen. It never had happened Above before. But then again, falling onto clouds didn’t exactly break bones.

A gentle hand fell on his bare shoulder, pushing him carefully down onto the pillow, and a kind voice spoke.

"Easy there, son, don’t move. Father, he is coming to."

The voice that broke into Jason's reverie instantly calmed him, and he found that he knew the speaker, although he wasn’t sure how he had come by that knowledge. "Vincent?" He spoke in a raspy voice, muddled by the morphine Peter had given him, but the relief in his tone was obvious to those around him. "Vincent? Oh, good. Someone I know." And he fell back again unconscious.

Father rushed into the white curtained room, his quick pace slowed by Vincent's immediately upheld hand. "Easy, Father, he has collapsed again."

Peter poked his head around the curtain as well. "That is to be expected with his head injury. He will fade in and out for a few days, maybe even a week or a month. We have no way of knowing for sure. Only time will tell, if he makes it."

Jacob frowned at Peter and turned to Vincent. "Did he say anything, son?"

Vincent's face was twisted into an expression that no one could quite decipher. It was a long moment before he spoke. "He said that he knew who I was and called me by name."

The blank stares that he received from Father and Peter mirrored that of his own.

"Father, I did not tell him my name."

Father shook his head. "He must just be messed up from his injuries, Vincent. I am sure he heard it through his half lucid state spoken by one of us as we got him to the chamber. Keep an eye on him while I see Peter out. Mary will come by with blankets. We will have to move him to a bedroom chamber when he is better, but best to keep him here for now. Mouse, will you see to it that no one comes in here after we walk out? I don’t want any of the children in here for now."

The young man ducked his head in response, a simple nod that Father understood. As he walked past the young man, Father patted his shoulder, a gentle apology for his unnecessarily annoyed outburst earlier. Mouse laid his hand over the bigger, stronger one for a brief second in acknowledgement, grinning crookedly, and nodding once, then he walked up the stairs to stand by the door. He watched the sleeping figure with an intense gaze that Vincent couldn't figure out.

"He said - your name."

Mouse finally spoke in a quiet tone that Vincent had never heard him use. Vincent nodded. "Yes. He did."

"Do you believe – he's an angel, Vincent?"

Vincent looked up quickly at that question to gaze at the calm boy, whose eyes were fixed on the sleeping figure, Mouse’s face shaded by his mop of hair, but his mouth twisted into that expression he made when he was unsure, a little afraid, and thinking extremely hard.

Vincent sighed and pulled the blanket over the still figure. "Who knows what the truth is right now, Mouse. The right thing to do is keep your heart and mind open to all possibilities and treat this man just like we would anyone else. He is definitely mortal and needs time to heal. He has sustained very real injuries, and doesn’t seem aware of their extent just yet."

Mouse nodded in acceptance of this viewpoint, and leaned against the door frame, planting his heels in such a way as to indicate he was going to be keeping watch for some time.

Catherine hurried up to the quiet drain entrance in the now familiar park, glanced both ways to look for anyone who might see her, and quickly entered. It wasn't long before she was hurrying through the tunnels to the hospital chamber, willing her feet to remember the path, as her mind was too full of the Bond to remember directions. Father was coming toward the entrance from the opposite direction as she reached the entrance to the hospital chamber. She barely registered his existence and pushed past him, trying to get to the entrance. Noting her worried expression, he stopped her, grasping her arms in his hands. "Catherine, my dear, are you well, are you okay?"

His hands carefully grasping her arms halted her rush and she stumbled back a step, gazing at him as if in a trance. "I-I must talk to Vincent. I must see him."

Father took her hand and led her toward the stairway. "He is up there, go quietly, because we have a patient that he is sitting with and he must not be disturbed. Take a breath, Catherine. All is well."

He noted the look of fear when he said Vincent was in the hospital chamber, and the look faded when he explained Vincent's purpose there. Catherine smiled gently, a little wanly, and nodded. "Thank you, Father. I – I sort of lost my head for a moment. I apologize."

He nodded kindly, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly in a faint smile. “No harm done.”

She quickly climbed the stairway, pushing aside the white curtain at the top to find Vincent sitting beside a quietly sleeping young man who looked as if he had met a subway train head on. She grimaced at the sight and Vincent looked up when she entered.

"Catherine! Are you well?"

She stepped just inside the door, subconsciously pulling her jacket tightly around her body. If she could have seen her own disheveled expression, she would have understood his instant concern and Father’s obvious worry as well. Pale cheeks and lips, windblown hair, mud on her shoes from a quick careless run through the park, all signs that meant she was in distress, or in a hurry. Either one was tugging at Vincent through the Bond. He stood and came to stand at her side. "Catherine?"

She finally looked away from the young man and up into Vincent's worried face. Her eyes were frightened, and she reached for Vincent.

"Oh, I am fine, Vincent, just came quickly. I had to see you. I had to!"

Vincent reached back to her, taking her in his strong arms and spoke quietly. "Come here. You have had a fright, Catherine. I felt a disturbance in the bond, but you shut me out. I could not tell where you were, and it frightened me."

She clutched him closer and nodded. "I’m sorry, Vincent. I was afraid he would see you if you came."

"He?"

Catherine pulled away to look up into the dark face and shook her head. "Vincent, I had a visit from a man named Lucifer."

At the mention of that name, the young man immediately sat up, as if woken instantly from sleep, but an immediate onslaught of pain overloaded his senses, and he collapsed back down upon the bed. Vincent rushed to his side. "No, no you must stay still," he chided kindly to the man.

The young face was still unconscious, but the voice spoke weakly, his head tossing from side to side. "Lucifer – he must not find me. He can’t! I have to get back. I have to get back! Chester!" He then fell silent again.

Catherine, who had moved closer to the bed, and Vincent's eyes met. His were concerned, hers were knowing.

"Catherine?"

She motioned for him to follow her, and they stepped beyond the white curtain.

"Vincent, today a man who called himself Lucifer came to the DA's office. Told me that he was the manager of a mental health facility in Albany. He said that yesterday, a young man escaped and hopped in a cab, and they gave chase but lost him. He said that through the cab records they were able to track him to this area. The man said he has an 'angel' complex and thinks that he has been sent to protect someone. He didn't say who, but I just got a bad feeling from this guy. I am sure I saw him following me when I left the DA's office and headed home, but I lost him on the way there, because the traffic was really bad, and I used all the secret shortcuts. I came here as soon as I was sure it was safe."

Vincent frowned and paced for a moment.

"Catherine, if you see that man again, find out all you can, and we will see what happens when our friend wakes up. I don't understand what is happening here, but most of all we must keep the tunnels and this secret safe. That comes first. We will help this fellow all we can, but no matter what, we will not have war in the tunnels.”

Chapter Three

Vincent sat beside the young man for hour after long hour. While sleeping, the young man mumbled in his sleep quite a bit about the unknown Chester, but most often his voice took on an intense, fearful tone and then he spoke of Lucifer. Vincent spoke calmly to him in those moments, not sure as to what he should do to alleviate the young man's obvious mental and physical suffering. So Vincent took to reading books aloud such as Great Expectations, and assorted volumes by Dickens, also enjoyed by Catherine, who had stayed Below at Vincent's request. He did not want her to leave until he could walk her home himself. He had not liked the idea of a strange man with unknown intentions following her to her house. It just couldn't end well, as they knew from situations in the past.

Sometimes, Vincent read from memory, allowing his eyes to stray from the written page to gaze at his soulmate. She sat on a blanket by the door, her back against the wall, watching the sleeping patient. Her hair was tumbling into her face, and he could not see a clear view of her features, but their special bond allowed him to sense the concern she felt for their visitor, and also to feel the gentle comfort she was drawing from the peaceful solitude of the familiar tunnels. This Lucifer fellow had scared her pretty badly. He could tell that the moment she ran into the chamber. He had not seen such fear in her dark eyes for a long, long time. He could also sense that she didn't buy a word of the stranger's story. Vincent paused in his recitation and reflection as Father entered the chamber quietly, moving around the couple to check on the unconscious young man.

He laid a gentle hand on Catherine's head as he passed, speaking barely above a whisper. "Catherine, my child, how do you feel?"

She glanced up at him, confusion crossing her face, then she recalled her wild charge into the tunnels and smiled apologetically. "Much better now, thank you Father. You have been very kind."

He smiled and nodded, then busied himself checking the stranger's forehead for a fever. "Mary is bringing up a bit of dinner in a few minutes, child. Why don't you join Vincent in the library? I sense you both need some time to pull yourselves together, and I trust you not to spill broth on my volumes."

She returned the smile, thinking of how not long ago he did not approve of her entrance to their world, but now he acted as if she was his very own flesh. She nodded in return. "That would be lovely, Father. Thank you for the invitation, and for trusting us with your library. Afterwards, Vincent, I really do need to go back to my place. We have a hearing on an embezzlement case tomorrow and I have to be there to present the plaintiff’s case."

Vincent frowned, his pensive gaze fixed on a place in the corner. "Catherine, why don't you stay here tonight, and I will accompany you up at first light. I feel uneasy about you going Above tonight. We do not know this Lucifer’s intentions."

Catherine turned to look at him, and although she at first appeared as if she would argue, she really couldn't deny that she did not especially want to go back Above tonight, and the undying love she saw in Vincent’s eyes determined her answer. So she nodded once and leaned back against the wall. Father had overheard the exchange and turned from his examination. "No, no, both of you, go eat. I hear Mary with the food now."

"Father! Vincent! Dinner is ready, I will put it in the library for you!" Mary's kind voice echoed up the stairway, and Father chuckled and called back, "We will be right down, Mary!"

Father held out a hand to Catherine and helped her to her feet, passing her hand to Vincent, as he had come to stand next to them. "Take the lady down and get a good dinner, the both of you. Try to rest. I will be down shortly."

Vincent fixed keen eyes on the older man, laying his hand on the firm shoulder and spoke in a hushed tone. "Will you be okay with him alone, Father?"

Jacob studied his son's face for a moment, then nodded firmly. "Yes. Take her down and rest. I have handled much more than a delusional sick man in my day."

Once alone in the white chamber, Jacob sat down next to the young man. The stranger was an anomaly in his time of practice, and he wasn’t sure what to make of his claims. For a long time, the elderly doctor stared into the empty shadows of the corner, his mind running through the many years of cases he had treated, seeking some kind of similarity, but finding none. A slight sound brought him back to reality, and he was surprised to see the young man’s dark eyes were open and looking straight at him.

"Hi." The man’s voice cracked slightly, and he winced, swallowing hard.

Father hesitated, then took up a glass of water on the table next to the bed. “Hello, fellow. Had a rough time of it so far, haven’t you. Here, take a drink.”

The young man looked at him quizzically as the doctor slipped an arm under his head to help him sit up enough to drink from the glass. "Don’t worry, fellow, its water.” Once the injured man had taken some of the water, Father settled him back in bed and sat down, steepling his fingers, elbows resting on his knees. “So, mind telling me who you might be?”

"Jason." The young man gazed calmly at the older man with a gentle smile. "My name is Jason. And you are Jacob Wells."

Father frowned, the hair on his spine standing on end. "How do you know that?"

Jason’s brow furrowed and he turned his face away, sighing heavily. "You won't believe me if I told you."

"I still want you to tell me. I want to know."

The young man slowly turned his face back to Father and smiled, a bashful smile that made it noticeably clear that he was still quite young. He looked to be barely twenty years old. "Really? You want to know?"

"Really. Try me."

"I shall be happy to tell you everything. But help me sit up first, I am getting a terrible cramp in my neck craning sideways to see you like this."

Father moved quickly to help, chagrined that his internal doctor mode always overrode any common sense he had. He should have been keeping his distance, after all the man had obviously been delusional! But before he realized it, he had helped the young man into a sitting position, propped up with various pillows and blankets, taking great care with the battered body. He did not miss the pain that flitted across the bruised features and was quickly masked by another bright smile. "Much better,” Jason said faintly, slightly out of breath from the pain of moving.”

"Catch your breath, then go ahead," Father replied, getting back to the task at hand. He had a feeling he was about to be in for the craziest story he had ever heard, and he was not disappointed.

"Well, sir, can I call you Doctor? I know everyone calls you Father, but I already have one, and I don’t want it to be confusing.”

“Yes,” Jacob replied mildly. “You may call me whatever you like. Most call me Father, or Jacob.”

“Okay, thanks, sir. Jacob sounds too formal. I shall call you Doctor.”

Jacob’s lips slightly flickered into a smile; he really couldn’t help it. The man was so obviously innocent and thoughtful. His mannerisms oddly coincided perfectly with his claims, and Father felt himself getting slightly impatient to know the truth.

“Doctor is fine, Jason, but please continue. We can address formalities at a later time.”

“Sure, yes, fine, so my name is Jason. I am an angel in the Kingdom of the Almighty. I am a Guardian Angel. When people on Earth are sick, in danger, or distressed, it is the job of the Guardian Angel to fulfill the wishes of the Almighty for them. Sometimes He orders us to stand in the gap for them between Life and Death and protect them from harm. Sometimes when they are sick and very weak, He requests that we escort them across that gap and bring them to Paradise. That is a special place He has reserved for the weary to recover a little and one day all be united together into one big happy family. The Almighty wishes no ill will on anyone on Earth, and He is aware that their parting will cause those remaining much sorrow, but ultimately He wants everyone to join Him and knows that their arrival is more joyous than any other event we have in the Kingdom.”

Father harumphed slightly, still trying to grasp everything the man was saying, but the sincerity in his voice and his eyes made the older man realize that he was telling the truth. At least his version of reality that he felt was truth.

“He does allow those that have passed over the gap to walk among their loved ones,” Jason continued. “They are invisible to the sight of those left behind, which doesn't help matters much for the grieving ones, but sometimes their presence is felt. Some clever ones are able to become visible to their loved ones as a bird or butterfly, and sometimes just as a sparkle of light, or a dream. I love to watch those interactions. The wonder that fills the heart of the family is such a beautiful thing to witness.”

His voice fell slightly, and his brow furrowed. “I am still learning all about the job of the Guardian, and thus, I did not have my wings. My teacher, Chester, was a well-studied Guardian, and he was teaching me how to cross the Gap safely and gently when I am returning with one the Almighty has called home, resting in my arms. I have been on a few trips with him beside me. The trips to bring children home are the hardest, as the grief is so much greater from those surrounding them. But they are the happiest of passengers on the way, wanting to touch every little star that passes, or laugh at the brush of the clouds upon their faces. It is a great honor, I must confess.” The young man shivered suddenly, a shiver of foreboding, and he pushed on. “The last time that I went, I was sent to a troubled elderly man that had lived a life of terrible suffering. He struggled with a heart condition all of his life, and something those doctors here on earth call diabetes? Anyway, I came for him, and he was so ready to go to peace. His wife was terribly broken up about it and was begging him not to go. It was quite sad to feel her grief. But life had tormented him enough, and we knew she would soon follow him, and her sorrow would be forgotten when they were reunited. I stepped through the Gap with Chester, and we met Lucifer there. He stood by the bedside, invisible to her, tormenting that poor wife with worries and fears, although his words were all lies. See, he is an angel of darkness. His kingdom is full of hate and fear and cruel desires. He does his best to undermine the peace that we bring and torment the souls of those we seek to comfort. Lucifer saw us there and snarled at us, and I knew we only had a moment to cross the Gap before the fears and doubts would cause war. The man could sense his time of crossing was near, and he was struggling against it because of the brokenness of his wife and the darkness that Lucifer brought with him. Chester boldly stood between Lucifer and myself, and I spoke to the man, and calmed his fears as best as I could, and told him that the Almighty was calling him and we were there to take him across the Gap, and he turned and spoke to his sorrowful wife, and said ‘Helen, the angels are here now, I have to go.’ Those words calmed her own fears, and shut Lucifer’s mouth, and I helped him to his feet, although his physical body remained with his wife, and we took him. Lucifer followed us the whole way, angry and petulant that we had been sent to retrieve him before he could take him for himself. He knew that he could not go against the words of the Almighty. But he is the enemy of those the Almighty loves. I know he is after me, as I am here in his world. I heard Catherine speak of him a while ago. See, he can try to win me to his side, as I am now mortal with free will. I must resist him, and he will flee from me. But if I become weak, and lose that vision of where I belong, and who I was created to be, then he can snatch me away and there will be extraordinarily little hope of my ever coming back to my job. If only I had stayed away from the cloud fringe, I would be on a mission right now with Chester. There is an elderly lady who will be walking in Times Square that will be called tonight. I heard Chester speak of it some time before I fell. He will have to come for her alone, and that battle is much harder. Lucifer will be there too, for she will be robbed and killed, and his darkness will play a great part in her crossing the Gap. He will attempt to snatch her away, and without help, Chester may not be able to withstand him alone. I must go to her! I must help Chester."

He threw back the covers as if to leap to his feet, but even in his dazed state at the story he had just heard, Father managed to grab the young man’s shoulders. "Jason, no, lad. You couldn't possibly! Your knee is nearly crushed, and you cannot walk on it! Not even a step or you risk never walking again!"

The look of despair in the young man's face caused Father to amend his phrasing quickly. "By yourself. I will have Vincent accompany you."

Jason frowned. "He can come, but he cannot alter the future. He cannot change what must be."

Father swallowed hard. He knew that Jason meant that Vincent could not 'rescue' the woman. "Try telling him that, dear boy. Vincent’s purpose on this earth is to save the broken and weak among us."

Jason gazed calmly at the elderly physician. "His calling is a noble one, Doctor. But I mean what I say. The Almighty has already spoken of His wish to bring her out of her suffering, and Lucifer has already heard of it by now. This lady will be diagnosed with leukemia next week if we do not bring her home tonight, and she will become devastated and sorrowful and become easier prey for Lucifer, for he is good at one thing, and that is making them doubt their eternal life among the stars. Better to take her now, while she can be at peace, and not suffer the fate that is to come."

Father rubbed his face. What on earth had he gotten himself into? Angels? Lucifer? He pinched his arm, watching as the skin reddened beneath his fingers, and stinging tendrils of nerves yelled at him to release them. He looked up into the kind young man's face and sighed. It wasn't a dream. He really was talking to a man who claimed to be an angel.

Chapter Four

"Refraining from helping those in the world Above is not that simple." Vincent was pacing the floor, his cloak whirling around him like a wild volcano. "I cannot see someone about to suffer tragedy and not help them. It’s not something I can live with." His clawed fists were clenched in suppression of the violent emotions that he was feeling inside. “I will not stand by while someone is attacked. Ask Catherine.”

“Oh, I know about Catherine,” Jason replied softly. “She was thrown out of that van right on your doorstep, practically. That was not by accident, you know.”

Catherine sat quietly in the nearby corner, watching the exchange between the two strange men. At Jason’s admission that her arrival in the tunnels was not accidental, she felt Vincent’s uncertainty in the Bond lighten. Perhaps that was why their Bond was so strong.

It had been planned and was meant to be.

Perhaps soulmates did exist.

Jason smiled kindly at the lion-man.

"You have a good heart, Vincent. Who knows, you may be one of us someday. We would be honored to have you among us. Love and strong justice are placed in the heart of those that seek the benefit of mankind and seek to protect even the most fragile and vulnerable upon your Earth. It is a great honor to be among people who have that code of violent mercy."

Vincent stopped pacing, leaning one arm on the wall above his head as he turned his back to the young man, and he bowed his head for a moment. "That we are the same, you and I, I do not know for sure. But let us make our way above, Jason. Do what you must. I will not stop you. But I cannot promise to not stop anyone attempting harm."

Jason nodded. "It will be as it must. Let us begin the journey then."

The sounds of someone in pain reached their ears as Jason and Vincent crept down the alleyway in darkness. Jason was leaning heavily on the larger man’s shoulder, effectively using him as a crutch to avoid putting weight on his severely injured knee. The young man’s face was pale from the onslaught of his own pain, but he kept his lips pressed firmly together to suffocate his own exclamations of discomfort as he pushed toward the sounds in the street. The snow created a slight curtain for their approach, and in the glow of the corner lamppost, Jason's face was worried. "Too late," he whispered. "We are too late to save her, Vincent. But Lucifer must not get to her first!"

He stumbled forward, nearly falling to the ground as he pulled free of Vincent's supporting arm. Vincent grasped his jacket roughly, and leaned sideways a little, taking the man’s weight off his leg. “Wisdom, Jason,” he rumbled deeply. “Ignorance of your own limitations will not aid your mission.”

“You are right,” Jason gasped softly, wincing at the pain in his ribs at the sudden movement. “I am grateful for your help. Onward, now, Vincent, we must get to her. I shall remain dependent upon your strength.”

Vincent nodded and moved forward into the street, hunching his shoulders to keep his face hidden in the shadow of his cloak. Not far from where they stood, crumpled in the snow, was an elderly woman, winter coat tattered, scarf that looked to have previously been tied around her hair laying to the side. She was bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound, staining the pure snow around them in an already massive puddle of crimson. Jason took a few more steps, then his arm slipped carefully from Vincent’s shoulder and he fell beside her, grimacing at the stabbing pain that shot through his injured knee and ribs. A quick glance told him that the dark Lucifer was still nowhere around. He sighed in obvious relief, focusing his attention on the dying woman before him.

"Peace, daughter of the Almighty," he spoke gently, taking her cold, shaking hand carefully in his own. She jumped, startled from her shock and pain induced stupor at the newcomer's presence. Tears were creeping down her wrinkled face from eyes that were slowly growing dim. She grasped Jason's hand as a drowning person might grab a life raft and clung to it with all her remaining fragile strength.

Vincent knelt too beside the self-proclaimed angel, pressing firm hands on the stricken woman's injuries, in a feeble, conscience-soothing attempt to stop the bleeding. He could tell it was a useless attempt, but he had to try. Jason glanced sympathetically at the strange lion-man and the glance they shared together finally was one of understanding. Vincent needed to know that he did his part. He was human. Jason would continue on and do his part. He was an angel (if that was true!) But there drifted down open them, among the falling snow, a mutual respect. They were from opposite sides of the curtain of Time, but both cared just as much about those that walked the surface of the spinning ball of rock called Earth.

"They robbed- robbed me." The elderly lady gasped, another tear running down the side of her face, coming to a rest at her temple. Jason gently wiped it away, then patted her cold hand comfortingly.

"I know, I know. Shhh. Just rest now. You will be taken across the Gap in a moment. It is time for you to go now, Mary."

"You mean - I'm going to - die?" She looked into the young man's face with such a sad expression that Vincent's heart began to ache with the knowledge that she would not be with them in just a few moments of time. Anger welled up inside of him at the thought that someone could so callously take the life of another, with no regard to the sorrow it would cause, even though she would be okay in the end, if Jason was right. He was brought from his restless thoughts by the frail voice speaking again.

"Will I - feel like - I'm weightless? That's - that's - what I have - always been told." She whispered timidly, her eyes fluttering closed.

Jason shook his head and brushed a hand across her forehead. "Rest now. You won't feel a thing. I promise you that. And you will not be alone."

“Will my - Richard - be there - waiting for me?”

Jason’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Actually, Mary, you have an entire entourage. The last time I checked the register, we have your husband, a cat named Riley, a dog named Scruff, three goldfish, your parents, your brother, two aunts, and a firefly.”

The lady laughed faintly. “They are - all - there then.”

“A firefly?” Vincent asked softly, confused, and certain he had not heard correctly.

Mary waved a hand weakly in the air, searching for the person behind Vincent’s voice, and without thinking, he grasped the flailing hand carefully in his own. She wrapped thin fingers around his, seemingly not noticing the rough, unusual hands that he offered. “Oh - that,” she smirked. “The poor - fellow. I - stepped on him - coming home - from our ninth grade - graduation. It - was an - accident, but - I felt terrible. I named – him Twinkle – and asked that – he be there – when I crossed over – because I wanted – him to not- be alone, because I – had caused his death.”’

“Your kindness to every living thing, both human and creature, was exemplary, Mary,” Jason said softly, smiling slightly. Vincent remained motionless, stoic, at the realization of what was coming.

At the end of Jason’s gentle words, a soft light began to settle around them, a light so bright that Vincent could not see either Jason or their patient anymore.

A tender, elated voice spoke from the alleyway behind them, but only Jason heard it. "Jason, my boy. You lived. You survived!"

Jason looked up from Mary's face to see his friend Chester walking proudly toward him, radiant and smiling, his grand, white wings shimmering from behind his broad shoulders. Jason returned the smile gratefully. "Chester, it is so good to see you again. Are we ready to take her?"

The light dimmed slowly, and Chester knelt opposite Jason, laying a gentle hand on the dying woman’s forehead. Vincent still remined where he had been moments before, looking slightly bewildered at the appearance of this mysterious person Jason had spoken of.

"No, Jason. I shall be taking her today. Due to your fall, you must earn your wings through pain and suffering, as all of the others have done before you. I have come to walk her home for you. But rest assured, the Almighty will know of your good deed here. Peace, Mary. My name is Chester. I am a Guardian Angel and I have come to take you to the across the Gap."

Jason was completely dumbfounded at his sudden absence from the plan. "But Chester - Chester, how long will that take?"

Chester looked up at the sky for a moment, as if lost in thought. "Only a moment, Jason. You know the journey to the Almighty is short. It is only a single step through the curtain of Time, and then we are greeting the loved ones who wait for her."

Jason grasped Chester's arm with a desperate hand. "No - no, how long will it take before I can come back! How long must I stay here without communication from you and the Almighty?!"

Chester patted his shoulder kindly. "You'll figure it out, Jason. You will know when it is time to come home. and Home will always be there when you look up."

The confusion on the young man's face hurt Chester to the core, but he knew that there was no clearer answer that he could give the younger angel. He could only pat his shoulder one more time in gentle companionship. "Take heart, Jason. You will make it."

Chester then took the elderly lady's hand in his own and helped her rise to her feet. She was smiling at Chester, but could no longer see Jason. Together they walked away, hand in hand, leaving behind the frail body on the ground and in a bright flash of light, they were gone from sight.

Vincent looked up to see the snowy alleyway was now empty except for the still body of the elderly lady and Jason, sitting crumpled on the ground. Vincent reached a supportive hand to him. "Take heart, Jason. If what he says is true, then there is hope you will return to your place in the stars."

The fallen angel looked up into the wise eyes of the lion man. It was clear in Vincent’s face that he did not understand what he had just witnessed, but he believed it, and that was all Jason could have hoped for now. "Through pain and suffering, he said, Vincent, then I would get my wings. What could that possibly mean?"

Vincent helped the young man to his feet and supported the stumbling young man on his arm to get him to the safety of the dark alleyway. In the distance, sirens could be heard. "It cannot be too difficult, Jason. Chester has faith in you. You must too have faith in yourself."

"Yeah, well I hope I can find as much faith in myself somehow." The young angel trudged painfully next to Vincent for a moment, worried about everything Chester had said. A sudden thought came to him, and he grasped Vincent's cloak in his hand. "Vincent!" Jason stumbled and looked back toward the scene of the last few minutes. "Our tracks. They will follow us! Lucifer will know where I am!"

Vincent paused, equally alert at the announcement, and turned back as well.

But the snow behind them and around the fallen woman was smooth and untouched.

"Tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs,

Their fear of hostile strokes, their aches, losses,

Their pangs of love, with other incident throes

That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain,

In life's uncertain voyage,

I will some kindness do them."

Vincent's voice spoke quietly, breaking the silence around the quiet group gathered in the library drinking tea.

"Shakespeare." Jason spoke quietly. "Rather good piece of writing. Vincent, if what Chester says is true, then I must learn mercy in its deepest meaning. “I must learn compassion, kindness, all of the traits that you humans have to learn."

"The nature of man is fragile," Vincent replied, watching the young man in concern. "It appears you must learn their frailty too, in order to better understand the compassion that you must learn to show them."

Jason nodded thoughtfully and sipped his tea. "I know, Vincent. I had such a glamorous idea of how life was going to go. I was going to get my wings, guide souls to the Father, and live life above the clouds. But your world - it is so fragile, and broken, and dark. I feel so - sorry for you. And I feel so out of place."

"It is a good world," Catherine replied, gazing into the flickering candles. "Even with it's horrible moments." She shared a gentle glance with Vincent, and he wrapped his hand around hers. "There are still beautiful stories to build from the broken parts."

Jason nodded pensively, chin in his hand. "I begin to see that. Vaguely, but I do begin to."

She nodded at Jason. “I do hope that crutch can help you. It is a miracle your broken ribs and knee are on the same side. It will be painful, but at least you will not be bound to a bed.”

“I am grateful for its provision, Catherine. It means a lot that you would all take the time to care for a stranger like me.”

At that moment, a shout echoed down the dark hall that led toward the rest of the Below community.

"Come and face me, Angel!"

Jason sat up straight, all of the remaining color draining from his face. Father and Vincent leapt to their feet, rushing toward the entrance of the library at the sudden intrusion.

"No, no!" Jason exclaimed, moving to grab the cloak of the men as they rushed past him. They stopped mid-stride and glanced worriedly at the angel. He swallowed hard and shook his head.

"He does not ask for you. He is asking for me."

"Who?" Father demanded, in a harsh whisper, as the taunting shout was repeated in the darkness beyond. "Who is that? There should be no one in these tunnels. Someone has followed you!"

Jason struggled to stand, grasping the wooden crutch that the tunnel folk had provided him, and bit his lip in worry as he painfully pushed past the two men and headed for the entrance.

"It is Lucifer. He has found me."

Chapter Five

Catherine and Vincent cast a worried glance at the young man, not sure if they were supposed to step in and help or if they should leave him and this Lucifer alone to battle it out.

"Vincent,” Catherine whispered. “My heart tells me he needs strength from friends. But my head tells me that he will be fine because this isn't a logical situation and has nothing to do with us. This is a battle of worlds that we typically don't get to be a part of. It's such a strange thought, and even stranger to see. I am unsure what to do."

Vincent laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, watching the self-proclaimed angel limp toward the passageway. "You must listen to your heart, Catherine. It is the one that will torment with regret and sorrow. The head can be easily persuaded once logic is involved. Besides, this Lucifer fellow is in our tunnels. It is our problem now, not just Jason’s."

She smiled up at him. "True. You never could resist helping someone in trouble, could you?"

The tall man gazed down at her fondly. "I am glad that is my weakness."

With his cloak swirling behind him, Vincent moved quickly to catch up with the young angel.

"You are sure you should face him?" He asked quietly, moving naturally to support the man's arm as he limped through the rocky tunnel.

"Have to," Jason responded through clenched teeth. "He is looking for me and I will not let him hurt anyone here. It's me he wants."

"Can he hurt you?" Vincent asked, worry pricking at his heart. "What is he? An angel like you?"

"Not like me," Jason replied in frustration. "He is evil. He is here to take my soul if he can. I must stand up to him." His voice dropped to barely a whisper and he added, "Somehow, I must get back to my Home."

"Can you actually stand up to him?" Vincent glanced down at the man's shaking knees. "You are still not well from your - fall. You can hardly stand at all."

Jason stopped moving and turned a stubborn frown to face Vincent. "I must. I must show him that I am not afraid of his lies and manipulations."

"But you are," the tall lion man countered, "You are very much afraid. I can sense it."

Jason stopped again and took a deep breath. "Vincent, I am trying to be brave. Please let me battle this Lucifer alone. You do not know him like I do."

Images of Catherine lying in the ditch when he had found her so long ago flashed through Vincent's mind's eye, the dying old lady from earlier, followed by other horrors that he had seen and experienced in his life - both Above and Below.

"I do know him." he replied softly. "I have not met him in person, but I know the darkness he leaves behind."

The angel shook his head. "It is worse than that, Vincent. Imagine the worst darkness and evil that you can possibly think of. Then don't even bother. It's exponentially worse than anything you can imagine. I have seen it in its blackest."

Vincent set his teeth together in fury, and continued holding up the young man next to him as he began walking once again toward the dark blackness that stretched before them. Both men realized at the same time that at some point, the flickering candles along the hand-hewn walls had gone out.

"The candles," Vincent pointed out thoughtfully. "They have gone out."

"He has us where he wants us." Jason spoke barely above a whisper. "We have entered the blackness of his soul. He cannot abide in the light."

"Then where is he?" Vincent asked in an equally quiet tone, glancing around them. He could no longer tell where the walls began, and the floor ended. Looking back, he could find no way to tell where they had come from. "How can we see him in this darkness?"

"He is all around us," the young angel replied in a tone that betrayed the fear he felt. His hands were firm upon Vincent's supporting arm. "He is the darkness, Vincent."

"JASON!" A cheerful voice rang out ahead of them. The darkness parted as if it were a curtain, and a tall man stepped through. His face was lean and chiseled, his black hair slicked back in a shiny undercut hairstyle. His eyes glittered from a light they could not see, a strange phenomenon in the total blackness. It was as if an unseen light let them see him in the misty shadows and it was not a friendly light. "I have been searching for you, Jason, buddy, ole pal!"

"I am not your pal, Lucifer," Jason spoke angrily to the dark visitor. "Nor am I your buddy."

"Pal, enemy, who cares?" Lucifer replied, waving off the young man's retort. "Same difference. I have been searching everywhere for you, portraying myself as your rescuer ever since I heard that you had stepped off the clouds. I had to insist that I was from a mental institute just to get people to talk to me. You wouldn't believe how sympathetic these humans can be once you get them past the ‘my name is Lucifer’ part. Sooooo! What happened, did ol' Chester finally kick you out? You mess up a mission or something? Ah, don’t tell me, I hate insignificant details. Welcome to the good old real world, young angel. I do apologize for my rather dramatic entrance a moment ago, I can't help it, you know."

"I am sure you can't," the angel muttered under his breath. "And I didn't get kicked out. I - fell."

The dark eyes that switched back and forth curiously between Vincent and Jason widened in surprise. "Fell? My, my, what did you do? Set your sights on the throne? Tell the Big Guy no? Wouldn't have thought it of you, Jason. So you are a fallen angel now?"

"There is a big difference in an angel that fell and a fallen angel, Lucifer," Jason retorted. "You should know that. I simply fell off the cloud and – without wings I could not save myself."

The dark character smiled, sitting down on an invisible chair with a flourish of his dark grey suit jacket. "Oh, yes, I do know that, little angel, but I don't agree that there is a difference. You are either here or there. Not both or halfway in between. But please do explain the supposed difference for your – other friend - here."

Vincent felt the young angel stiffen next to him. "I do not wish to discuss our dispute with him. This battle is between us, Lucifer."

Lucifer propped his chin in his hand, a wry smile on his face. "Tut, tut, little angel, chill. What affects you affects them now. That’s kind of how this ‘being on earth’ thing works, see. Don't get your wings in a knot. Oh. I forgot. Ha! You don't have any."

Jason took a stumbling step forward as if to intimidate the dark man, his chin held high. Lucifer chuckled.

"I did not come here to fight with you, Jason. Merely to welcome you to the earth. I do apologize again for the drama, can't help it. it's how I get the ladies." He waggled suggestive eyebrows at the young man. "No, really, really I do apologize. I didn't mean to be aggressive. So, you down here for good then? Can’t get the wings now?"

Jason's teeth set firmly in his jaw and Vincent could see his strength was rapidly failing. The man had still not recovered from his injuries, and it wouldn't be long before he collapsed from sheer exhaustion. He was mortal now, and weak, and Vincent tightened his hold on the young man as best as he could.

"A fallen angel, Vincent, " Jason spoke tensely, his fingers digging into the cloth of the cloak on Vincent's arm, "Is an angel that has assumed superiority to the Father and has decided to go above or beyond His bidding. You know that, for you were the very first that attempted it. I – simply - fell."

Lucifer crossed one leg over his knee and clasped his hands. "Really, Jason. Why were you hanging out on the edge of whatever it was that you fell off of? Surely there are better ways to spend the afternoon."

"I was looking down through the clouds," the angel replied quietly, stumbling sideways. Vincent wrapped one arm around the young man, concerned showing in his eyes. "Jason, you need to rest," he spoke softly. "You are beyond exhausted and this is no time for you to be vulnerable, physically or emotionally."

Jason half turned to look at the lion man, one hand clutching at Vincent’s garments, his face visibly pale in the darkness. "This is – this is a war, Vincent. I - can not - back down now."

"No, you can't," Lucifer spoke matter-of-factly. "Backing down just isn't an ‘angel-like’ thing to do. I must say, I agree with you there. But you are dodging the previous question, my dear Jason. Why. Did. You. Fall?"

"I was looking down through the clouds, Lucifer. I said that already. We have discussed this for the last five minutes, and the answer still stands." Jason replied, his voice audibly weaker in the darkness, but also laced with an uneasiness that Vincent could not understand.

The fallen angel chuckled. "I will clarify for you, boy, get to the meat of the matter, if you will, so we can end this do-gooder farce right now. You fell because you didn't listen, am I right? No way in the world that they would let an angel who had not yet earned his wings go anywhere near the edge of the clouds. You went there of your own free will, even when you were clearly told not to."

"Chester – he warned me," Jason replied softly, brows furrowed in understanding. "I- I just didn't listen to him. I wanted to watch the people below."

Lucifer pointed at the distressed angel and winked at him. "Catching on, you are. I knew you had a brain in there somewhere. Face it, kid. You didn't listen, so they aren't taking you back. Look at me, and what happened. Permanently banned, I am. Well, except for accusation day. I created it myself. I'm a genius, love those. I get to go up there and try to explain to the Almighty about why these peasants down here are not worth wasting His time on. Somehow, He never agrees with me. Something about divine redemption or whatnot."

"They wouldn't leave me here forever," Jason retorted, glaring at the dark man. "Chester said that I have to earn my wings through pain and suffering and sympathize with the people that I will be sent to take home someday in order to gain my wings and return Home. He did not say I was fallen."

"Ah," Lucifer spoke, rising from his invisible chair. "That's because he wants you to believe in false hope, Jason. The whole idea is built on false hope. Angels are sent to take people to the great beyond. What makes you think they are going to want an angel hanging out up there that can't listen to orders. Face it, kid. They booted you."

Jason opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Concerned, Vincent raised a hand and felt the young man's forehead. The skin beneath his hand was burning hot and Vincent hissed in concern. Jason was running a fever again, and he was beginning to shake against Vincent as the strain of standing was wearing down the last reserves of energy that he had.

"Look, this isn't my argument," Vincent spoke firmly. "It's between you two. But you, Lucifer, are in our tunnels. Be it known most clearly that you are not welcome here. This young man is in our care, and we will protect him at all costs. He is quite ill and must be put to bed. Do not come into our tunnels again. You are not welcome here." He lifted the young man bridal style onto his strong arms and turned away from the dark angel.

Lucifer grinned, a sickly grin that did not reach his flickering eyes and called after him. "You can't stop me, lion man. I can come and go as I please. Jason is just like me now. Fallen, alone. I will gladly take him off your hands. You can't possibly want someone like that in your little world. Someone who doesn’t listen, does his own thing, doesn’t respect boundaries or rules..."

"He is in our care," was Vincent's calm reply. The spark of flame in Lucifer's eyes glowed brilliantly and he stepped forward. Billowing behind him, a pair of dark grey wings spread out into the tunnel, somehow unhindered by the narrow walls.

"I will take him from you now, Vincent. Seriously. The poor man will never survive in this kind of life. Once you know the grandness of life outside of these blasted confines of death and decay, you cannot survive among them. Canaries do not survive in cages, and angels do not survive among men."

"What kind of life are you offering him?" Vincent growled, turning again to face the dark intruder. "A life of lies, and manipulation. No, he is not fallen, Lucifer. And we are here to make sure he doesn't get to that point. Be gone. Once again, you are not welcome."

"You can't make me leave," Lucifer chuckled, crossing his arms, head tilted sideways in amusement. “I own the darkness; it is my fortress. You are not more powerful than I.”

Wordlessly, Vincent removed a match from his cloak pocket and shifted the limp young man over his broad shoulder.

"Don't you dare," the evil angel warned, a panic tightening his sallow face. "Fire is my home. It will not scare me. It is useless to try."

"Fire may be your home," Vincent spoke in a low, angry tone. "But light is not."

Fury twisting his face, the angel stepped forward quickly as if to stop him, but Vincent was not afraid. He reached up and touched the flame to the wick of the candle on the wall. The glow of its beam spread quickly through the tunnel, revealing that its corridor now stood empty and quiet except for Vincent and Jason. The darkness had faded, and so had Lucifer.

Chapter 6

Vincent carefully laid the exhausted young man down onto the bed that they had made for him in the hospital room. Father, his face creased with concern, reached for the young man's wrist, cradling it carefully. He was silent for a moment, his eyes focused on a spot across the room as he counted the pulse under his fingers. His brow furrowed and he glanced at his son for answers to what had happened. "Vincent?"

"I believe he is simply overtired, Father," the larger man replied softly, calmly, pulling the sheet over the still figure. "He passed out moments ago from what appeared to simply be the strain of having to stand there and listen to that - darkness - prey upon his still fragile mind." Vincent watched the older doctor rummaging in his medical bag. "I did try to talk him out of this tumultuous confrontation, but he insisted on going through with it. His fever has also returned. I do hope he has not undone any healing that has taken place in his legs. They are still quite weak from his injuries. And if he is right, and he were an angel before, the transition must have been a great strain on its own."

Father, having apparently not found what he was looking for, abandoned searching in the bag and moved toward their patient, laying a gentle hand on Vincent's cloak as he passed. "I must send for more pain medicine from Peter at once. He needs something a little stronger than what I have. This is not your fault, Vincent. You did well to be with him during his hour of trial. You are not hurt?"

Vincent shook his cloaked head silently and stepped back to allow Father to fuss over the still figure, the shadows of the room falling across his expressionless face, and he leaned back against the rough wall, his own exhaustion sagging his shoulders heavily.

"You seem troubled." Catherine moved closer to his side, sliding her hand around his arm, and leaning her head against the cloth of his cloak.

Almost imperceptibly, he leaned into her touch, raising his face to gaze at the dark ceiling above them. "I am."

"Can Lucifer actually hurt him?" she asked, her hushed voice betraying the concern that she felt for their unusual guest. "What could he possibly do to Jason? He is so much taller, he could hurt him if he wanted, I suppose. But physical suffering doesn't seem to be what he is intending for the poor man. His battle earlier was all accusations and falsehoods, and Jason was terribly affected by it, although untruthful it all was."

Vincent shrugged slightly, unable to respond to the question that they were all wondering. This was all new to them. They had faced evil before, that much was sure, but never an evil so - tangibly dark and ancient.

Catherine looked up at him and rested her chin against his arm. "Vincent, what are you thinking about? You are nervous, I can feel it. Please let me help you." Her voice trailed off as he finally looked down at her, a strange glint in his eyes.

He moved away from the wall, resting his hand over hers, effectively keeping her grasp on his cloak steady, and she moved with him as he began to pace the floor, inattentive to the broader pace he had, causing her to rush a few steps to catch up.

"Lucifer cannot hurt Jason, unless Jason gives in to the lies that he speaks. If he can get Jason to doubt his purpose here, the reason he is still alive, the reason that he has survived the fall, then he can get Jason to no longer believe that he is valuable to those that love him, and that the position he still seeks Above is unattainable."

"What if that happens?" Catherine asked softly, worry lining her kind face. "What if Jason give in, and gives up?" Vincent stopped pacing, his face twisting apologetically as he realized he had been practically dragging her along with him, and he slipped both arms tenderly around her, the Bond telling her how sorry he was, and he pulled her close to his chest.

"I do not know, Catherine. Someone in the depths of that kind of loss, despair, abandonment - they can be so unpredictable."

She smiled up at him, her eyes soft. “We both know how that can be, Vincent. I was there for you once, when you were lost in the Abyss. We have to be there for Jason now.”

The sounds of life Below faded into distant whispers, as the children were put to bed. There was a slight bit of chaos when William discovered Arthur sneaking cookies out of the kitchen, but soon every tunnel was blessed with the stillness of sleep.

Mouse walked quietly back and forth before the doorway to the chamber where the self-proclaimed angel slept. He had heard of the argument between the dark presence and the tired young man earlier that day. He was worried for the safety of his friend that he had rescued from the frozen winter Above.

Having orchestrated the young man's entrance into the community Below, he felt personally responsible for the chaos that he could sense unfolding around them.

"Mouse, my boy, why are you still up?"

The young man startled nervously as Jacob suddenly stepped from the patient's room, hands held up in a calming gesture at the mouse-like fear on the young man's face. "Easy, my boy, I didn't mean to startle you. What are you doing out here at this hour?"

Once he realized it was simply Father, Mouse smiled in relief. "Mouse - worried." The young man frowned up at the older doctor. "Bad darkness try to take him. He need our help! Mouse help protect."

Father smiled crookedly and placed gentle hands on Mouse's shoulders. "So we shall, my boy. I promise that I will not let anything bad happen to him. You did well to save his life, and I have not forgotten that. You’re to go to your chambers and get some rest now, alright? I will watch over him tonight."

Mouse considered, then nodded acceptingly, and moved silently away, his dark shape cast by the candles on the walls slowly growing smaller until he vanished down the hall. Jacob watched him go and sighed. There were strange things happening in the tunnels and he was not happy about it. Enemies with swords were easier fought than shadows with only words to cause harm.

"Jacob Wells, how good to see you." A thin, cold voice broke the stillness of the night air behind him, dimming the glow of the candles above him on the walls.

A sliver of ice ran down Father's spine as he slowly turned to see who had spoken. The voice dripped in sincerity, but there was a fragment of bitterness in it. Like swallowing medicine. First the sugar makes it palatable, then the medicine settles in the back of your throat, leaving it dry and distasteful and burning.

"Lucifer, why are you still in my tunnels?" Father could not keep the anger from his voice, although he fought to maintain a steady tone.

The dark eyes smiling back at him narrowed in annoyance. "Why, Jacob, what absurdity that you claim. You don't own this land, these tunnels, not even a grain of this dirt. I am surprised at you. I have just as much right to be here as you do. Come, let's go sit and talk like men. Don't be so obstinate. I mean no harm."

"I do not wish to talk to you." The doctor crossed his arms firmly and turned from the evil angel. "And you are not a man. I do not talk to shadows. You have done nothing but create chaos to this home and I have nothing to say to you that I care to say aloud."

"Do NOT turn your back on me, old man," the angel snarled in frustration at the lack of cooperation. If enticement failed, then intimidation would be next. Dark wings unfurled, filling the tunnel around them with swirling blackness and twisting shadows. Still, Father stood stalwart and ignored the specter.

"Look at me, Jacob Wells!" Lucifer growled again, edging closer behind the still figure. His wings loomed over the doctor like a wave of the deep ocean frozen at the peak of its crest. "Look into the eyes of your adversary when he speaks to you. You owe me at least the decency of listening to what I have to say."

"I owe you nothing." Father replied calmly, refusing to meet the angel's demand. "I know the right way and I know the wrong way. I also know that you have no power over me unless I listen to your words and let your dark wiles sink into my heart. You speak lies and venom. Neither are accepted in these walls, I promise you."

"You do not make the rules in this world, human!" Lucifer nearly howled in rage, the glittering of his eyes flames of fire that burned black in the darkness. "The war between darkness and light has been battled for centuries upon eons. You cannot shift that tide now simply by your obstinance."

"Perhaps not," Jacob replied patiently. "But tonight, there will be no war. I command you to leave me and my tunnels."

"You do not have the authority to demand my obedience." Lucifer chuckled, folding his wings. If intimidation didn't work, then maybe rationalization would prevail. His words were brave, but Father sensed the hint of fear in his tone.

"No," he replied, a gentle smile crossing his face. "I do not have that authority nor that strength. But you know who does have that authority, and unless you wish for me to ask for His help immediately, I suggest that you flee."

With a spine chilling roar of fury, the dark angel knew he could not win that argument and in a whirl of black mist, he vanished from sight. Father breathed a sigh of relief as the candles glow rose to its proper height and illuminated the empty tunnels. Nodding to himself, he turned to enter the young angel's curtained room again.

"Are you okay, Doctor?" Jason's quiet voice spoke from the shadows. Father sat down at his bedside, laying a large hand over the weaker one of the angel. He was glad his hands were not shaking as much as his emotions were.

"I am fine, Jason. Rest now. You should not be awake." Father spoke comfortingly, but his heart was beating violently in his chest.

Illnesses he could attempt to heal.

But devils were not in the list of things he could rid people of, and he was worried for the young angel.

"He came to you, didn't he?" Jason asked, trying to meet the older man's gaze in the darkness. "Lucifer, he was here?" Jacob hesitated, not wishing to worry the young man, but found he could not tell the young man otherwise. He nodded.

"Yes, he did."

"But you resisted him."

"I suppose I did, yes," Father replied agreeably, reaching to feel the young man's forehead again. He was not satisfied with how warm the skin still was, and relinquished his hold on the angel's hand to move to the table nearby. There, he busied himself soaking a cloth for the man's forehead. "You must rest, Jason. You may be an angel but you are as human as one of us now, susceptible to our weaknesses. Your body is exhausted. If you do not sleep of your own accord, I will be forced to give you medicine to make you sleep. Now," he moved back to the bedside with a bowl of water and the wet cloths. "Which is it to be, Jason? Your way or mine?"

"I'll rest," the angel spoke quickly, holding up a tired hand. "I promise. I'll rest."

"Good," Father nodded, pleased, sitting down beside the bed. "I suggest you get to it, then."

"Thank you for walking me home," Catherine spoke softly, leaning into Vincent as they stood on her balcony. "The snow has stopped, it made for a much easier journey. I am sorry I couldn’t stay tonight; I truly do need to be up early. But I do feel much safer with you here."

"I wanted to make sure you made it home with no harm or interference," Vincent replied. “Now that Lucifer has shown himself as what he is, I feel he may leave us alone for the night.”

Together they stood in silence, bundled into their coats, looking down at the white city beneath her apartment. The world both below them and above them was a mass of twinkling lights, some light years away, and the nearest being manmade. The distant rumble of some cars traversing the snowy streets were the only break in the stillness.

"It's amazing that there are wars going on that we don't even think of," she mused quietly, and Vincent settled an arm around her shoulders.

"These wars have been going on since the beginning of time," Vincent replied gently. "There has always been a battle between good and evil. In our everyday lives, it is as simple as being kind to the person who cuts you off on the subway, or shouts at you for holding up the checkout line. You are not responsible for their actions." He glanced down at his companion. "You are only responsible for how you react to those negative things. Get some rest, Catherine. We can do nothing else for Jason tonight."

She gave him a gentle smile and allowed him to lead her to the balcony entrance that would take her inside her apartment. "Will you promise me that you will rest too?"

His eyes were gentle, and he brushed a hand across her cheek. "I will not make promises that I can't keep."

“Will you feel badly if I make none either?” she countered, eyebrows slightly raised.

Vincent sighed heavily and shook his head. She could be quite obstinate sometimes.

“I will try, Catherine. But you must rest.”

“I will try then too. Goodnight Vincent.”

“Goodnight, Catherine. Rest well.”

He watched her enter her apartment, satisfied when the click of the lock indicted that she was safely shut inside.

Only then did he allow himself to sink slowly down to the smooth surface of the patio, the strain of the day washing over him in weary waves, his back settled against the cold stone. He lowered his cloak hood to his shoulder, his hair shining honey gold in the moonlight. The wind ruffled the softness with its gentle breeze, and he clasped strong hands behind his head, gazing patiently up at the stars swirling above that kept him solitary company. And he listened to the honking of faraway cars and roaring of motors faint in the haze of the distant streets.

In silence, he kept watch all night.

Chapter Seven

The fading light of the silver moon cast long shadows across the glittering city that lay below its high vantage point. The gentle winter breeze swept across the concrete and asphalt, its chilly fingers brushing against every leaf that remained desperately clinging to the scraggly black limbs of the dormant trees in Central park. Vincent, a quiet sentinel, still sat perched atop the balcony of Catherine's apartment, his cloak ruffled by the wind. The coldness did not seem to bother him, as he showed no sign of noticing it, as his glittering eyes scanned the streets far below.

"She can never really and truly be yours, you know."

A stab of adrenaline shot through Vincent's body at the sudden voice that spoke to his left, a painful jolt that brought him to his feet in a mere millisecond. His hands clenched into wary claws and a snarl automatically escaped his curled lips at the unexpected intrusion. Seated at the other end of the balcony he could barely make out a black-dressed figure in the shadows, perched on the metal railing, thin hands folded business-like upon his knee.

"See, that's exactly what I'm talking about." The figure flapped a lean, dismissive hand in Vincent's direction. "This - animal - side of you will never allow her to be close to you. What if you two get in a heated disagreement, who's to say that snarling won't be your response. T'sk, Vincent, a woman just doesn't like it when men snarl like that. She will not want to be with you. You will bury her beautiful, tender love underneath a cowering, aching fear, and trust me, that is a heavy weight for a woman to climb out from under. You won't even know about it, though. She will hide her fear, pretending that she is totally and utterly in love with you because telling you she fears your animal instincts would be a heart-wrenching thing indeed."

"Why are you here?" Vincent snarled, interrupting the angel's tirade, cautiously moving sideways toward the doorway that led to Catherine's living room beyond its glass.

The dark figure laughed outright. "Vincent, Vincent, do you really think that a simple door can stop me? I have no limitations. I can come and go as I please. This is my world, this preposterous world of darkness. But I am not here to bother her. I was just walking along, minding my own business, when I saw you sitting there, and wanted to stop by and say hello. Oh, I stopped by the tunnels on my way out to wander the streets. Spoke to a Jacob Wells, he seemed quite interested in employing me as a guardian for the tunnel entrance. I did not expect his cooperation, but he seemed quite willing."

Vincent's cheek twitched as he suppressed another snarl. "He would never allow you to remain among us, Lucifer."

The dark visitor smirked, arching one eyebrow in a question. "What makes you so sure, Vincent? Of course he wouldn't tell you that. He is afraid of you. Face it, lion man. Everyone is afraid of you. You've seen it yourself, the way people glance at you when you pass, the way you hide beneath a cloak, and can never walk in daylight except on Halloween, which I find amusing as that is the only night I can walk among the living in daylight. Two of a kind, aren't we? Anyway, back to this business proposal. Having me to guard the tunnels ensures that the poor, simple tunnel folk do not have to be afraid anymore. I can protect them from the danger that you present to them, along with every other dark hoodlum in the world. Don't worry, Vincent, I won't kick you out, no, no, no. They will simply dismiss you from among the clan, as they no longer need your abilities and do not wish your fearful face to continue among them with no purpose. Why have a protector that you need protection from? Don't take it personal, think about it. Would you want your dear Catherine to love a man that could harm her, potentially maul her if he were to get angry? Someone that could squeeze the very life from her body when lost in the desires of passion, or mar her white skin with ugly scratches at the slightest movement of their hands? No, Vincent, you would not want that for her, would you?"

Struggling to control the intensely growing hatred for the demon before him, Vincent clenched his fists tighter, feeling the point of his nails digging into the palms of his hands. The words of darkness crept into his very being and a bitterness rose in his throat.

Lucifer wasn't entirely wrong, was he?

It was somewhat true. Vincent had seen the wary shift in people's glance when he passed, during times of great stress in the community. It wasn't always that way, but what if they were simply hiding their fear from him in concern that he would retaliate? Of course people loved him, didn't they? He understood that it was hard not to be afraid of something as large and fierce-looking as he was. But did they actually love him? Was it all something he made up in his own mind to force himself to fit in to normal life? Perhaps he was a beast after all, with the strength to crush a rose and kill a man. But he would never allow anyone to hurt his precious Catherine, not even himself.

"It's not a bad thing, Vincent." The banished angel dropped casually onto the stone of the balcony floor, and walked closer to the giant man. "It's strength of character to know someone's own limitations. It's not something that you can change or alter - merely accept." The black figure now stood in front of the silent Vincent, glittering eyes boring into the gentler dark eyes of his target, a regal face surrounded by the tawny mane now mirroring the darkness of the angel. "You haven't hurt her yet, Vincent. But what if you did? Wouldn't it be better to break this unreasonable tie before something terrible happens? You are using her Vincent, using her as a crutch for the loss and invisibility you feel as you do not fit in with society. You are crippling her successes and stifling her romances by claiming something for yourself that you are not worthy of. And she lets you because she feels sorry for you, not because she longs for your touch. Seriously, Vincent, have you seen those claws? What woman in her right mind would actually desire being caressed by talons?"

Vincent swallowed hard, his throat constricting as he felt his world slipping away, darkness pouring into his heart as the light of love he felt for Catherine began to smother under the fear that was blossoming inside him at the words of the enemy.

So Father had turned against him, Catherine was beyond his reach, his dreams were dying inside his head, and darkness was flooding his consciousness. He felt the sharp stab of the brick wall at his back as he slumped weakly to the stone floor.

"That's it, lion man, let the darkness take you. You know it is there inside you, let it burn, let it blossom into the evil flower of destruction. Be mine, child, be mine."

He didn't even hear the smooth voice of Lucifer who was now kneeling beside him, as his shadowed hand reached to grasp the cloak covering the broad chest of the sinking man. Vincent roared, his back arching against the electricity charging through his skin as the darkness penetrated his very being, pain bursting through every nerve in his system as the blackness clutched his heart to itself. This was it. Defeat and despair were to be the end of him after all.

"Vincent!" A familiar, frightened voice speared into the darkness, breaking the hold of the hand squeezing his chest. Air rushed into his lungs in a gasping roar, and he desperately swatted at the dark figure before him. His nails slashed at the grim face gazing down at him, but the shadowed specter chuckled as the hand was met with empty air.

"Can't kill an angel, Vincent." Lucifer smirked, leaning close to the struggling lion man. "Even as strong as you are, you just can't stop me. Come to me, Vincent, let me bring out your strengths."

Gathering enough breath for a final, desperate roar at the despair choking the life from his dreams, Vincent bared his teeth and slashed one more time at the figure that held his consciousness captive.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. A concerned face appeared in his vision framed by blonde hair tousled from sleep, at the same moment that he flailed toward the shadow above him. His hand collided with soft skin, and the face above him was knocked sideways with the impact.

He had done it. The fear that he had hurt someone flashed through his mind and it was all that was needed to bring him back to earth.

"Vincent?"

Her soft voice cut through the remaining terrified fog and he looked up into her worried eyes.

"Vincent? What happened? I heard you roaring out here and I was so frightened. Are you okay?"

He barely comprehended her words, looking from her searching eyes to his hand then back to her face.

"Catherine. I - I struck you," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the dawn air. The hand that had touched her hung half in the air as he appeared frozen with the gravity of what had happened.

"It's okay, it's okay," she spoke urgently, kindly, leaning down to rest her chin on his chest. "You didn't hurt me at all. You just startled me." He could feel the desperation in her voice as she nestled herself close to his side, a shiver running through her slight figure from the chill of the dark morning. In her haste to rush to his side, she had forgotten her robe. Instinct would have made him instantly pull her closer to his own body heat, and in a different time he would have urged her to step back into her warm apartment lest she catch a chill. But despair still clutched his emotions in ragged shreds, and he carefully sat up, causing her to move away in confusion.

"But I struck you," he repeated, as if in a trance. The appalled sorrow on his face shattered her heart and she reached a slow hand out to lay it on his chest.

"Vincent, you didn't mean it. You were fighting something in your sleep. I saw you. I should have stayed back, but I just had to get to you and wake you."

"I cannot risk hurting you," he replied solemnly, slowly getting to his feet. He reached out a hand to touch her face, but then withdrew it as if afraid of his own intentions. "Dearest Catherine, I cannot risk hurting you further. This must end. Goodbye."

"Vincent, wait, I am fine! I promise!"

He hesitated at the railing, his cloak hiding his face as he half turned back. She took a hopeful step forward, the silence palpable between them. “Vincent, just take a breath. It’s okay. I promise.”

"Catherine, I – I release you from the Bond. Be free."

She felt the bitterness of his heart withdraw from her, leaving a chill emptiness in its place, like the release from a warm, steady hug. It frightened her. "Vincent, no, I don't want you to! Come back, let's talk about this. Vincent, please!"

Her desperate plea fell on deaf ears as the cloaked figure swung down from her balcony and disappeared into the remaining shadows of dawn.

In the corner of the rooftop, a dark shadow laughed soundlessly before disappearing at the sight of the first glimmer of the rising sun.

Chapter 8

"Alright, children! Line up at the table!" Mary clapped her hands to rally her little troops, as the tunnel children clamored in a circle around the large wooden table in the kitchen. Kipper and Jamie did their best to keep some order as they helped small ones climb onto stepstools and moved bowls of flour and sugar out of the reach of eager little hands.

"Listen up, little ones. I talked William into allowing us the pleasure of making some Christmas cookies this morning. I need all little hands held out to be washed and no sneezing or coughing over the food. Has anyone seen Arthur?"

Kipper raised his hand. "Mouse has gone to the lower tunnels to collect some crystals for the centerpiece and took him with for company."

The older woman nodded approvingly. "Good, we will continue in peace then. Jamie, please get the water and soap for our little elves."

"Alright," quiet Jamie patted Kipper's shoulder and retreated to the warm kitchen area usually frequented by William. He was gone for the afternoon, setting up tables in the Great Hall, and she laughed outright at the thought of him finding out that his beloved place of creativity had been overtaken by a bunch of little ones. He would hide every dish he could find if he were here, lest it be carelessly shattered on the stone floor by a distracted toddler.

"Nice to see a happy face among all the chaos and dismal weather."

Jamie shrieked at the sudden voice and dropped the bowl she held in her fright. It shattered into a million fragments as she gasped in surprise.

"Easy, easy!" A steady male voice spoke, and she looked up from the destroyed dish to see a tall, dark haired man standing there. His angular jaw was drawn back in a wide smile, and his flashing eyes made her heart flutter in a way she hadn't experienced before. "Who, who are you?"

"Lucifer," he spoke cheerfully, reaching out a hand. "I own a care facility that Jason used to live at. Just checked in on the poor chap. Quite a strange man he is. Harmless, but strange. Your doctor is taking diligent care of him, so I did not disturb them. Take my hand and I will help you there, don't step on the glass."

A questioning voice nagged at the back of her sharp mind, but her breath caught in her throat as she looked into the deep eyes of the stranger. He took her fingers in his palm and moved her away from the ruined glass. "Here let me get a broom, and you step back there and let me handle it."

Jamie knew she should be offended at being treated so patronizingly, but she was so enthralled with the appearance of the dark, quite handsome stranger just happening to come into their world, that she didn't think to ask any questions. "How long will you be down here?" She managed to finally speak while watching him expertly cleaning up the mess.

He stood and dumped the glass into the trash can, smiling brightly at her. "I was only to remain here for today to ensure that dear Jason is doing well, but for you, I can make quite a willing exception to remain longer."

Her face flamed at the bold, flirty comment, and she turned away to fill up another bowl with warm water. "Really, Lucifer, I have to get busy. We have cookies to make with the kids, and the Christmas party is only a day away."

"No worries, none at all. I am quite disappointed that I cannot get better acquainted with someone so interesting and with such - trusting - honest eyes. You are quite busy then?"

His angled jaw was tilted in a disappointed frown, and she thought quickly. "Well, after we finish, I have to take the cookies down to the Great Hall."

"The Great Hall?" The man asked, eyebrow raising quizzically. "What kind of place is that? Sounds massive and grand."

"Oh it is!" Jamie spoke excitedly, clutching the bowl to her chest in a dreamy display of affection. "There's just no place like it in our entire tunnels. You could walk down there with me if you want and I can show you."

The tall man bowed politely and took her hand in his. "I would be honored to accompany such a brave lady, miss?"

"Jamie," Jamie spoke quickly, blushing again. "It's not miss. Just - Just Jamie."

Lucifer smiled crookedly and laid his other hand over hers. "Well then, just Jamie, I shall meet you here when you are ready. Just, maybe don't mention it to anyone else. I am looking forward to having a wonderful chat, and with someone so bright as you, that should be quite the honor. Would be a shame if someone else came along too, then I couldn't pay attention quite as well, you know, people chattering and whatnot. It will be just you and me, as a secret?"

Jamie, having been quite taken by the dark stranger, nodded willingly. "Promise."

The dark angel watched her take the bowl of water out to where Mary and the children waited. A glittering darkness spread through him as he chuckled evilly, spreading dark shadowed wings, and disappearing into the air.

"Okay good, okay fine!" Mouse dropped another crystal into his pouch and smiled at the beauty that surrounded him. "Table look pretty, more than pretty." He chattered to himself as he gathered, not seeming to be bothered by the dark caves around him. His battered headlamp shone a beam wherever he looked, and he only needed its companionship in his task.

"Mouse."

The young man frowned and looked around. He could have sworn he heard someone speak. "Hello? Anyone there? Vincent?"

"Mouse."

He sat back on his heels and his brow furrowed. "William? Winslow?"

"Mouse, I am here."

The deep voice echoed around the crystal cave, creating a three-dimensional sound that Mouse could not quite decipher. "Pascal?"

"Mouse!"

The voice spoke right in his ear, and he jumped, unintentionally slamming his elbow into the side of the cave. He felt skin scraping on the jagged crystal, but the pain did not register as he was too frightened to notice.

"Go! Go away, leave Mouse alone!" He looked everywhere, his headlamp darting around the sparkling cave. What had once been a place of beauty now was a place of terror. He was alone, but someone was calling to him from the darkness. It didn't make any sense. Mouse wasn't sure if he believed in ghosts, but he was sure now wasn't the time to decide they were a farce. Something was calling and it wasn’t visible.

"Mouse, I saw you. When people hurt you, abused you, I saw you. When they said you were stupid, and slow, I saw you. When you cried because you were alone, I saw you. When you were hungry, I saw you. When you stole, I saw you. When you ran like a coward, I saw you. When you hid like a mouse, I saw you. That's what you are. A mouse. A rat. Vermin of the tunnels. No one loves rats, little Mouse. People trap mice. Haven't they done that to you? 'Mouse, do not go Above.' 'Mouse, stay here where it's safe!' 'Mouse, listen to us or we will ignore you.' Do I not speak the truth, Mouse?"

"Yes, truth. Speaking...truth." The young man was so frightened that he stepped back until his back landed against the crystal wall, and he sank to a crouching position, wrapping his arms around his knees. It had been years since his last nightmare, and suddenly he could feel it all. He was back in the world, scrounging for his very existence. The hunger, the cold, the people chasing him. Pain, mistreatment, mocking laughter. Darkness wrapped cold hands around his frightened brain, and he rocked back and forth chanting under his breath, "Mouse, make no noise, bad man come, quiet, like a mouse, stay quiet, like a mouse."

"How does the knees feel today, my dear boy?"

Father examined the bandaged limbs of the angel with careful hands and cast a kind smile toward Jason, who was watching him eagerly.

"A few twinges," Jason admitted honestly, the grimace that crossed his face unhindered revealing that the pain was perhaps a bit greater than he wanted to admit.

The physician nodded agreeably, pulling the blanket over the injured legs and patted the cloth very carefully. "The swelling has gone down quite a bit. You need to stay off of it a little longer, alright? We should be able to get you down to the festivities tomorrow, if that fever stays down."

Jason nodded tiredly. "As you wish, Doctor."

"Please, call me Jacob." The older man sat down in a chair at the bedside and smiled. "I have to admit, son, I was quite disturbed when you arrived. It was such an unusual thing, for our world. The unusual is often met with suspicion in our world. We can’t be too careful, I am sure you understand that."

Jason tilted his head a bit to the side, his questioning expression mild. "In a world of cars and skyscrapers, you think I am the strange one?"

Father laughed shortly. "True, my boy. That is quite fair. It's just not something we hear of often, although I know you do not often hear of cars and airplanes."

“Only when they crash,” Jason replied slightly mournfully. “Chester usually goes to those. I – I do miss going with him. I feel as if I am missing my calling, stuck here in this bed.”

Father sighed, the familiar impatient patient scenario finally playing out. Jason might be an angel, but right now he was very much mortal.

At that moment, Catherine wildly charged into the quiet hospital room, her nightgown flailing around her, hair in disarray, eyes wild and unfocused. Father started from his chair and was at her side in an instant, hands gently corralling her before she ran into the wall.

"Catherine! Catherine, slow down. There, that’s it. What is the matter, dear child? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

The terrible sadness in Catherine's face stabbed his kind heart and he took her hand and guided her to a chair. "Catherine, dear, talk to me."

"He's gone." She finally spoke, eyes drifting to his worried face, her voice lost and faint. "My Vincent, he's gone."

Chapter Nine

“Quiet as a mouse,” Mouse muttered, stumbling through the tunnels. He barely seemed to be focused on what was happening around him, his hands pressed to the sides of his face, fear petrified in his eyes. “Quiet, must be quiet!”

The tapping was a faint sound in the distance, and his brain automatically translated some of them. More candles were ready to ship to the Helpers, someone needed blankets to send to a newly homeless family, and a call out to Vincent to come carry the cookies down to the Great Hall.

But there was another tapping that pulled at his mind, fainter than all the rest, calling over and over, “Mouse is a thief. Mouse is a thief. Mouse is a thief.”

“Shut up,” Mouse grunted, falling to the ground, his back against the wall. “Shut up, Mouse not steal, Mouse take! No Silence, please. Mouse not steal. Shut up, shut it up!”

“Mouse?” An ancient voice spoke just inside the shadows next to him, nearly sending the poor boy out of his skin in fright. “Peace, boy. You are frightened.”

“Didn’t see – you.” Mouse stammered, trying to still the gulping gasps of air that echoed in the dark tunnel. “Thought - thought Mouse was – alone.”

“Darkness,” Narcissa muttered to herself. She stepped carefully forward, her long, wrinkled hands reaching for the frightened Mouse’s face. Her unseeing eyes still held a grave concern that somehow calmed Mouse and disturbed him at the same time. She wore the expression of someone who understood the situation but didn’t like what they were understanding and that bothered Mouse greatly, along with the faint tapping that still echoed in his ears.

Narciss cupped his face in her hands, her palms settling around his ears, and for a moment, the only thing he could hear was the roaring of his blood rushing wildly through his veins, propelled by a terrified heart. He could see her lips moving but couldn’t make out what she was saying. Then she released him, and the sound of the messages on the pipes resumed, except for the faint accusatory one that had driven him nearly mad.

“Darkness is here.” Narcissa muttered. “Evil darkness, as old as time. Don’t listen to it, boy. Don’t listen.”

“Wasn’t trying – to,” Mouse muttered, rubbing the back of his hand across his face. “Was gathering – finding – then voices.”

“Go up,” Narcissa said enigmatically, her head tilted to one side as if she could hear something that Mouse couldn’t. He did not wait to see what she was hearing and turned quickly, scrambling for the upper tunnels.

The moment that he disappeared a black shadow unfurled itself from the wall.

“You should have let me keep him in my clutches, old woman. Worthless urchin, his mind is so easily affected. Like taking candy from a baby.”

“You are not welcome here, Lucifer.”

“Ah, you know my name. Pleasure meeting someone so well-educated with the more distant legends.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I have educated myself with the intent to evade you, Lucifer, not to keep company with the likes of you.”

“And yet here you are, inhabiting tunnels of darkness, far from those blasted candles and people who claim to love each other so deeply. All it takes is a few words to send them scattering, like little mice. And you, you are alone, and quite easy prey yourself. Yet you think you can remain beyond the effect of my words?”

Narcissa pulled herself up to her full height, frowning in the direction of the voice. “You may try, Lucifer, but you will find an old lady’s mind is not so easily affected by rubbish when she has spent the greater part of her life learning to avoid the dark.”

“It is of no consequence,” Lucifer smiled broadly. “You are no threat to me. The rest of the tunnels are in an uproar. Vincent and Catherine are separated, Mouse is on the verge of insanity, and dear, gullible Jamie is going to die soon. It will rip this little goody-two-shoes community to pieces. Oh, I can’t bear the excitement.”

“You think too quickly, Lucifer, and say too much. You have not won yet, stop acting like you have. It is foolish and unbecoming someone of intelligence.”

A grim snarl appeared on Lucifer’s lips, and his glittering eyes narrowed. He made a motion as if to strangle Narcissa, but his hackles fell at the realization that the blind woman would not be terrified of his face in her last breaths.

He left her alone, vanishing into the shadows to continue his reign of terror.

“My dear child,” Father exclaimed, grasping Catherine’s arms to keep her from falling to the floor at his feet. “You are barely dressed, and where are your shoes! Don’t tell me you have come all this way barefoot – MARY!”

He shouted for the tunnel matriarch, while carefully tugging Catherine toward the nearest chair. She fell into it weakly, wrapping her arms around her nightgown. In her haste to follow Vincent, she had still forgotten her robe.

“Left my patio door open,” she muttered softly, staring blankly at the floor where Father was gently rubbing her numb feet in his hands to bring warmth back to them. He frowned up at her, and harumphed. “What is this world coming too. Samantha!” The younger girl came running right behind Mary, and both women halted in surprise at the state of Catherine.

“Come on ladies, move quickly, no questions. Mary, cool water, not cold now, and blankets. Samantha, please send word to the Helpers that Catherine’s balcony door is open, and if someone could shut it, we would be forever grateful. Quickly now!”

Both quickly left, and Mary returned in a few moments with a bucket of barely lukewarm water, and blankets tucked under her arm. She tutted worriedly over Catherine, tucking a quilt around her, and pushed the bucket close to the chair.

“Now dip your feet into this bucket, Catherine, carefully now.” Father carefully coached her, his brow furrowed in worry. “It will hurt, but it will bring the heat back to the skin, carefully now.”

The moment her skin touched the water, Catherine shook her head no, and mumbled, “No, hurts, no, please.”

Father glanced kindly up at her. “Catherine, child, do you trust me?”

This got her attention, and she focused weary, traumatized eyes on his face. “Y-yes, I think.”

“Then you know I would never have you do anything that is dangerous or to hurt you, right, even if that thing may hurt at first?”

She nodded, a few tears slipping down her pale cheeks and dripping onto Mary’s hand that held gentle pressure against her chest to keep her in the chair.

“Good. Now, into the water with you, Mary and I are right here.”

As the reawakening nerves sent an onslaught of pain through her legs, Catherine felt the world around her going fuzzy. “Shock,” she heard Mary say, and in desperation she reached out through the Bond.

Only a dark Void met her call.

“Jamie?” Lucifer stepped into the kitchen where Jamie was washing the last of the dishes. “Hey, wanted to check on you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I am all done,” Jamie replied lightly, brushing off the flour that dusted across her apron. “William took the cookies down to the Great Hall. I must take these buckets and go collect some water to put in the bowls on the table.”

“Bowls of water on the table?” Lucifer questioned. “Whatever for?”

“We float little tea lights in them, with flowers. It makes a lovely centerpiece.”

“Tea lights?”

“They are tiny candles. Almost done here, I just need to get Mouse to go down with me. The buckets are heavy, and I need one of the guys to help.”

“Well, I’m a guy,” Lucifer chuckled, casting her a benevolent smile. “Don’t I count?”

Jamie colored at the flattery and threw a towel over the trays of cookies. “Yes, Lucifer, I suppose you do. Would you carry one of these, please?”

“Certainly,” the angel replied, hefting the tray. “You have these arranged so nicely. Do they often put you in charge of these things?” Together they began the trek to the underground river.

“No,” Jamie replied, shaking her head. “Not often. Typically, I am tasked with taking care of the children.”

“A most noble job,” Lucifer crooned. “But highly thankless, I must admit.”

“Perhaps,” Jamie agreed. “The children enjoy it though.”

Together they walked and talked, buckets in hand, Jamie chatting away, walking in step with dark shadows. From her vantagepoint, a tall, dark, and handsome stranger kept her company.

From an outsider’s view, tall dark wings spread behind them, casting everything they passed in a consuming blackness that rivaled that of the night sky miles above them.

Chapter Ten

The Void beckoned like an angry lion, dragging him down further and further and further. It consumed him like a forest fire, licking at every dry and fragile dream he had ever hoped for.

She was gone. Their Bond was broken. The dream was fading.

And rightly so, for who could ever learn to love a beast?

His claws glinted in the glow of the candle on the wall as he turned his hands slowly, staring at them as if mesmerized by their oddity, then he squeezed his fists shut until the points of the nails embedded themselves into his skin. These claws were his curse, his lot to bear, and he wasn’t sure he could bear it much longer.

A dark voice in his ear whispered lies, the Void tugged at his fragmented heart, and he found himself mindlessly walking. Gradually, he made his way as if in a trance to the underground river, climbing the rock wall with his typical dexterity, until he stood above the roaring falls, mist drifting up into his face like a breath of cool air.

He could never love her like she wanted him to, how he needed to, how he desperately dreamed he could. She was his soulmate, his love, his angel on earth, and fate would rip her away just as it always had his hopes and dreams.

He would always fail, always be left without, always be different than those around him.

It was a curse, a brokenness, one which he could not bear.

“Why did I not die!” He bellowed into the darkness. “Why did you not leave me on those steps and let me die!” The agony of his heart overflowed into his words, as they escaped his lips with violent pain.

“Finish this. Make it how it should have been,” the Void whispered grimly. “You know it can never be. Why live the rest of your life reaching for a star beyond your reach. Why subject yourself to something so heartbreaking, so terrible, as unrequited love? You know you should have died. Finish it.”

“Finish it,” Vincent breathed softly. “Finish it.” He took one trembling step forward, and found himself standing at the very edge of the stone ledge beneath him. One more tiny step, just a little lean forward, and, arms outstretched to welcome the end that called to him, he would be falling, falling....

In the shadows, Chester stood, a gentle sorrow on his illuminated face, shaking his head softly. He had been sent for Vincent. And he hated the thought.

He was usually happy to take anyone that he could across the Gap, but this – this was evil’s destruction itself, and he was sad at the unnecessary point of it all. Vincent had a calling, a purpose, a reason to exist, despite his unusual features. Those features, although sometimes fearful, had served the tunnel well, giving them the protector that they so desperately needed. And the lies of Lucifer had undone his confidence in that he was called to do.

Now, as the lion-like man stood gazing down into the water of the falls, all he could hear was the roar of pain in his ears, mixing with the longing for what could have been, and the whisper that he just needed to take that last step.

Chester waited, hands clasped before him, head bowed, glancing at his watch that ticked down the seconds. No matter what choice Vincent made, he would be there to take his hand when the time came.

“Must keep silent, must keep silent,” Mouse mumbled, stumbling into the hospital chamber. Catherine was there, wrapped in her blanket, feet in a bucket of water, and it was enough of an odd sight to ignite the caring side of the young man, and snap him out of his endless chant. Arthur chattered at the sight of Catherine who always gave him treats and he clambered off Mouse’s shoulder like the boy was a tree and ambled over to Catherine.

“Catherine alright?” Mouse asked quickly, his voice immediately indicating his worry. “Injured?”

“I am fine, Mouse,” she replied faintly, holding out a hand to Arthur. The racoon sniffed her hand, then climbed into her lap and inspected the now empty teacup. Seeing a cookie still left untouched on the table beside her, he trilled and abandoned Catherine to eat his snack, dipping his cookie into the empty teacup, oblivious to the fact that it was empty. “I just ran about in the snow barefoot for a little while and nearly froze my feet. Stupid decision, Father has already scolded me. Come here, you look awful. Are you alright?”

Mouse looked confused at the reasons she stated, but he moved to her side, kneeling by the chair. “Mouse - brain – is all topsy-turvy.”

Catherine’s brows flew upward for a second. “I completely understand how that is, Mouse. It’s - been a day. Come, talk to me. Help me understand why you feel like this. What happened?”

The boy looked up at her, for a moment, his eyes darting across her face as he tried to decide whether he should trust her, then bowed his head, forehead resting on her knee. “Mouse - Mouse hurts.”

“Where?” she asked quickly, concern flooding over her face. “Where, Mouse? What happened?”

“Here,” Mouse replied, his voice muffled against her knee, putting a hand to his chest. “Mouse - afraid. Sad, the voice – it wouldn’t stop.”

Quite sure she knew who the voice was, Catherine sighed heavily, swallowing the grief that still rested in her throat. “Mouse, what did that voice tell you?”

Mouse’s shoulders heaved as he tried to contain bitter tears that leapt into his eyes at the kindness behind Catherine’s words. Its contrast was stark against the venom of the voice, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tears falling to the floor.

“It said Mouse was trapped here – like a rat. Trapped, said - saw everything, saw me, and said no one – no one would love me.”

Catherine let her hand fall onto the tousled sandy colored hair of the young man, and she combed her fingers through the strands gently, his words echoing in her mind. Hadn’t the voice said the same to her?

“Catherine,” Jason called from his bed in the upper chamber. “Catherine, come.” The urgency of his voice stirred something in her and Catherine leapt to her feet, stumbling out of the bucket, water splashing across the floor.

“Coming, I’m coming!” She half turned and grasped Mouse’s sleeve, tugging it toward her. “Come on, Mouse, we aren’t done talking. Coming, Jason!”

The two ran up the steps, Mouse carefully supporting Catherine’s stumbling steps, and they entered the room where the young Angel had been resting.

“Jason? What is it? Are you alright?” Catherine stopped in her tracks at the sight that met them. The young angel stood beside the bed, tall and straight, his expression grim, no crutches in his hands. “Jason? You shouldn’t be standing! You’ll hurt yourself!”

“And you shouldn’t be walking on nearly frostbitten feet,” Jason replied evenly, with a confidence and authority in his voice that he had not shown prior. “Yet, here you are. Catherine, your community is about to receive a gift today, tonight, something incredibly special, something so beautiful, yet it does not come often in this truly short life that you know.”

“And what is that?”

“A miracle,” Jason replied softly. He stepped forward and laid both hands on her shoulders. “A miracle for this little community. Catherine, listen to me very carefully. Very, very carefully. You have been told by the voice that Vincent could never love you. A wedge of blackness has been driven between you, and he has broken the Bond of mercy that you both share that has been tying your souls together. One time not so long ago, he granted you the mercy of saving your life, and you in turn granted him the mercy of acceptance when few could. That Bond has kept you through many trials and dangers, yet I fear the breaking of it will cause the greatest loss of them all. Catherine, I have spoken to Chester. He is waiting for Vincent at the Gap.”

Catherine’s face went through several emotions, sadness, amazement that the angel knew all of this, kindness at the memories, then horror at the implication of his last sentence.

“To take him? Why? How? Vincent is fine, he’s just down here somewhere...” Her voice trailed off as she channeled her thoughts into reaching out through the Bond. Once again, the Void met her. “Oh no, dear Lord, no.” She grasped the angel’s sleeve. “Jason,” she commanded, her voice taking on a desperation deeper than any she had ever felt before. “Tell me where he is. Tell me, please!”

Jason studied her face for a moment. “Catherine, use wisdom, be kind. You are fighting something much greater than yourself. Be kind to Vincent. He is in a dark place right now. But do not fear. I have been given the power to help you. He is at the waterfall.”

In a moment, she was gone, leaving Mouse standing there awkwardly.

“Hello, Mouse,” Jason said softly. “T’was you that saved me first of all.”

Mouse shoved his hands in his pockets. “Could not leave you there. Would freeze. Not a bit good.”

“No. Certainly not. Mouse, the darkness has whispered to you too, and you have been fearful of truth hidden within its venom. Rest assured, son, it is all lies.”

“Worry about it,” Mouse said quickly, hunching his shoulders and looking away. “Was alone once. Worried. Don’t - don’t want it to ever happen again.”

“It won’t.” Jason’s voice was soft, and he reached a hand to Mouse. “Take heart, dear son. You are loved, more than you know. These people, they have been family, even when you had none that would care for you. They proved that love to you and brought you out of your shell of fear. Do not retreat to it now. Stand firm in what you know to be the truth, and the voice will leave you.”

Mouse smiled crookedly and nodded once. “Okay good, okay fine.”

Chapter 11

“Do you like it down here?” Lucifer asked conversationally, as Jamie made her way toward the underground river.

“It’s nice,” Jamie replied. “It’s quiet, no one bothers us.”

“Have you ever thought of going up into the world?”

“Oh, I’ve been up countless times. Usually at night, no one sees, but yeah, it’s loud up there. And bright. Prefer down here.”

“But that’s because you haven’t seen the really nice places!” Lucifer exclaimed. “I could show you so many lovely ones. Why don’t we go up and walk around for a bit? It won’t take long. It snowed again last night, and there are a few pretty views. Besides, everyone up there knows me, so they won’t think it strange. And we can go to this little shop, I know the owner there, and they sell the prettiest dresses. Would be nice to see you in one of those for the Christmas party tomorrow, if I am invited.”

Jamie blushed at the flirtatious smile on the man’s face, and she looked away, cheeks burning. “Well, just for a little bit. A dress would be nice, but it would stand out so much against everyone else’s clothing, and I wouldn’t want to do that.”

“I would certainly not be able to keep my eyes off of you,” Lucifer replied softly. Jamie looked at him quickly, a small panic settling in her eyes, followed by a bashful whimper of surprise. Lucifer chuckled, slipping one arm around the girl’s shoulders.

“Dear Jamie, sweet Jamie. Don’t be so bashful, my dear. I know you have a liking for me. After all, who could resist the dark hair, dashing smile.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she laughed. “Ah there you are, thought you’d frozen for a moment. Take a breath, kiddo. It would be lovely to see you all dressed in chiffon and sparkles. Amazing.” He paused, looking down at her, his dark eyes roving across her face. She swallowed hard, looking up, those dark, shining eyes seeming to see right into her very soul.

“Kiss me,” he whispered, his voice husky and deep, eyes a deep well of longing. “Dear, beautiful Jamie, kiss me.”

Jamie, drawn in by the depth, froze as Lucifer pulled her closer, leaning down to kiss her, deeply, gently. As he finally pulled away, she breathed a heavy sigh of surprise.

“Lucifer, that – that was-”

His brow furrowed worriedly, and he laid his hands on her shoulders. “I am so sorry, dear Jamie, did I move too quickly? I am so sorry!”

“No,” she replied softly. “No, I – I just wasn’t prepared for that. Lucifer, my heart – my heart belongs to another.” She pushed past him and continued walking, a stiffness in her stride that had not previously been there. “I will continue alone now, thank you for your courtesy.”

Lucifer did not pursue her, instead he watched as she disappeared down the tunnels. An evil grin slowly spread across his face and his black wings unfurled into the tunnel. “As you wish, Jamie,” he whispered, tapping his fingers together. “But you are mine now, and no one can save you. Only death is ahead for you, no matter who your heart belongs to.”

“You seem worried.”

Mary sat beside Father at the council table, a single candle lit in the center of the table casting a shadowy aura over them. Father’s fingers were steepled under his chin and his elbows rested on the table.

“I am, Mary,” he said softly, gazing into the shadows. “This Lucifer creature is wreaking havoc on our tunnels and those that live here. He must be stopped. But how does one stop a shadow?”

Mary laid a hand on his arm and frowned in thought. “You know, Vincent said that light seemed to banish the creature.”

“Yes, but once the light goes, he comes back. This is worse than Paracelsus. You can’t fight an enemy you can’t see.”

“We may be able to do just that,” Jason spoke from the doorway. “I have an idea. There are things happening, Doctor, that you are not aware of.”

“My boy!” Father jumped up from his chair at the sound of Jason’s voice, nearly stumbling over the side of the table as he hurried to the young angel’s side. “You should not be walking! Sit down this instant!”

Jason laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder. Jacob took that as a cue to support him, so he tried to guide the young man to a chair. Jason shook his head. “Doctor, listen.”

“Sit down, Jason!” Father exclaimed, fixing the angel with the furrowed brow expression that typically commanded obedience from his patients. Jason smiled mildly and tried again.

“Doctor. Your people have been given something very special this Christmas. You have been given a miracle. Your tunnels are falling apart with the darkness that has permeated the hearts of those that hold up the foundation of its beliefs. Innocent people are suffering, and dreams are being crushed right and left. Lives have nearly been claimed by the darkness already. You must trust me to help you. I have a plan.”

Father studied the young man for a moment, sensing the truth in his kind face. “Very well, son. What do we need to do?”

“Vincent!”

Catherine stumbled into the cavern where the roaring waterfall immediately drowned out any sounds. She searched for Vincent, and finally saw him standing on a rocky outcrop above the falls. “Vincent! No! Listen to me! I need you! This is all lies, don’t listen to it!”

He remained almost motionless, his cloak fluttering around him on the misty breeze wafting up from the thundering water.

“Vincent, please! I love you! I always will love you!” Angry frustration at the distance that Lucifer had put between her and the man she loved poured over her like a bucket of freezing water, and she closed her eyes, pushing into the Bond, where the Void drifted like a black sentinel. Fear for herself, and fear for Vincent gave her strength and she pushed against the Void with every fragment of light within her.

He is gone. You have failed him.

No, I haven’t. He is right there, and I am going to reach him. Somehow, I am going to reach him.

You cannot climb to him on those rocks, there is no way! He is far more animal-like than you and can make it easily. You will never make it.

I wasn’t going to climb rocks.

As if slamming her fists against a gate, she pummeled at the Void, ripping at its blackness like a tiger attacking prey. And when her anger of indignation met the anger of oppression, something happened.

She felt the world around her fade away, and there she stood, the Void before her, angry as a starving wolf.

You have come again, foolish mortal. You cannot defeat me a second time. I am his greatest darkness, and even he cannot shake himself of me now.

She stood with firm stance, strength in her voice, as she declared to the Void, “Have you forgotten how strong love can be?”

The resolve crumbled then, the darkness withering like a bit of hay against a match. Above her on the stony perch, Vincent fell to his knees with the roar of a lion bereft of her cub. He roared and roared, the loneliness, the heartbreak, the brokenness pouring from his heart like the water just beneath him. And she was gentle. She was kind. Just as Jason had warned her. She did not scold, she simply let him know the most important thing he needed to know right at that moment.

“Vincent. I am here,” she whispered through the Bond.

So, he had not lost her then. She saw the tawny head lift, frozen for a moment in disbelief, then the pure joy that flooded her heart through the Bond sent her tumbling to her knees, weak with exhaustion and relief. He was coming to her.

Vincent was coming.

In the shadows, Chester looked skyward and nodded once, then, although unseen by the tunnel folk, faded. He was needed in the Great Hall.

The moment Vincent and Catherine reached each other, they fell into a grasping, wrangling embrace, the kind of hug from long-lost family who have returned to each other after years of separation, holding, hugging, touching, trying to wipe away all tears and pain of the past few hours.

“Catherine,” he breathed shakily against her hair. “My dearest, dearest Catherine.”

“Vincent,” she pleaded, her voice muffled in the embrace, and in that simple word so many things were said.

Don’t ever leave me.

You scared me.

You hurt me.

You left me.

But I am here.

I am here.

We are here.

We are here.

Chapter 12

“Light all of the candles, every single one that you have,” Father directed the tunnel folk, as each one scurried around lighting the myriad of candles in the Great Hall. “It is Christmas Eve, a time for miracles, and Jason tells me that finally we can vanquish this shadow that has been destroying the peace of our home. But we need as much light as we can get.”

Jamie entered the hall, buckets of water in her hands, her forehead drawn with an unspoken concern. “Father, here is the water for the tea light bowls. I brought two buckets in case we needed them.”

“Well done, child. Take them over to William, he will arrange them and light those once the candles are floating. Yu may help him fill the bowls. Once you are finished, help Mary with the candles in the chandeliers.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Jason, what else can we do?” Father asked, as he walked toward the angel, sidestepping Mouse and Catherine who were carrying chairs. “It looks like we are almost set up. Winslow and Pascal are bringing down the food, and the children are all in the alcove over there practicing their closing song.”

“You have all done well,” Jason replied, nodding. His face was an odd combination of excitement and something sad and bitter. “It is refreshing to see so much love and concern coming together for the greater good.”

“My boy, you seem unwell.”

“It is not that I am unwell, Doctor. Simply aware of what is coming, and I fear I cannot divulge it ahead of time.”

“Surely we will win against this Lucifer?” Father looked worried for a moment, and Jason laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you go help Pascal with the tables over there, Doctor. I must think for a moment.”

“As you wish, son, although I wish you would at least call me Jacob.”

Jason nodded absently as Father walked away, then he slipped out of the busy Hall into the tunnel.

“Jason.”

“Chester? I sensed you were here. It worried me at first that your services would be needed but I must say that I will be glad of your help tonight.”

“I did not come to help,” the older man replied, laying his hands on Jason’s shoulder. “You have to do this one on your own, Jason.”

“I guess that I knew that. Chester, I feel within my heart that this must be done, as trying as it is, to show these people how strong they can be together, when they focus on the same enemy instead of each other or their own personal differences and insecurities. I cannot see these people being treated this way, whether by themselves or any kind of darkness, any longer. If I can get Lucifer to leave them be, then I can set about trying to figure out how to help them be strong together, and eventually, get Home.”

“That may perhaps be true, Jason. I wish you well. We will be watching.”

“I appreciate the overseeing, Chester. I regret to say that I have not done anything yet to earn my wings,” Jason replied. “But it will be good to see these people at peace again. I must admit, facing Lucifer frightens me some, for I know he is stronger than I. But if you did not come to help me, why have you come?”

“I have come to tell you to be very careful in what you say and do. Remember who the enemy is. Do not become distracted. This will be a quick fight. And when in doubt, go back to the strongest weapon against darkness that we have. Love. Go now, Jason. He is drawing near.”

“Thank you. See you soon, Chester, I hope.”

As the young man walked back into the Great Hall, Chester shook his head.

Jason was going to earn his wings in a few moments. He just did not know it yet.

“Is everyone here?” Father called loudly, clapping his hands. “Attention, everyone.”

The crowded Hall fell silent, all eyes on Father. “Merry Christmas to you all. I know our celebration is a day early, and we thank you all for coming so quickly. The Helpers have kindly come at a moment’s notice, and together we have set up this amazing celebration. The Hall looks quite radiant, and I am sure you are all proud of your handiwork. I am sure you all are wondering why the sudden rush to our festivities. A great darkness has invaded our tunnels and sought to destroy the haven we have created. Our dream, our anthem, if you will, for our world here Below the lights and hustle of Above, was to create a place where everyone is welcome, regardless of their creed, their nationality, or their origin. We were to become a community, a place where everyone has a home, someone to care about them, and a place to make themselves belong. But that great darkness has sought to tear to shreds everything we have believed in, everything that some have even given their lives to protect and procure for those that would come after them. Tonight, we are here to challenge that darkness. Among the light that surrounds us, among the giving, loyal hearts of those that have built this dream, we command the darkness to step forth.”

An evil chuckle came from the corners of the room, echoing in the great chamber, and Lucifer stepped from the shadows, his wide wings unfurled slightly behind him. He clapped slowly, theatrically, as he walked toward Father.

“I am to be called out, then, am I, like a criminal from the lineup? What a pitiful attempt at strength. Just look at all of you!” He stepped onto a chair then onto the long table where the bowls of tealights floated in a row and looked down across the crowd of people. “Just look at you all. Ragged bunch of ragamuffins, deadbeats, forsaken lot, scattered all in these tunnels like ants in an anthill. Thinking that you have safety in numbers, you all have met together, mere mortals against something older and stronger than the whole lot of you! But never fear, I am not a bloodthirsty creature, unless I am denied. I have the power to kill you all, in one fell swoop.” His wings unfurled dramatically, and the group of tunnel dwellers and Helpers fell back against the far wall, both mesmerized and horrified by the sight.

“I command you to stop terrorizing my people,” Father stated calmly. “This is quite foolishness on your part, I must say. I have told you that you are not welcome in my tunnels, and my mind has not changed.”

“Foolish?!” Lucifer exclaimed, turning toward the patriarch of the tunnel folk. “Foolish, am I? You have no right to order me around.”

“He speaks truth,” Jason replied, moving to Jacob’s side. “And you know he does.”

“I have come to have blood, and I will have it,” Lucifer replied harshly. “This whole charade has been about my need for death, has it not? You dare to defy me, angel, but you have fallen too. There is nothing pleasing about your blood. I seek that of someone innocent, someone easily pliable. Someone I shall enjoy deceiving, and I have already found her!”

Father blinked in confusion at the use of ‘her’. It was not what he had expected the creature to say. And as Lucifer pointed to Jamie, there were equally horrified gasps from the crowd.

“She’s mine!” Mouse exclaimed, lunging forward to stand in front of Jamie. “She belongs to Mouse. Must come through Mouse first.”

Lucifer chuckled. “Well, well, the little thief. You cannot stop me, boy. I am older than time itself. You are surely not stronger than me. Besides, she already kissed the darkness, so it must come to pass. She is mine.”

“You kissed me, without asking!” Jamie exclaimed angrily from behind Mouse. “And I told you my heart belonged to another! And he is not a thief!”

Lucifer flapped his hand in her direction. “Word, simple words, little variables, who cares, my dear. Their meaning has no effect on my obedience. Out of my way, boy, before I kill you too.”

William stepped forward next to Mouse. “I stand with him, you lying shadow of blackness.”

Pascal, typically so bashful and mild, also stepped forward, laying a hand on Mouse’s shoulder. “So do I.”

Within moments, a chorus of solidarity rang through the Hall and Lucifer grimaced. “Why do you insist on defying me, you mere peasants?”

Jason stepped away from his place by Father to whisper in Mary’s ear. “Mary, start singing. Darkness cannot abide the light and it cannot abide joy. It weakens the darkness. If we are to dispel him, then we must overcome his darkness with joy.”

“I’m afraid,” she whispered back, and Jason laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I believe in you. For such a time as this, Mary, you were created.” Jason returned to Jacob's side, and Mary began to sing softly.

When you're weary,

Feeling small,

When tears are in your eyes,

I'll dry them all.

Winslow added his voice into the mix, and one by one, the tunnel dwellers chimed in, the words swelling to a grand, melodic echo against the vast ceiling.

I'm on your side

Oh, when times get rough

And friends just can't be found

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down.

“Fools, all of you!” Lucifer snarled, folding his wings. “You think this caterwauling can stop me?”

Vincent and Catherine stepped forward as Lucifer jumped off the table, blocking his way forward, as the group continued to sing. Vincent’s lip curled upward in a snarl and the dark angel backed away.

When you're down and out

When you're on the street

When evening falls so hard

I will comfort you

I'll take your part.

“You are all fools!” he snarled, becoming increasingly agitated as the words continued. “You cannot stop me! I am darkness, I am evil, and I am greater than all of you!”

“Not greater than joy,” Father replied. “Not greater than love.”

Oh, when darkness comes

And pain is all around

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down”

“YOU!” Lucifer snarled, turning from Vincent and Catherine to face Father. “You have defied me every step of the way. You have refused to bend to any whim, any threat, any darkness that I have sent your way. The others, they have bent like the reed that cannot withstand the wind. But YOU! You have stood against me. I command you to silence them or I shall!”

“You haven’t the power,” Father replied calmly. “You are in our world now, Lucifer. Love and joy will always win over the darkness eventually, when people stand together, believe in each other, and support each other. You know this.”

“I also know this!” Lucifer snarled, and a dark flash of metal flew through the air toward Father. A collective gasp rose from the crowd as the singing faltered, and the knife taken from the table Lucifer had moments ago stood on sliced through the air toward Father. As if in slow motion, Vincent ran toward his father, but Jason got there first. “Doctor, watch out!” He dove in front of Father, shielding him with his own body, as the knife buried itself into his chest.

At that moment, Chester stepped into the Great Hall and spoke from the doorway, although only Lucifer could see or hear him. “Be gone, Lucifer. You have no place here any longer. This charade is at an end. You have drawn innocent blood. That is the end of it. There will be no satisfaction for you tonight.”

The dark angel was frozen in surprise, shocked that he had failed in the one chance he had to cause harm to the people in the Tunnels. He had lost. He had lost everything. And through his own foolishness, he had given Jason the perfect opportunity to win his wings.

“You have not beaten me,” he finally snarled, looking out over the crowd of people. “The darkness is always around. In every shadow, every corner, I will be there! I will be watching and listening, and do not think that I forget.”

Spreading the wide black wings, Lucifer then vanished in a flash of darkness, and all eyes returned to Jason who lay on the floor, cradled in Father’s arms.

“Jason,” he scolded softly, one hand carefully supporting the young man’s head. “Why on earth would you do such a thing! Peter?”

Dr. Peter had rushed to Jason’s side the moment that Lucifer disappeared, and he held one of Jason's wrists while looking at his watch, measuring the pulse. He met Father’s eyes and shook his head.

The young man smiled crookedly, his eyes searching through the grief on Father’s face, clearly trying to focus through the pain. “They - they need - you. You are - their father, and they would - be lost - without you.”

“Everyone is replaceable, dear boy,” Father murmured brokenly, running one hand carefully down the side of Jason’s face. In the brief time he had known the young man, he had come to care for him as a son, and the very idea that he now owed this young man his life was not settling well with him. “Jason, yes, even I am replaceable. I am old and will soon pass on anyway. These people will need someone then. You could have been that someone, instead of throwing your life away on the likes of me.”

“Likes - of you?” Jason gasped for air, reaching up a hand to wrap it around Jacob’s fingers. “Why not –the likes – of you. You have - shown me – what - true strength is - here - on earth. I shall – return - to home – with a renewed – sense - of respect – for all – your kind – of people do.”

Vincent shrugged off his cloak and laid it over the shivering angel, then settles at a crouch beside Father, one hand on the older man’s shoulder.

“Oh, Jason,” Catherine whispered softly, kneeling beside Vincent. “You brave man. Father, is there anything at all that we can do for him?”

Jacob looked at Peter and Peter shook his head. “No, dear Catherine. The knife is what is keeping his blood pressure from bottoming out right now. If I even try to remove it, he will be gone instantly. What is killing him is also keeping him alive. It is a cruel irony.”

“He is suffering so,” she sadly noted, and Father leaned over the shaking body of the angel and bowed his head wordlessly.

“Not for long, Catherine," Peter offered kindly. “Only a few moments more.”

“I - I have - something - to say,” Jason managed to say, his voice fading with every passing second. “I - I will not see - you – again – so I must – be brief.”

“Everyone, silent!” Vincent called through the Hall where worried tunnel folk and helpers spoke together in hushed tones, and the room fell quiet immediately, with only the sound of the wind in the tunnels outside still echoing in the chamber. “Jason has something to tell us. He has spared our people great heartache, and we must heed his words.”

“Thank you – Vincent. Everyone, love – each other. No hard – feelings – No grudges. We are –all - made the same. Kindness – heals most things. Be good. Be humble. Be kind.” He looked up into Jacob’s eyes and a peaceful smile crossed his face.

“Farewell, Jacob.”

Then his eyes closed.

“He finally called me Jacob,” Father whispered, laying Jason’s limp hand across the still chest. “He finally did.”

“He saw you as a hero,” Peter said kindly. “You made a great impact on him.”

In the middle of the Great Hall, Kipper pushed through the crowd, and as he reached the fallen young man, Mary stumbled to her feet and reached to whisk him away.

“Kipper! You shouldn’t be over here.”

“Wait!” the little boy exclaimed. He held out a cardboard greeting card, with splotched of paint and ribbon on it, over which a white paper cutout of an angel was glued. Above the angel was glued a small gold bell.

“The saying is when a bell rings, an angel gets its wings. Stayed up late and finished it last night to give to Jason for Christmas, but since he’s gone now, can I ring the bell for him, so he can get his wings?”

Father smiled tenderly at the little boy and reached out a hand to ruffle the floppy hair above those innocent childlike eyes. “Sure thing, son. Ring away.”

And with the sound of the little bell ringing, the sorrow of the little group melted away into wonder that an angel had come to them, to show them the true meaning of loving one another.

It is a lesson that still rings true to the entire world, and each year, especially around Christmas, once again we can hear those words of wisdom.

Be good. Be humble. Be kind.

And miracles can happen.

“Chester! So good to see you!”

“Jason, my boy. It is good to have you back. And just look at those massive wings!”

“Aren’t they incredible?? CHESTER! I have wings!!”

“Yes, yes, Jason, I heard you. I have eyes. Do not be a show-off, although I suppose you earned them the hard way. Got to give you a little credit for that. Well, stay off the edge of the cloud cover, even now. You may have wings, but you do not have a hard head. Falls like that do not come but once in a lifetime. And until you learn how to use them correctly, try listening to orders for once, okay?”

"Aw fine, Chester, but I call first dibs on bringing Jacob Wells home, when the time comes. You make sure that is written in the books. I cannot wait to see his face when he gets here. I have all the special places written down so I can show him around. Write it down. I mean it! He is my personal mission request.”

Chester chuckled and began to write in his scroll.

“As you wish, Jason, as you wish.”

The End

*****

The Phone Call

by Allison

The phone rang on Charles's desk as he got into the office.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Chandler, it's Tom."

"Tom! What can I do for you?"

"Did Catherine stay with you last night?"

"No." His voice rose in concern. "Why? Did you two have a fight?"

"Yes, sort of. We disagreed on a guest who was at the party last night and she stormed out. I assumed she went to your place since there was no answer at her apartment when I checked after the party."

"No, she didn't call me or come over. Did you call her friends?"

"Yes, I called Jenny this morning, and she hasn't seen her."

"Do you think something's happened to her?" Charles reached for his rolodex to start making phone calls.

"I don't know. I don't want to involve the police yet, in case she's sulking somewhere until she cools off."

"Well, keep me informed. If you don't hear from her by the end of today, call me immediately and I'll call the police." Charles glanced at his watch. "I've got a few ideas. Let me check them out and I will call you back."

"Okay, thank you, sir. I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologize to me, Tom. Apologize to Catherine when you see her."

"Yes, sir."

Suddenly the line went dead.

"Oh Cathy, where are you...?"

***

“Don't be afraid of your fears. They're not there to scare you. They're there to let you know that something is worth it…”

C. Joybell C.

***

Charles Chandler stood looking down into the bassinet. He didn’t blink for long minutes of wondering silence. He was almost convinced if he closed his eyes – even for a split-second – his new-born daughter might just disappear. She was that precious to him. And they had come so far together already…Theirs was an unbreakable bond forged through nine months of worry and anxiety. Months spent hoping against hope that this time things could be – would be – different…

“Thank you, my beautiful Cathleen…” Charles whispered, finally glancing across the room to the hospital bed where his wife lay sleeping, pale and exhausted from the protracted trauma of giving birth. It surely was a miracle that their only child had been born at all…small and delicate, but otherwise healthy.

Beyond their private hospital room, New York City slumbered in the depths of the warm July night. Few sounds penetrated the thick walls of their solitude. They’d come to this very room before…and had it left again, empty-handed.

His braced shoulders slumping, Charles thought back with regret to the last two pregnancies his beloved wife had fought so hard to bring to full-term…and lost. Their doctors had insisted they must not try again. It was not medically safe. But Cathleen wouldn’t hear of it, certain they would succeed this time.

“Third time lucky,” she’d whispered, maternal yearning evident in every sweet line of her face and body, as she tried to assuage the fear she’d seen in her husband’s worried eyes and the doubting down-turn of his mouth. “It will be all right the next time. I just know it. And she will be so beautiful…”

“Well, if your heart is really set on trying one last time…” Charles had finally acquiesced with great reluctance. He couldn’t find it in himself to disagree, no matter what it cost him. “I just hope and pray, for your sake, you are right. I couldn’t bear to lose you or another child. I don’t know what I would do without you…”

But even in the face of his wife’s determined certainty, the deep, penetrating fear had never left him. Not even now, when it was finally all over and their baby had been safely born. All the money in the world could not guarantee the outcome they had both so desperately wanted. And Charles had been severely warned this time. His wife must not try to have any more children…if he wanted her to live…

“Catherine…” he breathed his daughter’s name and sighed. She was his and Cathleen’s precious gift. She would be loved as all children deserved to be loved, fully and completely. He made her that silent promise as he leaned in very carefully to kiss her baby-soft forehead beneath the fine strands of ash-blond hair so like her mother’s. “I will care for you and protect you…always and forever…” he whispered. “I will love you beyond everything, my darling girl…”

His daughter stirred at his touch, turning her head and opening her eyes. They were still the deep, fathomless blue of the newly born, but she seemed to be trying to speak to him, to indicate some form of understanding beyond words or knowledge. Charles gasped, feeling his heart contract and then somersault as they stared at each other. His breath became jammed somewhere high in his throat, and tears of gratitude rolled unheeded down his cheeks, his chin trembling with the depth of his emotional response. The wordless communion seemed to last forever, and once again, the new father found he could not look away…

Vincent sat quietly, observing Father and Sebastien playing chess. Father had been so confident when he’d made this afternoon’s challenge. He had barely waited for his opponent to arrive for the newly-organised Helpers’ Feast before he’d cornered him gleefully, making bold assertions that this time there was no escape and even less quarter. His confidence stemmed from the knowledge that he’d read all the books and researched all the latest strategies. He’d practised endlessly for weeks in advance, determined to finally secure this one moment of longed-for triumph.

But, like an old, cracked record endlessly caught in the same tired track, Sebastien was winning again, making Father’s teeth grind with frustration. As the day turned slowly into night, a fraught silence reigned in the chamber — there was little sound beyond the far away bustle of a passing subway train, the soft tapping on the pipes, and Father’s increasing rapid breathing above the occasional click of the chess pieces being moved. Far below them the feasting and merriment went on, as it would until dawn, but no sound of the festivities penetrated the thick rock walls of the chamber.

Vincent grimaced as he watched every move and counter-move with keen interest, the depth and complexity of the game providing endless fascination for an extremely gifted and intelligent three-year-old boy with an already amazing grasp of the strategies Sebastien had employed to defeat his opponent in the last five games. How his long fingers itched to take charge of the pieces. He could see exactly where Father was going wrong, buoyed and blinded by all his research. But Vincent managed to keep his hands firmly clasped in his lap, trying not to show his agitation at his parent’s latest unwise move, even though he barely managed to stifle a disapproving gasp.

“And I really thought I finally had you in this one…” Father leaned in, peering dejectedly at the board over the rim of his spectacles. “Spassky versus Keres, I believe…at the Gothenburg Interzonal back in 1955. Very nice move…and I was so sure I knew that game.”

“So you already know how the story ends then, old man.” Sebastien smirked.

“Yes, I have a fair idea…” Father reared back defensively, slanting a glance at Vincent’s intent face. “So, what do you think, son? Am I doomed again?”

“It doesn’t look good…” Vincent leaned forward eagerly with his palms pressed together, his small chin resting on the tips of his upraised fingers. He pursed his lips in concentration. “But your king…it’s still here.” He reached to lightly touch the piece.

“I’ll admit that is a rare talent.” Father laughed bleakly. “Yes, a Sebastien speciality. If he’s losing, he delights in making your pieces vanish, only to make them reappear in the most unlikely of places. Remember that, Vincent. The man is a sore loser, as well as a gloating winner.”

“Stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” Sebastien complained. “And stop trying to delay the inevitable. Six games to nothing. I believe that’s called a rout. So it’s time to give it up. I’m not getting any younger, and the night is already old.”

“Very well, then.” Father sighed as he reached to lay down his king, signalling his acceptance of yet another defeat. “I do wonder what masochistic instinct it was that prompted me to ask you if you played the game in the first place, magician.”

“I’ll admit to taking a few lessons up in the park, every Saturday morning.” Sebastien stood from his chair and stretched. “And back then you needed someone you thought you could beat. But now I can hear my bed calling. I shall bid you goodnight, Doc, and retire happy and triumphant. Adieu, mon ami. See ya, Vincent.” He winked at the smiling boy.

“So I cannot interest you in another game?” Father raised his eyebrows at him in desperation. “Allow me to salvage some of my much battered pride?”

“Tempting but no, thank you.” Sebastien shook his head. “Remember that strategy too, Vincent.” He leaned down to ruffle the boy’s long blond hair. “Always leave your opponent wanting more. It makes them vulnerable and desperate, openings you can exploit.”

“Oh, go to bed, you old fool!” Father grumbled, dismissing the magician with an impatient wave of his hand. “But be sure we shall revisit this tomorrow. And this time I will be ready for you…”

“Always a glutton for punishment, your old man.” Sebastien grinned at Vincent before he took the short flight of steps of the chamber’s upper level two at a time and disappeared through the door of Father’s chamber, his delighted laughter echoing back.

“I believe I can still beat you…” Father turned to Vincent with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “Care for a game before bed? I know it’s late, but I’ll make your excuses to Mary, if she comes looking for you.”

“A baby was born tonight, Father.” Vincent assented by sliding into Sebastien’s vacated chair and quickly resetting the board. “A little girl.”

“Down here…?” Father frowned in confusion. “But we have no one amongst us who is due to give birth. And I would have been summoned to attend. Mary knows where I am.”

“No. Not down here.” Vincent’s shaggy mane danced as he shook his head vigorously. “Up there.” He looked up, pointing to the chamber’s craggy and shadowed ceiling, stained dark with candle-smoke.

“I don’t understand. There could have been a thousand babies born in the city tonight.” Father made his opening gambit. “What makes you say that?”

“Because this one is really special.” Vincent leaned forward, his tumbled hair brushing his chin as he studied the board. “Very special. I can feel it. I know.”

His father lifted his gaze to stare at him over the rim of his spectacles, the game momentarily forgotten. “Every day you grow bigger and even more amazing. What is it that you feel, and how is it possible?”

“Here…” Vincent put two fingers to his left temple. “And in here.” He pressed the flat of his hand against his warmly-covered chest, over his heart. “I don’t know. I just felt her. It’s all warm in here now. Like a bright light. Like a candle or maybe a star. Devin told me how the stars shine at night in the sky. All warm and pretty. That’s how I see her. And I will see the stars one day soon, he said. Maybe even the moon, too.”

“Devin and his fancies…” Father shook his head in disgust. “I’ll have to speak to the boy again about that. He shouldn’t fill your head with dreams of things that can never be. Or perhaps it’s because you’ve been reading far too much poetry when you should be sleeping.” Father sighed as he frowned at the board. “But I will admit you seem to know things before others do. It’s your gift.” And maybe one day, your burden. Father grimaced and shook off the thought. “But that is for another time. You are far too young to understand all the things you will need to know one day.”

“Maybe, Father. Maybe not.” Vincent’s bright blue eyes gleamed with an inner knowledge his parent couldn’t fathom. “And her father loves her very much.”

“Not as much as I love you.” Father reached to clasp his hand where it lay beside the board. “You know that. We have been through some tough times, you and me.” He studied his son’s unique face, touching on each unusual feature in slow deliberation. “But we are still here. We have survived, and for that I am grateful.”

“Yes.” Vincent nodded, returning his grasp. “But, perhaps…maybe, one day, we will meet.” He brought his attention back to the game at hand. “I would like that.”

“Who…?” Father frowned at the move his son had just made, looking for the hidden dangers. He had learned through bitter experience that even at three years old, Vincent’s game was already becoming deadly. It was another of his unusual gifts to visualise the required moves several steps in advance and store them away. He never made the same mistake twice.

“The baby and me.” Vincent watched his father reach to make a move, then hesitate and change his mind, withdrawing his hand. “I would like that very much.”

“You know I wish the very best of everything for you, Vincent. But those who dwell up there…well, they might not understand. They do not know you and they are —”

“Dangerous. Yes, I know. You told me.” Vincent’s young shoulders slumped. “But…maybe…maybe this one will be different. I feel it.”

“Oh, Vincent…” Father lifted the boy’s hand and kissed the back gently. “Some things are better left alone. It’s a sweet and beautiful dream, but nothing that can ever be. There is no sense in wishing for such things to be other than what they are.”

“The voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses. Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands…” Vincent quoted his favourite e.e. cummings poem softly, almost to himself.

And his eyes gleamed with a new, secret knowledge his father could not understand, much less deny. But it left Father uneasy and uncertain of what the future might hold for all that he held dear and for the unusual child he called his son and loved beyond everything…

*****

Season 3 and Beyond

In Season 3 and Beyond the Dream Keepers are limited only by the boundaries of their own imaginations. It’s a special section in the zine that acknowledges the fact that season 3 actually happened, but not necessarily the way we saw it. Season 3 and Beyond promotes both scenarios that Catherine died tragically and that Catherine miraculously did not die.

This is a place of endless potential, where anything is possible for all of those who dare to dream of a “Happy Life” for Vincent & Jacob, for Vincent & Diana, and of course, for Vincent & Catherine.

*****

Painted Love

by Mel

Season 3

Elizabeth turned from her work as a blonde-haired man came down the tunnel.

“What you painting?” Mouse asked, setting the boxes he carried down. He turned to study the walls. “Oh Vincent…little Jacob. Good and fine.”

“Oh lovely, Mouse!” Elizabeth said, looking through the delivered supplies.  “And look again, there is someone else there too.”

Mouse clapped his hands. “Oh, Diana too. Happy family they make.”

Elizabeth smiled softly. “Yes, I think so too.”

After all the darkness Vincent had gone through, he had found love again and someone to travel through the journey of life with him and little Jacob.

*****

Hello... Again

by Janet Rivenbark

SND Rated R

(May 1993)

The phone was ringing as Catherine came in from work. She’d stopped at the market on her way home, so she bumped the door with her hip to close it, then set the two bags she carried on the couch. She turned and grabbed the phone as she put her purse on the desk.

“Chandler,” she said, automatically slipping into work mode.

She shook her head. I spend way too much time at that place, she thought.

“Cathy? It’s Michael. How are you?”

It had been several weeks since she’d heard from Michael. He usually called at least once a month since starting college just to check in.

“Michael! It’s good to hear from you. How did finals go?” She knew that was probably the reason she hadn’t heard from him.

“Great! I aced them all, and I’m graduating with a 4.0.”

“Congratulations! When is the ceremony?”

“That is why I’m calling. Seating is limited, and I only get two spots. I’ve invited Father and Mary, but they are throwing a party for me Below, and I want you to be there.”

“I’m happy Father and Mary will be at the ceremony for you, but I don’t know about a party Below. What if I’m not welcome?”

“Why wouldn’t you be welcome?” he asked. “You’re a Helper, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but I haven’t been Below since just after Vincent’s illness almost four years ago,” she told him as she settled onto the desk chair.

“I never did understand that,” Michael told her. “I thought you two were in love.”

It was hard to keep the pain out of her voice… it didn’t seem to get any easier. “So did I, Michael,” she said with a frown. “But Vincent said that when the Bond disappeared, he came to realize that all he had been feeling was not his but a reflection of what I was feeling. He said he was sorry and was flattered that I would feel that way about him, but that he didn’t think it was fair to me to proceed with a relationship in which I wasn’t loved as much as I loved. I haven’t seen him since.”

“But Jamie and Brooke said that they saw you a few weeks ago.”

“They did. I get visitors from Below, and I took Eric to get new glasses a few weeks ago. When Brooke and Stephen announced they were getting married, Brooke wanted what she called a real wedding dress, so Brooke, Jamie, and I went shopping.” Catherine chuckled at the memory. “When she saw how much they cost, she changed her mind. She’s decided to borrow a dress from me. She said that it would be her something borrowed.”

“And I heard that you bought some medical equipment,” Michael added.

“Among other things. I pay for a lot of the medicines and vitamin supplements that Peter sends Below. When a Helper knows of something that is needed Below that they can’t afford, they call me, and I take care of it. We try to make it look like it’s coming from them, but Father always figures it out and sends a thank you note.”

“And you have seen to it that their diet has improved, too,” he added.

“How do you know?” she asked. She thought that her additions to the food being sent down by various Helpers were still a secret.

“William figured it out,” Michael said. “But I didn’t call to talk about that. Will you come to the party?”

“I don’t know, Michael.” She didn’t want to disappoint Michael, but she was reluctant to go Below and open old wounds.

“Please, Cathy! It’s next Saturday at two in the afternoon. You’ve helped me so much while I’ve been in school. It wouldn’t feel right not to have you there.”

“Are you sure that no one would be upset?” she asked.

“I know what you are thinking, and personally, I’d say don’t worry about him. He’s made his bed, as they say. I’m more worried about how you might feel. That would be the only reason I would accept for you not coming. If you think that it would hurt too much to see him again, I’ll accept that.”

“No, I’ll survive,” she was glad he couldn’t see her face. “And it would be nice to see Father, Mary, and some of the others who don’t come up to visit. All right, I’ll be there.” I’ll just keep my distance, she promised herself.

“Great! I’ll make sure that someone meets you at your threshold... is it still open?”

“It is. When people come up to see me, they use it. I was told that Vincent wanted to have it closed, but Father said to leave it open for convenience. I haven’t used it.”

After she hung up, she sat a moment, deep in thought.

How am I going to handle seeing him again?  she wondered before getting up and going to put away her groceries.

***

Catherine put some thought into a graduation gift for Michael. She knew that he had applied for and had been accepted to a teaching job at a high school in a small town outside Syracuse. He would be teaching English, and his favorite part of that was the literature aspect. She finally decided that a book might be her best choice.

Mr. Smythe’s bookstore in the Village was open late on Wednesdays, so she headed there after work.

Mr. Smythe looked up and smiled when she walked in. “Miss Chandler. It’s been a while.”

“Almost two years, to be exact,” she said, returning his smile. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

“The Titwillow has been in a few times. He always mentions you.”

“Joe has been to a bookstore?” she asked with a laugh. “Did you add a comic book section?”

Mr. Smythe joined her laughter. “He said he was buying books for his niece and nephew. He always purchases children’s books. So, what might I do for you today?”

“A young friend is graduating from college on Saturday. He’s going to be a teacher, and I was looking for something for him.”

“Ah, the best teachers are those who show you where to find something, but they don't tell you what to see,” Mr. Smythe said. “Is he that kind of teacher?”

“I’ve only seen him in action a few times,” Catherine conceded, “when he was tutoring some other students. But I think he will be.” She knew that Vincent was Michael’s inspiration, and that was the kind of teacher Vincent was.

Mr. Smythe came out from behind the counter and headed toward the back of the store.

“Were you considering a textbook or something a bit lighter?”

“He’s going to be an English teacher, and his favorite part of being an English teacher is that he will also be teaching literature.”

“Then maybe a compilation of works by a particular author or a collection from a specific era?”

“I think either of those would work,” she said as they came to a stop in front of a bookshelf that stretched the entire width of the back wall of the shop.

An hour later, she was at the checkout with a stack of books.

“Couldn’t make up your mind?” Mr. Smythe asked as he wrote out the receipt and totaled up.

“Three of them are a series, two are classic short stories, and one is for me,” she said as she handed him her credit card.

After dinner that evening, she wrapped Michael’s gift, added the card she’d picked up, and set it near the door.

I might act like I’m ready to attend a party, she thought, yet inside, I’m not... but I can do this!

***

She was reciting that mantra to herself as she descended the ladder to the subbasement on Saturday afternoon.

She was dressed in a teal turtleneck sweater and a long challis skirt in a print that matched. She’d added low-heeled leather boots and a light jacket. She carried Michael’s gift and a few other things in a backpack that she’d slung over one shoulder.

She was surprised to see Geoffrey, a much taller 14-year-old Geoffrey, waiting for her when she turned away from the ladder. She grabbed him and gave him a hug. She was sure he would have been embarrassed if any of his friends had been around to see. But since he was alone, he shyly returned the hug.

“It’s so good to see you, Geoffrey,” she said, stepping back to look... look up, at him. The boy with the dark auburn hair, freckled nose, and twinkling eyes was still there, but the young man was swiftly overtaking the child. “You’ve grown so much!”

“I’m 5’8”,” he told her proudly. “Father said that he wouldn’t be surprised if I’m almost as tall as Vincent by the time I’m 20.”

“I don’t doubt it!” Catherine agreed.

“When Michael asked for someone to come and meet you, I volunteered,” he added.

Catherine linked arms with him and let him lead the way.

“And I’m glad you did. How are Kipper, Samantha, and the others?” Several of the older children had been up to visit, but she hadn’t seen any of the others except Eric.

Catherine listened intently as they walked, and they arrived at Father’s study before she realized it.

“The party is here?” she asked. “I would have thought it would be someplace bigger, like the dining chamber.”

“This is just where everyone is gathering to wait for Michael, Father, and Mary to get back from Above,” Geoffrey told her. “The real party will be at dinner. I just heard Pascal announce that Michael, Father, and Mary just came Below. They are coming from Dr. Peter’s, and Dr. Peter is with them.”

Geoffrey stepped back to allow Catherine to pass him into the study.

“I promised William I’d help in the kitchen, so I’ll see you at dinner,” he said before darting off.

Catherine entered the chamber, and suddenly, everything seemed to happen all at once as she reached the top of the short stairs.

She caught her toe on something and tripped. She tried to catch herself and regain her balance on the handrail, but there was no rail, and the extra weight of the books in the bag on her shoulder threw her even more off balance. She started to fall head-first down the steps.

But before she could hit the ground, she was caught and pulled close to a familiar body.

He quickly set her back on her feet and stepped back.

She looked up, and in the few short seconds that green eyes held blue, she knew that the Bond had returned.

Vincent hadn’t changed much… he was perhaps a little thinner.

“Oh... Hello,” she said tentatively and a little breathlessly.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, thanks to you,” she said, straightening her jacket. “I haven’t had a klutzy moment like that since I was 13.”

“The rail rusted out last year, and it hasn’t been replaced. It needs to be,” he informed her.

She backed away a couple of steps and reached for the backpack that had slipped off her shoulder. Vincent reached for it too, and when their hands briefly met, he pulled back as if he’d been burned.

She looked around and found that she and Vincent were the only people in the chamber.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, trying to appear more relaxed than she was, as she went over to a table where several other wrapped gifts were laid out.

“No one is here yet,” Vincent answered.

Catherine pulled her gift out of the bag and put it with the others and was just turning to say something to Vincent when Michael, Father, Mary, and Peter arrived.

Saved! She breathed a sigh of relief.

Mary rushed over to hug her.

“You haven’t been waiting long, have you?” she asked, glancing at Vincent. “Michael just told us you were going to be here.”

“I just got here,” Catherine assured her. “You look nice,” she added looking at Mary’s Uptop clothes. She was surprised that Mary even had Uptop clothes. She didn’t think the older woman ever ventured Above.

“Lin helped me. I ordered this out of a catalog.” She gestured at the calf-length print dress and the light blue linen jacket she wore over it. “And these are surprisingly comfortable.” She held out a foot to show Catherine her low-heeled beige sandal.

“Just the thing for graduation,” Catherine said with a smile. “Was the ceremony outside?”

“Yes, it was on a lawn. And the sun was rather warm. I’m glad I was wearing something light.”

The two women continued chatting until Father came over to greet Catherine.

“I’m so glad you could join us,” he said as he hugged her. “You’ve been away too long.”

“I wouldn’t miss Michael’s celebration for anything. You must be so proud of him,” Catherine said.

“We are. Vincent is especially proud.”

Dinner was announced a few minutes later, and everyone went to the dining chamber, where a meal was being served family-style, with everyone seated at several long tables.

Michael grabbed Catherine’s arm and led her to a smaller table at the far end of the chamber. It was set for only six.

“Sit across from me so we can talk,” Michael said when they reached the table. He held her chair for her, then went around to the other side to take the chair next to Father and across from her. Mary took the chair next to her across from Father, and Catherine was surprised when Vincent took the chair on the end to her right. She knew he liked to sit on the end because he was left-handed and didn’t want to crash elbows with anyone, but she thought he just might take the spot at the opposite end.

As dinner went on, it was almost funny how normal the conversation was, as normal as two people who barely knew each other, that is.

“When were you planning to go look for a place to live?” Catherine asked Michael after everyone was done passing the food.

“First week in June,” Michael told her. “My friend, Jim, is going to go with his parents to visit his grandparents in Ohio. When he gets back, we’ll drive up. I’m staying Below until we move permanently.”

“You’re going to have a roommate?” asked Vincent.

“To begin with, we thought it would be easier than trying to find two places. We’ve been roommates in the dorm since we were freshmen.”

“My friends Nancy and Jenny and I all shared a house in Cambridge from the middle of our freshman year until we graduated. We all found that living in the dorm didn’t suit us. It was noisy, and it was hard to study. I don’t know how you managed.”

“Ear plugs,” Michael said with a grin. “Then I saved up and bought a good set of headphones that I plugged into a cassette player. I would listen to lectures from my classes or to music. It helped a lot with the noise.”

“Are you and your friend going to be teaching at the same school?” Vincent asked.

“No, he’s going to be teaching science at the elementary school, and I’ll be at the high school. There are three schools in town, elementary, junior high, and high school, and they are all within 3 blocks of each other. That will be convenient since I never learned to drive. I’ll be able to ride with Jim.”

“Will you learn to drive?” asked Catherine with a grin.

“Eventually, I’ll probably have to,” Michael answered. “I’ve been looked at as a bit of an oddball since I don’t drive. It’s not really necessary here in New York, but there aren’t even any busses where we are going.”

“You could ride a bike to work,” Vincent suggested.

“They get quite a bit of snow in the winter up there, and that could be uncomfortable if we wind up living any distance from the schools. But we are hoping to find a place that is close. If we do, I could walk.”

Both of the men looked at Catherine when she giggled.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she met Michael’s eyes across the table. “I just had an amusing visual of Michael asking a young lady out on a date and showing up on his bicycle to pick her up.”

Michael joined her laughter. “Maybe I should invest in a tandem.”

Even Vincent saw the humor and joined in with their laughter.

It’s good to see him smiling and laughing, Catherine thought. Why am I kidding myself... it’s just good to see him.

As dinner went on, speeches were made, and people stopped by to congratulate Michael. He’d become somewhat of a celebrity Below, not to mention an inspiration. He was the first of the children raised Below to graduate from college.

Later back in the study, Michael was toasted with the brandy Catherine had pulled out of her backpack and presented to Father.

When the gifts were opened, there was quite an assortment… everything from hand-molded clay pen and pencil holders from the children to the books from Catherine and a very nice leather briefcase from Peter.

It was a little after 9pm when things started to wind down, and Catherine went to Michael, who was playing chess with Father, to tell him she was leaving.

“I’m so glad you were able to come,” he said after a hug. “If you can wait a few minutes while I finish beating Father, I’ll guide you out.”

“No need, Michael. I’ll guide her out,” Vincent startled them both by saying. “Besides, the ways have changed since you last went that way.”

Catherine said her goodbyes and gathered her things, then met Vincent by the entrance to the study. Always the gentleman, he allowed her to precede him out into the tunnel.

They walked several minutes in silence before Catherine spoke.

“Do you think any of the other children will follow in Michael’s footsteps?” she asked.

“I think there is a very good chance,” he said without looking at her. “Eric has talked about the possibility of becoming an engineer, but then the next week he wants to be a doctor.”

“When we went for his new glasses, he could talk about nothing but being a taxi driver,” she said with a smile. “But then he’s only 13. He’ll probably change his mind at least a dozen more times before he’s grown. I talked to Geoffrey earlier, but I didn’t ask him if he knows what he wants to do. Do you know?”

Vincent finally glanced over at Catherine as he answered.

“He’s never faltered. He wants to be a lawyer. You made quite the impression on him.”

“I’m surprised,” she said honestly. “We occasionally have a ‘bring your child to work’ day at the DA’s office. I’ll have to arrange to take him next time.”

“How will you explain him?” Vincent asked.

“I can say he’s the son of a friend.”

They walked in silence until they reached the threshold.

“Thank you for guiding me back,” Catherine said after a short hesitation. She started through the hole in the brick wall.

Vincent called her back.

“Catherine... do you have a moment?”

She turned and leaned back against the wall.

“Of course; what is it?”

Her heart was hammering; she was hoping he wasn’t angry that she’d come down.

“Only that I’d like to talk. Do you have some time a little later? I have to check the sentries, but I can be on your balcony in about an hour... if that is all right.”

“Of course.” She was surprised but tried not to show it.

“I thought tonight might be better since it’s Saturday. I wouldn’t want to keep you up when you have to go to work in the morning,” he told her.

“No problem. Come up anytime. I’d love to talk.”

“Thank you,” Vincent said, taking a step backward. “I will see you then.”

He turned and walked swiftly back the way they’d come. Catherine watched a moment before she turned and headed up to her apartment.

I wonder what he wants to talk about. She looked around the living room as she turned on the lights and shed her jacket.

She’d made some changes in the last four years. Gone were the two love seats, dinky couches as Joe had dubbed them. She now had a large dark chocolate brown corduroy upholstered couch and a matching easy chair. She’d had the carpets removed and all the original early 1900s hardwood floors refinished. She’d also had all the painted woodwork and doors stripped back to their original dark wood.

The bathroom and the kitchen were completely redone from the floor tile up to the ceilings. The walls everywhere were a warm gold, and she had replaced the sheer drapes at both the French doors with lightweight linen that filtered the light better than the sheer ones had. The fireplace was converted to gas and was on its 5th incarnation, or was it the 6th? But she was sure that this was her favorite. The dark wood mantle was built to match the style of the rest of the early 1900s woodwork, and combined with handmade tile, it created a cozy warmth.

What inspired the renovation was a discovery the carpenter had made when she was having the louvered doors to her bedroom replaced after Vincent had smashed them. Sometime during the years since the building was originally built in the early 1900s, someone had pushed pocket doors into the wall, reframed the doorway, and installed the louvered doors. She had a feeling it was the designer her father hired to decorate the apartment before he gifted it to her when she graduated from law school. That woman had been obsessed with pastels and white. She insisted that it made the small apartment look bigger.

The whole place now felt cozy and more like a place she could comfortably retreat to when needed.

She debated whether she should change her clothes, but comfort won out. She changed out of the skirt and sweater into a dark green silk tunic top and matching loose pants. After washing her face, she padded barefoot into the kitchen to put some water on for tea. She prepared the teapot, and while she was waiting for the water to heat, she went to look out at the balcony. It was starting to rain.

I hope the rain doesn’t keep him away, she thought nervously.

She had just finished making the tea and was setting a tray with the teapot, two mugs, and a plate of cookies on the coffee table when she heard the familiar tap on the glass of the French door.

She took a deep breath and went to open it.

“It’s raining,” she pointed out. “Please come inside.”

She was surprised when Vincent didn’t hesitate. He stepped through the door, removed his cloak, draped it over the back of a chair, and bent to remove his boots.

“They’re wet,” he said in explanation. He took a step into the room and stopped to look around. “You’ve made some changes,” he added.

“Yes, I was never very fond of the way it looked before. It was pretty, but it just wasn’t all that comfortable.” She crossed the room to the couch and sat on one end. “I made a pot of tea. Would you like some?”

“Thank you.” He sat on the other end of the couch.

Catherine filled a mug and handed it to him, then filled one for herself. She settled on her end of the couch, tucking her feet under her so she could face him.

“I picked up some oatmeal raisin cookies on my way home from work yesterday,” she said, indicating the plate on the tray.

Vincent nodded, took a sip of his tea, and smiled.

“You are still drinking the herbal tea from Dr. Wong’s shop,” he stated.

“Yes, I really like it, especially in the evening.”

He stared into his cup for several moments, prompting her to speak.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asked.

He finally looked up at her. The vertical lines on his forehead between his eyes were deeper than usual. Something was bothering him, and she wished she could reach over and soothe those lines like she used to.

“I’m here to apologize,” he began… then he hesitated again.

“For lying to me about the Bond?” she asked when he paused. Then she rushed to explain. “I figured that was the only way you would have known I was falling this afternoon.”

“What? No. I did feel your sudden fear, but it wasn’t the Bond I lied about. At the time I said that it was gone, it was gone. And even though both you and Father were convinced that it would return, I wasn’t. Without it, I felt useless to you.

“What I lied about was my feelings.” He paused a moment before going on. “I’d often wondered if the Bond was just a spontaneous thing, something that came out of nowhere, and if my feelings for you were just a construct of that… if what I was feeling was just a reflection of your feelings, or if the Bond was a product of my feelings for you. But when it disappeared, the feelings remained. That was what I lied about. I knew then that what I felt for you wasn’t manufactured by the Bond. The feelings were real, but without the Bond, I felt as if I couldn’t do anything for you, and I thought it would be better if I just stepped out of your life to let you find someone who was worthy of you.”

“You did it for my own good,” she added.

“More or less,” he agreed.

“You learned from the best, didn’t you?” she said quietly. “Father was always mandating your behavior for your own good.”

“Catherine, I really did think that what I was doing was for the best. I’ve always felt that if we proceeded in our relationship, all I would do was hold you back. You have such potential as a lawyer… you can do so much good. Look how quickly you progressed from Assistant District Attorney to Deputy. You did it in only three years. I read that the average is more like five or six years.

“I felt that I put you in a very compromising position… I think the legal term is a Conflict of Interest. You knew about us Below and that we are technically breaking the law, not to mention all the deaths that I was responsible for, that I know you somehow covered up.”

Catherine listened to everything Vincent was saying, and she admitted to herself that there was a part of her that wanted to do nothing more than jump into his arms, tell him he was forgiven, and that she wanted to pick up where they’d left off… but there was another, more cautious part. It was telling her to go slow, be careful… it hurt too much when he pushed her away.

She pulled her feet out from under her and put them on the floor. She unconsciously used one of Vincent’s moves when she bent forward and let her hair hide her face as he put her empty mug on the coffee table.

What do I say? she wondered as she straightened back up. She decided that the truth was the best route.

“I won’t deny my feelings for you,” she began without looking at him. “I don’t think I could deny them with the return of the Bond. I’ll even go so far as to say that I forgive you, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that you were making unilateral decisions for what you perceived as my own good. At least that is your excuse, and I don’t know if I can buy that. I would have been able to accept it better if you had just told me that you didn’t think you could handle a relationship. But you lied and said that you didn’t love me. You did it because you thought it was for the best... for me. But you didn’t ask me what I thought.” She turned her head and brushed her hair out of her face so she could look at him. “You had no right, Vincent! And it hurt. It was a physical pain, and I thought it might kill me. There were even times when I almost wished it would so that I would stop hurting. But I kept on living, and now, when the pain has finally subsided to a dull ache, you come back and say you’re sorry and you want another chance. But I don’t know if I can. I don’t want to be hurt like that again. I don’t know if I can trust you not to push me away again. I don’t know if I can take that chance.”

To say that Vincent looked shocked would have been a gross understatement. She wondered if he had actually expected her to leap into his arms.

Vincent wasn’t quite sure how he felt about what Catherine had just said. He watched as she leaned forward again, resting her elbows on her knees. She looked so... defeated. Had he really done that to her?

When the Bond returned, he felt her pain, but he kept telling himself that it was for her that he’d separated himself from her, but he now admitted that she was right. He had no right to make that decision for her. He knew how he’d chaffed at all Father’s mandates. How had he ever thought he had the right to do the same thing to Catherine? Yes, it was done out of love, but it was still not right.

He briefly considered getting up and leaving, giving her the time and space to think about things, but then, something inside him, a little voice that sounded a lot like Devin, kept telling him that he had to take a chance and push a little, not to the point where he was trying to get Catherine to do something she really didn’t want to do, but just to convince her that he was truly sorry and meant every word he said.

He hesitantly moved closer and put his arms around her. He almost withdrew when he felt her body stiffen, but he remained where he was, not holding her tightly so that she couldn’t pull away if she wanted, but loosely.

“Catherine, I am truly sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you, and I would like the opportunity to try to help you heal from that pain. I know that it will take time for you to trust me again, but I do hope that you will eventually get to the point where you feel you can trust me.”

Catherine wanted to give in, but for the first time since she met Vincent, she truly didn’t trust him. She knew that he would do everything in his power to keep her safe from any threats; that wasn’t the problem. What she feared was that he would begin to feel unworthy again and push her away.

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” she said under her breath, but Vincent heard her, and his arms tightened. She tilted her head back and looked up at him. “I’m willing to meet you halfway,” she added.

Then she was surprised when he bent and kissed her. It wasn’t passionate… it was much like the other kisses they’d shared, the ones she had initiated. The difference was that this time he’d kissed her. She knew she looked surprised, but she didn’t try to hide it.

Vincent eased back on the couch, taking her with him, and she finally relaxed against him.

Neither spoke for several minutes. Then finally, Vincent began.

“Thank you, Catherine. I know that what I say may sound like just words, but I promise that I will never push you away or send you away again. We will make any decisions concerning the two of us together. If something happens Below that I think might be dangerous, as when those people wreaked havoc with our community or there is an illness, I will explain to you why I think you shouldn’t be there, but I will let you make the final decision about whether you stay or go. I always want you with me, but there are times when I fear for your safety.”

“I understand that,” she said. “But you have to understand that there are times when I fear for your safety too. When I went back to work after your illness, I gave Joe and John an ultimatum. I never got the chance to tell you. If I had, it might have made a difference with your decision.”

“What did you do?”

“I told them that they had to take me out of investigations. I was tired of risking my life tracking down witnesses and following dubious leads. Joe actually got angry and asked me what I would do if they didn’t move me. I guess he forgot that I don’t really need a paycheck. I told him that my name was still part of Chandler & Coolidge and that I could go back there or maybe try my luck as a Public Defender. John actually laughed and said he wondered how long it would be before I asked for a promotion.

“I told him I wasn’t asking for a promotion, I just wanted out of Investigations. That was when he showed me a copy of the new organizational chart for the District Attorney’s office. Levinson had retired, and John had done a complete reorganization. Joe was to take over from Levinson heading up Trials, and he was planning to move me into Joe’s old job heading Investigations. So he was able to keep me in a job that I was good at but get me out of danger. He knew that with all that had happened to me, I’d make sure that none of the people on my staff would be put in danger. It went into effect on the first of July that year. I was going to tell you the night you told me to leave.”

“So, you no longer go on quests late at night to dubious neighborhoods just to talk to someone who may or may not be lying to you?” he asked.

“I haven’t done one witness interview outside the office in four years unless it’s been in the Tombs or one of the precinct interrogation rooms,” she informed him.

“I wondered why the Bond was always so calm,” he said. “No fear.”

“You mean the hair-raising experience of riding in a New York taxi doesn’t register as fear?” she asked, and he felt the first amusement from her all evening.

“That’s a different kind of fear,” he told her with a chuckle.

They talked for another hour or so, getting caught up on what had happened during the time they were apart. At one point, Catherine stifled a yawn, and Vincent looked at the clock on the mantle.

“It’s late,” he said. “I should go and let you get some rest.”

“But there is still so much to talk about,” Catherine protested as she moved away from him.

“And we have plenty of time for that,” he told her. “I can come back next weekend.”

“You can come back during the week too,” she told him.

“But you have work in the mornings.”

“We just won’t stay up too late. Our office doesn’t really open until 9:00. I used to try to be there by 8:00 or earlier because I could get more done in that one quiet hour than I did all day. Now I have an office, so I go in at 9:00. I don’t have to get up that early anymore.”

“You’re sure?” he asked. When she smiled and nodded, he added, “I’ll just make sure to leave by midnight.”

“But it’s not really dark until almost nine,” she pointed out.

“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

***

They spent several evenings that week on the balcony or in the living room talking. Vincent never stayed more than a couple of hours, often breaking off their conversation because of the hour at what she considered a crucial point.

By Friday, Catherine had an idea. If she didn’t have to get up early, maybe she could convince him to stay a little later.

She approached John right after he arrived on Friday morning.

“Good morning, Catherine,” he said with a smile. “You look like you need something?”

“Actually, I wanted to see if you could spare me for a few days sometime soon. I could use some time off,” she said with a smile. John knew her pretty well.

“When was the last time you had a vacation?” he asked.

“About two years ago. I’d gotten to the point where I had to use it or lose it,” she told him.

“Are you at that point again?” he asked. They had reached his office and he was removing his suit jacket and hanging it up.

“Not yet, but I probably will be by the end of the year.”

“How long do you need?” he asked.

“A week?” she suggested.

John walked around behind his desk and looked at his calendar.

“You’ll likely be needed in court week after next and there is no telling how long that trial will last. “Are you prepared for that?”

“That is Joe’s baby,” she told him. “I’m just going to be there to assist him because one of the witnesses is a young girl. He thought she might feel more at ease with me, so, yes, I’m ready for that.”

“How about next week? Is that too soon?”

“No, that will be great,” she said with a grin. “Thanks.”

“Fill out the paperwork and leave it with my secretary and enjoy your week off.”

She was surprised. It had been easier than she expected.

Vincent didn’t visit that evening, and she was a little disappointed, but she was sure she’d see him on Saturday.

When he arrived Saturday evening, the first thing she told him was that she’d taken the following week off.

“So, we won’t have to worry about the time,” she told him.

Later, when he was getting ready to leave, he surprised her with a suggestion.

“Since you have the whole week off, come Below for at least a few of those days.”

“You’re sure?” she looked up at him.

“I am.” He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “When do you want to come down?”

“Is tomorrow too early?” she asked.

“I’ll meet you at noon?”

“Perfect.”

“I’ve made some changes in the last few years, too,” he told her as he picked up his cloak.

“What?” she asked, looking up.

She was surprised again when he leaned down and placed a light kiss on her lips.

“You’ll see tomorrow,” he promised. “Sleep well.” Then he was gone.

Catherine closed and locked the door behind him.

“Am I doing the right thing?” she asked the empty room.

Vincent made the climb to the roof in a haze of happiness. The last week had been almost like before... no, it had been better. She’d said yes to another chance. He couldn’t believe that he had the courage to ask for that chance... and he’d kissed her. He shook his head as he crossed the roof to the fire escape at the back of the building… he couldn’t stop smiling.

Catherine woke on Sunday morning with a strange sense of... anticipation… of looking forward to something. She hadn’t really awakened with that feeling for quite some time. As she sat up in bed and stretched, she remembered that she and Vincent were going to work on their relationship. They weren’t exactly reconciled, but they were on their way. She was still being cautious, but she loved him… she’d never stopped. Now she had to learn to trust him again.

***

Vincent was up early and was already in the dining chamber eating breakfast when Father joined him.

Father was smiling when he sat down.

Vincent looked up at him questioningly.

“You weren’t here last night when I got word,” he said cryptically.

“About what?”

“About Devin and Charles. They are moving back to New York and will be staying with us until Devin finds a place.”

Vincent knew that Father wanted to get to know his biological son better, but Devin never stayed around long enough. There had been several visits over the last few years, but they hadn’t stayed very long.

“That’s wonderful. How long do they expect to be in the city?” he asked.

“Devin talked to Peter and said that they would be here permanently. Devin has a job that he will be starting soon.”

Something dawned on Vincent.

“When will they be arriving?” he asked.

“Later today.”

“That means both the guest chambers will be occupied?” he asked.

“That’s right. Why?”

“Catherine is coming down this afternoon to spend a few days. I invited her.”

“Perhaps Devin can use the fold-out bed in the couch in your chamber,” suggested Father.

“That won’t work. Devin is almost as tall as I am, that bed is short.”

“Perhaps Catherine wouldn’t mind sleeping on the fold-out bed?”

Vincent was shocked at Father’s suggestion, and his face showed it.

“It is in a separate room from where your bed is,” Father reminded him. And there are even separate entrances to your bathing chamber.”

“You really think that would be all right?” Vincent asked, not sure what Father might be suggesting.

“That would be up to Catherine,” Father pointed out. “But you are both adults.”

Catherine packed a clean pair of jeans, some sweats to sleep in, several shirts and sweaters, and sets of underwear into her duffle. Toiletries went into her backpack, along with a book she was reading. She also added another bottle of the brandy she’d brought back from her dad’s place when she finished clearing it out several years before. She wasn’t much of a brandy drinker, but she knew that Father enjoyed it.

Later when Vincent went to meet Catherine, he was still shaking his head at Father’s suggestion.

He didn’t want to tell Catherine she couldn’t stay, but he wasn’t sure what she would think about him offering her a bed in his chambers.

He’d only been waiting a few minutes when Catherine appeared at the top of the ladder. He caught the bag she dropped down to him, then stepped back to let her descend the ladder.

“I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?” she asked as they started walking.

“I was only there a couple of minutes,” he told her. “I thought you would be waiting for me. I left when I knew you were on your way.”

“I met a neighbor in the hall who wanted to talk. She held me up for a few minutes.”

They walked a short time in silence.

“Father had some good news last night,” he told her.

“He did? What?”

“Devin and Charles are moving back.”

“Permanently?”

“So Devin says. He’s got a job and will be looking for a place for them to live.”

“He did mention to me that he thought it might eventually be better to be closer to Charles’ doctor when we talked the last time,” she said.

“Devin talks to you?” Vincent was surprised.

“Occasionally. Peter and I have been helping with Charles’ medical care. He said that they would be in the city sometime soon because Charles was going to need another surgery, but he didn’t mention a permanent move.” She looked up at Vincent and realized that he looked troubled.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It is just that when I invited you to stay Below, I didn’t know that Father had already told Devin that he and Charles could have the guest chambers.”

They had reached Vincent’s chamber, and when she stepped inside, the changes she saw distracted her from their conversation.

“This is your chamber, isn’t it?” she asked. She looked around. Where is your bed?”

“That is part of the changes I mentioned,” he said, putting her bag on the floor inside the door, then taking her backpack and jacket from her.

She looked around the chamber. It was a lot less cluttered than it had been the last time she’d been here. The bookshelf was still under the stained-glass window, but now a small sofa sat where the bed used to be. The table that used to be in the middle of the chamber was gone, and there was a somewhat larger desk on one side with bookshelves behind it. There were several chairs and floor cushions. She noticed that many of Vincent’s figurines and keepsakes were still there, but they were in cabinets with glass doors.

“You do classes here?” she asked, assuming that was what the chairs and floor cushions were for.

“For now. We are enlarging a chamber not far from the dining chamber that we will be using as a classroom.”

She walked over to the sofa and sat down. Then she bounced on it once and lifted the dark fabric that covered it.

“It’s my old couch,” she exclaimed.

“It was a perfect fit for that spot,” he explained. “Mary has the other one.”

“But the pattern wasn’t quite your style,” she added.

“Especially with children all over it,” he pointed out. “The dark cover takes most of the beating.”

“But I repeat myself... where do you sleep?”

He held his hand out to her and tugged her to her feet when she put hers in it. He led her to the screen in the back corner. It had always screened the doorway to the bathing chamber, and there had also been an armoire behind it. Now the armoire was gone, and there was an opening in the back wall.

“This wasn’t here before,” she said as they walked through.

“It was always here,” he told her, but I blocked it with furniture.”

There was another chamber about the same size as the one in the front, and against the back wall was a large bed.

“Peter redecorated too and sent down his old bedroom furniture. He suggested that I use it since the bed was larger than my old one. But when I tried to set it all up in the front chamber, there was barely room to move around, so Father suggested I use this rear chamber and set the front one up as a study, as he has done. It took a while to get the opening between the two of them enlarged enough to get the furniture through it, but once it was done, I had to wonder why I hadn’t done it years ago.

“And I don’t know if you noticed, but my front chamber now has a door. Cullen came up with the idea of a sliding door that hangs on a rail. It will even latch so I can lock it from the inside.”

Catherine walked around the chamber. She noted that the rest of Vincent’s tchotchkes were in this chamber, but she also noticed that there was very little dust.

He followed him back into the front chamber.

“I love your surprise,” she said with a grin. “I bet you don’t have nearly as many people just popping in on you as they used to.”

Vincent nodded. “For the first few months, I had to use the lock on the door. But after a while, they got the idea that they should knock or call out. Now, they know that if the door is open, they can come in, but if it’s closed, they knock.”

“And you know that with these changes, we just might have the answer to the ‘where will Catherine sleep if she stays’ question.”

“And it is?”

“I’ll take the fold-out bed in here... that is if you don’t mind. That way, we can talk as late as we like, and all one of us will have to do is walk into the next chamber.”

“Actually, Father made the same suggestion when I told him I’d invited you down.”

“He has mellowed,” she said with a laugh.

Vincent pointed to a trunk near the couch.

“You can put your bag there,” he told her. “If you have anything that needs to be hung up, you can hang it in my armoire.”

Catherine picked up her bag and carried it to the trunk.

“All I packed was jeans and knit shirts,” she told him. “When are Charles and Devin supposed to be here?” She pulled the bottle of brandy out of her bag and set it on the side table.

“Sometime today,” he told her. “Is there anything, in particular, you’d like to do?”

She shook her head and sat on the couch. “I think we still have some catching up to do,” she prompted.

Vincent seated himself on the other end of the couch. “I’ve covered most of what has been happening here,” he said. “But you didn’t tell me much. How are your friends, Nancy and Jenny?”

“They are doing well. Nancy was planning to start a photography business when her youngest started school, but not long after her little girl turned 5, Nancy found out she was pregnant again, so those plans are on hold. The twins just turned 3.”

“She has her hands full,” Vincent commented.

“From what she says, you aren’t wrong. They aren’t identical, a boy and a girl, but she says they might as well be identical for the way their brains work. They put their heads together and get into all kinds of mischief. Jenny told her she should write a book.”

“How is Jenny?”

“She’s good, too. Her parents and Aunt Leah have about given up on her ever getting married. Her Aunt Leah even went so far as to hire a matchmaker to try to find someone for her. Jenny was livid, she didn’t speak to Leah for several months.”

Vincent chuckled. “Every family needs their odd penny,” he commented.

“Well, she comes by it naturally. Her dad was the odd one in his generation. He was raised in Brooklyn in an orthodox Jewish family. His first step away was to get a job outside of their tight-knit community. Then he met, fell in love with, and married a Goy or Gentile. Jenny’s mom was raised Lutheran. And even though she converted to Judaism, it wasn’t the orthodox or Hasidic version and his family was very upset. They didn’t cut ties completely, but they let it be known that they weren’t happy.”

“Wasn’t that hard on Jenny’s mother?” he asked.

“Only to begin with. She’s a great person and she kind of grew on them. Aunt Leah, who married but was widowed young, took her and Jenny under her wing. She gets along fine with her in-laws.”

They spent most of the afternoon talking about her friends and some of the new people Below, and before they knew it, dinner was announced.

Then while they were at dinner, Devin and Charles arrived and joined them and Father at their table.

“So, what are you planning to do?” asked Catherine when Devin announced that he’d found a job and that it was actually one that he was qualified to do.

“Insurance adjuster. I took a course and a test and passed, and am now licensed. I go to work on the first of next month. In the meanwhile, I need to find us a place to live.”

“Do you have a specific area in mind?” she asked.

“The insurance office is in the East Village,” he told her. “I’d like to find something close to work and to here, but I don’t think I have a prayer of being able to afford the rent in the city. I’ll probably be looking over in Brooklyn.”

Later as she and Vincent were walking back to his chamber, Vincent spoke.

“You looked thoughtful earlier when Devin was talking about his job and where he was looking at places to live. What were you thinking?”

“When Daddy died, he left a lot of investment property. I sold most of it but held onto a few places because I didn’t want to uproot the people in them. Most of those are gone now, too; I’m down to three. One of them has been vacant since the first of the month. I’ve been having some work done, repairs and painting, in preparation to sell it, but if Devin is interested...”

“Where is it?” he asked.

“The East Village,” she said with a grin. “I’ll have to call the property manager and tell her not to put it on the market just yet. I’ll talk to Devin tomorrow and see if he’s interested in looking at it.”

“Do you think it would work for them?”

“I think it would be ideal,” she told him. “I know that Charles doesn’t navigate stairs well. There is a bedroom on the ground floor, and an elevator. The basement is finished, the first floor has the kitchen, dining room, living room, and a half bath in addition to the bedroom and full bath, and the second floor has three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The attic is finished, but there isn’t anything up there.”

“It does sound like it could work,” Vincent agreed.

“I’ll talk to Devin in the morning and see if he’s interested in looking at it. If he is, I’ll talk to the property manager and tell her I’m sending someone over.”

***

“Of course, I want to look at it!” Devin exclaimed when she told him. “What’s the address?”

She told him, and he started to grin. “That’s only a couple of blocks from the insurance office.”

“Will you be taking Charles with you,” she asked.

“No, he said that he’ll be happy to live anywhere I think is suitable and that we can afford.”

“I’ll give Leslie, she’s the property manager, a call and ask when she’s free to show it to you.”

Catherine went up to her apartment to call Leslie, and later when she caught up with Devin at lunch, she told him that Leslie could meet him at the house at 3PM.

At dinner, Devin told them that he’d rented the house and they would be moving in as soon as Leslie let him know that it was ready.

“He could afford the rent?” Vincent asked Catherine later.

“I told Leslie to set the rent at the same rate it was with the previous renters. It covers the maintenance and taxes. I don’t need to make anything off it. He also has an open-ended lease agreement. And if he ever decides he wants to buy it, I’m open to any offer he might make.”

“That’s very generous,” Vincent commented.

“I would do the same for anyone from here, and you know it,” she said.

Catherine was surprised that as they sat together in the front chamber of Vincent’s chambers that night, no one dropped in or needed him for anything.

“This place used to be a lot busier,” she commented at one point.

“In addition to what I said earlier, they’ve also learned that there are a lot of things they can do on their own. Jamie has taken over doing most of the sentry checks; I only do them a couple of nights a week. Sentries don’t call me at the first sign of an intruder. They monitor the situation and make use of other deterrents.”

His slight smile piqued Catherine’s curiosity.

“What kind of other deterrents?” she asked.

“Each sentry post is now equipped with a small cassette tape player, and they have tapes that contain several sound effects that are designed to scare off intruders,” he told her.

“Like you used to do,” she said with a smile. “What kind of sound effects?”

“Barking dogs, big cats from the zoo, howling wolves, gunshots, screams… there is even a train whistle.”

“Oh my,” she said with a giggle. “With the way things echo down here, I bet they are gone quickly.”

“Very quickly,” he agreed.

The next morning Catherine woke just as Vincent was coming into the front chamber with a tray.

“Do I smell coffee?” she asked as she sat up.

“A whole pot,” he told her, setting the tray on a table next to the fold-out bed.

“I slept so well last night that I don’t think I’m going to need more than two cups this morning.” She put a couple of pillows behind her back and settled back comfortably as Vincent held a cup out to her.

“I also brought you some toast and eggs,” he said, nodding at the covered plate on the tray.

“Breakfast in bed... I may never want to go home.”

Vincent was saved from answering when Devin and Charles walked in unannounced. They’d obviously not gotten the memo.

“Father said that we could have our pick of the furniture in the storage rooms to furnish the house,” he announced. “I was wondering if you two would like to help us pick out some things?”

When neither of them answered quickly, Devin continued.

“Actually, Cathy’s assistance would be very much appreciated,” he looked at her. “Since you are more familiar with the house and know more of what might be needed.”

“Well, since you put it that way,” she said with a laugh. “Just let me eat my breakfast and get dressed.”

When both Devin and Charles settled themselves in chairs in the room, it was obvious that they planned to wait. Catherine ate quickly and finished her coffee while a lively conversation flowed. She was glad she’d left the pretty nightgown at home and had opted for knit pants and a t-shirt to sleep in. She gathered some clothes and headed to the bathing chamber to wash up and dress.

“Do you plan to furnish all the rooms now?” she asked when they stood in the middle of the large storage chamber a little while later.

“No, just two bedrooms, living room, kitchen... and I’m going to need an office at home.”

“I’ll be using the first-floor bedroom,” Charles said, “and Dev will be upstairs.” Charles’ speech had improved tremendously over the last few years.

“I think I’m going to take the bedroom with the Jack and Jill bathroom,” Devin said after a moment of thought. “The way they are set up, with two bedrooms sharing the bath would be good. I could use one room as a bedroom and the other on the other side as an office.”

“Are all the appliances still in the kitchen?” she asked as she started to poke around in a corner.

Yeah, why?” Devin asked.

“Because when my Dad died, there were tenants in the house. About six months later, they broke their lease and moved out. I didn’t even know until Leslie told me that they hadn’t paid their rent. She went over to check and found the place empty and pretty much trashed. They had taken everything that could possibly be removed; all the kitchen appliances, the washer, and dryer, a wine fridge from the basement... even the water heater. It had to be cleaned, fumigated, painted, and all those things had to be replaced.”

“When I looked at it, Leslie told me that it still needed to be cleaned and painted, but it looked fine to me. It looked like the last tenants were good.”

“Great, one less thing to worry about,” Catherine said. “So, you need a king-sized bed for Charles. What do you want for your room?”

They spent the rest of the morning finding, tagging, and moving furniture to a spot near the door.

They arrived at lunch dusty but satisfied that a task had been finished.

“Did you have any luck?” Father asked as Vincent and Catherine joined him at a table.

“I think so,” Vincent said. “We found the basics, and Devin said he has things like dishes, pots and pans, towels, and linens. So, they should be fine.”

“When will they be moving?” Father asked as he watched Devin and Charles go through the food line.

“Leslie said that the painters told her that it will take two days to paint, and they are starting today; then the cleaners will be there on Friday. He can move in any time after that,” Catherine told him.

“I think we will give the place a couple of days to air out to get rid of some of the paint fumes,” Devin said as they walked up, and he caught the end of what Catherine was saying. “I’ll see who is available to help move everything and try to get it done at the beginning of next week.”

“Let me know, and I’ll make sure that Leslie is there with your set of keys,” Catherine told him.

The next couple of days were spent in less strenuous pursuits. Father had taken Vincent off all the duty rosters, but he still had classes to teach. One of them was a civics class, and they had been studying how the New York City government worked. Vincent asked Catherine to answer questions for his class.

She was surprised at how much she enjoyed it and the questions the students asked.

Devin was still in the habit of just walking into Vincent’s chamber, and on Wednesday evening, while Catherine and Vincent were talking, he did just that.

He brandished what looked like one of Father’s maps as he walked into the chamber.

“I think that house might have a threshold,” he announced as he spread the map out on the table Vincent used as a desk.

He was moving things and using them to weigh down the edges of the map as Vincent and Catherine joined him.

“Do you happen to know when the place was built?” Devin asked.

“About 1870, I think,” she supplied. “Why?”

“Well, it’s not that far from the river, and I read an article that said that a lot of older houses had access to tunnels that run through that area. They were used for bringing things in from the docks to begin with, and later, during Prohibition, they used them to smuggle in booze.”

“It would be convenient if it does,” Vincent said. “Although it is quite a distance… at least 3 or 4 miles from there to here.”

“Close enough for you to come up, but far enough that the old man might think twice before just popping in,” Devin said with a laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, I love him, but...” he trailed off without finishing.

“Show me why you think it might have a threshold,” Catherine said.

They all leaned over the map. Devin pointed out the block where the house was and then pointed to a tunnel that had been drawn on the map. It looked like it was only feet from the house.

“I don’t know how accurate these maps are, but this looks promising,” he said.

“Most of these maps date from John Pater’s time,” Vincent observed, pointing to a year written on the bottom of the map. “Father said that he was a stickler for accuracy and did a lot of the surveying himself in the beginning. So, there is a good chance that, unless something has happened since these were drawn, this is correct.”

“You can check when you move in,” Catherine suggested.

Catherine was enjoying her time Below and especially her almost uninterrupted time with Vincent, but she was struggling with the trust issue.

Vincent had a class after lunch on Thursday, and Catherine took that opportunity to find a quiet place to think and try to figure things out. She wandered a bit and eventually found herself at the Falls.

She’d always found this spot to be very soothing. The falls were close enough to hear but not so close as to be deafening. She sat on the sandy ledge, leaned back against the wall, and closed her eyes.

I do love him, she thought. Her mind wandered over the time before their separation. He’d always been there when she needed him, except a few times when she’d needed him emotionally… when she’d gone to him in confusion and pain on the anniversary of her mother’s death, after he’d been injured when the invaders had descended on the Tunnels, then finally, after his illness.

As far as she knew, he’d only ever lied to her once. That was one issue she’d had with Steven, Tom, and Elliot. They’d all lied to her numerous times. Vincent hadn’t lied about the Bond, it had truly been gone, but his lie had been when he’d denied his love for her, and that had been because he thought it was the best thing for her. It had been done out of love, misguided as it was.

But she did trust him... in all things... almost all things. Did she trust him with her heart?

That was the question she kept asking herself.

If I’m not willing to take that chance, she told herself, do I have any chance at happiness?

She knew that that was the big question. She was good on her own. She was fulfilled in her career, and she knew that she’d found her niche as far as the law was concerned. She really didn’t need more, but she did want more. She wanted children and a family, and she wanted Vincent.

She had just come to that conclusion when the object of her thoughts walked out of the narrow tunnel and joined her on the ledge.

“Is everything all right, Catherine?” he asked. “I felt your... uncertainty?”

“Not anymore,” she said with a smile. She held her hand out to him, inviting him to sit.

“What is it?” He joined her on the ground and turned so he could see her.

“I just needed a quiet spot to think,” she told him.

“About what?” he leaned a little closer.

“Us. These last few days have been wonderful. The opportunity to spend almost uninterrupted time with you has been great. We’ve finally been able to talk in-depth about a lot of things.”

“What are you no longer... uncertain about?” he asked hesitantly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“As I said, us. You know I love you, I’ve said it many times, but I was questioning whether or not I could trust you. But I was fooling myself. I know I can trust you; I always could.”

“Even though I was trying to control our relationship and make decisions for you?” he asked.

“Now that just proves it,” she said.

“Proves what?”

“That I can trust that you won’t try to do that again,” she pointed out.

“If I thought you were in danger, I might,” he said. “No, I would.”

“That’s different. Imminent danger is mitigating circumstances. You would be justified.”

“Now you sound like a lawyer,” he said with a smile, and she could see the relief in his eyes.

“I am a lawyer,” she pointed out with a laugh.

“So, where do we go from here?” he asked.

“Where do you want to go?” she countered.

He reached for her and easily lifted her into his lap. She almost whimpered with relief at his action. He cupped her cheek, and she nearly melted.

Catherine tilted her chin up, inviting him to kiss her, her expression showing her hunger.

Vincent knew that she was his and that he was hers, and this time he was determined not to let the opportunity pass.

As his lips met hers, there was a loud rumble, and the ground under them shook. They both drew back and looked at each other.

“What the...?” she began.

“Earthquake?” he surmised.

He stood quickly and set her on her feet. Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the opening.

“It may not be safe on this ledge,” he explained as they entered the tunnel.

When they reached the main tunnel, he stopped to listen to what sounded to Catherine like an urgent message on the pipes.

“It’s Mary,” he explained after a moment. “She and a group of children are trapped in a small chamber off the main tunnel. There was a cave-in.”

“Where are they? she asked as he began to guide her along the tunnel.

“They were on their way back from the park,” he told her as they walked. “They are just off the main tunnel from the park threshold.

It only took them a few minutes to reach the place where the main tunnel was partially blocked. Thick dust still hung in the air. Vincent pulled a bandana out of his pocket and handed it to Catherine.

“Tie that over your nose and mouth,” he said.

“What about you,” she asked as she complied.

He held up a second bandana and tied it over his nose and mouth.

“Where are they?” she asked.

“There is a little side chamber behind that pile of rubble,” he explained.

“Isn’t that the sentry post?” she asked as Vincent surveyed the pile.

“It used to be, but we moved it closer to the threshold about a year ago after someone found their way in.”

Vincent went over to the pile and started moving some of the larger rocks. Catherine joined him, and by the time a group of men arrived with shovels, pick axes, and wheelbarrows, they were both dusty and dirty and had worked up a sweat.

As the others started working, Vincent pulled Catherine aside.

“Go back to my chamber and bathe.” He smiled and rubbed a smudge off her forehead. “Wait for me, I won’t be long.”

She nodded. “You’re sure?” she asked.

“This won’t take long, not with all this help. Mary and the children aren’t in any real danger. She says that there is air moving in the chamber. As soon as we get this clear, I’ll be there.”

He surprised her by pushing down the bandana, taking her chin, and tilting her head back so he could kiss her.

As Catherine hurried back to Vincent’s chamber, she realized that she was coated in fine, gritty dust from head to toe. She couldn’t wait to get it washed off.

She took him at his word, sure that he wouldn’t be long. she went straight to the bathing chamber and was in the water before she realized she hadn’t stopped to get clean clothes. But there were plenty of big towels… one of those would work to cover herself when she needed it.

The first thing she did was dunk herself to wet her hair. She washed it, then applied conditioner before she started washing.

She was quickly washing, soap bubbles covering her like frosting on a cake.

“Let me help.” She was startled and jumped when she heard his voice.

She looked up at him, her lips slightly parted.

He quickly shed his clothes, then entered the pool, crossed it, and sat next to her. She was surprised again when he pulled her over so that her back was to his belly, and she sat between his legs.

His body ached at her nearness, but he forced himself to go slow. He ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp soothingly.

She hummed with pleasure, leaning back into his touch.

He groaned and felt her shiver in response.

“Hurry,” she whispered.

The word went straight to his bloodstream, setting it on fire.

But he continued to bathe her gently, slowly, pouring clean water over her hair and body to rinse it.

Then he ran his hands down her arms and covered her breasts with his big hands, massaging her until she was pressing into his hands.

She knew he was exploring. This was uncharted territory for him. His thumbs skimmed her nipples, and she gasped, the soft sound echoing off the stone walls. She held her breath as he ran his hands down her belly, stroking her thighs and then between her legs.

When she was trembling and gasping for breath, he reluctantly withdrew his hands. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck and brought his hands back to her arms.

“Go wait for me in bed,” he whispered.

But she slid around in his arms, reaching for the soap.

“It’s my turn,” she told him with a wicked wink.

He was frozen in place as she placed her hands on his shoulders and gently worked the soap over his skin.

There had been times in the past when he’d been afraid to touch her at all, or allow her to touch him, afraid that the beast inside him would take charge and take her by force.

Now he knew that it could never happen. The dark part of him loved her as much as he did, and they would both care for her forever.

And she wanted him. He didn’t have to hold back now.

Her hands slid lower into the water. She explored the muscles of his chest and abdomen.

“Mmm,” she hummed approvingly as she traced over his abs.

He was so hard, it almost hurt, and he could hear the blood rushing through his veins.

“Catherine,” he groaned.

Her hands moved lower, gentle fingers touching his throbbing erection as if committing him to memory.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back to rest on the edge of the pool as she continued her exploration. Her teasing touch was sending him almost to the point of no return.

“Enough,” he gasped, catching her wrist to make her stop. “Wait for me in bed… my bed.”

The sudden change in him startled her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice low.

“It feels too good,” he confessed. “I want you where I can take my time. The pool might be an interesting challenge sometime in the future, but not this time.”

She looked at him with lust-hazed eyes, then nodded and stood.

He went completely still, almost unable to move or speak at the sight of her, water sliding down her soft curves, her wet hair hanging down her back.

“Hurry,” he murmured, echoing her word from earlier. “Please.”

Catherine hurried, and now she was on her back, her whole body pulsing with need as she gazed at the stained glass window on the other side of the room.

Vincent only made her wait a few minutes, but it felt like eons. Then, suddenly he was walking over to the bed, silhouetted in the light from the stained glass window. He crawled in to cradle her head with his hands and pin her body to the bed with his.

But she didn’t feel trapped; she felt safe, loved and wanted.

“Catherine, he murmured.

His scent was delicious. How had she never noticed how good he smelled? She’d only ever registered that he smelled a little of wood smoke and sometimes the scent of the sandalwood soap he used.

“What are you thinking?” he asked in a whisper.

“You smell good,” she told him with a guilty smile as she gazed into his blue eyes.

“You smell good, too,” he told her, a smile showing in his eyes before they went hazy with lust as he rolled to his side next to her.

He pressed his lips to hers, claiming them with a passionate kiss that made her toes curl. Then he was nuzzling her neck and kissing a path down to her breasts, sucking and nipping at her nipples as his hands stroked her rib cage, then down to her waist, and finally to her hips and thighs.

One hand moved between her legs, and he found and lazily stroked the ultra-sensitive button he found there.

The sensations flowed through her again. She saw colors behind her closed eyelids. She whimpered and moaned, lifting her hips to encourage him.

But he only teased her until the frustration had her pulling at the sheets and moaning as if she was in pain.

“Please!” she begged.

He instantly stopped, and she felt only the cool air of the chamber and her need.

Vincent pinned her to the bed once more, the steel of his erection against her, showing her that he endured the same need from which she suffered.

“Will you accept me, Catherine?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes!” she said, looking into his eyes.

His eyes closed as if in relief… then, when they opened again, he looked at her earnestly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“You won’t; I promise,” she assured him.

But when he guided himself to her, she was almost afraid of his size. None of the others had been anywhere near his size.

When he started to press himself slowly into her, the pleasure was like nothing she’d ever experienced before in her life.

He was trying to go slow,  to be gentle, but she needed him... now!

“Catherine,” he groaned as he pressed deeper.

There was a moment of stretching, almost pain, but then it was gone as quickly as it had come, and it was replaced with a pleasure so intense she almost cried. But she held back so as not to alarm Vincent.

She bit her lip until she tasted blood, afraid that if she made a sound, he would stop.

She didn’t want him to stop, if he did, she didn’t know what would happen. Would she just die? Or maybe explode?

“Mine!” he moaned, moving slowly. “Catherine...”

She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him closer, lifting her hips to meet him.

“Catherine,” he groaned, moving faster.

She lost control of the sounds she made as he finally gave her exactly what she’d craved for so long.

She had never been so closely attuned to another.

As the pleasure lifted her higher and higher, she saw what looked like falling stars and briefly wondered if she was going to pass out.

The rapture broke over both of them at the same time, and she felt as if she’d exploded into a shower of those stars as he continued to move against her extending her ecstasy until she could take no more.

At last, he collapsed beside her, careful not to crush her. He pulled her over to lay on him, then kissed her hair, forehead, and finally, her lips.

“Vincent,” she murmured, feeling completely sated. “That was... I honestly have no words.”

“I never knew,” he told her, brushing her still-damp hair off her face.

“If you had, would you have made love to me sooner?” she asked.

“Years ago,” he said with a chuckle, then kissed her forehead again. He pulled the blankets up over both of them. “Sleep,” he whispered, but knew that she already was.

When Catherine woke, she had no idea what time it was, and Vincent was gone. She made a quick trip to the bathing chamber and then found some clothes to put on. She was coming out from behind the screen in the front chamber, buttoning up a blouse as Vincent entered the chamber from the tunnel. He was wearing pants but was barefoot and shirtless.

She went to him, and he pulled her into his arms.

“Where did you go?” she asked, rubbing her cheek against the soft hair on his chest.

“Devin,” he said by way of explanation. “I should have closed the door... and latched it. He came looking for me, and, as usual, just walked in. But at least this time, he called out, and I was able to go out to him before he came into the bed chamber.”

She chuckled, picturing Vincent’s discomfort.

“What did he want?”

Vincent disengaged himself from her and walked into the rear chamber. She followed him. He selected some clothes from his armoire and started to dress.

“He’s been exploring. He thinks he’s found what might be the opening into the Tunnels from that house. It’s bricked up, and he wants me to come and help him remove the bricks.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him that he should probably wait until he can open it up from the other side. He doesn’t want to accidentally wind up in one of his future neighbors’ basements, and I told him that Mouse would be happy to help him then.”

Catherine’s stomach chose that moment to growl. She put her hand on her stomach and laughed.

“I think, if we hurry, we might still make it to dinner,” he added.

He took her hand, and they were halfway to the dining chamber when he spoke again.

“After dinner, I think we should go back and move your things from the front chamber to the bed chamber.”

She only nodded in agreement and smiled.

“And I think we should latch the door tonight,” he added.

Catherine reluctantly went back to her apartment on Sunday. She had to admit she didn’t feel as if she was going home. Home was now wherever Vincent was, and although he spent Sunday night with her, he had to leave before the sun rose, and she didn’t like that.

“I’m going to have to do something about that,” she told her reflection several hours later as she finished putting on her makeup. “It’s too bad I’ve already rented the house to Devin.”

***

She was eating lunch in her office later and scanning the Real Estate section of the newspaper when Joe walked in.

“Did you enjoy your vacation?” he asked as he sat on the chair in front of her desk.

She put down the paper and smiled at him.

“Very much. It was very relaxing. No phones, no news.”

“You must have gone up to your lake house.” It was a statement, not a question; it didn’t require an answer, so she didn’t have to lie to him.

He looked at the paper she’d just put down.

“Real estate? You looking to move, Radcliffe?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” she told him. “My apartment is beginning to feel just a bit... small. I was thinking of something larger, maybe a brownstone or a row house, with a few more bedrooms for when Nancy visits, an office at home, and a kitchen so I can cook a decent meal.”

“You can cook, Radcliffe?” he asked, surprised.

“Why is everyone so surprised at the idea that I cook?” she asked in exasperation. “Yes, I can cook. The only reason I don’t cook is that this job doesn’t give me the opportunity to go home early enough to cook.”

“Okay,” he held up his hands and laughed. “I just assumed that you’d always had someone to do that for you.”

“Before my mom died, she cooked every night, and we ate dinner as a family. Daddy used to make breakfast on the weekends. We didn’t have any help until she got too sick to do it. Then Daddy hired a housekeeper and a nurse. Dorothy, the housekeeper, stayed on until I left for college and then she retired. But Dorothy thought that everyone, girl or boy, should know how to do the basics. She taught me how to clean, make simple clothing repairs, how to do laundry, and she taught me to cook. She always said that if you can read, you can cook.”

“You’ll have to invite me to dinner sometime after you find yourself a bigger place.” He tapped the newspaper and grinned.

“You’re on,” she agreed.

A few minutes later her phone rang. She pushed the speaker phone button.

“Catherine Chandler,” she said.

“Hi Cathy... you sound like you are in a tin can.” It was Devin.

She picked up the handset and pushed the button again.

“Is this better?” she asked.

“You had me on speaker, huh?”

“Yes, what are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m at the house, and the phone company just finished hooking up my phone. Thought I’d try it out and give you the number.”

She picked up a pencil and wrote as he read the number to her. She printed DEVIN over it. She listened to Devin say something to someone at his end. There was a lot of background noise.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “It’s noisy there.”

He laughed. “Everything. The guys moved all the furniture I picked out to the warehouse over the weekend then a Helper loaned us a truck. We loaded everything this morning, and they are now moving it into the house. It’s pure pandemonium, but Vincent just got here, and he’s getting things organized.”

She heard someone call Devin’s name.

“Hey, hold on a sec,” he told her. Then she heard. “Here, talk to your girl.”

A moment later, she heard a hesitant, “Catherine?”

“Vincent! You just made my day brighter,” she said. “Maybe you can call me at work once in a while. I’ll give you my direct number, and you won’t have to go through the switchboard.”

***

Epilogue

Vincent watched Catherine as she moved around the large kitchen, efficiently preparing dinner. His mind was still in a partial state of shock. She was pregnant, not that anyone could tell yet, but Peter had verified it. He was going to be a father.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He looked around the room. He’d never seen a kitchen quite this large. It stretched the entire back of the house, but it wasn’t all kitchen. Catherine called it a ‘great room.’ There was a fireplace and a sitting area at one end, a table in the middle, and the kitchen at the other. They all but lived in this room when they were here.

The other part of his brain was mulling over the fact that Joe Maxwell was coming to dinner tonight.

“What did you tell him?” he asked.

“Only that he was invited to dinner, and I was going to introduce him to you,” she answered as she checked the roast and then turned off the oven.

“No, I mean, what did you tell him?”

“I told him that you are different… that you have to stay away from people because of the way you look, that you might frighten people, and that you are such a gentle soul that you don’t want to do that.”

“Does he have any idea?” he asked, pushing for more information.

“I showed him the small drawing that Elizabeth gave me last Christmas,” she told him. She could see the question in his eyes and continued. “He thought I was joking to begin with, but then he just shook his head and said, ‘This I gotta see.’ I told him to be here around seven.”

“Did you mention the Tunnels?” he asked.

“No, I think that might be asking too much. I insinuated that you lived with a family group somewhere. I just didn’t say where. I don’t know that you are actually breaking any laws, living where you live, but you do use some electricity that you siphon off the city grid, and there might be some concern about the children. So I thought that it would be better not to give him the whole story, at least not yet.”

“Speaking of the whole story, are you going to tell him that you’re pregnant?” he asked.

“That depends on how this meeting you goes,” she told him with a grin. “I don’t want to send him into overload.”

They had been through this two other times during the last few months, first with Jenny, then with Nancy. Neither of them had been overly surprised. They had seen the same drawing that Catherine had shown Joe. Jenny said that the drawing didn’t do him justice, and Nancy had said that she was glad to get to meet him finally. He wondered what Joe’s reaction would be.

It was just minutes before seven when the doorbell rang.

“Here we go,” Catherine said as she headed for the door. Vincent stayed in the kitchen pouring the drinks that Catherine said Joe liked.

Joe’s eyes got big as he stepped through the door.

“Wow! It smells good in here!” he said with a grin.

“I told you I could cook.” She didn’t mention that she didn’t have a huge repertoire and that this particular dish was her go-to any time she had company that she wanted to impress.

Catherine had told Joe to dress comfortably. She was in jeans and a blouse, and Joe was dressed casually in khakis and a Polo shirt. He handed her a box.

“I know people usually bring a bottle of wine, but I didn’t know whether I should bring a white or a red, so I brought chocolates instead,” he explained.

“Chocolate is always appreciated,” she said, taking the box and turning. “We are eating in the kitchen since the new dining table hasn’t been delivered yet.”

Joe started to follow her but stopped in his tracks. She looked up to see Vincent standing in the door to the hall… and he was a sight to behold.

Vincent had acquired Uptop clothes too. He only wore them here in the house and then usually only when someone was coming to visit. Tonight, he had on black jeans and a tight black T-shirt. He was in his stocking feet… he hadn’t bothered with shoes since he was staying in.

She glanced back over her shoulder at Joe and almost laughed.

“You better close your mouth, Joe,” she told him. “You might catch some flies.”

“You weren’t lying,” he finally managed.

“Not lately,” she said, and this time she did laugh. “Vincent, this is Joe Maxwell. Joe, this is my husband, Vincent.”

Joe quickly recovered and stepped forward. Vincent was holding two glasses. He handed one to Joe, then offered his hand.

“I’m glad to finally meet you, Mr. Maxwell,” he said politely.

Joe eyed the extended hand for a second before gingerly taking it and shaking. Catherine could almost see the wheels turning and the connections being made. She hoped this didn’t backfire.

“Come on into the kitchen,” she told them.

Vincent went and sat on the couch near the empty fireplace, and Joe followed. Catherine picked up a glass of ginger ale that Vincent had poured for her and joined them. Joe sat on one of the chairs, and Catherine joined Vincent on the couch.

“Wow, don’t let my mom see that kitchen,” Joe said a little nervously. “She’ll want to move in with you.”

“Relax, Joe,” Catherine said. “We’re all friends here.”

“Ask any questions you want, Mr. Maxwell,” Vincent added. “I’ll answer to the best of my ability.”

“First of all, call me Joe. I’m only Mr. Maxwell in court, and then it’s usually when I’m in trouble.” He smiled a bit weakly, but it was genuine.

By the time they sat down to dinner, Joe was much more relaxed, although Catherine thought that the two bourbons he’d downed might have something to do with that. Vincent had answered a lot of questions, and over dinner, the conversation was a bit more normal, with Joe and Catherine relating funny stories from work.

Finally, over dessert, Joe asked one more question.

“So, where did you two meet?”

“Remember the time I was missing before I came to work for the District Attorney?” Catherine asked, launching into the story. It was pretty much the same story she’d told her father and Tom. It was essentially the truth, she just left out the Tunnels.

Catherine knew she didn’t really have to ask Joe not to mention Vincent to anyone, although she did tell him that her friends Jenny and Nancy had met him too, but as she saw him to the door later, she did mention it.

“I get it, Radcliffe,” he assured her. “You just don’t meet someone like Vincent every day. If anyone got wind of him, they’d want to study him to find out all the whys and hows. I can keep my mouth shut.”

“Thanks, Joe,” she said and hugged him.

As she watched him walk down the steps to the sidewalk and then close the door behind him, she was sure she’d made the right call. Joe could be depended upon to keep his mouth shut. She would tell him about the baby later.

*****

With Love Forever

(Vincent’s Letter To His Son)

by Michaela Buzsaki Struchova

SND

Dearest Jacob,

It’s deep into the night as I’m writing these words to you. Our world is asleep, at peace, finally the peace we all have been craving for so long…

Time has passed, and I still find it difficult to believe that I have not been living in some fantasy created in my head by my deepest desires and dreams. I’m still learning - although with the greatest pleasure - to live in the wondrous, most beautiful, and magical reality of being part of a family of my own.

For so many years, our Tunnel family has surrounded me with kindness, affection and love. Their acceptance, support and friendship helped me grow into the man I am today, and a large part of my heart will always belong to them. They were the first to give me, an outcast, a chance to live… to live a decent and honourable life despite my limitations, something that the world Above would never do. The greatest of them has been your grandfather… I owe him my life, my passion for learning, my strength and the joy coming from everything good that I have ever been given.

Yet, despite all of this love I have experienced in my life, I felt an emptiness inside me that no one in the Tunnels could fill, a void that kept me wandering in the world Above, shrouded in darkness, searching for my destiny. In my dreams, I was searching for what I saw all around me and yet, couldn’t touch - I craved the feeling of belonging with another soul…

Life can often be strange, sometimes cruel, and never unmarked by pain, yet it can surprise you most in moments when you least expect it. It surprised  me at such a time, on one dark and cold April night on my walk in Central Park. That night has engraved an eternal mark on my heart. It was the night I found your mother…

You are still too young to understand, but by the time you read this letter, if fate allows, your life will be full of experiences, joys and pains (for no one goes through life without either), friendships and memories. Above all, though, I hope it will be full of love, for that is the force that drives us onward, no matter how troublesome the road, and gives us new wings when our own have been broken.

Your mother rightly said that with love all things are possible. You being in this world are the brightest example of that. Thanks to love, I am alive and a father, and tomorrow I will become something that was inconceivable only a short time ago - a husband, binding my life with the woman who made me see the man inside me…

To describe what your mother has meant to me is an almost impossible task, for there are no words that could do justice to what she has done for me, my heart and my soul. She ended my aloneness and gave me the courage and strength to go to places I had never been able to before. Thanks to her, I finally know what it feels like to belong with someone. She saw past my imperfections, seeing the true me, with all the good and ugly that comes with it. She helped me fight my own demons and come out victorious, accepting my whole self without being afraid of its darker side.

Was she frightened? Oh, of course, she was. Those who love are always afraid, mainly for those they love. Yet, she persevered, never wavering in her determination to help me see myself as a man and not as a beast…

Once, long ago, she said, “I owe you everything”. The truth is, I owe her much more than she could ever understand… but most of all her fearlessness to love a being that most people Above would banish from their world… or so I’ve been told all my life. Her love opened a new world to me; her hand that reached for mine, helped me to walk through fire and desolation when all hope seemed lost and buried in the ashes of despair.

I only hope that one day you will be as blessed to find a love as beautiful, powerful and liberating as mine, and that it will carry you through life with courage and strength, helping you to reach always higher than you think you are able to…

The clock on the mantelpiece is quietly ticking away the remaining moments before the most wondrous day of my life begins. You are still contentedly sleeping in your crib, while I glance at the bed where your mother is still dreaming peaceful dreams of today, tomorrow, and the rest of our lives. I still cannot get enough of the sight of her, because the beauty of her heart gives special warmth to the beauty of her face. Remember, Jacob, beauty without a heart is empty and it fades away, but give it a compassionate, kind and loving heart and it outshines the sun forever…

The day will start soon, and although I can feel the excitement rising in me, I would like to freeze this moment in time for a little longer, to preserve this precious image of the perfect balance and peace before my eyes. You and your mother help me keep my balance. Thanks to you, I have found new peace within me that no one and nothing can take away from me, whatever may come in the future.

Wherever your life leads you, be kind, even in the face of unkindness; be strong, even in the face of adversity; be honest, even in the face of deceit; be merciful, even in the face of cruelty; have courage, even in the face of danger; have faith, even when being confronted with doubt; and have  patience, for whatever the stars have written for you will find you in the end.

Above all, please remember that you are dearly loved and that there is a truth I will always know: there is no life without love… love of any kind. Whenever doubts and worries trouble you, love will set you on the right path… it will lead you to where you were meant to be. It will lead you home…

From the one who will love and treasure you in his heart forever,

Your Father

*****

How Do I . . .

by Joan Stephens

with How Do I… Expansion

by Allison

Season 3

Gabriel stared up at me from his position on the floor, his upper body leaned heavily against the wall. His eyes were dark and fathomless. Blood from the three deep gashes inflicted by Vincent's deadly claws ran down his cheek, dripping slowly onto the crisp, immaculate front of his snow-white linen shirt. But even now, facing the business end of the Charter Arms Undercover .38-special that I held, he showed no emotion. His mouth twisted into a cold, malevolent smile as he told me how he always won, how he will find the child.

Suddenly, something that had lived in me since the night I found Vincent sprawled on Catherine's grave began to stir. I have had this feeling before. It was at its strongest when I nursed him back to health after he was almost killed in the explosion of the Compass Rose. It was a fiercely protective, loving feeling: one I've felt only once before when my own father almost died of a heart attack. Ruthlessly, I pushed it into the back of my mind. I cannot do what it demands.

But this . . . something . . . stirred again with fear then with purpose and slowly my hand was forced up until the gun barrel was pointed directly at his heart. A voice that was not mine said firmly, “Not this time."

‘Where did that voice come from,’ I wondered.

Then in my own voice, I said, "This was Catherine Chandler's gun."

I know it was wrong and I tried to stop it, but my finger inexorably squeezed the trigger. There was a loud report, and a sense of deep relief and peace settled over me and then was swiftly gone. Gabriel was dead.

I stepped back, unnerved, as I heard the pounding of feet coming up the stairs. How do I explain that I wasn't the one that killed him? That it was Catherine Chandler. That it was she who killed him.

***

How Do I… expansion

by Allison Duggins

No one will believe me…. not Joe, not Greg, no one… probably not even Vincent. They will think I’m nuts… that the stress of this case finally got to me, if I claim that it was Catherine Chandler who possessed me somehow to kill Gabriel.

Even now the feeling in me was dissipating, the sense of justice and repressed vengeance that surged. What Gabriel had done to Catherine and to Vincent and his child was finally avenged by the one he had wronged most. For so long his shadow had fallen over everything. Standing in the same room with him suddenly everything felt very simple…. clear. I knew exactly what I was thinking. I knew who I was. But when I tried remembering, it was almost as if it never really happened. I went over to Gabriel's body and dug my fingers into the gash marks that Vincent had left in his cheek. I had to make sure the scratches were explained, no trace of Vincent could be left there. Thank God my nails were long enough for once.

Running feet skidded to a halt outside the open door.

“Bennett?” Greg’s voice suddenly sounded in my ear. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you get here?”

“Gabriel’s dead, Greg.” I said and turned over the gun I still held in my hand.

The barrel felt warm in Greg’s hand as he carefully wrapped the gun in a handkerchief and stuffed it into his pocket.

“You shot him? Did he attack you?” Greg questioned me.

“No, he looked like he was going to smother what I assumed was a child…. I thought it was possibly Catherine’s child in the crib. I couldn’t see into the crib clearly, only that he was holding a pillow over whatever it was. I ordered him to stop but he wouldn’t listen and when he lowered the pillow towards the crib, I just reacted and grabbed him. I overestimated my strength, and he flew into the wall. I hadn’t noticed that I caused the scratches on his face at first. I didn’t even realize I had scratched him. Then he started talking crazy about ruling the world from a prison cell. He said he would get the child again. He would get someone named Vincent. He got to his feet and started towards me again. I again ordered him to stop but he kept advancing so I had no choice but to fire.”

“Was he carrying a weapon or something?”

“He had his right hand concealed near his leg. I couldn’t be sure if he was carrying something or not.”

Greg went over to Gabriel’s body but couldn’t find anything in his hand. Looking around, Greg found a knife lying on the table next to the crib. He picked it up and placed it near Gabriel’s body.

“He had a knife. You were just defending yourself.” Greg told me afterwards.

“No, Greg. That’s not what happened!” I started to protest.

“Listen, this is how it’s gonna play out. Gabriel threatened you with a knife, you shot him in self-defense. End of story.” Greg stated.

“But it wasn’t me….”

“What do you mean ‘It wasn’t you’?”

“It felt different, I felt different. It felt like someone else was in control.”

“You’re talking crazy, Bennett. Who do you think was in control then?

“I can’t explain it. It felt like Catherine was the one holding the gun on Gabriel, not me.”

“Wait, what? Catherine Chandler?”

“Yeah, somehow. She decided she had to kill him instead of letting him be taken into custody. With his influence, he would have been able to continue his twisted game from his prison cell. You know it and I know it. I watched as my hand took aim with the gun, but I couldn’t stop my finger from pulling the trigger.”

“Not a word of this to anyone, Bennett. They’ll haul you off to the loony bin for sure if you give Catherine Chandler’s ghost as your reason for killing Gabriel.”

"I know you're right, Greg. It definitely sounds crazy, but I can't explain it any other way."

I heard Greg radio someone that their suspect was upstairs in the nursery, dead from a single gunshot wound. Every nerve in my body was numb. EMS arrived thirty seconds later and confirmed that Gabriel was dead.

"What are you going to tell Joe?" I asked with some concern.

"The truth, in a way. Gabriel advanced on you with a knife after you pulled him away from the crib as he looked to be attempting to smother something with a pillow, muttering some name. I couldn't quite make it out. You ordered him to drop the knife several times after he started towards you, and when he continued forward and raised the knife in your general direction, you fired in self-defense. When you finally checked the crib, it was empty."

"I don't know what to say, Greg."

"Don't say anything, especially about Cathy. You know how torn up Joe was after her death. He doesn't believe in spirits, and he'd never believe you were possessed by her spirit of all things. This will be between us, okay?"

"Okay, Greg. And thanks."

Greg radioed for forensics to process the scene and for the coroner to take care of Gabriel's body. Then he called Joe and told him what happened. Joe said he would take care of things and to have Diana meet him in the office in the morning for a full debriefing.

As Diana left, she whispered a silent 'Thank you' to Catherine and hoped she could finally rest in peace.

*****

Welcome To The Dark Side

by Michaela Buzsaki Struchova

Season 3 SND

Note: Certain lines were taken from the episodes ‘The Rest Is Silence’, ‘Invictus’ and ‘The Reckoning’ from the TV series Beauty and the Beast, written by Ron Koslow, George R.R. Martin, Alex Gansa & Howard Gordon.

***

“Where once was light, now darkness falls...”

Gollum’s Song (Fran Walsh)

Darkness… that’s what he had been most familiar with throughout his life. The darkness of the life he’d led since childhood… the darkness of the deeds he had committed countless times, the darkness of his heart and soul. This darkness was different though. The black nothingness gripped him with an iron hand, sucking the last remains of life out of him within seconds.

Open your eyes...

Was it only a blink of an eye since he had lost consciousness or had a whole lifetime passed him by? He didn’t know. The only thing he knew was that something was urging him to open his eyes and see, although he had no idea what it was. His heavy eyelids made an effort and bit by bit, they revealed an unknown scene before him.

“You took your time.” A deep, resounding voice with a hint of sarcasm made him slowly sit up and focus. He blinked, protecting his sight from the momentary dazzling light that was almost blinding him. When his eyes adjusted to the unexpected brightness, so much in contrast to the vast blackness from only a moment before, he began to recognise the shapes of his surroundings.

The blinding brightness faded, and he found himself in something he would describe as a giant lair, a wide underground space surrounded by rough, rocky walls reaching high up into the dark nothing, with damp and cool air and a soft mist rising from the ground, sneaking around him like a snake. Then finally his eyes stopped at the tall, bony figure in front of him, with piercing black eyes and dressed all in black.

“Is this---” he started, narrowing his cold, hazel eyes.

“It is the place where you need to be,” his counterpart answered with a chilling smile. “At least for the time being.”

“Could you be more specific? I am not used to incomplete answers, they irritate me.”

“I think you are clever enough to figure out the answer yourself shortly,” came the smug reply.

“Who are you?”

The tall man straightened himself up in full glory, lifting his head proudly. “I am he, who brought despair and destruction to many. He, who killed the weak, standing in his way. He, who fought the strongest and the most powerful. He, who battled… and lost… I am he, who was his first real enemy.” He paused for a moment, contemplating, but then added. “I have been waiting for you.”

His face was distorted by a proud grin. “I am your guide in this place. The man who was born John Pater and later became Paracelsus. I am truly pleased to have finally made your acquaintance, Gabriel…”

***

The newly deceased man observed his self-proclaimed guide with scepticism. “Paracelsus? You don’t look like a Renaissance alchemist.”

“Unfortunately, I am not the alchemist, although I am no stranger to the secrets of alchemy. However, I carry his name with utmost respect,” Paracelsus replied with importance.

“An imposter then, how charming.”

“No mortal dares call me that! You are lucky you are not one of them anymore.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes then noticed the sarcastic grin on Paracelsus’s face.

“Don’t you remember? You should. I must say the poetic justice in the manner of your demise was very intriguing.”

Gabriel suddenly remembered and grabbed his chest, then looked down at it… his snowy-white shirt was spotless.

“Yes, you were shot,” Paracelsus confirmed the fact.

“Is this a dream?” the crime lord asked, confused.

“No dream can bring back the lost ones, not even a nightmare.”

The former drug lord studied the man in front of him with a cold stare.

“Who are you?” he asked then.

“I already told you, I’m your guide,” Paracelsus answered, with a sigh.

“I don’t need a guide! I am no ignorant child!”

“Then you better stop behaving like one. Look around you and tell me if you can find your way.”

Gabriel’s eyes searched the space surrounding him. With great frustration and anger, he realised he didn’t know which way to go.

“Do you believe now?” Paracelsus raised his eyebrows with a mocking grin.

“The only thing I’ve ever believed in was my own strength and ability to make the world crawl at my feet!”

“Too much self-confidence and too little reality awareness has brought an untimely end to many men,” the man in black sighed and shook his head.

Gabriel wasn’t sure if he detected a hint of regret in his guide’s voice. “It was none of those that ended my life!” he remarked angrily.

“That is a matter of perception.”

Gabriel circled around Paracelsus with knitted brows, like a panther observing his prey, more curious about the mysterious man with each passing minute. “Who are you?? Whose first real enemy were you?”

“You are beginning to bore me, but very well.” The former Tunnel dweller straightened himself up proudly yet again, grinning. “Who was your greatest enemy and your greatest obsession at the same time?”

An image of a furious lion-faced man attempting to strike at him flashed in Gabriel’s memory.

“Precisely,” Paracelsus said without getting a reply. “I am the one who led you to him. I am the one who paved the way… to your death…”

Gabriel’s icy glare was full of hatred.

“I was like you once,” the man in black started, “full of ambitions and dreams greater than anyone could ever imagine. I thought there was nothing and no one in the world that could stop me from achieving my goal.”

He paused for a moment, then his dark eyes turned cold. “Then came the disillusionment and betrayal from those I thought would understand. My life changed from one day to the next. The need for revenge and retribution became my primary desire, even stronger than my hunger for power. And it all came to pass when he came.”

His companion raised his eyebrows. “He?”

“The most extraordinary being you and I have ever seen,” Paracelsus replied, with mild sentiment that passed in a blink of an eye. “He was but a baby when he entered my life, yet I could feel his power, his will to survive, his potential…”

For the first time since the two men met, he looked on the verge of losing self-control, as if the effort of bringing his darkest memories back to life cost him much more than he had bargained for.

“However, I was deceived… by my very own…” The anger in his voice was palpable. “That day, I swore I would get my revenge and emerge even greater than before.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes.  “This is all very dramatic, but could you cut it short?” he asked, his irritation growing.

Paracelsus pierced him with his look. “As far as I can see, you have nowhere to hurry off to.” He lifted his chin, annoyed with the display of disinterest by the newly deceased. “I am here for a reason, so I will decide what to do and when.”

“Very well.” Gabriel waved his hand then folded his arms on his chest, waiting for more.

“To make it brief,” Paracelsus continued, “the one I wanted to make great turned against me and in the end, he took my life, although not knowing who he struck at first. Ironically, it was the happiest day of my life, for at least once in his life, for a moment, he turned into what I always thought he could become…  the most powerful and merciless being on earth… a being to my image.” He smirked triumphantly.

“What does it all have to do with me?” Gabriel inquired with pretended disinterest.

“Nothing… and everything,” Paracelsus replied. “You know of whom I speak, so you may as well learn that I knew about you long before I was robbed of my life. We used to trade in…” he paused and chuckled, “let’s say, a similar industry, and your name had a ring in places of interest.”

“How come I’ve never heard of you?” the crime lord inquired with suspicion.

Paracelsus smirked with pride. “I was excellent in keeping… private,” he replied then returned to his original thought. “Anyway, I had heard that you were looking for the black book, so I decided it would be a handy instrument to lead you to Vincent.”

Things were getting too confusing for Gabriel, and he frowned. “Call me ignorant but just how did you expect that it would lead me to him? I mean… even with your intelligence, which I can see there are traces of, how could you have expected… arranged that it would lead me where you wanted me to be??”

It sounded all too incredulous.

Paracelsus raised his eyebrows and shook his head with a deep sigh. “I’ve always found it deflating to hear people doubt my skills,” he stated. Then he continued, still mildly offended. “Before I walked into my death, I spun a web around Catherine Chandler and Joe Maxwell. Of course, they believed everything. They have always been full of justice and truth but always missing the point,” he said with disdain. “Justice is only good when it serves a good purpose, and truth can easily be bent to our convenience. Maxwell is luckily too transparent concerning everything… from his work to his friends. It wasn’t difficult to invent a way to attract him since he is not in for bribes and blackmailing. He is so moral it’s sickening.”

“Unlike his ex-boss,” Gabriel remarked with a smirk.

“To my knowledge, Moreno always played on the side that suited him, traitor material of the finest calibre. Pity I had no opportunity to test his resilience. I’m sure I would have been highly entertained.”

“You like playing with people, don’t you?” Gabriel stated more than asked.

“I used to, but only if they were worthy opponents. Which, come to think of it, Moreno wasn’t.” He raised his eyebrows and grinned coldly. “That leads us to the maned man himself. I was sure my little charade would make a way for you to meet him at some point.”

Gabriel’s response was immediate and aggressive.

“Hell itself must have sent you my way…” he spat, with a despising look.

“That is another matter, which we are not here to answer,” Paracelsus replied as a matter of fact, before amusement coloured his voice, “but if you are honest with yourself, you must admit it was the most thrilling experience of your life.”

The crime lord’s lips slowly extended into a satisfied, devilish grin, matching the alchemist’s grin with equal satisfaction.

“So what happens now? Am I about to meet three ghosts that turn me into a saint?” Gabriel inquired then, with a challenging look.

“Don’t ruin this moment of perfection.” Paracelsus shook his head. “This is no Dickens.”

“By no means,” Gabriel agreed sarcastically.

“I will show you the past and…”

“I know my past. Thank you for the effort, but you can keep it.”

“I will show you the past and you will look at it through the eyes of those that were affected by it,” Paracelsus continued, resolved. “You will see the actions and their consequences. You will not judge with the eyes you had in your life, but with the eyes you have now.”

Looking at the man in front of him, whose stare of a reptile silently observed him with a mixture of pretended boredom, curiosity and resistance, Paracelsus understood there was only one way to go forward. He turned his head to the right, peering into the dark distance. He raised his hand and pointed in the same direction.

“We better start,” he said firmly, and the space ahead of them suddenly opened like a window.

Seeing the revealed image before him, Gabriel incredulously narrowed his eyes, and as if pulled by a magnet, he made a few steps closer to it…

***

“We are lost! We can never go home...”

Gollum’s Song (Fran Walsh)

The scruffy-looking small bedroom was cast in darkness. Only the moonlight from outside managed to faintly break through the window, illuminating the interior crammed with three children’s beds, a small desk with two chairs and an old, heavy wardrobe standing on the wall opposite the window. "There was silence except for the sound of heavy breathing coming from one corner, suggesting the presence of someone."

In that corner, a small figure of a skinny, dark-haired boy, of about seven years of age, was crouching and shaking. He appeared as if he wanted to completely hide from the world, but the limited space of the bedroom prevented him from doing so. His haunted hazel eyes were open, but he was visibly holding back tears. He was afraid.

Suddenly, the creaky door opened with a slow and heavy motion, bringing a ray of bright light into the dark space. The boy turned his head in the door’s direction with horror. He saw the shadow of a tall, bony man appear in the doorway. He took two heavy steps to enter the room, coming into the moonlight so the boy could see him.

“Come with me, son,” the man said, sounding like a robot, after a moment of staring at his child with a stony expression on his face.

“I don’t want to,” replied the boy with a shaky voice, bracing his knees with his arms tighter.

The man was relentless. “It is not up for discussion. Come with me.”

“I said I’m not going!” repeated the boy, this time with more vigour.

Without a word, his father approached, grabbed his thin arm, and led him with force out into the light of the corridor. Although the boy tried to resist with all his strength, it was useless. Suddenly, he stopped fighting when he saw another man standing nearby and waiting.

“Hello, Gabriel,” the man said, his ear-to-ear smile making the child cringe and shudder. “I’ve been looking forward to this moment for a long time. We are very happy that you will join us, young man.”

In the last attempt to change his mind, the boy cast his pleading eyes at his father, but the only thing he saw was the face of a stone - pale and lifeless.

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” the stranger said while shaking the other man’s hand and taking Gabriel’s little hand.

“Daddy, please!!” the child cried, but he was already being led away.

Something in him cracked at once and he exploded. “I hate you!!! I will always hate you!!!” he spat screaming, kicking the stranger in the calves and trying to escape, without success.

The last image he had of his father was one he couldn’t define in all his years on earth afterwards. It resembled a soldier on a battlefield seeing his companions lying all around - speechless, helpless and beaten.

***

“He sold me… sold me!” Gabriel hissed, ignoring the prickling in his eyes.

“Did he ever tell you why?” Paracelsus asked without a hint of emotion.

“My father was never a man of many words. I’ve heard my brothers say that he used to talk much more before my mother died. I guess that’s why he chose me back then, so I wouldn’t remind him that I killed his wife by coming into the world!”

“Is that why you strangled him eight years after this?”

Gabriel turned his head from the image that had faded into black and pierced his guide with his angry look.

“Do you know what hate is?” he asked, tilting his head. The sharp features of his face appeared even sharper.

“Of course, it was the basis of my existence for more than thirty years.”

“Then you must understand. That day, I swore to myself that I would pay him back one day, with interest. And I did, with pleasure.”

Paracelsus stated coldly. “He sold you because he needed money to feed your brothers and because he thought you would be well looked after by the man and his wife, who couldn’t have children.” He paused and sighed. “All he wished for you was to have the chance of a good life. He had no idea that those weasels only needed someone for free labour around their house.”

There were only a few moments in Gabriel’s existence that had ever surprised him. This was one of them. For a moment, he went numb, unsure whether to believe the words or not.

“What difference does it make?” he asked eventually, struggling to pretend indifference. He was trying to hold on to his pride with all his might. No one will ever make me feel guilty. No one!

“Maybe none. It wasn’t your first murder, after all. I have to say, you were quite proficient at your craft, for a teenager,” Paracelsus replied, then added. “I only thought you should get familiar with all the facts.”

Seeing that Gabriel stubbornly refused to discuss the matter any further, he changed the topic. “Anyway, your journey to the past isn’t finished yet. There is more.”

He pointed to his right again, and the other man’s look reluctantly followed. The window in the space was still open, although veiled in black. However, it took only a moment before it revealed another scene…

***

“Where once was love, love is no more...”

Gollum’s Song (Fran Walsh)

The amber light of countless candles illuminated a cave-like chamber. It was dominated by a large antique double bed, covered by an intricately hand-crafted colourful quilt. A set of nightstands on either side of the bed completed the picture of a cosy resting place. Not far away from the bed stood a wooden crib. It was empty.

On the opposite side of the rocky chamber stood a young woman, with long, dark hair, wearing all sorts of different worn clothes, combined in an unusual but tidy style. She was leaning slightly against the wall behind her. She looked forlorn, in need of physical support. Her eyes, dark but warm, were staring at the empty crib in silent and sorrowful contemplation.

“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry,” she whispered to herself, trembling. “Please, forgive me, my darling boy… but you’ll be safe now.”

She smiled and quickly wiped away a tear from her face, eager to look as composed as possible.

Her contemplation was interrupted when someone else present in the chamber approached her. He was tall and lean, clad all in long black clothes. When he stopped by her side, his oblong face came into view. Its features were very distinctive - dark, sharp eyes, long nose, dark beard, combed-back short hair… and a wide, almost disturbing grin.

“I’m glad you’re back, John,” the woman said hesitantly.

“So am I,” he replied, still grinning. “I’ve had a lot of time to think. All the disturbing events have caused too much pain already. I decided it is time to move on and start over.”

His voice was like honey - deep and smooth, almost liquid. It didn’t sound right. The icy look of his eyes only confirmed it.

John walked over to the large table in the middle of the chamber and conjured up a bottle of red wine. He poured some of it into two copper chalices, his back turned to her. Then he returned, offering one of the chalices. He was still smiling, but the woman’s eyes revealed suspicion.

“To a new beginning,” he said, raising his chalice. His dark eyes fixed on her, waiting for her to drink, but then he put the chalice to his lips and took a gulp.

Seeing this, the woman decided to follow him and she drank the wine he offered her. It took only a few seconds for her to start gasping for air. Her hands reached for him in a desperate attempt to get help, but when, despite her agony and horror, she noticed the merciless glare of his dark eyes and the disturbing wide grin on his face, she understood the truth.

Her already limp body fell to the ground and her now lifeless eyes stared into the distance…

***

Gabriel was staring at the scene with confusion. The image of the woman lying dead on the cold stony floor lingered in the air in front of him like a tapestry.

“Who was she?” he asked curiously.

“Anna… she was my wife,” Paracelsus answered, his voice surprisingly quiet and less assured.

There was only one question that could have been asked. “Why…?”

Paracelsus sighed and chuckled in an attempt to cover a hint of melancholy. “Because she took away the thing I wanted the most. Something I could have led to true greatness and that would have helped me acquire infinite power.” He pointed at the scene again. “Look into her eyes.”

Gabriel did as he was told and looked closely at the woman’s eyes, that suddenly became the sole focus of the scene floating in the air. They turned into a new window, flashing various images in succession.

Anna, running around what looked like tunnels, laughing and constantly looking back as if checking on someone…

Anna, with a sad face, walking down a dark, snowy alley, then suddenly stopping and looking at a pile of boxes next to the dustbins at a building with a large sign “St Vincent’s Hospital” …

Anna, with a glowing face and a beaming smile, holding a small bundle in her arms, looking down at it with love…

Anna, with a disturbed and worried look in her eyes, watching John fuss about and talk to the bundle in the crib - his face an image of obsession…

Anna, with teary eyes, passing the bundle to some bearded, frowning man with troubled grey eyes…

The bearded man, revealing the face hidden in the bundle - the face resembling a young lion…

Gabriel inadvertently took a step back, with a quiet gasp. He tilted his head, and his hawk eyes couldn’t stop staring at the face of the unusual baby that started fading into the air until it vanished like smoke.

“Vincent?” he asked incredulously to get a confirmation of what was obvious.

“Yes,” Paracelsus replied quite coldly. “The thing I wanted the most in the whole world… at least at that time.”

The circle was closing. Gabriel only now began to truly understand why this man, with the eagle-eye stare, was sent to meet him on the threshold between Heaven and Hell. They had much more in common than just their criminal past, fun at manipulating people and desire for boundless power. They shared the potential ultimate weapon to that power. They shared Vincent.

Was Gabriel disturbed by the fact that Paracelsus murdered his wife in an act of revenge for taking away the thing he wanted and needed most to obtain his goal? Not in the least, so it seemed. After all, the alchemist wasn’t the only one who ever killed a woman. Isabelle...

He was fourteen and she was sixteen back then. He had been living on the street for five years, having escaped from his so-called new parents, having had enough of slaving for them for nothing, not even a single sign of human affection. That was when he met Isabelle in the part of Lower Manhattan formerly known as Five Points (where the infamous Al Capone, one of Gabriel’s inspirations, started his gangster career).

She was a breath of fresh air in his stale, polluted and miserable life, at a time when he had enough of being the poor, downtrodden boy without a single thing in his possession. She was fresh, cultivated, gentle, graceful and beautiful… as beautiful a girl as Gabriel had ever seen before. He had to have her. He never had anything, but he swore he would have her and love her. His perseverance was rewarded, she fell into his arms almost too easily. But then, the realisation struck him.

Isabelle was too beautiful to remain unpolluted. Life had taught him that humans are susceptible to deceit and betrayal. Sooner or later, he would lose her to someone else, once his love wasn’t enough for her. He had to preserve her purity and perfection so nothing could spoil it, and there was only one way to do it, he had to kill her. So he did.

“Yes, you beat me there,” Paracelsus interrupted the train of Gabriel’s thoughts. “I was eighteen when I took someone’s life for the first time.”

“How do you…?” Gabriel stuttered, uncomprehending.

“Oh, please…” His guide rolled his eyes. “Remember where we are. Are you truly still surprised by anything here?”

“No,” admitted Gabriel after a moment, with a sarcastic grin, raising his eyebrows. Then his face grew more serious.

“Did you ever regret it? Did you ever think, What if I hadn’t done it?” he asked the uncharacteristic question for a man who destroyed so many without a blink of an eye.

Paracelsus lowered his eyes for a moment. “Yes, I did ask myself that question once,” he answered truly, letting his guard drop for the first time during their exchange.

“And?”

“And I moved on and never asked it of myself again.” Paracelsus paused, his eyes unusually vulnerable. “The war has ruined us for everything…” [5]

He blinked, and the expression on his face changed back to normal - cool and distanced.

“Well, then,” he said, shaking off the previous conversation topic. “Shall we have a look at your last stop in the past?”

He barely finished speaking when the floating window opened again…

***

“Don’t say - goodbye, don’t say - I didn’t try...”

Gollum’s Song (Fran Walsh)

The light of torches attached to the walls partially penetrated the darkness in the rocky tunnel. A blonde-haired boy of not yet twenty, dressed in seemingly randomly combined old clothes, was sitting near an entrance to another tunnel, listening. His face was distressed, worried… heartbroken. He was listening to sounds that surely had to remain hidden from the world of people. They were the heart wrenching roars of an animal…

The sound of shuffling feet interrupted his pained contemplation, and he turned his head. He saw three people approaching him with worried looks in their eyes. Two were dressed in a similar style: an older man with grey hair and a grey beard, holding a makeshift walking stick, and a half-bald man in his late thirties. The third person was a woman - it was Catherine Chandler.

After the older man patted the boy’s head, the younger man stayed back with the boy, while the other two carefully crossed over to the other tunnel.

“How long do you think this will last?” the man with sharp and honest eyes on his eager face asked the boy.

“As long as he needs,” the latter one offered. “Been through this before, remember?”

“Yes, but the first time, he was still a child, and the second time, he was drugged. This is different.”

“Everything different in his case. Mouse will stay here. Mouse will help if needed.”

Catherine Chandler managed to take only the first step towards the dark cave where the roars were coming from when her companion halted her sharply.

“No! You can’t!” His eyes widened with horror.

“I must,” she replied firmly.

“Catherine, please!”

“Father, he is my life,” she insisted, desperate determination brightening her big eyes. “Without him, there is nothing…”

The man she called Father hesitated for a while, but soon realised there was no way to stop her. He briefly squeezed her hands, then reluctantly let her go, watching her taking step after step towards the terrifying unknown.

Catherine kept on walking, careful but resolved. Her eyes widened, her mouth was slightly opened, as if she needed extra oxygen to cope with the adrenaline that vibrated in her veins. When she finally reached the cave, neither apprehension nor the ever-louder growls could stop her. She dared to enter it, and her eyes searched for the source of the desperate animal sounds, focusing her look into the dark corner of the cave.

And then he appeared… suddenly running toward her, clad in ragged clothes, with an angry roar and wild look in his eyes, raising his right hand to strike, when…

“Vincent!!”

Catherine’s scream stopped the deadly blow as the lion-faced man’s features slowly relaxed, locking his widened, shocked eyes with the eyes of the woman he had just almost killed. His breathing slowed, and losing consciousness, he slid down to the ground, taking Catherine with him…

***

“Oh, brilliant,” Gabriel stated with annoyance as the scene in front of his eyes dissipated like smoke. “Now that it was getting entertaining.”

“That was not the point of you watching it,” Paracelsus replied dryly. “Besides, you obviously know that Vincent didn’t kill her.”

The crime lord rolled his eyes, demanding more. “Come on, humour me. What was the outcome of this situation?”

Paracelsus smirked. “Oh, you know what. You held it in your arms.”

That silenced Gabriel for a moment. Then his eyes narrowed, and he absently scratched his chin. Fascinating...  “Interesting… She walked into that cave without hesitation, despite knowing she might never walk out again,” he said.

“A very resilient woman in possession of a great amount of strength and stubbornness, as you learned yourself. Foolish, really, but I admit, you have to admire that. I had the opportunity to witness it with my own eyes.”

“Do you care to elaborate?” Gabriel asked, more out of curiosity than real interest.

“No,” came the simple answer. “It would be of no more use to you than what you have already seen, and even less to me.”

Gabriel glanced back to the space where he had just watched the dramatic moment between Vincent and Catherine unfold.

“I wonder why he stopped,” he mused, his piercing eyes still seeing the scene from a few moments ago. “All that strength, all the power and ability… I never understood why he detested using that power to do whatever he could to become the greatest in the world.”

He turned back to his guide. “The world could have been his. I offered him a partnership, but he refused it… he refused to kill anyone without any other reason than defending lives, even when I provoked him.”

“The same happened with me,” Paracelsus stated. “Twice, he had the chance to take my life at our physical encounter, and twice, the annoying moral code his human part lives by prevented him from doing so.” He raised his eyebrows. “Foolish? Probably. Missed opportunities? Most definitely. Would he have missed the opportunity again if I hadn’t poisoned his mind with lies and driven him to the edge of insanity? Oh, yes, I sadly believe so.”

“So why didn’t he kill her?” Gabriel enquired.

“For the same reason you thought you did. Love.”

That confused the former crime lord more than anything before. “What in the devil’s name are you talking about?”

Paracelsus chuckled. “Love… that strange, often superfluous emotion… human’s greatest strength and weakness at the same time. It has many faces. Vincent didn’t kill Catherine for the love he holds for her, which, even in his insanity, he didn’t forget about. He would have rather died than harm her. You wanted to kill her because you love yourself. You were obsessed with the idea of having the ultimate weapon all in your power - her and Vincent’s child. She was of no use to you after giving birth, so she was to become collateral damage.”  He smirked. “Behold where it has got you.”

Anger flashed in Gabriel’s eyes.

“I don’t need your preaching, imposter!” he barked. “You don’t appear exactly to be living happily either.”

Paracelsus chuckled. “My life is of no consequence here. I died reaching my goal, which is something you, unfortunately, cannot claim.”

A moment of silence interrupted their exchange. Paracelsus observed the newcomer with unfeigned interest. Only a few people had ever come close to equalling his ambitions and criminal skills. To see this cold man learning to cope with his new status and, unbeknownst to him, choosing his next path was a welcome distraction for him.

“So what now?” Gabriel asked when the silence stretched, unwilling to show any emotions or reveal his inner train of thought.

Paracelsus’s deep chuckle reverberated in his chest. “Now the time has come for the curtain to fall… after a little epilogue…”

His grin annoyed Gabriel, who was more irritated than ever, but he decided to humour the man in black and focused one last time on the imaginary window…

***

“So in the end, I’ll be what I will be…”

Gollum’s Song (Fran Walsh)

The amber candlelight and the subdued light of several hanging lamps with colourful stained-glass shades illuminated a rocky chamber. It was dominated by a large double bed, covered with colourful quilts, and right beside it stood a vintage wooden crib. A soft mewling sound came from the crib, a call for attention.

“I’m here, Jacob,” Vincent’s soothing voice reassured the baby after he carefully took him in his arms. “You are safe now, always.”

The child stopped fussing immediately, fascinated by the face of his father. Two pairs of blue eyes locked, and the boy’s little mouth turned into a smile.

“No one can tell me, nobody knows, where the wind comes from, where the wind goes.”[6] Vincent recited with enthusiasm to his son. “It’s flying from somewhere as fast as it can, I couldn’t keep up with it, not if I ran.” [7]

“But if I stopped holding the string of my kite, it would blow with the wind for a day and a night...”[8] Catherine’s soft voice seamlessly took over from Vincent’s, as she appeared by his side, followed by a beaming smile and a kiss on the baby’s forehead. She was dressed in a cream-coloured, high-neck woollen dress, with long sleeves covering most of her hands. Its style matched in a way with Vincent’s multilayered woollen and leather attire. That could mean only one thing…

Catherine looked at the man now sitting in an antique high-back chair with the baby in his arms and shared a gentle kiss with him.

“How is he?” she asked then, unable to stop smiling, letting her hand rest on his shoulder.

Vincent looked back at the child in his arms, wrapped in hand-sewn swaddling clothes.

“Fearless,” he replied proudly. “Wonderful.”

“Such a miracle…”

He turned his head to see her face again. “The miracle of love,” he remarked softly.

Slowly standing up, he walked over to the bed and sat down, his eyes inviting Catherine to join him. She accepted immediately and sat down next to him. He passed her the baby, nesting it comfortably in its mother’s arms.

“And then when I found it, wherever it blew,” she continued reciting. “I should know that the wind had been going there too.”[9]

“So then I could tell them where the wind goes... But where the wind comes from nobody knows...”[10]

Vincent’s voice faded into silence as the boy closed his big blue eyes, happily falling asleep in the comforting presence of his parents...

***

Gabriel didn’t notice his clenched fists until they started going numb. With gritted teeth, he watched the scene that wasn’t supposed to be.

She should be dead! The child was supposed to be mine, mine only!

The unbearable feeling of having lost what he thought was meant to be his stung him like a thorn one can’t get out. Just a few days ago, even the thought of failure was unimaginable, unacceptable… impossible! And yet it happened and all he could do was face it.

His body started to relax, his temper subsided, and his eyes turned from the raging fire back into ice. Once, he owned nations and had the world at his feet. Now he knew he was beaten, both in life and in death.

“Do you understand now?” Paracelsus broke the silence, making Gabriel jerk, speaking with his father’s voice. “Violence can be satisfying, but it won’t make you happy,” he continued in Anna’s voice. “Death… shall have no dominion,” he added, impersonating Catherine.

Gabriel suddenly shivered. He was never afraid of anything, nothing ever made him back off or doubt himself, but he looked truly shaken at that moment.

“Stop it!” he shouted. “I’m not playing this game!”

“The ultimate power lies in something quite different,” Paracelsus said, speaking with Vincent’s voice. His black eyes stared at the shook-up Gabriel with an intensity that made him very uncomfortable. “And I think you know now what it is,” he finished, speaking with his own voice again.

“If you’re attempting to turn me into a soft loser, I can spare you the time,” sneered Gabriel.

“I am not attempting anything,” Paracelsus replied dryly. “I am a mere intermediary. You choose your own path, in life… and death.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious where I am going,” Gabriel remarked with a snigger. “By the way, which path did you choose?” he asked. “Although looking at the colour of your clothes, I would say it’s pretty obvious, too.” A grin distorted his sharp features.

Paracelsus tilted his head, raising his thick eyebrows. “Do you really think clothes make men? That thought has always been the greatest mistake of every man - appearances often deceive. Neither life nor death can be determined merely by what we see.”

“Life and death make a perfect circle, like a ring that has no beginning and no end,” Gabriel interjected. “A serpent eating its own tail forever. Violence eats on violence, murder on murder, vengeance on vengeance, century after century for all eternity.”

“And only you can decide - remaining a part of that serpent or letting go of it.”

Gabriel’s eyes absently wandered around the space surrounding them, filled with dark rocks, mist and almost ethereal blue light.  All his dreams, ambitions and desires emerged from his memory like a long sequence of flashbacks - his grand plans, his successes, as well as his failures. They all mingled in one fast filmstrip, haunting him and making his head spin.

He grasped his temples and frowned in pain, attempting to silence all the voices of the past in his mind. All the blame, the hurt and pain of losses, all the lies he ever told, the exhilarating moments of his wins, all the dead ones lining the path to his victories... Gabriel’s breath became ragged, the headache was becoming unbearable. Unable to hold it within anymore, he let out a terrible scream.

“Enough!!”

Miraculously, like with a wave of a magic wand, the voices quieted, crawling back into his memories, where they belonged. His laboured breathing slowed, his hands slowly fell back down, and his features relaxed.

“The ghost of the past came to haunt you?” Paracelsus asked dryly, with a grin.

Gabriel’s icy glare was enough of an answer. Then he exhaled loudly, briefly closing his eyes.

“I… I’m confused,” he said then truthfully. His usual self-confidence was gone with the scream he uttered just a moment ago.

“So are they all when they come here,” Paracelsus stated. “Especially the truly evil ones. And frightened.”

The evil ones… Yes, he was evil, more evil than many of those he admired during his lifetime. He was never frightened, though, not since the day he was sold. Building thick walls of want and disturbing cruelty, he erased any chance of being afraid for as long as he could remember. But those walls crumbled into dust the moment he had crossed over…

“What happens to me now?” he asked, trying to sound and look unphased by the events that had just transpired.

“Two paths, two choices,” Paracelsus remarked, looking at two pathways that had appeared ahead of them as the mist suddenly lifted, one ending in blackness, the other in amber light. “Only one decision.”

Gabriel stared at the paths, one of which was to determine his fate in the afterlife. It seemed obvious; there could be only one place for someone like him. But what if…

“So, what will your choice be?” Paracelsus asked with genuine interest.

Gabriel glanced at his guide one more time, his face unreadable. Then he took a deep breath, lifted his chin and took the first step into the unknown.

*****

Relativity of Truth

by PearlAnn SnowStar

Catherine woke up with a start and looked at Vincent lying next to her. “You, you…”

Vincent opened his eyes and noticed an angry Catherine staring at him. Puzzled, he asked, “Catherine, what is wrong?”

She smacked him in the chest. “If you EVER have anyone asking you to strip or give them a kiss, say no.”

He wondered what he had done now. “Catherine, what are you talking about?”

Catherine took a deep breath. “Oh, Vincent, it’s, it’s…” She gently kissed him. “I’m sorry, it’s just this dream.” She kissed him again. “I’m sorry, this dream, I was upset.”

“It’s all right.”

She sighed. “I’m going to take care of myself and calm myself down. I’ll be back.”

He sat up. “Will you tell me about the dream?”

She looked at him. “OK, later, I’m still upset that you allowed women to ogle you.”

I did?

“Catherine, you’re my only true love, my soul, my heart.”

She put on a robe. “Later.”

She walked out of their chamber.

***

Catherine and Vincent sat on a ledge in the Chamber of the Falls. They both were leaning against the rocky wall.

“Vincent, I’m sorry.” She looked at him. “The dream seemed so real and well…”

He pulled her close. “You don’t have to tell me about it, if you don’t want to. After all, it was just a dream.”

She looked up at him. “It felt so real. At first, I kept telling myself that this was all a dream. I kept trying to wake up and couldn’t. I felt as if this life that we share now wasn’t reality.”

The way she talked about the dream, he felt how troubled she was about it. “You became lost and deeply concerned.”

She nodded her head. “So much that when I woke, I thought I was still…in the dream. And I was so jealous and mad.”

He looked at her as she started to laugh.

“As if you would behave in that way. What did I eat last night?”

“We had William’s famous pot roast.”

She shook her head. “Just an expression. Promise you won’t get upset with me now? After all, dreams are an extension of a person’s thoughts.”

“Or premonitions.”

“Better not be. After all, we are now joined and have two young children, with another on the way.”

“I’m glad that Samantha agreed to help Mary keep an eye on Jacob and Caroline for a few minutes.”

“Me too, and I’m glad we won’t be interrupted by anyone. Oh, Vincent,” she gently stroked his face. “I need to talk to you about it.”

“You are troubled by what the dream revealed to you?”

She nodded. “I don’t think it could happen. But maybe it could?”

“Tell me.”

She leaned against him and started to tell him about the dream.

*****

Catherine knew she had fallen asleep next to Vincent. So how did she get here? She looked around. She was in a hotel she did not recognize. She continued to walk past the people milling about, past the front desk, and past a mirror. She looked at her reflection and what looked back was herself, in her twenties, wearing a black jacket on top of a black shirt and pants. She was also wearing what appeared to be black go-go boots.

How odd.

She heard the giggles of a group of women. She turned and noticed the group sitting on chairs in a corner. There, on their t-shirts, were various images of…Vincent?  One almost naked?

This is just a dream. This is just a dream.

She took a deep breath. Gathering herself, she walked over to the group of women.

“Say, look, it’s someone who looks like our Cathy,” one of the women, who looked to be in her sixties, spoke up.

“Hi.” She smiled. “My name is Cathy, by the way. What did you mean by ‘our Cathy’?”

“Don’t you know?” Another woman, maybe in her forties, looked at her. “We are fans of the show, New York’s Beast and His Beauty.”

“That’s an odd title for a TV show.” Catherine looked at her.

“Yeah, well, that’s what they all said.” Another woman had spoken up. She had red hair and looked like Diana Bennett. Catherine almost gasped.

“Can you fill me in on the show?” Catherine asked.

“Yes.” A woman in her twenties jumped up. Her shirt showed a bare-chested Vincent on a motorcycle. “The show just started streaming last year. It’s on the Women’s Network. We got wind of it on social media and all. The critics said that it was stupid and wouldn’t find an audience. That people would not believe it.”

“As if we believe in Batman, Superman, and Iron Man,” said the woman, who had told her that she looked like her Cathy. “I’m Sapphire, by the way. And yes, that is my real name.”

The woman in her forties spoke up. “I’m Katie.”

The redhead spoke up. “I’m Lisa, Lisa Campbell.”

This is a dream, this is a dream, remember, this is a dream, Cathy.

Soon the others introduced themselves to her.

Sapphire smiled at her. “Have a seat. I take it you did not see the first ten episodes?”

Catherine shook her head.

“Well, some woman had a grand idea, her name was Lana Langston, and thought why the heck not? She loved stories of Fae and Human mating and mostly happily ever after stories. She had a friend who worked at the network. She pitched the idea to her, and the friend got a friend and, well, it aired on June first. It was a summer thing.”

“Yeah, and immediately the critics, mostly men, hated it. HATED IT!” Katie said.

“Right,” Sapphire continued. “But we women were hooked. I guess men have a hard time accepting a lot of women wanted to mate with a non-human. Their poor egos got bruised.”

“Yeah and too bad for them,” Katie said. “Lana was smart. She took advice from the fans about ideas for some stories. And she mostly had women writers.”

“And we made the show take off,” Sapphire said. “Women’s Network said it’s one of their highest-ranking shows.”

“So, after summer,” Lisa piped up, “they mentioned that it was only scheduled for ten eps and that it was going to be streamed and that was that.

What they didn’t realize was that millions of women, maybe a few guys, too, but mostly women, started fan clubs and downloaded the show on YouTube and started asking for posters, products and, well, this year, the guy, Vinnie, shows up in a special article in a movie zine.”

“Vinnie?” Catherine looked puzzled.

“Yeah.” Sapphire grinned. “Seems the idea for the story that Lana pitched, as well as produced and all, was based on a real non-human. Well, maybe he’s human and has lycanthropy. Anyway, he lives up in the mountains around some small town between Phoenix and Scottsdale, Arizona. He lives with his parents, they adopted him when he was young. And the small town they live in welcomed him into the community.”

I’m going to ask and maybe I shouldn’t.

“What were their names?” Catherine inquired.

“Margaret and Jacob Wellington,” Katie said.

Oh God, no, I’ve got to wake up.

“Yeah, seems Vinnie was home-schooled, and a couple of people in this small town who accepted him as part of their community were really protective of him. Lana happened to be taking a vacation in Arizona. She was going to the Grand Canyon, but decided to veer off the highway to the Canyon and found this small town. She noticed him at the corner store.” Sapphire looked at her phone. “It’s all here. How she had to make sure no one in the government took him away to dissect him and that he would not be kidnapped by aliens or whatever.”

“Some of that stuff ain’t true,” Katie said.

“Yes, but…” Sapphire started to blush, “God, is he EVER good-looking. I want a Beast in my bed, for sure.”

All the women agreed and cried out “YES.”

Sapphire started to read out loud to Catherine all the details of this convention. How they got together and now, August first, here they were. It was the first one.

One by one, the ladies showed her the con schedule. Three days of discussions and panels, and there was a place to buy posters. They told her how Lana was going to come for a panel, as well as the cast. How they are going to work out a way to air some more eps soon.

Catherine felt a headache coming on, as well as intense jealousy.

Sapphire commented, “This ‘Vinnie,’ it seems, was enjoying all this attention. And he got the idea to be the lead in his own TV Show. Even took on the name ‘Devin Jacobs.’ And here we thought it was an actor in make-up.”

I must wake up. I must wake up.

Soon more women arrived and headed toward the meeting rooms of the hotel.

The women who were sitting got up. All of them started to walk toward the meeting rooms.

“We’re going in now,” Katie called out, “did you sign up for the con, too?”

“No,” Catherine said. “I didn’t even know about it.”

Suddenly the women stopped and started to scream and jump up and down as they were looking at something behind her.

“Lucy!” That was Vincent’s voice. Catherine turned and there he was.

“It’s Vinnie! It’s Vinnie!” The women sounded like they were worshipping a god.

‘Vinnie’ walked up to Catherine, grabbed her, and tilted her backward as he gave her a passionate kiss. It had all the women screaming, moaning, and crying.

Catherine didn’t know if she should slap this ‘Vinnie’ or not. After the kiss, she pushed him away and said firmly, “My…name…is…Catherine.”

Vinnie grinned. “Of course, babe. Cathy, my heart, my soul, care to cruise the area? Or should we go up to your room?”

This was NOT her Vincent. This was an arrogant, self-centered Beast.

“I don’t think so,” Catherine angrily replied.

“He can come to mine,” Katie piped up and walked over to Vinnie.

He put his arms around her and kissed her cheek.

I’ve got to get out of here.

“Look,” Catherine spoke up, “I must be going…”

“All right, all right, everyone, keep calm.” A female security guard walked up to the excited group and a grinning Vinnie. The guard looked at Vinnie and winked. He winked back.

HOW DARE HE? He’s not my Vincent. He’s flirting with them all! No matter how old!

Catherine took another deep breath. He looked like Vincent, but he wasn’t. And a rose is just a rose didn’t apply here.

Wake up, wake up. Why can’t I wake up?

Catherine watched as Vinnie posed with the women, who were taking lots of pictures.

“Lucy, why don’t you stand next to Vinnie?” Katie called out to her.

Before Catherine could do anything, this Vinnie grabbed her and hugged her as the women kept taking pictures with their phones.

This is madness!

Catherine spoke up. “Look, my name is Catherine Chandler and not Lucy. I just look like her.”

Vinnie grinned at her in a wicked way. “OK, OK, method acting, I dig it. But look, the Prez of my fan club is coming over.”

Rebecca?

“Oh, this is fantastic.” ‘Rebecca’ reached out and shook Catherine’s hand. “They said you may not show.”

“Who are you?” Catherine inquired.

“Guess.” The woman was dressed provocatively. Catherine noticed Vinnie leering at her.

“Rebecca?”

“See,” the woman patted her arm, “you just pretended not to know me.”

Vinnie grabbed Catherine’s hand. “Let’s go into the con!”

With that, Rebecca turned, with Vinnie dragging Catherine along, as the others followed.

***

Catherine was exhausted. Not only did she not wake up, but the real ‘Lucy’ arrived and did not mind that someone looked like her. Luckily, Catherine made her way eventually out of that insane convention.

She walked out of the hotel and heard a motorcycle being revved up. She turned and saw Vinnie on a motorcycle, with another young woman, who wore a very low-cut tank top and really short shorts with knee-high boots, sitting behind him.

“He’s an arrogant bastard.” She turned and looked at Lucy. “But he’s the star of our show. His parents told me that in his teenage years, he played around with a few young ladies in town. They had to make sure he practiced safe sex. Then Lana came and now…”

“It’s a wonder he doesn’t get arrested for something,” Catherine said.

Lucy looked at her. “Yeah, well, I’m glad I stopped myself from falling in love with him. He would only break my heart. There is no faithful bone in his body. Being the nice Vinnie on the show was all acting on his part. The guy is a heart-breaker and a narcissist.”

“I must wake up now, I must,” Catherine murmured.

“What do you mean, wake up now?” Lucy inquired.

“Let’s just say my ‘Vinnie’ wouldn’t act like this at all. He’s shy and sometimes insecure, but he is always kind and a gentleman.”

Lucy grabbed her arm. “You must tell me more. Another Vinnie? But more faithful and loving?”

Catherine sighed. “Yes.”

“Wow, I thought Vinnie was a rarity. But then, you also look like me, so I guess the unusual does happen.”

Lucy let go of her arm. “Hard to think I may have to do ten more episodes with this guy. Did you know in one episode he was just supposed to rub my back as he held me, but instead, he grabbed my butt. Luckily, they called cut.”

“You could have pressed charges against him,” Catherine said.

Lucy shrugged. “I sort of liked it, so no.”

Catherine looked up.

“What do you see?” Lucy asked.

“Nothing, I just want to wake up.”

Lucy gave her a puzzled look.

“This has been the most unusual of days, that’s all.” Catherine sighed.

“Look, there is a place about two blocks away from here. We can walk over there, and maybe the lady there can help you with waking up.”

“Is she a psychiatrist?”

“Oh, Goddess, no, please, those people just want to take money from the drug companies and drug people up.”

Catherine chucked. “Not all of them are like that.”

“Yeah, well, keep saying this is a dream, and you’ll wind up going to one.”

Lucy motioned to her to follow her, so Catherine did.

***

Catherine looked at the sign on the building: The Waters Do See.

Lucy laughed. “Boy, the expression on your face.”

“It’s just that I’ve heard that phrase before.”

“Oh, you went to a psychic before?” Lucy had a grin on her face. “Let’s go in.”

Catherine walked in and the whole décor blew her away. It looked like she had entered one of the chambers Below. This one had all kinds of books on the supernatural. It also had a sign: “No Satanic Books; Dark Magic-Only Light Magic.”

“Ah, I have visitors.” Catherine turned. This was too much. The lady looked like Narcissa, but with deep black eyes.

“You look…” Catherine stammered. “You look like…”

‘Narcissa’ waved her hand. “Someone you know, someone from a dream?”

All Catherine could do was nod.

“I’m Narcissa.”

Of course you are. Catherine did not feel well.

“Lucy, you came back to see da old woman.” Narcissa walked over to Lucy and hugged her.

“Yes. I think Catherine could use a bit of help here,” Lucy said.

“Ah, da woman looks like you, but is not you.” Narcissa walked over to Catherine. “Private session. No charge. Take you in back.”

Catherine turned to look at Lucy, who said, “It’s Ok. It’s where a bowl of water is; that’s what Narcissa uses to make predictions.”

Right.

Narcissa guided her to the back room where there was a table with a bowl of water on it. There were two chairs next to the table, one on one side, by the water, and the other opposite it.

Narcissa motioned to Catherine to sit down as she took her seat next to the waters.

Catherine took a deep breath. “I’m in some kind of terrible nightmare and I can’t wake up.”

Narcissa smiled. “This is but a dream and not reality, or is your reality the dream?”

Catherine nodded as she asked, “Why can’t I wake up?”

Narcissa moved the bowl of water toward her. “Look into da waters.”

All Catherine saw was herself. “I just see my reflection.”

“Look again, child.”

Then Catherine saw it, but instead of ‘Vinnie’ it was her Vincent. At least, it must be her Vincent, as he was wearing his usual outfit. But he was on a motorcycle with a beaming Lana behind him, her arms around him. Her heart started to break.

“Vincent, let’s do the town.” Lana gave him a squeeze.

“Sure thing, babe,” Vincent said.

NO, NO, NO.

***

“The next moment, I woke up next to you. I felt so hurt and betrayed.” Catherine looked at Vincent.

“Catherine,” Vincent gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead, “there is a truth you should always know. I love you deeply, only you, and should anything ever happen to you, I would never love another. For you are my soul partner for all eternity. If you transition before me, I know I would go on, but I could never love another. You would always be my soul partner, my love for all eternity. I would continue to live, perhaps, but I will always know you are in the spiritual world waiting for me.”

“I wouldn’t want that. I wouldn’t mind you loving another should I die.”

“Perhaps, but I cannot. Once you have a soulmate bond, a soul connection, it transcends all that is called love. There is no need for another. There is only to live and then join your soulmate, once you transition.”

She gave him a hug. “It was just so…real.”

They kissed each other, and for a few moments, they held each other in a gentle embrace.

Catherine sighed. “This pregnancy is so different from the other two. Instead of food cravings, I’m now have strange dreams!”

Vincent looked at her. “I think I can handle the food cravings better.”

They both laughed.

Vincent kissed her forehead. “This is real. We are real. You are here now, with me.”

She smiled and nodded. “Speaking of here now, we best check on our children.”

He let her go and stood up with an outstretched hand.

She took his hand and got up. They walked out of the Chamber of the Falls.

It wasn’t long before Mouse ran into them as they were walking down the passageways.

“OK good.” Mouse gave Vincent a letter. “From Devin.”

“Mouse…” Vincent looked at him.

“No read. See return address.”

Vincent looked at the envelope and smiled.

“Bye.” Mouse scampered away.

Catherine looked at him as he took out the letter and started to read it.

He grinned as he looked at her. “Devin will be coming for a visit. He might take us back to that cabin by the lake.”

“When? When I’m just about to give birth to our third child? Or earlier?”

“He mentions it will only be a week from now and we can plan a time to go to the cabin, and who will watch our children when we do go. He also would like to teach me something.”

“What?”

“How to ride a motorcycle.”

“NO!” she shouted and started to walk away.

He gently took her arm. “Catherine, it’s only a trail bike. And I will be there with you.”

She glared at him. “NO! You’re not going to learn to ride a motorcycle. AT ALL!”

As she turned to walk away, Vincent smiled.

She called out to him. “I’m going to have a serious conversation with your brother. You are not some young, single man, but a man with a family.”

He caught up to her and pulled her into his arms. “Yes, dear.”

“I’m glad we settled that.”

They resumed walking hand in hand.

After a few moments, he couldn’t help himself, he had to say to her, “I bet I would look good on a bike in leather.”

He saw the look on her face, and he realized that he shouldn’t have said that.

For the rest of the night, Catherine gave him the cold shoulder and silence.

Catherine woke up. She really shouldn’t be mad, but how dare he tease her like that? She turned and looked at him sleeping so peacefully next to her. She started laughing.

Vincent woke up and noticed Catherine was curled up and laughing so hard he felt it, as well as noticed that tears were coming down her face.

“Catherine, I’m sorry, I…”

She shook her head. “No, you couldn’t resist being a little mischievous last night.”

She kissed his cheek. “I’m the one with the hormones and insane emotions and nightmares.”

Vincent gave out a sigh of relief. “What do you want to do today?”

She gave him a grin. A very wicked grin. “I think that today, I’ll go shopping.”

They got up out of bed and as she put on a robe, she giggled as she said, “I want to have a special moment with you alone, before I get too big for it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m going to buy some leather outfits for the both of us. And I will be the one driving the bike with you behind me.”

She noticed the shocked look on his face and walked out of the chamber laughing.

*****

Time Let Me Play

by Michaela Buzsaki Struchova

SND

The late October night air was moist and sweet. Nestled at the end of a large forest stood a cosy-looking wooden cabin, orange and amber glow illuminating it from the inside. On the front porch, a woman was leaning against the wooden bannister, looking out into the darkness of the night. Her eyes were impatiently searching the mostly obscured road leading to the cabin. Then they wandered to the liquid surface in the distance, occasionally glistening in the moonlight when the moon came from behind the clouds.

“One day we’ll see that lake, Catherine, I promise you...”

She had never let go of those words, not since he’d said them back then. Whatever the obstacles, they would manage eventually. He never told a lie, and that strengthened her belief that it would happen for them one day. She had believed for so long…

Her fingers started tapping on the banister upon which her hands were resting. The excitement bubbling within her mingled with growing worry. What is taking them so long? she thought while desperately hoping to hear the sound of an approaching engine. They were supposed to arrive half an hour ago… it was past midnight…

“At last!” she couldn’t help but cry victoriously when two beams of bright light appeared from the forest.

As the silver van finally stopped in front of the cabin, Catherine ran down the few steps from the porch, overcome with relief. The driver’s door opened, and Joe Maxwell got out, stretching his arms above his head. He looked tired but content, clad in his favourite jeans, sweater, and leather jacket, which he always sported in his free time.

“I was worried something happened to you!” Catherine said before she gave him a friendly hug.

Joe chuckled and patted her on the back before they pulled apart. “Let’s just say, you might have expected any problem while transporting a top secret package to a top secret location… you might get stopped by the police for a routine check, you could get stuck in traffic, as highly unlikely as it may be in the middle of the night, or a confused deer might decide it would be a grand idea to cross your path on the road just as you’d settled into a decent speed.”

He grinned then rolled his eyes in pretended disappointment before continuing. “But no, all we got was a flat tire, luckily in the middle of nowhere, about fifteen miles away from here. So, nothing exciting that would cause me to pull my DA rank, sadly.”

Catherine chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, I’m sorry your pride was hurt but I’m glad you made it here in one piece. Both of you…” Her eyes glanced towards the back of the van.

“Yeah, I know. Go on, let him out of his cage,” her friend said with a warm smile.

As she stood at the van’s back door and put her hands on the handle, she noticed they were trembling.

It’s happening... it’s finally happening...

She felt the heat of excitement rise in her, and her heart beat faster. Slowly, she pushed the handle and opened the door, subconsciously holding her breath.

Only a small camp torch placed inside the van modestly illuminated the familiar figure that carefully stepped forward. Veiled from head to toe in his trademark dark cloak, Vincent appeared in Catherine’s sight.

“You made it…,” she whispered, her voice shaky. Their eyes locked for a moment, sharing all the feelings they had kept inside having hoped for this moment for so long.

Catherine looked around once more, assuring herself there was no one else nearby.

“Don’t worry, Cathy. There’s no one but us within at least twenty miles,” Joe said, with an encouraging smile. “That’s where the nearest camp site is.”

That erased the last worry from her mind, and she looked back into the van, nodding. She stretched her hand out in his direction, and Vincent accepted it with his heart beating in his throat. This was not Central Park. This was… freedom… at least for a long weekend.

As his feet silently hit the gravelly ground, he landed in his wife’s arms. His first moments in the world Above somewhere other than New York were something to celebrate. The moment they had been dreaming about for years had finally arrived.

Catherine pulled back from him with glistening eyes. She took hold of his hands and made him turn toward the lake, shrouded in darkness.

“Can you smell it, Vincent? “she asked quietly.

His sensitive nostrils took in a deep breath, enjoying the smog-free, crisp air of the wilderness. He could smell the water nearby and hear the gentle ripples on the liquid surface. The scent of the lake mingled with the sweet scent of the autumn grass. The sounds and smells were somehow familiar, but at the same time, unlike anything he had ever experienced. The total absence of the city traffic noise and the quiet, occasional breeze wrapped him in a cosy blanket of comfort. He couldn’t help but smile blissfully, closing his eyes.

Catherine and Joe were silently enjoying Vincent’s first encounter with true wilderness when suddenly, the moon appeared from behind a cloud that had been hiding it until then. The maned man’s smile faded as his deep-set eyes saw the glittering lunar reflection on the lake that appeared to stretch forever. Shimmering and floating took on another meaning for him as a shiver of amazement went down his spine.

“Wait until you see it in daylight,” Catherine whispered and gently squeezed his hand, moved by his emotional reaction to the scene before him.

“To me, every hour of the day and night is an unspeakably perfect miracle[11] ,” Vincent remarked, still captivated by the glittering scene before him.

Catherine smiled and turned back to Joe, who was trying to appear as casual as always (and failing). She approached him with a bear hug.

“Thank you…,” she whispered into his ear, and he could feel her beaming smile.

“I want to hear all about it later,” he replied, then grinned. “Keep the dirty details for yourself, though.”

“Joe Maxwell,” his friend raised her eyebrows, laughing. “There’s a very comfy guest bed ready for you,” she added. “You can drive back in the morning.”

“Oh, no. I’ll be perfectly fine in the tiny but cosy (if I am to trust the motel manager) room I booked just past the campsite I mentioned. They are expecting me even at this late hour. There’s nothing a few bucks can’t fix.”

“But Joe, are you sure you can manage more driving tonight?” Catherine was worried.

“Radcliffe, have a little faith in your ex-boss!” he said theatrically. “Besides, where there are lovers on the scene, there’s no room for… spectators.” Joe winked, making his friend blush and Vincent chuckle.

After the last couple of hugs, New York’s District Attorney hopped back into the rented van and with a wave and a smile, he drove off again, soon vanishing in the darkness.

As the van disappeared, Catherine grabbed Vincent’s old worn leather duffel bag from the path, and her other hand reached for one of Vincent’s.

“Come,” she said quietly, her voice vibrating with joy. “Let me show you our home for the next three days.”

Vincent smiled at her, excitement and a sense of adventure rising in him like a tide. He took a deep breath and looked around one last time. Only then did he followed her into the cabin.

***

The purplish sunrise penetrated the cabin’s bedroom window on the first floor and fell onto Catherine’s face, soon waking her. She turned around and reached for the body she expected to be lying there. But Vincent’s side of the bed was empty. Only the still-warm and crumpled sheets he’d left behind reminded her that this wasn’t a dream… they were truly at her father’s cabin at the lake… together. A blissful smile appeared on her face.

She got up, ran some water over her face to freshen up, put a warm robe over her pajamas, and walked downstairs. She walked through the short corridor, reaching the sitting room, furnished in a simple but cosy style, and stopped, spotting him through the window. He was standing on the front porch, his eyes fixed on the lake before him and the morning sun, slowly climbing over the horizon. His cloak remained untouched in the bedroom upstairs.

If Vincent could have seen himself at that particular moment, he would have seen the early morning pink and purple glow of the sky and the just-rising sun over the lake reflecting in the sapphire blue of his eyes. It set them alight with a fire he had kept hidden deep inside his soul most of his life. Following his usual caution and apprehension, so significant and vital for a being who must never be seen by anyone Above, the vast open space of the water ahead and the forest paths around him should have made him nervous and overly alert. He should have been troubled about how easily he could have been exposed and potentially threatened by a lonesome wanderer or a group of tourists randomly roaming the area. He should have been afraid… but he wasn’t.

For the first time in his life, Vincent put his complete trust in fate and left it to her to decide for and watch over him. The trust he put in Catherine’s words, claiming that no one came anywhere near the cabin, especially at this time of year when the chill started creeping into the bones, that trust was enough for him. He owed it to her for all the sacrifices she had made for him. More importantly, whatever the possible complications, he owed it to himself.

He had envisioned this moment so many times in his mind that suddenly, it was almost impossible to believe this was not just another of his fantasies. All he was able to do was to take in the sound of the rustling colourful autumn leaves gently swaying in the trees, the smell of the lake and the vision of the soft ripples painted all over its surface, the calm, and the orange globe rising higher on the horizon, brightening the sky above more with each passing minute.

When he felt the gentle touch of an arm embracing his waist from behind, he smiled, without turning around.

“I hoped I could share this moment with you,” Catherine said quietly, and he could feel her smiling.

His arm snaked around her shoulder, pulling her closer. Only then he turned his head to look at her; the amber highlights in her long hair, conjured up by the first rays of the sun, enchanted him.

“So beautiful,” Vincent whispered, still smiling, and she knew he didn’t mean just the scenery before them.

“I was about to say the same,” Catherine replied with equal tenderness.

The moment when he looked at her, she was struck by the emotions in Vincent’s eyes. It wasn’t the first time he had seen the sunrise, their brownstone in New York witnessed many of those, always observed keenly by both from the safety of their bedroom French door. But this vast, wild spot of nature was visibly filling her husband with emotions he could only have imagined for so many years…

Her hand reached for his stubbly cheek, and her thumb softly wiped a small tear that had escaped his eye without even noticing it, catching him by surprise. He embraced her fully and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair, unable to say more. His eyes were fixed on the sunny horizon again.

Catherine smiled and tightened her arms around his waist, knowing this moment would remain engraved in her memory and heart forever.

“My greatest pleasure.”

***

They were sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying their morning hot drinks…Vincent his favourite herb tea and Catherine a strong cup of coffee. They spent almost an hour on the porch, watching the sunrise, and the already chilly late October air made them long for something comforting along with their breakfast. They prepared and enjoyed some oatmeal, a few slices of toast, and some fruit in companionable silence, filled with contentment. It was a rare occasion to have the morning entirely for themselves. In the past six years, they had always shared it with their sons, except for their anniversaries, when Grandpa Jacob and Mary more than gladly took the little ones into their care.

“I hope we can bring the boys next year,” Catherine said before taking another sip of her coffee. “It would be wonderful to spend the weekend here as a family.”

Vincent smiled and lowered his teacup.

“Jacob and Charlie will love it here,” he said, not wanting to diminish her hopes, although not taking his luck for granted.

Her eyes lit up as she regarded him fondly. “I think it’s safe to say you do,” she stated.

There was no way he could deny the fact, hence his smile widened. It took him a moment to find his words as he took in the twinkle of her emerald eyes, a few strands of her sandy hair falling over her forehead, every line of the face he knew for years and yet never grew tired of seeing. It almost felt like he was brought back in time… to the time when he first fell in love with her.

“I love wherever you are, Catherine,” he spoke eventually. “But… yes, this place already holds a very special place in my heart.”

She smiled, hearing the tenderness in his voice. He didn’t have to say more, his eyes and the Bond spoke for him. Her eyes rested on his for a while, the magnetic pull between them as strong as ever. When she finally managed to break eye contact and took the last sip of her coffee, she asked cheerfully,

”So, what would you like to do today? You know that if it was up to me, I would love to show you everything, but this weekend is for you, and I want to make sure you are happy and comfortable all the way.”

Vincent’s soft chuckle caressed her ears. Don’t you know I’m happy and comfortable by your side, wherever you lead me?

“I could not be any happier than I am now, being here with you, sharing this beautiful place, this moment in time,” he said. “There is one place, though…”

Catherine raised her eyebrows, her interest piqued.

“The glen… the one you told me about once. Is it far from here?”

The prospect of taking Vincent to her favourite childhood place in full daylight revived her childlike enthusiasm from her younger days.

“Not at all! If we set off now, we should be there in about fifteen minutes,” she replied with a beaming smile. “If we are lucky, we might even see some deer.” She covered his large hand with hers. “Oh, Vincent, it’s going to be wonderful!”

She got up from her chair, grabbing their empty plates to bring them over to the sink. He joined her, helping her to wash up, and couldn’t miss how her cheeks flushed from excitement. Catherine’s never-fading smile was contagious. Vincent found himself unable to stop smiling, as well. Is it possible it could really be so easy? Just walk out in the open without any danger lurking behind a tree?

After Catherine packed a few small food bits and a flask of fresh herb tea in a small backpack, warmly dressed, they were ready to go on their first adventure.

“Ready?” she asked as they stood on the front porch after she locked the cabin.

“Always,” he replied softly and put the hood of his cloak over his head. Then he took her by the hand.

They walked down the few steps and set out towards the forest.

***

Despite his usually calm and composed nature, Vincent felt slightly overwhelmed with emotion as they walked along the lake shore that morning. The sun was warming their backs and veiling the clear blue sky in a bright, golden haze. The air was more light and crisp than he had ever smelled it before, filling his lungs with freshness and his nose with beguiling scents of various kinds.

“Are you all right?” Catherine asked midway to the glen, seeing the dazed expression on his face.

“As well as I have ever been,” Vincent replied with a warm smile, briefly squeezing her hand.

She didn’t need to say more… the look in his eyes gave her the satisfaction of a job well done... and promises to come.

They turned away from the lake and followed the path leading to the forest. Vincent’s free hand couldn’t get enough of gently touching everything within his grasp as they walked… the tall grass, still covered in dew in places, the rough tree trunks, the soft leaves on the branches. He touched a lot of trees in Central Park, but everything felt different here.

So, this is what true freedom feels like...

“Strange… this silence,” he started after a while. “There is no traffic noise, and still, you can hear so many sounds. It fills me with wonder and peace as I have never known.”

Catherine smiled. “My Dad loved coming here every year,” she said. “He said this place couldn’t be more different from New York, but even with the stillness around, there is more life in a single tree branch here than on the whole of Broadway.”

Vincent chuckled. “Nature is the greatest energy reserve and artist. Nothing can stop her, neither disasters nor people’s carelessness.”

They walked for a few more minutes before they finally made it to their destination. The forest suddenly opened into a beautiful, sunny glen, surrounded mainly by spruces and firs. Vincent still remembered the vivid red colour of the leaves on maple trees they had passed by earlier. The image awakened a feeling of something magical in him, and seeing Catherine’s glen now was another miracle in his heart.

“Welcome to my paradise,” Catherine stated when they stopped at the beginning of the wide clearing.

In her mind, she travelled back to the summers when she used to spend time in their cabin with her mother and father. She was only a child, but the memories tied to the place were engraved in her mind and heart. The memory of the rich, vibrant colours of coral bells, catmint, and salvia added even more flavour to her nostalgia.

Vincent’s blue eyes were taking in the smooth waves of grass and lush shades of green in the trees. The corners of his mouth turned upward as he imagined little Cathy playing here many seasons ago.

“What?” Catherine asked, seeing his amused smile.

“I can see you sitting there, under that wide tree on the other side, dreaming about a prince on a white horse coming to rescue you,” he replied, the vision still vivid in his mind.

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I couldn’t have known back then that my prince wouldn’t ride a horse but a subway car,” she remarked with raised eyebrows, making Vincent chuckle.

“I apologise for shattering your dreams, Catherine,” he said with amusement, then suddenly his face turned serious, and his eyes focused into the distance.

“What is it?” Catherine asked, lowering her voice.

“I’m sensing something… “Vincent replied, but there was no fear in his voice, only curiosity. He pulled his wife with him behind the thick trunk of the nearest tree, and they watched in silence.

Only a moment later, another living being entered the glen. It was tall, had four long legs, beautiful dark-brown thickening fur, and a pair of majestic antlers.

”Well, I never…” Catherine started but didn’t finish, completely in awe of the king of the forest himself, a gorgeous deer.

The animal sniffed the air for a few moments, making sure that no danger was lurking hidden nearby. Then he buried his imposing head into the grass and started grazing.

For a few moments, the deer enjoyed his late breakfast but suddenly he turned his head in their direction.

“Don’t move,” Vincent whispered to Catherine, his eyes fixed on the animal. “He probably picked up our scent.”

They expected the deer to run off to safety, but to their surprise, he chose a different path and started walking slowly towards them.

Utterly enchanted, Vincent felt an inexplicable urge to act as his heart desired. Very carefully, he stepped out from his retreat and pulled down the hood on his cloak.

“Vincent…!” Catherine called after him with a strained voice… yet her worry was immediately replaced by fascination. It was not the first time she had seen him interacting with animals, but it never ceased to amaze her. She knew he would be all right.

The deer didn’t stray from his path, slowly but surely approaching the being ahead of him. Perhaps he wasn’t sure what being it was… it walked like a human, but it had neither a human face nor scent. Either way, he obviously decided the being didn’t intend to harm him and kept walking, his dark eyes focused on it.

It wasn’t until they were within a step away from each other that they finally stopped. A sudden warm breeze picked up in the air around them as Vincent, with a slow movement, outstretched his arm, intuitively reaching for the deer’s snout. Catherine held her breath when she saw the animal almost too obediently bowing his head a little, allowing contact with Vincent’s hand. Surely, this could only happen in fairy tales...

Yet she was proved wrong. This was truly happening, right before her amazed eyes, and Vincent was clearly enjoying the intimate moment with his unexpected friend. He couldn’t suppress a tender smile as his hand gently moved around the deer’s snout, savouring the soft feel of it.

As quickly as it had begun, the moment of magic ended. With a new, this time stronger breeze that made the trees rustle, the deer shyly pulled back, and after one last look at Vincent, he ran off, vanishing into the forest. The only proof of his presence in the glen just a few seconds ago was Vincent’s still-outstretched arm, slowly descending back to his side.

Catherine was with him after a few quick strides.

“How… how did you…?” she wondered, yet sensing an answer was unnecessary.

Vincent finally snapped from his reverie and looked into her widened eyes. “I told him I know how the need to hide all your life feels,” he said and smiled. “I told him to enjoy his precious moment of freedom.”

“Time let me play and be golden in the mercy of his means[12] ,” Catherine quoted quietly, with a melancholic smile. She entwined the fingers of her hand with his.

“And I am grateful for it.”

Seeing the genuine smile on his face and the sparkle in his blue eyes, she believed him.

***

He gently prodded the embers around the fireplace. The flames and a few table lamps around the spacious sitting room cast gentle, warm beams of light, making shadows dance on the wooden walls and ceiling.  Vincent appreciated the fact that Catherine arranged the lighting around the cabin so that they could avoid using ceiling lights. Precaution was certainly one reason, but she also wanted to make Vincent more comfortable and not to feel so exposed through the curtain-less windows. Moreover, it felt more like home, more like the Tunnels, and he settled into the environment quite comfortably.

They spent their second day with more walks in the forest and a brief picnic at the lake near the cabin, for as long as the autumn sun offered them its last warmth. Then they rested inside, at the comforting warmth of the fireplace, reading to each other in turns, Blake, Shakespeare, Wordsworth… Of course, they couldn’t leave out Fern Hill, a reminder of when their dream about getting away began long ago...

When Vincent got up again, and his eyes searched for Catherine, they found her standing at one of the large windows, facing the lake, now shrouded in darkness. Her still and quiet figure was much in contrast to the feelings her husband felt vibrating within her. He slowly approached her, embracing her from behind.

“What’s troubling you?” he asked softly, looking into the night outside.

Catherine’s hands reached for his arms, tightening the hold, though her eyes still lingered on the lake.

“I was thinking of how Dad would have loved seeing you with the deer yesterday,” she said with a sad smile. Even after years, the pain of her father’s loss still lingered inside her. “And I was thinking of you as a child… all those years of having to accept your limitations and the boundaries that the world set for you that you couldn’t cross. The knowing, at least back then, that you would never see the sun rise over the New York skyline, never see how the blue in your eyes mirrors the deep blue of a summer day sky, never see all the true colours of the flowers and trees that you had within reach…”

She sighed. “It’s just so… unfair.”

A melancholic smile appeared on Vincent’s face before he put a gentle kiss on her temple, then leaned his face against it.

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel injustice in my heart, that I was robbed of so much because of no wrongdoing on my part, merely by my existence,” he replied. “I was born, I survived… and although it wasn’t easy, I learned to appreciate the life that was given to me, with all the love that I received as a gift along the way.” He whispered into her ear. “And I am grateful to my fate, for otherwise, I might have never found you on that April night…”

Catherine couldn’t fight a smile, closing her eyes for a moment. She turned around, unable to resist the urge to steal a lingering kiss. When she pulled back, he saw a tear glistening on her cheek.

“Do you ever think about how our lives would have been if our paths hadn’t crossed?” she asked as he wiped away her tear with his thumb.

“Sometimes,” Vincent answered truthfully. “We would have lived as we did until then, perhaps lived less dangerously. We might have met someone else who would help us grow, but…” He paused, sighing. “It is of no importance in the end. We needed each other, opened new worlds for each other and…” He paused again then poured all his emotions into the next thought. “We found love… so deep, strong and pure that no one and nothing could ever destroy it.”

“We turned impossible into possible,” Catherine added with a beaming smile, her hand resting on his heart.

Vincent covered her hand with his and agreed with a nod.

She took his other hand. “I think it’s time for bed,” she said enigmatically, little fires in her eyes shining bright.

He followed her with great pleasure.

“No way, Radcliffe! You’re pulling not one but both of my legs!” Joe exclaimed, almost dropping his coffee cup. “Vincent, the deer whisperer?”

The man who was the main topic of discussion only chuckled, tilted his head and slightly raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Well, why not?

“Joe, how long have you known Vincent?” Catherine asked, amused.

Her friend frowned, counting in his head. “Um, six years, kinda.”

“Exactly. And how many times has he surprised you with something you couldn’t technically explain?” she challenged him.

Joe opened his mouth to answer, but then his face fell in defeat. “Countless times,” he admitted. “I still won’t forgive you the fact that you knew Diana was expecting before I or even she knew it,” he said, looking at Vincent now.

Catherine laughed. “All right, but back to the point. It really happened, and it was beautiful,” she added with a beaming smile.

Joe shook his head and chuckled. “I leave you alone for three days, and you turn the world on its head.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t see it,” Catherine teased him, with a grin.

“Well, I wasn’t invited, was I?” he teased her back, but smiled. “Anyway, you should pack if you haven’t because it’s already eight, so we’ve only got about two hours until we can set out.”

Joe looked at Vincent, who was quietly enjoying the friendly banter. “Although, I don’t think you’ll need much time with your things, my friend. It’s Radcliffe who surely packed for a journey around the world.” He grinned.

“Vincent’s already packed. And as for me, a lady has to be prepared for all kinds of situations, doesn’t she?” Catherine joked, but then she put her coffee cup on the porch table, briefly kissed Vincent on the top of his head and walked into the cabin.

Both men leaned back in their wooden chairs, enjoying the last moments of peace before returning to the hustle and bustle of New York.

“Shame we can’t all drive back together,” Joe remarked then. “It would be a much more entertaining two hours, instead of me talking to myself in the driver’s seat while you’re stuck in the back.”

Vincent felt a brief pang of regret and worry, for Catherine’s safety driving alone in her car. “Another flat tire might provide you with some amusement,” he said then, trying to cheer his friend up.

“Oh, please, not that again!” Joe exclaimed. “I hadn’t changed a tire in ten years before that, let alone on a van, and trust me, I can still feel every muscle in my body from changing that damned thing.”

Vincent chuckled and took a sip of his tea. They fell quiet again for a while.

“I’m surprised Father didn’t throw a tantrum or somethin’, Joe said eventually. “I was sure he would be against it.”

“He was, years ago, when Catherine planned this for the first time,” his maned friend replied with a smile, amused now at the memory. “But then he decided it was better to trust his son’s judgement more than his own temper and fear.”

“Yep, that sounds exactly like him,” Joe nodded. “However, I’m not sure about his trust in me. I clearly saw how white he turned when I said I would drive you in a van.”

Vincent chuckled, remembering the scene. “You can be sure that his trust in you is as unwavering as his love for chess,” he remarked, smiling.

“Thanks. I can live with that,” his friend replied with a grin.

“I bet you wished Jake and Charlie were here with you,” he changed the topic then. “By the way, to say they’ve missed you is an understatement.”

“We’ve missed them too,” Vincent replied, a fond smile appearing on his face at the memory of his two sons. “Catherine hopes we can do this with them next year.”

Joe nodded with a small smile. Both men understood without words that as lucky as they had been so far, anything could happen next time, and they had to be careful about promises for the future.

“Well, anyway, I’m really glad you made it and that you had a great time,” he added then, truly happy for his friend.

“So are we,” Vincent stated gratefully. “Thank you for making it happen.”

Joe wanted to say something to dismiss his merit in the whole matter, to say that anyone could have driven the van, but seeing his friend’s genuine happiness brightening his unusual features, he only smiled. The warm feeling in his chest, whenever he could do something for his best friends, was worth every trouble. Of course, he would never admit to it in words.

“Right,” he suddenly changed the mood and stood up, picking up the now empty cups from the table. “I better get these inside and help Cathy with the washing up or something, you know.”

Vincent smiled. Yes, Joe, I know... His eyes followed Joe until he disappeared inside the cabin. Then he looked back over the porch into the dark distance ahead.

He remembered the awe of the first morning as he and Catherine watched the sun rise over the lake. He remembered the scent of the grass, different during various parts of the day. He remembered the sound of the breeze, whispering in the trees, the colours of which reminded him of the most vibrant paintings from the past. He remembered the feel of the deer’s snout in his hand and the magic vibrating in the air at their encounter. He also remembered the mallards and black ducks roaming the lake every day, and the hawk he and Catherine spotted on the last day on their morning walk.

And above all, he remembered Catherine in the sunlight, her shining eyes revealing their true emerald colour, the fiery highlights in her hair, the pinkish blush on her cheeks every time they…well…

The colours, scents and sounds of everything around him had been recreated for him in these three days, giving the word life a different dimension.

Time let me play and be golden in the mercy of his means, Vincent thought, but it was worthwhile, it meant everything...

*****

No Romcom

by Mel

Beyond Season 3 Vincent & Diana

Diana glanced down at the gentle, fur-covered hand resting atop hers and then at Vincent. But he made no comment, just continued to watch the movie. It seemed to have been an unconscious move.

And it’s not even a horror movie, Diana thought, trying to figure out the meaning if any, for the presence of his hand on hers. Most of the films Vincent preferred were romances or filmed Shakespeare. Only in the last few weeks had she gotten him to branch out into general period dramas or silly romcoms that the 90s and Diana herself seemed to love. Most, even members of her family, would assume Diana would enjoy police dramas or thrillers, and she did. But sometimes she just needed silly, unrealistic romcoms after spending weeks or even months with only the darkest and cruelest of minds for company.

It had become a tradition on Saturday nights when she was between cases. It was a way for them to escape from their lives for a few hours. Sometimes Vincent brought Jacob for sleep overs. The five-year-old was a delight to have in her loft. But most of the time it was just them, sitting together in comfortable, companionable silence as they watched a movie.

Indeed, Diana had grown comfortable enough with Vincent that she could enjoy movie night in her pajamas. Her latest case had drained her of every ounce of energy and she had finally crossed the last T in the file after months of work… she just needed a pure break. Nothing fancy like the nightgowns she had once seen in Catherine Chandler’s closet, but comfortable pajamas. They had never touched each other before, at least not without some sign beforehand. It had been an unspoken rule between them as they had navigated through all the grief and pain of his beloved Catherine’s murder, and even through some moments of joy over the years. Diana had never expected anything other than friendship and perhaps this was all it was.

Yet, the feel of Vincent’s hand was different. It had been instinctive, without any thought.

Tentatively, Diana placed her own hand on his and froze.

She felt Vincent’s blue gaze instantly drawn to her as if her touch had electrocuted him. But he didn’t pull his hand from hers. For a moment, the world seemed to pause and expand all at once. She vaguely heard the nonsensical bickering of the two leads the film trying to claim that they were mortal enemies and could never get together… until they would ultimately declare their love for each other.

All that had faded into the background as Diana and Vincent gazed at each other. They weren’t reckless teenagers or enemies fighting their attraction until they become lovers by plot contrivance. From the moment she had found Vincent passed out and near death by Catherine’s grave and tended to his wounds, they had been equals.

She watched his eyes lower to see their intertwined hands and then slowly look up, a question in his eyes that she sensed was also on the tip of his tongue… Is this all right with you?

Her hand automatically gave a squeeze of reassurance. Though the next second, heat rushed to her cheeks, making her face the same color as the pink fluffy robe she wore. She broke eye contact.  Of all the times for something to happen (if it would) … and she was in her pajamas. Not exactly the romantic attire one wore for any declarations of one’s feelings.

“Diana?”

Her name on his lips, even as a tentative question, made butterflies fly in her stomach. Slowly, she lifted her eyes back to him just as his right hand caressed her cheek. His clawed fingers gingerly combed through her own red mane, his eyes still fixed on her, waiting again.

“Yes.” The word was so soft she half wondered if she had spoken it aloud. In most matters of life, she was the one to take charge of the things she wanted with no hesitation, consequences be damned. Yet this was all new and the last thing she wanted was to accidentally break the moment and cause awkwardness or worse yet, hurt him… not after everything Vincent had gone through. Yet in his eyes, she saw a tenderness and understanding.

Gingerly, she reached up and caressed his face. His feline features so familiar to her now, the fur at once rough and smooth beneath her touch. They leaned in, until their lips met in the softest kiss… held within it was the promise of a future.

*****

Another Blessing

by Mel

Season 3

“Jacob is not my only blessing.”

“You’re thinking of Catherine,” Diana said, her words a simple statement of fact.

“Always,” Vincent said, his eyes trained on his son lying in his crib… in his crib safe and sound at home with him, all because of the red-haired woman who stood not two feet from him. She had proven herself a valued Helper. No, that word couldn’t convey all she had done for him and his family in the short time he had known her. She was a godsend to them all.

He glanced up at her. “And I am thinking of you.”

*****

I Will

by Mel

Season 3

“Are you ready?” Father asked in a whisper.

Vincent nodded, absentmindedly tugging at the sleeve of his best shirt. A giggle to his right drew his gaze over to his son, Jacob, held protectively in Mary’s arms. The unspoken matriarch of the Tunnels smiled down at the small child giggling excitedly, perhaps sensing the merriment around him.

Indeed, the Great Hall was humming with anticipation as the hour approached, not unlike the joyful nature of Winterfest.

Candlelight flickered overhead. The long tables had been pushed back along the walls, empty and waiting for the platters of food to be delivered from William’s kitchen after the ceremony. Excited whispers and chatter circulated as people lined up on either side of the Great Hall doors. Chairs and benches had been brought in for the older members of the community and Helpers alike while everyone else stood around. It had been discussed briefly whether the ceremony should be a small one, but seeing everyone here and feeling all the warmth shared, Vincent knew they had made the right choice to include everyone. The energy in the room was one of happy impatience.

A knock sounded.

Off to the right, Vincent noticed Rolley, the new music teacher, motion for his students to begin playing. The first strings of music floated over the crowd, calling everyone into silence as they turned to watch.

Vincent straightened and looked back toward the big doors being opened. An older red-haired woman, Susan, and her young daughter stood on either side of the bride ready to walk her down the aisle. His breath hitched as he took in Diana, slowly approaching the makeshift altar.

Her white (though under the candlelight it looked yellow) gown had been sewn by Mary and the other women. It was truly a unique gown, made to welcome Diana into the community Below, while the veil had been purchased from one of Diana’s favorite shops Above. Her auburn mane, usually pulled back into a messy ponytail or braid, was left unbound, flowing over her shoulders. Beneath the candlelight, her pale, ivory skin seemed to glow.

Though what stirred his heart the most were the red and white flowers pinned on the left side of her gown. Three beautiful flowers from his beloved Catherine’s rosebush.

As if reading his mind, Diana’s fingers rose, hovering over the top rose. To anyone else the gesture might look like that of a swooning damsel overcome by emotions. But both his beloved Catherine and Diana were anything but damsels. It was instead an unspoken question for Vincent… Was he alright with what she had done?

Vincent gave the tiniest nod, his smile widening in approval. He remembered that it wasn’t only himself and his son that Diana had saved from the brink of death. The loss and pain of his beloved Catherine would never leave him and there were ways to remember her and honor her memory. Diana, with her brilliant imagination and kind heart, had found a unique way to include Catherine in the ceremony. Whether anyone recognized the flowers didn’t matter. Diana had done it for him.

It was that kindness, understanding, and unwavering love that had pulled him from the depths of despair and rage and allowed him to eventually open his heart again, leading to this day of celebration and joy.

Diana’s own answering smile of relief moved him as she came and stood across from him. His blue eyes sparkled as she gazed into them.

Vincent felt at once lost and found looking at her now. In Diana’s eyes, he had never seen himself as a beast, but simply a man. This man who once thought love was out of his reach, had been blessed with it twice in his life.

Father cleared his throat. “Welcome everyone. We are gathered here today to join this man and this woman, and this little fellow.” He smiled at his grandson. “To unite them as an official family… having met under the darkest and most painful moments of our lives.”

Vincent could feel the assembly nod… all of them briefly reliving those memories. He wasn’t the only one who had lost a dear person or suffered in those times of darkness. His gaze flickered to Father as the older man cleared his throat. The evils of Gregory Coyle and age hadn’t left Father unscathed.

Father swallowed and continued. “These two fought their way out of that crushing darkness and came to a place of light and healing. Now they wish to continue that journey together. Vincent, do you take Diana to be your loving wife… to have and to hold in sickness and in health… to love and to cherish for as long as you shall live?”

Vincent smiled.  He slipped a golden ring on Diana’s finger. “For my life and beyond, I will.”

Father nodded, turning to Diana. “And do you, Diana, take Vincent to be your loving husband… to have and to hold in sickness and in health… to love and to cherish for as long as you shall live?”

Diana smiled, taking Vincent’s hand in hers as she slipped on his ring. “For my life and beyond, I will.”

“Then I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Cheers echoed around the chamber as the couple shared their first kiss.

*****

Catherine’s Blessing

by Barbara Anderson

Season 3

Standing at Catherine’s old threshold, Diana wondered what had possessed her to come here. A column of light filtered down from above the ladder that was attached to the wall.

“You must have looked like an angel to him whenever you descended those rungs,” she said to the sparkling dust motes that swirled in the light. “To him you were an angel, ya know?”

Diana sighed. “I suppose I should have come here sooner… at least before the wedding… but a part of me was afraid.”

She closed her eyes and laughed softly. “You’re losing it, Bennett… standing in the dark, talking to thin air.”

“Not completely thin air,” a barely audible, feminine voice said.

Diana’s eyes snapped open to discover a vision of a woman dressed in white and hovering just above the ground in the pillar of light.

“Catherine?” Diana asked in disbelief.

The woman smiled serenely and nodded.

“Tell me, Diana, what is it that you were you afraid of?” Catherine asked.

Telling herself that she was merely hallucinating did nothing to dispel the intimidation Diana felt standing in front of the woman she knew Vincent still loved.

She swallowed hard, then shaking her head, replied, “I suppose I… I was afraid you wouldn’t give us your blessing.”

“Why would you believe that?” Catherine asked.

“Because you were robbed… that’s why!” Diana said incredulously. “Because you and Vincent and Jacob were all robbed of the happy life you should have had together… the life you deserved to have. A part of me feels like I’ve robbed you.”

“Yes, we were robbed,” Catherine acknowledged sadly. “But it wasn’t you who robbed us. We were robbed by an evil even Vincent could not protect me from. You saved him and you helped him heal. You rescued our child… and then… you avenged my death. For all of that I am forever grateful.”

As Diana looked at the vision before her, she could swear she saw tears glistening in Catherine’s eyes. Do hallucinations cry? she wondered.

“There is something else you fear,” Catherine said with assurance.

Are my insecurities that obvious? Diana thought, feeling uncomfortably exposed.  It’s like she’s looking into my soul, or reading my mind. I might as well tell her… since she already seems to know.

“Yes, I… I’m afraid that Vincent will never love me… the way he loved you.” Diana had never uttered that fear to a living soul… not even her sister… certainly not to Vincent.

“You’re right…” Catherine said. “He will never love you the way he loved me.”

Diana’s heart sunk at her words, but before she could reply, Catherine clarified her statement.

“That is only because every love is unique and different. Just as you and I are unique and different from each other, Vincent’s love for me is different from the love he feels for you. That does not mean he loves you less… and he does love you, Diana. That is not something that comes easily for him. Cherish it.”

“Then… you do… give us your blessing?” Diana asked, unsure she would be able to if their roles were reversed.

Catherine smiled again. “Yes, Diana, I give you my blessing. Love Vincent… the way he deserves to be loved. Love Jacob… as if he was your own. And may you all have a long and happy life.”

Diana closed her eyes as Catherine’s words distilled upon her heart. She was filled with peace as her fear melted away. “Thank you,” she whispered. She opened her eyes and found herself standing alone, surrounded by sparkling dust motes that swirled in the light.

*****

The Truth We Will Always Know

by Barbara Anderson

SND

Vincent held her as she sobbed violently. Her tears were hot on his skin as they fell on his neck. He knew she was dreaming again. She didn’t call them nightmares… not all of them anyway. Most of the time… if she remembered them at all… she dubbed them ‘bittersweet dreams.’ Slowly her breathing became more even, and he could feel her racing heart begin to slow.

Finally waking, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Vincent,” she said remorsefully.

Returning her gaze, he wondered if she knew how truly beautiful she was with the soft candlelight reflecting in her tear filled eyes. He reached to tuck her damp hair behind her ear. “Don’t be sorry, Catherine. I’m here… I will always be here… Always.” He bent to kiss her damp forehead.

“Always…” she repeated thoughtfully. “That’s such a father’s word… Always.” I’ve heard those words before, she thought, but couldn’t quite remember where.

“Sometimes our dreams are so… heartbreaking and poignant… and sometimes so…” She stopped speaking mid-sentence as a haunting shadow passed over her.

“…and sometimes so… frightening,” he whispered, recalling some of the worst of them.

“Yes.” She nodded slightly and tried to smile a little.

He loved her crooked grin and could barely resist the urge to kiss her.

“And sometimes they’re pretty wild, aren’t they?” she asked trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes,” he readily agreed, remembering some of the outlandish dreams he had had over the years. “And sometimes they are very funny,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “Do you remember that one where you and Devin were arguing and hurling insults at each other using nothing but absurd Shakespearean quotes?”

She laughed through her tears, moisture still glistening on her cheeks, then added, “… and that one you had where you spent an entire day being chased by dogs, hitting your head, and stubbing your toes?”

“And smashing my thumb with a hammer?” He winced and chuckled. “Did you know, I actually felt the pain of that one for days afterward?”

“Oh no!” she exclaimed with a smile. “I didn’t know that!” She took his hand in hers and kissed his thumb. “I’m so sorry.”

“Do you remember the one when I was a vampire and your love brought me back from the realm of the living dead?” she asked.

He gasped. “I had nearly forgotten about that one,” he admitted. “That one definitely qualifies as ‘wild.’ You made a very attractive vampire, by the way”.”

“Through the eyes of love, Vincent,” she said, smiling wistfully. “Only through the eyes of love.”

Silence fell between them as Catherine’s eyes clouded over again. She lowered her head attempting to hide her pain from him.

Vincent put his fingers under her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his. “What about tonight, my dearest? What kind of dream did you have tonight?”

“I died, Vincent,” she whispered almost imperceptibly, as if she was afraid that giving it voice would make it come true. “I died.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “You did.”

“You already knew?” she asked incredulously. “Did you dream that too?”

“No…” He shook his head. “But I felt you go,” he explained. “I felt you go.” He shuddered, feeling as if he had said those words once before. He tightened his embrace. “I woke up to make sure you were still breathing, and you flew into my arms... sobbing.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Tell me, Catherine… tell me about this dream.”

Her furrowed brow told him she was attempting to recall the details of the dream. Vincent waited patiently.

“We lived in a beautiful castle…” she began. “… high in the mountains.”

“That sounds promising,” he said hopefully.

“It was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.” Then looking at him adoringly, she continued. “We loved, Vincent… We loved… and there was a child.”

“Jacob?” he asked.

“Yes… I think so.” Then smiling, she said, “He was beautiful.”

She reached to hold his face in her hand. “I knew that I was dying. I could feel myself slipping away and all I wanted to do was to hold you and our baby one last time.”

Vincent suddenly felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

“You put him into my arms and then took us both in yours.” She paused again, feeling the pain of it all over again.

“Tell me, Catherine,” he begged desperately. “Please.”

Fresh tears fell from her eyes as she continued. “I… I looked into your eyes, and I said, ‘Though lovers be lost… love… shall not…’”

“…and death shall have no dominion,” he said, finishing the lines.

Catherine was astounded. “If you didn’t have the dream, then how did you know those lines?” she asked.

“They are from a poem by Dylan Thomas,” he explained. “I have the book around here somewhere. He raised his head and looked around, trying to remember the last place he had seen it.

Then turning back to his love, he reached up to smooth her tousled hair. “Please continue, Catherine… what happened next?”

“I died,” she said simply. “I could feel your tears falling on my face. Then you drew me to you and cradled me close and… and wept as you rocked back and forth holding us close.” She paused, shaken by the memory. “When I woke up you were cradling me in your arms in just the same way. It took me a moment to realize the dream had ended.”

They looked at each other in wonder. The pain of the dream had felt so real to them both.

“Why are we still plagued by these dreams, Vincent?” Catherine asked. “After all this time?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head.

Catherine chewed her lip as if searching for the answer within herself. “Vincent…” she began tentatively. “Have you ever wondered if…?” She halted mid-sentence, almost afraid to utter the idea aloud.

“What?” Vincent asked. “Have I ever wondered if what?” He could feel she was about to say something important.

“Have you ever wondered if we… are the dream?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” he replied.

“I mean… have you ever wondered if it’s not us… that it isn’t we, you and me, who are dreaming these dreams… that perhaps someone else is actually dreaming about us? Or even if a lot of other someone’s are dreaming about us? That we only exist because we are in their dreams? I mean… are we actually dreaming? …or are we the dream? Does that make any sense?”

Vincent was stunned by her question. “The concept has never occurred to me before,” he said, momentarily opening his mind to the strange theory.

Could it be true? he wondered, trying to wrap his head around the idea. Is it possible that I am merely a dream? A figmentation of someone else’s imagination? he asked himself.

Then shaking his head, he confidently said, “No, Catherine, that can’t be the case.”

“Why not?” she asked, still convinced that it was at least a possibility.

“Because I think…” he said firmly, “…therefore… I am.” Then placing his hand over his heart, he insisted, “I feel… therefore I am…” Then, recalling the intimacy they had shared only a few short hours earlier, he drew her close and kissed her passionately. Then whispering huskily in her ear, he said, “I love… therefore… I… definitely… am.”

Not ready to fully accept his point of view, she argued, “But, Vincent, what if that is all life really is? Nothing more than a dream or a series of dreams.”

Vincent was unruffled by her doubts. Nonetheless, he was willing to entertain the possibility that her theory might be true. “If you are a dream, Catherine, then I don’t ever want whoever is dreaming about us to wake up. As long as we are together, Catherine, does it really matter?” he finally asked.

“What do you mean, does it really matter?” she asked insistently. “Of course, it matters if we are real or not. How can you think it doesn’t?”

“It doesn’t matter because we are real to each other… aren’t we?”

“Well… yes, I… I suppose we are,” she hesitantly agreed.

“And once you are real…” he half-quoted.

Catherine chuffed and smiled broadly. “And once you are real, it lasts for always.”

He smiled softly. “Yes… it lasts for always. And just consider the hundreds, possibly thousands of dreams we have had over the years. Don’t you think if someone dreamt of us all those times that at least one of those dreams would have been written into a book, or made into a movie, or a play? And if that has happened… it’s quite possible we are immortal. Just think about it, Catherine… we could live forever.”

Catherine considered carefully. “I suppose you could be right,” she said slowly, entertaining the thought of being immortal. Then wiggling her eyebrows up and down with a smirk on her face, she said, “Some of those dreams have been pretty amazing, haven’t they?” she asked smiling seductively.

Vincent ducked his head down in embarrassment.

She looked at her sweetheart in shock. “Vincent! Are you blushing?”

He couldn’t deny it. He tried not to laugh as he said, “I blush… therefore I am.”

Catherine threw her head back in a full belly laugh and then buried her face in his chest with glee.

He laughed heartily to see her unmitigated joy. I much prefer to see her laughing than weeping, he thought, as his heart swelled with love.

They sat quietly together for some time basking in the glow of their love for each other, breathing in unison as if they were truly one.

“Catherine?” Vincent asked quietly, wondering if she had gone to sleep.

“Mmm?” she replied softly as she drifted back to him from the place in between wakefulness and sleep where everything shimmers and floats.

“If you are right…  if… if it is true… that we aren’t actually alive in the literal, corporeal sense… we must always remember one thing.”

Catherine raised her head to look into his brilliant blue eyes. “Yes?”

“We must remember that there is a truth beyond all knowledge, beyond everything we could ever hope to know… the truth we will always know.”

Is that a line from a song… a poem perhaps? he wondered. It sounds so… familiar…

“What truth is that, Vincent?

“We must remember that though life is a precious gift… it isn’t the most precious gift.”

“Then what is?”

“It’s love, Catherine! We must always remember that whatever happens… whatever comes… that to love… and to be loved in return… that is the greatest gift of all!”

Her brow furrowed again as she considered his words.

“And if we are merely a dream…” she ventured. “As long as whoever it is that is out there dreaming of us… that as long as they keep dreaming… as long as someone… anyone… out there keeps the dream alive… they keep us alive… and as long as they keep us alive our love will never die.”

Vincent nodded, relieved that she understood what he was trying to say.

“And if the dream I had tonight comes true…?” she asked, biting her lip again. “If our world divides and shatters?”

He could hear the worry in her voice, he could feel it in her heart. “Then our love is where we’ll go,” he assured her as he held her close. “We will come back to that love, and we will wake from the dream… just as we always do… just as we did tonight.”

“Here, in each other’s arms?” she asked in earnest.

“Yes, my dearest Catherine… safe… here in each other’s arms.” He brushed her hair away from her eyes, gently kissing her furrowed brow. “How do you feel now? Are you still upset?”

She smiled and said, “No, just so very grateful… for you.”

“We have endured much,” he observed.

“Yes, we have,” she agreed. “And I know, in the deepest part of who I am, that whatever happens, Vincent, we will endure. We will.”

The hairs on Vincent’s arms and the back of neck stood up. He felt as if he was reliving a moment that he couldn’t quite remember. Perhaps from another dream, he concluded.

It wasn’t long before Catherine fell back into a deep sleep, safe and comforted in the arms of the man she loved… and she dreamed.

*****

Beauty and the Beast” TV series fan video, by Judith Nolan

“Til You’re Home” Sung by Rita Wilson & Sebastian Yatra

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fEO6sFwElxw

*****

The Truth of Down Below

by JessicaRae

Though troubles seem to haunt us with each step we take Above,

There beckons yet a longing for a place of truer love.

Where those that fight and those that mock the people for their ways,

Can spend a brighter future filled with better nights and days.

We all want to be cared about and even treated kind,

We all want others to believe that we have not yet lost our minds.

The chaos hasn’t got to us, no, we have not fallen prey to myths,

We just believe that a different world could use our different gifts.

We each step foot beyond the walls and houses that we know,

And one by one, by candlelight, we tiptoe down Below.

Some through a tunnel in the street, watching for prying eyes,

And some through a hidden entrance marked with various disguise.

Some come down the harder way, by trapdoor thus unseen,

And some come down by invitation, through a park far off and green.

But one by one, the soft, light tread leads each of us in line,

And here among the roughhewn walls, we lose all track of time.

Tea with Father, a game of chess, and all the cake desired,

Adventures many, running, dreaming, and yet we never tire.

Pen to paper like a charge of the soldiers up the hill,

Writing dreams and hopes and fears and cares and wishes of goodwill.

On and on the dream keeps going, and reaching to the next.

And before we know, our dream has spread much farther than we’d expect.

“Come on,” we wave, to everyone that shows the smallest wish

To know our world, and we gladly offer, when we go, to take them with.

Along with us to a world of love, a world of peace and care,

And with boundless joy we rush Below, and introduce them there.

Yes, our world is broken so by all that men conspire,

Yet it is their hope and kindness that we all have so admired.

The truth that we all have come to know, that transcends the bounds of time,

Is this place of ‘belonging’ down Below, can still be yours and mine.

Notes

[←1 ]

Dialog from the episode, Brothers, written by GEORGE RR MARTIN

[←2 ]

Rudyard Kipling: The Elephant’s Child, from Just So Stories

[←3 ]

Rudyard Kipling: The Elephant’s Child, from Just So Stories

[←4 ]

Dialog from the Beauty and the Beast episode, “To Reign In Hell.”

[←5 ]

Erich Maria Remarque: All Quiet On The Western Front

[←6 ]

A. A. Milne: Wind On The Hill

[←7 ]

A. A. Milne: Wind On The Hill

[←8 ]

A. A. Milne: Wind On The Hill

[←9 ]

A. A. Milne: Wind On The Hill

[←10 ]

A. A. Milne: Wind On The Hill

[←11 ]

Quote by Walt Whitman

[←12 ]

Dylan Thomas: Fern Hill