Catherine watched as the two figures stood back to back. At her signal they walked ten paces forward, turned and fired.  Only one report rent the silence of the dawn and she screamed as Vincent dropped to the ground, blood spreading from a bullet hole in the left side of his chest. His revolver lay on the grass beside him, and as Catherine ran to gather him to her, she darted a glance at the other man. His face was blurred and although he seemed to be laughing, the sound too, was distorted. She struggled to lift Vincent’s head and shoulders into her lap, sobbing hysterically as she tried to stem the flow of blood which pumped from the wound. But it was useless; the bullet had found its prime target and the faceless man had shot Vincent clean through the heart. 

Suddenly, the jeering voice of the other duellist clarified, and Catherine heard the words she would never forget. You did this to him…you were supposed to load a bullet into each gun…take a look at his, lady.

Slowly Catherine reached for the gun which lay beside Vincent. With trembling fingers she opened the chamber…it was empty. Hurling it from her, she buried her face against Vincent’s throat, her tears running down her face and mingling with his blood, enlarging the stain even further.

Suddenly the figure of Father loomed over her, his arm outstretched, an index finger jabbing accusingly at her. “You have killed my son, Catherine! You, who profess to love him! You are as guilty as if you had shot him yourself. Your carelessness has cost him his life.”

“Oh God, what have I done! Vincent, come back to me, please! I love you…I didn’t mean to let you down! Vincent, don’t die…DON’T DIE!”

* * *

“No, no, NO!” The buzzer went off in Catherine’s ear and she shot up in bed, heart pounding in terror. Running a hand over her forehead, she realized it was damp with perspiration and her blue silk nightgown clung uncomfortably to the valley between her breasts. Shakily, Catherine covered her face with her hands, tears of relief that it had only been a dream, seeping through her fingers.

After several minutes she climbed a little unsteadily out of bed and headed for the shower. As she soaped and rinsed her body, trying to expunge the horror from her mind, she couldn’t imagine what could possibly have induced such a nightmare. If only it was the weekend, she could have gone to Vincent immediately to reassure herself that he was unharmed, but it was only Wednesday and her desk at the D.A. ‘s office was piled high with problems to be attacked before he came to her that evening. And, in any case, she knew he was well; he might be concerned if he had felt her ragged emotions during the dream, but at least he was safe. The ever-increasing intensity of their bond told her that.  All she had to do now was put the nightmare behind her and concentrate on the day ahead.

Just as she was about to leave for work the phone rang. Torn for a moment between allowing the answering machine to take the call, or being late for the office, she eventually marched across the room and snatched up the receiver.

“Catherine Chandler?”

“Yes.  Who is this?”

“Someone you ought to start treating with a little respect. Someone who doesn’t like a pushy Assistant D.A. poking her pointy little nose in things which don’t concern her.”

Catherine tensed and glanced instinctively towards the windows. Memories of the night when Vincent had brought her, quite literally, back from the dead by wrenching the lid from the trunk of the car and plucking her from the rising black waters, flooded her brain. That had begun with a series of terrifying phone calls from a lunatic who, from a building nearby, had spotted her and Vincent on the balcony and proceeded to launch a cowardly reign of terror upon Catherine. The episode had frightened them both badly and afterwards, Catherine had made a promise to herself that no one would ever again invade her privacy that way and cause her to alter her lifestyle.

Maintaining a calmness she had learned to cultivate, Catherine frowned into the telephone. “Well, whoever you are…it sounds to me as though you’re running scared that I might just find out something if I keep right on digging.”  The curse at the other end of the line confirmed her suspicions.

“You won’t be feeling so brave when you feel the cold steel edge of a blade against your throat one night, lady. Do yourself a favour and get off the Lomax case.” Before Catherine could come up with a suitable reply, the click at the other end confirmed the connection had been severed.

Taking a deep breath, she replaced the receiver and, with a final check around the apartment, left for work.

By the middle of the afternoon, when the same man had made two more calls of a similarly threatening nature, Catherine decided to tell Joe. His expression grew dark as he listened.

“This guy’s not fooling around, Radcliffe. He’s probably just a little fish in Lomax’s operation but don’t kid yourself he won’t come after you. He’ll do what he’s told just like everyone else in that sonofabitch’s set-up. We already know from our enquiries so far that anyone who crosses Lomax ends up either in the East River with extra baggage attached, or shot at point blank range by a hitman. You gotta promise me, Cathy, that you won’t go anywhere alone at night until this thing is over.”

“Joe, I promise I’ll be careful. We go to court on Friday in any case, and once we put Lomax away, his threats will lose their sting.”

“Maybe. Let’s just pray we get a conviction. With any luck, if we don’t screw up, the judge’ll throw away the key.” He took a sip of coffee and pulled a face. “I guess there’s no point in asking if you want protection?”

“No.” Catherine smiled and shook her head. “I have all the protection I need, thanks Joe.”  He raised a questioning eyebrow and she responded with a mischievous grin.  “Why, you, Joe; you’re just a phone call away.”

Torn between anxiety and amused affection for the safety of the woman who, from being his protégé, had become his friend, Joe squeezed his styrofoam cup too forcefully and coffee splashed down the front of his shirt. “Shit!” he exploded, stepping back and shaking the hot liquid from his hands.

Catherine grabbed some tissues from her drawer and thrust them at him, trying her best to hide a grin. “Relax, Joe. I’ll be okay. Really.”

* * *

When the soft tap came on the French doors that night, Catherine had pulled out the plug on the phone. She hoped Vincent would come inside, and the last thing she wanted was her mystery caller disturbing their intimacy. Flinging open the doors, she stopped, as she so often did, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of him.

“Catherine,” he said, simply, gathering her to him. How, she wondered, could one word convey so much? Was there another man in the whole world who could say so much in so little, and in a voice like whipped cream on granite. No, of course not. There was only Vincent. And she thanked her lucky stars every day of her life that she had found him;  this wonderful, special man who was hers alone.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathed into her hair. Pushing her hands beneath his cloak, she delighted in the warmth of his body and moved her arms up and down his back, unable to conceal her desire for him.

“I thought tonight would never come,” she whispered. “Come inside…please, Vincent? I need you to hold me tonight in the security of my home.”  He hesitated, fearful of disappointing her yet wary, always, of being in a confined space Above, even under cover of darkness. There remained another reason, however, Catherine knew. One which she had been fighting to overcome for over two years. She had sensed in him recently a softening in his resistance and she prayed one day soon she would be able to show him as well as tell him, how very much she loved him. Moving back slightly, she took his hands in hers and smiled.

“I’ll even leave the doors ajar if it will make you feel more comfortable. You’re safe with me, Vincent, I promise.” 

The thick, slanting eyebrows furrowed slightly. “But are you safe with me, Catherine?” he asked. “You know what I fear may happen if we should…lose ourselves in…the moment.”

“Oh, Vincent, Vincent,” she sighed. “I know you worry. But you could never hurt me; I know it even if you don’t. And I warn you,” she teased, “I can be pretty wild myself on occasion…especially the way you make me feel.”

When she pulled his head down to kiss his mouth, she felt him respond in a way he never had before. For a moment he held her in a crushing embrace and she felt his heart pound above her right breast. As he released her, leaving them both gasping, she left one hand on his back and brought the other around to push underneath the opening of his padded vest. Unbidden, the memory of the nightmare invaded her thoughts and she laid her head against his chest, comforted by the regular thump beneath her ear.

“I love to hear your heart beating, Vincent,” she whispered. 

He gave a soft chuckle and stroked her hair, lifting the light brown tresses and allowing them to fall back into place. “You are very easy to please, Catherine.” 

Suddenly she held him away and stared at him intently. “What if something should happen to either of us, Vincent? I mean, if one of us should die, and…we had never even made love? If something happened to you, I wouldn’t want to go on living myself, but to be forced to live without you and yet not to know how it felt to have your body lying next to mine…as part of mine…” She broke off, close to tears, and Vincent placed his palm against her cheek, his zircon-blue eyes filled with concern.

“Catherine, what is troubling you? There is no danger; what is it? Did something happen today? I felt your unrest on three occasions, but each time it vanished after only a short while.” 

Angry with herself for letting him see and feel her fear, Catherine forced a bright smile.

“I’m sorry, Vincent, I’m acting crazy. I just get so frightened for you sometimes.”

“I cannot imagine why, my love. I am not exactly defenseless, as we both know only too well. You take far greater risks than I simply by living and working on the city streets.” 

She nodded. “I know. Just be careful, okay?” 

He lifted her chin with one finger. “It is you who should take the greatest care, Catherine. I came here tonight to warn you that I will not be able to see you until Saturday.” 

Catherine looked startled. “Why? Where are you going?”

“To the Crystal Cavern. Mouse and I have agreed to prepare a detailed route map, since at the moment, he and I are the only ones who know exactly how to find it. Others have said they would like to go there, and Father has asked that we make the trip, which will take two full days if all goes well. That is why I want you to take extra care, since I shall not be able to come to you.”

The significance of his words were not lost on Catherine, but she only allowed herself to think of the mystery caller for an instant, not wishing to alarm Vincent.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine,” she replied. Stretching up to take his face between her hands, she whispered, “Will you miss me as much as I’ll miss you?” As his arms closed around her tightly she felt him draw a shuddering breath.

“Oh, Catherine…you will be with me every step of the way. And when I return…” She looked up to see an uncharacteristic blue twinkle in the eyes that always made her feel as if she was drowning, “…perhaps I will come inside.” The thought of him crossing the threshold to her apartment willingly and confidently was enough to drive all other thoughts from her mind, and she pressed as close to him as she could get without climbing right inside his clothes with him.

“Hold that thought, Vincent, because I’ll be ready for you.”

When he left later that night, they had arranged that he would come for dinner…another milestone…at 9 pm on Saturday to celebrate his return. Despite all the hard work and anxiety that lay ahead of her until then, Catherine felt a surge of triumph. On Saturday evening Vincent would become hers, body and soul, forever; and a shiver of excitement ran through her just thinking about it.

Catherine received two more phone calls the next day from the man Lomax had obviously told to frighten her; one at home and one at work. That evening, without Vincent’s almost nightly visit to look forward to, and in view of the volume of work still obscuring the top of her desk, Catherine had decided to work late. Joe had left only half an hour before her, having elicited a promise that she was right behind him. Eventually, with a sigh of resignation at being unable to accomplish anything further that night, Catherine re-packed her briefcase and locked her desk drawers.

It was eerily dark and quiet in the underground garage, and Catherine’s heels were the only sound as she made her way to her car. For some reason most of the lights were out;  probably vandalism, she thought angrily, judging by the bricks and jagged-edged lengths of heavy iron bars which littered the floor. It was difficult to see exactly where she was.  She glanced around; where the hell was everyone? It was only eight-thirty; there had to be some people left in the building. Diving into her purse, she pulled out a small flashlight. Its narrow beam at least lit the way a few feet ahead and she relaxed slightly as she located her car beside the stairwell.

Keys in hand, Catherine unlocked the driver’s door, threw her briefcase and a bundle of papers on the passenger seat and was about to climb behind the wheel when the hairs on the back of her neck stiffened. Whirling around, she found herself face to face with a tall, muscular man in a suit. His black hair was slicked back from his face and in the darkness he had the look of a gangster about him.

“So, we meet at last, Catherine Chandler.”

Catherine’s heart somersaulted as she recognized the voice of her mystery caller. It occurred to her that this time she was completely alone. Vincent had warned her he would be a very long way away and she knew that if ever she needed to think on her feet, the time was now.

“Get away from me,” she warned. “I have a gun which I won’t hesitate to use if you so much as touch me.”

“Just try it, bitch.”

In a lightning move, he whipped out a long-bladed knife and grabbed both her wrists in one hand. Looking over his shoulder, he called to someone on the stairs, but that was all Catherine needed. Bringing up her knee with all her strength, she struck him squarely in the crotch and he doubled over in agony, falling to the floor of the garage. A second figure emerged from the stairwell, but by this time Catherine had managed to pull her handgun from her purse. Aiming it at the approaching figure, she squeezed the trigger and the man fell on the top stair, groaning as he appeared to clutch at his leg. 

With her heart pounding in terror, Catherine backed away, yelling a warning as the first man heaved himself up and lurched towards her. Grabbing her wrist that held the gun, he held it above their heads and shook it hard. Another bullet discharged harmlessly before the weapon fell to the ground, and he smashed his fist into Catherine’s face. Pain was all that stopped her from losing consciousness and Catherine scrambled away from him, searching frantically for the gun in the shadowy darkness. Fortunately, the man was still fighting his own pain, and he paused to lean against the car for an instant; a grave error which offered her the advantage she sought.

Suddenly, her hand closed around the gun and she raised it above shoulder level. She fired twice to the right and there was a sound of splintering glass and the whole area was plunged into almost total darkness, the bullets shattering two of the three remaining lights. The other was located at the far end of the garage, so it was now almost impossible to discern her hand in front of her face. Catherine’s hand found what she realized was an iron bar about two feet in length. Knowing the first man would be on her in another second, she scrambled on to the hood of her car in order to evade him momentarily and try and gain some advantage in height. 

She could hear the second man struggling to his feet and knew she had just two shots left. As the first man made a grab for her in the darkness, she fired; sickened as she heard a thud and then he was silent. There was no time for soul-searching and Catherine was about to discharge her last bullet in the direction of the gasping she heard from the second man, when her heart constricted in fear; there was the sound of heavy breathing as someone neared the doorway to the stairwell. She heard a grunt, as whoever it was encountered the wounded man, and then suddenly there was a blood-curdling cry.

All Catherine could make out was a dark shape coming towards her, and in pure terror, her hands shaking, she fired the gun one last time, then, dropping it to the ground, swung the iron bar with all her might, feeling sick as she felt it come into contact with something solid. There was the sound of a sharp intake of breath, a heavy thud, and then nothing.

On legs that threatened to give way at any moment, Catherine climbed down from the car and found that a body lying on the ground prevented her from opening the door.  Gingerly she tried to roll it over with her foot. She managed to get the door open a few inches and reached inside to turn on the headlights. What she saw made her open her mouth to scream but nothing came out. A man lay near the stairwell…deep, bloody gashes across his face which extended over his body, and blood seeped out from the ripped material of his jacket and shirt.  The first man who had tried to knife her, lay a few feet away, a bullet hole between glassy, unseeing eyes. But none of this made any impression on Catherine. All she could take in with any real consciousness was the figure that had stopped her from fully opening the car door. It was Vincent…

The left side of his head and face was obscured by blood; there was a bullet wound in his thigh. And, as gulping sobs began to wrack her body, the blood froze on its journey to her arteries as she remembered the nightmare. Only the need to establish if he was alive and to get him Below, prevented Catherine from passing out where she stood.  Sinking to her knees, she turned him on his back, ripped open his padded vest and leaned over him, groping his chest wildly and listening for the reassurance that his heart was still beating. Finding nothing, her control snapped and she began to shake him and scream hysterically.

“Vincent, wake up! You can’t die…you can’t leave me! Vincent! VINCENT!”

“Cathy!” Her head snapped up to see Joe Maxwell running towards her, a powerful flashlight in his hand. This was what Catherine needed to force down the hysteria and get a grip on herself.  With all her strength, she pulled Vincent onto his side again, shoved his hand inside his cloak and cradled his head in her lap, hiding his face against her stomach as his blood continued to pour from the head wound, seeping into the skirt of her new Versace suit.

“I’m here, Joe! Help me, please!” He was beside her in an instant, kneeling down and running the beam of the flashlight up and down the length of Vincent. She saw him frown as he took in the long, tawny hair matted with blood; the way she rocked him gently against her body, and her own tearstained, broken-hearted face, and she knew he was wondering, trying to put together the pieces in his head.

“Cathy?”

“No, Joe, there’s no time. Please, I think he’s dead! I can’t feel his heartbeat!”

“Want me to try?”

“No…yes, please. Joe…turn off the flashlight.”

“But I won’t be able to…”

“I know. Just turn it off…please.” The light went off immediately and Catherine felt Vincent being pulled from her as Joe’s hand probed Vincent’s chest.

“Here…” She allowed him to take her hand and place it exactly where his had been. He pressed down firmly and Catherine felt a faint, erratic rhythm where, only the previous evening she had revelled in hearing the powerful, regular thump.

“There…okay? He’s still with us, for the moment anyway. Cathy?” 

For one near-hysterical moment she wanted to laugh and shout for joy. “Thanks, Joe.  Oh thank God…thank God!” She turned Vincent’s head into her body again, and Joe switched the flashlight back on, placing it a few feet away.

“What about those other guys, Cathy?” Joe queried pointedly, jerking his head towards the dead men. Just what the hell happened here?” 

Suddenly her voice began to wobble again. “I killed them in self-defense, Joe. They were here to kill me; one of them was the man who made those phone calls. You do what you like, they don’t matter. But this man…you never saw him, okay?”

“You’re asking me to believe you gouged that guy’s face and chest with your bare hands?”  He pointed to the man at the top of the stairs.

“No. I’m not asking you to believe me, Joe; I’m begging you,” Catherine pleaded, hoping the desperation in her voice would persuade him. He looked down at the dark shape that was Vincent and the way she clutched him to her, uncaring that the blood which had already ruined her skirt was now soaking into the sleeves of her jacket.

“If he doesn’t get to a doctor fast, it won’t matter much what I saw.”

“Joe, just please give me your word you’ll say nothing about him.”

“Okay.”

“You never saw him.”

“Okay, okay! Who did this to him – those guys over there?” 

She looked him straight in the eye, her heart breaking. “No. I did this.” 

Joe looked totally bewildered. “You did. Right. Okay, fine. Who is he, Cathy?”

“Don’t ask me anything else, Joe. Please, just help me get him in the car and then forget him. Will you do that for me?” 

Her boss grunted in exasperation. “Whatever you say, Radcliffe.”

Probably realizing he wouldn’t get any more answers tonight,  maybe never, he suddenly lifted Vincent’s shoulders and with Catherine supporting him on the other side, they managed to lay him on the back seat of her car.  As Catherine closed the door and slid behind the wheel, Joe leaned inside.

“Something tells me you can’t take that guy to a hospital; what’re you gonna do?

“Take him home. His father’s a doctor.”

“Do you want me to come with you? I will, if you need me. No questions.” 

Catherine forced a grateful smile. “I can manage, Joe, but thanks anyway…for everything.  I owe you.”

“No you don’t. Friends do for each other. Now get outta here; I gotta call the cops.”

“Why are you here, Joe?” 

He smiled sheepishly. “Forgot my cellular. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Bye. Joe.”

Slamming the shift into ‘Drive’, Catherine shot out of the underground garage and drove along the darkened city streets towards her apartment building. There was no way she could get Vincent Below from the park entrance. Her only hope was the basement.  Suddenly a sound from the rear of the car made her swing the vehicle into a back alley. Vincent had begun to recover consciousness and, obviously disoriented, was reacting badly to being in a moving car. With a roar, he flung himself off the seat and began thrashing around in his bid to escape the confines of the vehicle. He swung his left arm against the window with such force that the glass shattered. Catherine slammed on the brakes, her heart racing in fear. She jumped out, glanced around her, thankful that no one appeared to be in the alley, and yanked open the rear door.

“Vincent!” she hissed. “It’s all right, I’m here! Vincent, it’s Catherine…please, you have to calm down! You’re badly hurt and I’m taking you home; do you understand what I’m saying?” She grabbed his arms, horrified now to see blood and shards of glass embedded in his sleeve. He looked at her, trying to focus, the rage and panic in his eyes gradually subsiding as he recognized her.

“Catherine? Wh-where are we? What is happening?” He heaved himself up on the seat and tried to climb out, but as Catherine made to restrain him, he groaned and clutched his head, falling back against the seat.

“Don’t try and get up just yet, Vincent, just stay there quietly. I’m taking you to Father.  Trust me, please.” Closing the door and returning behind the wheel, the irony of her words struck Catherine. She had shot him, smashed an iron bar into his skull, thrown him into such a panic he’d injured his arm, and here she was asking him to trust her.  The only slight comfort she was able to draw from the situation was that he had, at least, seemed to understand her when she spoke. Although she checked her rear view mirror frequently, Vincent made no further sound and she was uncertain as to whether he had slipped into unconsciousness again or was simply in too much pain to speak.

After what seemed like an eternity, Catherine brought the car to a halt outside her apartment block. Opening the rear door, she woke him gently.

“Vincent, I have to go inside and check it’s safe to get you to the basement. Do you understand?”

His voice was barely audible. “Yes.”

“Don’t try and get out. I’ll be right back, I promise.” There was no reply and Catherine closed the door and hurried into the building. Her neighbours from two doors down the hall were just entering the elevator, and she waited until the door shut and the indicator light showed the car had reached the next floor. Suddenly she leaned against the wall, shaking, the events of the evening proving too much. She felt dizzy and for a moment, was afraid she might pass out, but a voice at her side suddenly jolted her back to full consciousness.

“Miss Chandler? Are you okay?” 

Her head shot up and relief washed over her as she recognized young Brian standing beside her. “Oh, Brian, you don’t know how glad I am to see you!” she cried, running a hand through her hair. “Would you do something for me?”

“Sure. What’s wrong? You sick or something?” 

Catherine shook her head. “No, not me; it’s Vincent. He’s been badly wounded; he’s outside in the car and I have to get him Below. Will you help me with him, Brian?  I don’t know if I can manage alone.”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Brian had grown several inches since he’d first followed Catherine into the basement entrance to the Tunnels, incurring Father’s wrath by putting the world Below at risk.  Despite getting off on the wrong foot on that occasion, the boy had been touched at the welcome he’d received from the community, and on hearing their individual stories, had understood the importance of maintaining their secret, especially for Vincent, for whom he had nothing but admiration and almost hero-worship. His relationship with his father had improved enormously, but he had wanted to keep in touch with his new friends and had become a trusted Helper.

Catherine followed him into the street now and opened the rear door of the car. Leaning inside, she gently shook Vincent, relieved when he muttered something and dragged himself into a sitting position.

“Vincent, we’re at my apartment building and Brian’s here to help us. It’ll be okay. We just have to get to the basement and then we can get a message to Father to meet us.”  She held out her arms. “Can you make it?”

Brian’s eyes widened in horror as Vincent hauled himself from the car, blood pouring from the wounds in his head, arm and leg. Close to tears, Catherine grasped him around the waist and motioned to Brian.

“Check one more time there’s no one around inside, Brian,” she hissed and the teenager shot back inside. She could see him glancing around anxiously, and once he’d satisfied himself there was no one in sight, he returned, positioning himself on Vincent’s right side.

“Coast’s clear. Let’s go.”

Moving as quickly as possible, they reached the door of the basement and slipped inside.  By the time they reached the vertical, iron ladder leading to the tunnels, Catherine could see Vincent’s strength was failing and it was only sheer steel willpower and determination that kept him upright as they negotiated the rungs. When they reached the ground, Vincent fell against the wall, clutching his head.

“Brian, quickly, we need to get a message to Father!” urged Catherine. “Tap out an S.O.S. the way Vincent showed you and then run on ahead of us. Vincent can’t walk much further.” 

The boy nodded, but as he bent to pick up a stone to hammer on the pipes, Vincent’s good arm shot out to stop him. “No message…please. Father will…only…worry. I will…be…all right. Just…need…a little time.”  

Catherine felt the hysteria rising inside her again. “Vincent, I wish for once in your life you wouldn’t argue with me! Of course Father will worry! There’s every need for him to worry! You’re bleeding all over the ground…you…”

“Please, Catherine not now.” Vincent straightened and pushed himself away from the wall.

“God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” A sob caught in her throat and she flew to him, flinging her arms around his waist to hold and support him.  She pulled his arm around her shoulders, encouraging him to lean on her. “Are you sure you can make it?” she asked, tearfully. “It’s a long walk. I thought we could get some of the men here to help you.”

“We can…manage. Although Brian could…go on…ahead.” 

Catherine nodded to the boy and he ran to open the iron gate and, depressing the hidden lever, disappeared into the tunnels.

The journey through rocky passageways she had travelled a hundred times before, had never seemed so long to Catherine. She watched Vincent anxiously, and although his face, where it wasn’t obscured by blood, was deathly white, he walked on doggedly.  There was so much blood on his clothes now that it was hard to tell where one injury ended and the next began. Catherine had to bite her lip to stop herself from sobbing as she tried to deal with the knowledge that she had done this to him.

Eventually she heard voices, and suddenly Vincent was pulled from her grip and she found herself pressed against Mary’s comforting shoulder listening to words of reassurance. For a few moments she sobbed quietly, unable to explain and grateful for Mary’s presence. Then, pulling herself together, she braced herself for Father’s reaction.  She didn’t have long to wait. Suddenly he was there, an expression of undisguised horror on his face as his eyes scanned the bloodied figure of his son.

“Dear God, what on earth has happened!”

* * *

Vincent found himself led into the nearest chamber where he slumped gratefully onto a chair beside the table. There would be time enough later to go to the hospital chamber;  all he wanted right now was to rest quietly for a while, although he doubted there was any chance of that. The room seemed to be full of people.

Rebecca appeared with a large bowl of water and started to sponge the blood from his face as Father instructed her to locate the exact point of the head wound.

Meanwhile, Father cut swiftly through the denim of Vincent’s jeans and located the bullet wound in his leg, managing to stem the flow of blood until he could remove the bullet, and now cut through the sleeve of his sweater to establish the damage to his arm.  Vincent watched with a kind of morbid fascination as Father delicately began to remove pieces of glass, dropping them into a dish on the table, all the while asking questions that Vincent wasn’t sure quite how to answer.

“So, am I to be informed exactly what happened?” Father enquired. “I’m waiting, Catherine.”

She rose and crossed the chamber to face her examiner. Taking a deep breath, she answered,“It was me, Father…I did this to Vincent.” 

The hand on Vincent’s arm stilled as the old man absorbed Catherine’s words.

“What are you talking about?”

“I-I was in the garage below my office building when a man came at me with a knife. I managed to fight him off at first, but then a second man appeared and I shot him. It was so dark I couldn’t see what was happening. Father, I panicked when I heard someone else coming down the stairway;  I-I fired my gun and-and…” Her voice trailed off and she looked at Vincent helplessly.

“It was not…Catherine’s fault, Father,” he said softly. “She could not have known it was me.”

“Why not? You’re always there to help her aren’t you?”  He rounded on Catherine. “I can’t believe you just took a shot without even knowing who it was! Didn’t you even consider Vincent might come to your assistance?” 

Catherine threw up her hands in despair. “No! He told me he was going to the Crystal Cavern; that I should be careful for the next few days because he wouldn’t be able to reach me in time if something happened. It never even crossed my mind it could be Vincent!” 

Father jabbed a finger accusingly at Vincent’s left arm. “What about this?”

“I-I did that myself, Father,” Vincent responded weakly. “When I…recovered consciousness…I found myself…trapped…in a moving car. I panicked and  –  and broke the window. I frightened Catherine.” His head felt it might split in two at any second, and he paused to cradle it for a moment before continuing. “But for…her, we might…both have been…killed.” His strength was ebbing fast, but he was determined Father not blame Catherine for what had been a series of unfortunate accidents.

Jacob seemed to be struggling to control his temper. Peering intently over the top of his glasses at Vincent’s head wound, he suddenly rounded on Catherine again. “And why was he unconscious, Catherine? Because of this? Probably the most serious injury of all?” 

Vincent wondered how much more of this he could take. None of it had been Catherine’s fault. He should have called out to her when he ran down the stairs. If only he had, none of this would have happened. He put a hand to his head. If it would just stop its relentless throbbing, maybe he could think clearly; make Father see reason.

“Father…please, do not blame Catherine. You know as well as I…she would never hurt me intentionally.”

It was as though Father had not heard a word he’d said. Vincent knew it was only his worry and anger speaking but he seemed determined to destroy Catherine.

“WELL?” 

She jumped at his tone and ran a hand nervously through her hair. “That was me; all I knew was that someone was coming at me in the dark and I had to stop him. I…hit him…as hard as I could.”

“With what?” demanded the old man.

“An-an…iron bar.”

“WHAT!”  Father whirled around and threw his arms about him theatrically. “Well, why didn’t you just shoot him through the heart for Heaven’s sake! Your carelessness could easily have cost my son his life!”

Catherine waited in abject misery, shaking her head as she backed away; covering her face with her hands; the words in that horrific dream a few nights ago flooding back to torture and haunt her.

Suddenly the combination of pain, trauma, and particularly blood loss proved too much for Vincent. He began to pant as his heartbeat thundered in his ears. Just as everything began to recede into blackness, he felt a hand on his shoulder and vaguely heard Rebecca’s anxious whisper.

“Vincent…?”

“Dizzy…” He tried to say more, but the effort it required seemed to be more than he had left to give. His right arm rested on the table beside him and he laid his forehead down on it, wishing they would all go away and leave him alone, except perhaps for Rebecca, who appeared to be the only one who understood what he was feeling. Gentle hands lifted his hair as she applied a cold cloth to the back of his neck.

“Father! Catherine! Stop it! Can’t you see what you’re doing to Vincent? Hasn’t he been through enough, without this? Don’t you think you should be helping him instead of shouting at each other?”

* * *

At Rebecca’s words, Catherine’s head snapped up. She saw tears in Father’s eyes and his attention reverted instantly to his son, anger at her, forgotten for the moment. For the first time since meeting Vincent, Catherine felt completely alone. She wanted desperately to run to him; hold him in her arms and take care of him; love him and fuss over him until he was well again. But she didn’t have the medical knowledge needed;  she didn’t even know if Father would allow her to stay. She glanced around the room. It seemed to Catherine that his family had formed a protective circle around Vincent; one in which she was no longer welcome. With a small cry of anguish, she ran from the chamber along the passageways through which she had, only moments earlier, travelled with Vincent at her side.

“Catherine! Wait, please. Catherine!” Mary had managed to catch up with her and now, breathless from the unusual exertion, held Catherine’s arms firmly to prevent another chase. “Where are you going?” she demanded. “Surely you’re not leaving! Vincent needs you.” 

Catherine shook her head miserably. “No…he doesn’t. He’s better off without me. I just bring him pain.”

“That’s crazy, Catherine. You’ve opened the world for him.” She paused. “You’re thinking about what Father said, aren’t you? Don’t pay any attention to him. He didn’t mean it. He’s just so worried about Vincent. We all are.” 

Catherine slumped against the wall, shaking, her head thrashing back and forth against the cold rock. “Oh, Mary, Father’s right! I could have killed Vincent! It’s a miracle I didn’t. I’ll never forgive myself for what’s happened…never!”

“But you’re ready to run off?”

Catherine’s eyes grew wide. “Father will kill me if I stay! He’s right to blame me, Mary, I shot Vincent! I couldn’t see who I was aiming at; I could easily have shot him in the head or the heart! As it is, we have no idea just how badly he’s hurt. Mary, if he dies I…”

“Catherine, Vincent isn’t going to die. He’s probably got a bad concussion. Father will take care of him and so will I. You’re worn out and about ready to collapse yourself.  Now come along to my chamber and get some sleep.”

“No, I can’t. I have to go, I…”

“You’ll feel worse if you leave him now. And do you seriously expect to sleep tonight?  Come on…at least stay until we know how he is. Okay?” 

Catherine put a hand to her eyes and felt Mary slip an arm around her waist. “Okay,” she whispered. “Thanks, Mary.”

Mary was quite right, of course. Sleep was out of the question.  Catherine felt as if she would never be able to sleep again; that it was a luxury allowed only to those with a clear conscience, without blood on their hands. There was really little point in going to bed down here, but at least she was here; close to Vincent if he needed her…and if they’d let her go to him.

The nightgown which Mary brought her was carefully pressed and held a fresh, clean aroma, faintly reminiscent of herbal soap. Much like Vincent’s clothes, she realized, a shard of pain piercing her heart as she clutched it to her. Slowly she undressed and slipped it over her head. It would be like having him in bed with her.

* * *

Vincent lay on his back in the hospital chamber, his right thigh bound, the bullet having been removed. His arm had been cleaned and dressed, and the bandage extended from just above his elbow to between the thumb and forefinger of his hand. A large pad secured by a bandage covered the cleansed head wound, but Vincent had been unable to face any attempts to wash and untangle the matted locks of bloodied hair. Father’s face hovered anxiously above him and Vincent could see the exhaustion and lines of worry on his face. It angered him to know that he was the cause.

“Is the pain very bad, Vincent?” the old man enquired.

“These are of no consequence, Father,” replied Vincent, indicating his leg and arm. “I have endured worse injuries before and probably will again.” The old man shook his head in sad wonder. Only Vincent could dismiss a bullet in the leg and a severely lacerated arm as being ‘of no consequence’. That his son could accept there would always be people in the world Above who, once aware of his existence, would try to kill him in their blind ignorance, was a constant source of heartache to Father. And that the evidence of this fact was right before his eyes,  this time inflicted by Catherine herself, was almost more than he could bear.

“Father?” Vincent turned blue, pain-filled eyes on him, and he forced himself to remember that Catherine loved his son with single-minded fierceness. “What is it, Vincent?”

“Is there something you could give me for my head? I feel so dizzy and disoriented.”

“Of course. It will only take a minute.” Feigning a briskness he didn’t feel, he turned to the supplies cupboard and selected a bottle.  “I’m afraid you may have serious concussion at best, Vincent.  I might have to call Peter in to see what we can do about getting your skull x-rayed. How’s your vision?”

“A little…blurred. Father, is Catherine still here?” 

The old man looked around sharply from where he had been mixing a painkiller for Vincent to drink. “I really have no idea. Why?”

“I must see her. You were very hard on her, Father.”

“I’m sorry Vincent, but I couldn’t help myself. She almost killed you.” He lowered his voice until he was almost speaking to himself. “You’re always coming back injured from your trips Above now. You were safe down here until you met Catherine.”

“I was alone, too.”

“You were never alone, Vincent!” How can you say that?”

Vincent sighed. “You know what I mean. And you exaggerate, Father. I am not always  coming home injured. And on those occasions when I have…we both know that I have suffered less than those I left behind…at least physically.”

“Yes, well that’s another thing…”

Vincent touched his fingers to his forehead and closed his eyes. “May we speak of this some other time, Father,” he murmured. “I am really not feeling very well.” 

The old man hurried to his side, carrying a measure of milky white liquid. “Forgive me, Vincent. I don’t know what’s the matter with me tonight. Here, drink this; it will help.” Carefully he raised Vincent just enough for him to drink the medication, then lay him down again, pressing an ice pack gently to Vincent’s temple. “Try and sleep now. The tablet I gave you earlier should help.  I’ll be in the next chamber if you need me, and I promise I’ll fetch Catherine tomorrow.”

* * *

Catherine awoke with a start at 5.30 am. At first, she looked around, wondering why she wasn’t in her own bed. Then, memory of the previous evening returned like a bolt of electricity shooting through her. Jumping out of bed, she dressed hurriedly and padded down the dim passageways.

Vincent was sound asleep. He lay on his back dressed in a muslin nightshirt, his bandaged arm laying outside the covers which were drawn up to just above his waist.  His head was bandaged, a thick pad held firmly to the left side; his hair in disarray around the pale features. Catherine stared down at him, squeezing back the tears that threatened to fall and fighting the impulse to take him in her arms and cradle him to her heart forever;  a feeling so overwhelmingly powerful she was afraid he might sense it and stir from the healing sleep he desperately needed.

“I love you, Vincent,” she whispered shakily. “I love you so much I don’t know how I’m going to do this; but I have to leave you. Loving me is just too dangerous for you.” She bent down and reached across to gently lift his left hand, bringing the backs of his furred fingers to her lips. “I always knew I brought you emotional pain.  You once told me that we must endure the pain and savor every moment of the joy. But I can’t bear this, Vincent. This time it’s gone way too far. To know that through my own carelessness I nearly killed you…brought you all this physical  pain…I – I just can’t let it continue.” A sob caught in her throat and she replaced his hand on the cover. “Why didn’t you call out to me, Vincent?” she whispered. “If you’d only said something…anything…just so I knew it was you. Why didn’t I know it was you?”

Slowly, prolonging the moment as long as possible, Catherine bent down and touched her lips very softly to his.

“Please understand why I have to do this. I can live without seeing  you, if that’s the only way to keep you safe. But I can’t live in a world without  you. I love you, Vincent;  more than you’ll ever know. Be well, my love.”

Catherine straightened and ran from the chamber. Blinded by tears, she tore through the passages until, turning a corner, she collided with Father.

“Catherine!” He gripped her trembling body and she collapsed against him, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Come. Come with me.” Supporting most of her weight, he led her to his own chamber and gently pushed her into a chair. She vaguely heard him fiddling with a cupboard and the next thing she knew he had pressed a small glass of amber liquid into her hand.

“Drink this.”

“No, I…”

“Drink it,” he commanded. Catherine tossed back the contents of the glass, comforted slightly by the warm glow which caressed her throat. The old man gave her a moment to compose herself and then pulled a chair up to face her.

“I was very hard on you last night, Catherine. We both know why, so there is really no point in going over it all again. But I do know, of course, that you would never intentionally hurt Vincent, and I apologize for the harsh things I said. I am sure you understand they were said in shock and anger and in the heat of the moment.” 

Catherine raised reddened eyes to the kindly, lined face. “Of course, I understand, Father. I’m sure I would have reacted the same way in your place.”

“You have a generous heart, Catherine. Thank you. Now…have you been to see Vincent?” 

She nodded.

“He’s awake then?”

“No. I – I just wanted to see him and tell him that…  Ah, no, he wasn’t awake. How is he, Father? Really.” 

Jacob raised his eyebrows and gave a long sigh.  “Well, I’m fairly certain the leg wound will heal satisfactorily. The lacerations to his arm; well, I only hope I managed to get every single piece of glass. I shall need to watch very carefully for any sign of infection.  There may be some scarring,” he added, then paused and ran a hand over his face. “It’s the head wound that concerns me the most. I pray it’s only concussion, but only time will tell. Vincent was in a great deal of pain last night. He actually asked me to give him something for it. I’ve never known him to do that before.”

Every word was like a knife in Catherine’s heart. “Father, will you do something for me?”

“Of course. What is it?” The tremor in her voice told as much as the words themselves.

“When Vincent wakes, will you tell him how much I love him? Please, Father?” 

The old man looked puzzled. “I believe that message would be better coming from you.  He wanted to see you this morning. I realize you have your life to get back to, but if you could…”

“Father, my life is meaningless without Vincent. It’s not that. I just…I can’t…I won’t be coming back any more. Ever. That’s why I want you to give Vincent the message.” 

The old man’s eyes widened in horror at her words. “Not coming back? What on earth are you talking about, Catherine?”

“Last night finally made me realize just how dangerous our relationship is for Vincent.  He puts his life at risk every time he comes above to be with me. I’ve been kidding myself, Father. Kidding both of us. Well, I can’t do it any more.”

“You don’t love him enough to take the risk with him?”  

Catherine’s green eyes blazed and she sprang to her feet, striding around the chamber much as Vincent would have done. “It’s because I love him so much that I’m doing this!  I love him enough to let him go before he gets killed!” 

She paused in front of him, her arms held out in a gesture of helplessness. “You know I’m right. I would think you’d be pleased. You’ve never approved of our relationship.  Well, now I’m giving Vincent back to you, Father. A little the worse for wear, I admit, and for that I’ll never forgive myself. But at least you won’t have to worry any more about him coming above to be with me. He’ll be safe down here.”  

The old man made a sound in his throat which was a cross between a curse and a sob.

“How little you know me, Catherine,” he said. “You can’t ‘give Vincent back’ like an unwanted gift!”

“NO! That’s not it! I do want him, you know I do! I love him. You’re deliberately misunderstanding me!”

Unable to take any more, Catherine ran from the chamber. On and on through the passages she went, praying her knowledge of the tunnels would lead her instinctively up into the park.  She needed fresh air, and despite her blotchy, tearstained face and dishevelled state, she knew none of the early morning joggers would turn a hair. Joining them, she felt her legs rebel as the trauma of the last eight hours took its toll and she was forced to return to her apartment after only ten minutes exercise. Falling across her bed, Catherine sobbed until sheer exhaustion stilled her body, when she waited for it to begin all over again.

* * *

Father limped slowly along to the hospital chamber and was surprised to find Vincent awake. “Good morning.  How are you feeling?”

“Unsettled. I wish to return to my own chamber, Father.”

“Very well. I’ll help you. How’s the leg?” 

Vincent climbed down from the bed and tested it. “It is…as you would expect. Stiff and a little sore. Where is Catherine, Father?” 

I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me that.  At least not yet, until I’ve thought of a satisfactory reply.

“She er, she had to leave, Vincent. Work, you know.”

“Did she say when she would return? I must speak with her. I have to make her understand she is not to blame for last night. She is feeling great inner turmoil.”

When Catherine did not appear that night, Vincent became agitated and Father was forced to recount the conversation he’d had with her earlier.

Now dressed and limping around his chamber, Vincent reacted predictably to the news of Catherine’s decision. “But it was not her fault, Father! I should have called out when I reached the base of the stairs in that garage. I cannot allow her to suffer this alone. Did you not try to stop her leaving?”

“Yes, of course I did. She is a very determined young woman, Vincent. And she loves you; I’m sure she’ll come back once she’s had a chance to think things through calmly.” 

Vincent clenched his fists, loosening the bandage on his right hand. “No. What Catherine is feeling will not go away by itself. I have to go to her.” He whirled around, his need to be with Catherine causing him to forget the severity of his injuries. The sudden movement jarred his leg sickeningly and made his head feel as if it was about to explode. He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table and taking deep breaths until he had the pain and sudden dizziness under control.

“You’re in no condition to go anywhere at the moment, Vincent,” sighed Father, taking his arm and pushing him gently into a chair while he proceeded to check the bandage.  “But if she still hasn’t come by the middle of next week, well, I’ll go and talk to her myself. Take her any message you want.” 

Vincent gripped the arms of the chair until the wood began to creak in protest. “She is torturing herself, Father. I can feel it,” he muttered. “Fate decreed that we should meet in this lifetime, and all she is doing by pretending it can be otherwise is causing both of us unnecessary pain.”

* * *

Vincent’s first note was waiting for her the following day when she returned from work – a few lines on a single sheet of heavy, cream notepaper pushed under the door by a Helper. There was no doubt it was his handwriting, but it was not as firm as usual; as if he had experienced considerable difficulty writing it.

Dearest Catherine,

Father has told me of your conversation. If your decision had been taken because your love for me had died, I would abide by it and accept it, but I know that is not the reason.  I know you blame yourself for what happened last night. I feel your guilt as strongly as I feel your love, and all your other emotions, and you should know that if blame lies with anyone, then it is I who bear it. I have to talk to you, Catherine, and since I am temporarily unable to come to you, I must ask you to come Below with all speed. For if it takes the rest of my life to convince you, know that I would make any sacrifice…take any risk for you, Catherine, my love.

Vincent

Catherine’s tears smudged the words as she read them, blurring the letter into an illegible pattern of ink. The ache inside her sharpened and, because her heart was unable to destroy the note as her head told her she should, Catherine merely re-folded it and stuffed it to the bottom of her underwear drawer.

She looked at herself in the dressing table mirror. She looked a mess. It was hard to believe he would find her attractive if he came by now; yet she knew he would. She also knew that because of what she’d done to him the previous evening, there was no way he could possibly come to her. He’d admitted as much in his letter. She wondered how he was. How would she know? She was never going to see him again and she couldn’t go to any of the Helpers. They were all fiercely loyal to Vincent and none of them would understand why she had left him. They would assume she couldn’t take the pressure of their relationship any longer. Perhaps they would even think she’d met and fallen in love with someone else. God, no;  she couldn’t bear it if they thought that.

Suddenly she realized that if the bond continued – and she had no reason to believe it wouldn’t – she would always know how he was. At least she would know if anything major was wrong. She did not feel it with quite the same power as Vincent, but her own sensitivity to it had grown steadily ever since the day he and Father had been buried in the rockfall. She knew now, he was experiencing tremendous pain; although how much was physical and how much emotional, she was uncertain. All she knew was that she had caused it and she wanted him to suffer as little as possible in the future.

His next letter came two days after that. In it he said how saddened he was that she had not come to him. He hoped she was well and that her emotions were not intruding upon her work. It was still not possible for him to come to her, but he begged her…no, his tone was not begging. Vincent would never beg to anyone for anything…not even her. He asked her again if she would go to him; reiterated that he would not allow her to destroy both of them with her misplaced guilt.

Again she sobbed; wished for the hundredth time that she could tear out her heart so that she would never again feel anything; and placed the letter with the other, amongst her most intimate possessions, as she yearned for Vincent himself to be.

For several days, in almost robotic fashion, Catherine dragged herself to work, avoiding close contact with Joe wherever possible, yet knowing he wouldn’t be put on hold indefinitely. He deserved not only her thanks for what he’d done that night, but some answers; as many as she could safely give him, to demonstrate her trust. Plagued by guilt, sorrow, and what seemed now to be a permanent ache inside her, both in her heart and her head, she looked up apprehensively as Joe approached her desk.

“I could use a little help in getting rid of these,” he said, pointing to the paper bag he held.  “Jelly doughnuts,” he added in explanation, but Catherine shook her head.

“No thanks, Joe, I’m not hungry.”

“That’s what you said yesterday and the day before. Tell me something, Radcliffe; when was the last time you ate a regular meal?”

“You mean like hamburgers, fries, and jelly doughnuts?” replied Catherine, attempting a smile.

“Something like that, sure, why not?”

“That stuff’ll kill you, Joe.”  

He shrugged. “A heart attack is quicker than malnutrition. We need to talk, Cathy.”

“Please, Joe, I…”

“Right now. In my office. I’m pulling rank.” 

With a sigh, Catherine scraped back her chair and followed him. Once inside he gestured to a chair and closed the door.

“You know you owe me some kind of explanation for that night. I had a helluva job explaining those bodies, especially the one with wounds like claw marks across his face and chest. Thank God we got the conviction on Lomax. If we hadn’t, my ass would really have been in a sling.”

“I know, Joe. I’m sorry. It’s just that there’s only so much I can tell you.”

“So tell me that much! Trust me, Cathy.” He sat down on the desk, facing her. “Look at all this from my point of view. When you came to work here, it wasn’t long after you were attacked. As I recall, you disappeared for ten days and your father and all your friends were beginning to think you were dead. Then, suddenly you reappear – a changed person by all accounts. Now, for most women the change would have been for the worse; they’d probably have become withdrawn, over-cautious, afraid to go out at night, all those things. But it wasn’t like that for you, was it? You started acting like something good had happened to you. Cathy, you even chose not to have the scars removed; the constant reminder of that night. You took the job here instead of decorating your father’s uptown law office; God knows it couldn’t have been the money that brought you here. You took all the shitty cases I threw at you, without complaining…” 

He cocked an eyebrow and gave her a lopsided grin. “Well, not as much as I’d hoped you would, anyway. And all the time, in between the court battles and the trauma, you were like…I don’t know…kind of…serene. Yeah, that’s it;  serene.” 

Catherine couldn’t help smiling. “I didn’t know you knew words like that, Joe.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Radcliffe. I can be as perceptive as the next guy when I try.  What I’m trying to say is, you acted like you fell in love or something.”

“Joe, this is making me very uncomfortable…”

“Bear with me, Cathy. I’m getting to what I really want to know, and I’m not gonna try and make you tell me anything you promised not to. But I’m not a complete klutz; I’ve put a few things together over the last coupl’a years. No ‘visible’ sign of a man in your life; no dates. It’s almost like you disappear off the face of the earth when you leave here at night. And then, the other night in the garage; that guy you were breaking your heart over; it’s him, isn’t it, Cathy? He’s the key to the secret life you’ve been leading all this time.”

Catherine leaned her head back against the chair and sighed. This was the moment she’d known would come right from the beginning. How ironic that she should be forced to face it now, when she’d broken off her relationship with Vincent.

“Okay, Joe, you’re right. He is the man I’m…involved with.” Why hadn’t she said was involved with? “The man I love. But you never see me with him because he doesn’t live around here. I ah, have to travel to his home when we see each other.” 

Joe threw up his hands in disbelief. “Cathy, this is me you’re talking to! Good old Joe.  Don’t bullshit me about him not living around here. That’s not the reason no one ever sees you with him. Level with me; there’s something weird about this guy, isn’t there?”  

Catherine stood up, indicating that the conversation was almost over. “We’re all a little weird, Joe. My…friend…has a few problems which means he can’t get around as much as he’d like to. Now that’s all I’m prepared to tell you. I’m grateful to you for everything you’ve done. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, but I really don’t want to take this any further. Now, can I get back to work?”  

Joe shrugged and rose, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Sure. Just answer me one thing.”

“What?”

“Will you introduce me to him one day? Just so’s I know he’s good enough for you?” 

Catherine grinned, the first genuine one in days. “I promise you, Joe, if I ever decide to get married, I’ll introduce you to my fiancé.” 

Joe frowned, realizing he hadn’t gotten the answer he really wanted. “Cute, Radcliffe.  That’s cute.  Okay get outta here.”

* * *

When Catherine exited the elevator that evening, she was astonished to find Father seated on the chair outside her apartment. He was dressed in his ‘going Above’ grey suit, overcoat, and hat, and pushed himself to his feet as she emerged.

“Father? What are you doing here?” 

The old man removed his hat and regarded Catherine gravely. “May we go inside, my dear? I’m afraid I have some very bad news.” 

Catherine’s heart stopped. “It’s Vincent…you wouldn’t come here for anything else.  What is it? What’s happened!”  

He gestured to the door. “Please…inside.” 

Catherine fumbled with her keys in the lock, eventually managing to open the door with shaking hands. She closed it behind them, and, forgetting her manners completely, rounded on Father. “Tell me!” 

Realizing he wasn’t going to be invited to sit, Father placed his cane in front of him and leaned on it with both hands. “Vincent was very disappointed that you ignored his letters.” 

Catherine ran her hands through her hair, wondering how much more of this she could take. “Father, I beg you; if something’s happened to Vincent then tell me, please!”

“The head wound; I’m afraid it was more than a routine concussion after all. My dear, he’s been having these dreadful, blinding headaches…”

“I know.”

“Well, I was so worried about him that I called Peter in. He arranged some private x-rays for Vincent and…I’m so very sorry to have to tell you this, Catherine…it turned out to be a brain tumor. Vincent only has a few months to live. I’ll take you to him if you wish, Catherine.”

The words entered her brain and body like a shotgun blast, tearing her open, crushing her with their force. Father’s lips were still moving but she heard nothing. Vaguely she saw him stretch out an arm to her, but she was already backing away, shaking her head in denial and disbelief.

She didn’t wait for the elevator but headed blindly for the stairs, then out on to the street, running faster and faster; images of Vincent obliterating everything else. Cars sounded their horns, their drivers hurling abuse at her as she raced between them across busy rush hour streets. By the time she reached the park, she was barely able to breathe and had no choice but to stop and lean against a tree, her chest burning. After a moment or two she straightened and continued her flight towards the Tunnel entrance. The sound of her echoing steps filled her ears as she tore through the drainage culvert and began her descent towards Vincent.

Several members of the Tunnel community acknowledged her as she flew past them, but all she could think of was reaching him. There was no time for explanation. On and on she ran until, exhausted and breathless, she skidded to a halt in the doorway of Vincent’s chamber. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t Vincent limping around the room reciting from a volume of poetry he was holding.

“Catherine,” he said;  his voice just as strong and beautiful as it had always been. 

She walked slowly towards him and stared up at his face, completely bewildered. “Father told me you were dying!”  

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly and he tilted his head to one side. “I apologize if I have disappointed you, Catherine.”

Suddenly, all the pain and anguish, all the shock and guilt, overwhelmed her as she realized she had been ‘set up’ by Father and Vincent. Sobbing tears which were a mixture of relief, joy, and sheer fury, she hurled herself at him and began pounding on his chest with her fists.

“How could you! How could you do that to me!” 

He allowed her to continue until her strength evaporated and she sagged against him, and then he enfolded her in his arms and held her tightly as she sobbed into his vest.

“I’m sorry, Catherine…I’m sorry,” he murmured, lowering  his head to press his cheek against her hair. “I had to see you. You refused to come. There was no other way.” 

She pulled back to look up at him. “Do you know how I felt, Vincent? Can you possibly imagine what I went through when Father told me you were dying?”

“Yes, Catherine. I do not have to imagine. I know  how you felt.” 

She expelled a long breath. “Of course you did. And I should have known that if you were really dying, I would have felt that too.”

“Father’s thespian abilities must have improved. He said you would know he wasn’t speaking the truth.” 

She thought about this for a moment. “He’s right. I should have realized. If what he was saying was true, he would have been devastated and he wasn’t. I’ve been very stupid, haven’t I?” 

Vincent tilted her face upwards and smiled gently. “Not stupid. I despise myself for bringing you such pain, Catherine. I was at a loss to know how else to bring you here.  Can you ever forgive me?”

She found herself thinking of the conversation she’d had with Joe, when she’d cleverly given him an ambiguous answer to a question he hadn’t really asked. She suddenly realized Vincent had done something very similar in order to counteract her guilt and make her feel better.

“You are a very wise man, Vincent,” she replied, “but it frightens me that it’s more dangerous for you if we stay together than it would be if we parted.” His startlingly blue eyes looked down at her and she saw all the love she felt for him reflected there, for her.

“I stay with you because I love you, Catherine. Whatever risks I take by being with you, I take willingly. You once told me that if your fate was to be with me, then you embraced it gladly. That is exactly how I feel about facing possible danger to be with you…because without you, my life would be empty and I would be alone again.”

“Oh, Vincent.” Her arms crept around him but she found her legs would barely support her. “I seem to be a little wobbly; could we sit down please?”

“With the greatest of pleasure, Catherine,” he breathed, and she realized how his leg must have been hurting him from standing so long. He led her over to his bed and they sat down, not taking their eyes from each other.

“Why were you in the garage that evening, Vincent? You should have been well on your way to the Crystal Cavern by that time.” 

He dropped his eyes briefly, looking faintly embarrassed. “Mouse and I were packed and ready to go, but I had sensed unrest in you, Catherine. As if something was wrong, but that you were trying to block it from me.” He shrugged. “I postponed our trip. I’m afraid I incurred Mouse’s displeasure for a while, but he soon forgave me. He understands that you are my first priority.” 

Catherine shook her head slowly. “You really are amazing, Vincent. You’re right. I did  try to block my fear from you. I’d been getting some weird phone calls and I guess I was a little spooked. I didn’t want to spoil your plans. Vincent?”

“What is it, Catherine?”

“I – I’m curious. You obviously…dealt…with the man in the garage, but I never heard you. I mean…”

“I know what you mean. I did not make the sounds normally associated with my…rages.  The answer is simple. I used every ounce of self-control I possess not  to make them. I thought if I could possibly refrain, my less than human side might be less apparent in your eyes.”

“Oh, no. Vincent, I don’t care about any of that. I love everything about you and I always will. You don’t have to try and be anything different than you are, for me. You know that. And the tragic irony is that if you had made those sounds, I would have known it was you and none of this would have happened.”

“I realize that now.” 

Catherine lifted a hand and gently touched her fingers to the single dressing which still covered his temple. “You really have been having blinding headaches, haven’t you?”

“Not as severe as Father implied. And they are less frequent now. It was  just a concussion.”

Catherine felt a warm stirring in the pit of her stomach as she remembered a time when she had cured his headache in a somewhat unorthodox manner.

As he bent his head to kiss her, she felt as if she were dissolving under the warm pressure of his lips and the sensation of being close to him again. She’d missed him so badly. When they drew apart again to breathe, she held his shoulders and pushed him gently backwards. Leaning over him, she placed one hand on his stomach and the other high on his chest, probing the various leather thongs which fastened his suede and leather patchwork overshirt.

“Oh, Vincent,” she complained softly, “why do you wear so many clothes?”

He had already lifted his legs on to the bed; she had felt the hard muscles of his left thigh at her back as he brought his knee up, and now, to her surprise and delight, he took her hand and guided it not just through the overshirt, but between the edges of the muslin beneath, enabling her to caress his chest while he removed the outer garment.

“Do you have one now?” she asked. He looked at her curiously for a moment. “A headache, I mean.” 

He smiled, suddenly understanding. “I am tempted to say yes, Catherine, since I seem to remember you have a most exquisite way of relieving it. But I cannot believe you just happen to have your massage oil with you?” 

She grinned and gently stroked the uninjured side of his head. “No, but I can pretend, can’t I?” 

His special half-smile held an unusual, mischievous quality as his fingers slipped beneath her sweater. “Then, I will pretend I have a headache.”