THE CONCRETE NEST

by Ruby and JoAnn Baca

PART ONE

There was no pleasure in standing over the faces gathered at the table. The pleasure came in making them wait.

Gabriel swirled a cognac the color of amber in his glass. He could feel the irritation wafting off some of them like their colognes that came from the most expensive shops in the city. He knew Moreno was irritated but too scared to show it. He liked Moreno; Moreno was still a fun bug to play with. The rest of them sat there tight-mouthed, waiting for him to turn his attention to them and tell them why he had called this meeting.

But first they had to wait.

A line of irritation crossed his mouth as he saw the chair for Thornhill was empty. Thornhill ran the European operations and he had been in town and asked to come. Gabriel wanted Thornhill to see who was in charge in New York. Thornhill wasn’t afraid of him, and Gabriel did not like him for that alone. He returned his attention to why he was making the rest of them wait. From this height you could see the meteor shower, raining sparks like gods hurling hot coals at the people cowering in their temples to them.

Gabriel saw one of the meteors act strangely. It seemed to veer off and be heading right toward him. Well. Gabriel smiled. Thornhill was taking over New York. He figured Thornhill was waiting behind the shooter on one of those rooftops.

Gabriel coolly turned his back to the window. He took a sip of his drink. He closed his eyes at the smooth fire of it as it coated his throat. And that was the last thing he thought before a different kind of fire exploded behind him, showering the room in shards of broken glass like falling stars.

* * *

Near the bottom of the building, where the medical equipment was too heavy to lug upstairs, the woman lay on the table. She had a name once, she was sure of it. But she also knew she must never say it out loud. Because there was another name, a name she must never ever say, that they kept asking her about when she talked. So she’d stopped talking.

They hadn’t bothered to restrain her on the table. The fight had left her some time ago – weeks? months? Time was a white space that never changed here. The nurse would come to get her when they were done with the scans. They were concerned by how fast the child was growing.

The child.

She loved the child she carried, but she could no longer remember the name of the one who had given it to her.

She wanted to be out of this room. She hated her white room but at least she could stand by the window and watch the lights of the city. She had murmured stories to the child once, about toy rabbits that became real and little children who got lost in dark woods, but she’d stopped talking to the child too. She just laid her hand on the swell of her belly, in sorrow that this world was the one she was bringing her child into.

A loud explosion from somewhere above shook the room. She felt numb. God was finally striking this tower down. There were shouts from the others in the room. Someone talked into their earpieces. She heard words – fire, explosion, run – but they seemed to be coming from far away. God was going to burn this tower down. His angel, The Messenger, had disobeyed him and had to be punished. And she was going to be punished right along with him. God was like that.

It wasn’t until the other figures fled the room that she thought to get up and leave the table. She was confused now. Why weren’t they taking her with them? Surely The Messenger was already escaping and wanted his prize, and the meat wrapped around it, taken to wherever he was running away. But no one came into the room to take her away.

She walked barefoot to the hallway. It was flooded with dozens of people fleeing. She could smell smoke now. She saw the nurse, the dark-haired nurse who had never said a single word to her, running toward her. She was coming to take her back to her room, the barefoot woman thought. But then she realized the nurse was speaking to her, screaming, “Help me,” and her eyes went wide with horror as she saw the tongues of flame lick up the nurse’s back and consume her hair like leaves.

The barefoot woman lurched toward a stairwell door. She must not die here. She must go…where? Her mind clouded as a crowd of people pushed her through the door and streamed past her down the stairs. Down. Yes, into the earth. She followed the figures; some had been her guards, who no longer gave her a second look as they fled for their lives.

She walked into a parking garage. She smelled oil and exhaust and heard new sounds now, sirens. Sirens meant help was coming. She frowned; sirens meant men who worked for her betrayer. She could not let them find her and the child.

She felt a cold breeze on her face. Fresh air.

She was close to Outside. She began to walk toward the increasing chill, her eyes dazzled by the street lights and converging sirens. What people were around were all looking up at the building. She crept past a news truck. A camera crew was pointing its camera at a well-made-up woman talking in front of the burning building. In the back of their truck was an open duffle bag. It held a pair of sneakers and a set of sleepwear the woman had changed out of before giving her report. Instinct made the barefoot woman pick up the shoes and bag and continue into the darkness.

She had escaped The Messenger. She was free.

She crossed the street and took a look back. The tower was burning and the fire trucks were trying to stop it. She hoped they failed.

She felt sick. She was free but she had no name and no place to go to. And she wasn’t sure The Messenger was dead. He sometimes stayed at the tower and sometimes he was at another place she’d overheard them talk about. She had to find a hiding place.

Behind a parked car she changed into the sneakers. The pajama bottoms were too small, but an oversized cardigan fit over her gown. She slung the bag over her shoulder and started walking.

The early morning hours were fading into dawn when she found the warehouse. A piece of the siding was loose and a board had been laid over it. Lifting the board, you could wiggle under the siding and into the building. The warehouse looked like it had been abandoned for a long time. She shivered at the cobwebs the crates had collected, and she looked for a place to lie down.

Her strength was fading. They must not get her child. Not ever. She found a space that seemed strangely clean of dust. Too tired to think what it might mean, she bunched the pajama bottoms into a pillow and pulled the cardigan around her tightly as she curled on the floor to sleep.

Her hand went to her belly. For the first time in weeks, she heard the sound of her own voice.

“Rest, my pretty one. I will not let them take you from me.”

* * *

A young woman, lithe, tawny-skinned, dark hair cropped short, entered the warehouse through the same loose siding the woman had. Her Daddy had had a sense of humor, naming her Chance. As far as she was concerned, it was his only gift to her, since he’d left nothing behind but her and her Mom soon after her birth. Now she made the streets her home, getting by panhandling, scavenging what she could, and hanging with her man. It was the two of them against the world, and she was just fine with that.

Chance approached the pile of clothing warily. It was new since they had left the warehouse that morning, and anything new in the squat was suspicious. She ran the beam from her flashlight over the pile and saw that the clothing contained a woman, apparently asleep.

Kneeling, she inspected the unexpected visitor more closely. Her nostrils flared; the stranger smelled strongly of smoke. She hopped back quickly when the woman turned in her sleep, and Chance’s eyes widened. The heavy belly spoke of imminent birth.

Her partner entered the building – a slender, delicate-boned man whose young years sat heavily on him – replacing the board that covered the loose siding. He turned to find Chance by the beam of his flashlight, then followed the direction of her own flashlight’s beam. He frowned. What was that it was lighting?

“Chance?” He whispered her name, wary now. This place had been theirs alone for weeks, and he had come to think of it as their home. Had others found their haven, perhaps wanting it for their own?

Chance rose and slipped past scattered crates and barrels with practiced ease. She murmured to him, “Pregnant woman over there, sleeping.”

Her partner’s brow creased further then he took a look himself. The woman didn’t stir. He thought it strange that, even with a bright light on her face, she didn’t react at all. She must be beyond exhausted. He recalled a phrase his Momma used to use: sleeping the sleep of the dead.

He ran his flashlight beam all around; she was alone.

Gesturing Chance to follow him to a corner of the warehouse, they strode far from the sleeping woman, where they could talk without her overhearing, should she awaken.

Before he could speak, Chance suggested, “We should get her up and send her packing.”

Chance wasn’t cruel, not really, but she didn’t like sharing their meager subsistence with random strangers. And the streets were full of random strangers these days.

She could see that he was vacillating. “C’mon, what can we do for her? She’s about to pop that baby out. You like changing diapers? I never have, and don’t wanna start.”

He smiled at her brashness. It was mostly street bravado, he knew. Chance was a good kid, dealt tough blows in life. She’d had to learn quickly how to survive on her own, and she was damn good at it. Thinking of herself first had kept her alive against strong odds.

But when he was down and out, jonesing alone by a dumpster in a stinking alley, thinking his time was up, she had stumbled on him. It was a rough night to be outdoors, sleet coating shivering shoulders hunched against the cold. He had lain down, sure he would never again rise.

Instead of leaving him be, as any rational person would have, she had stayed beside him, bundling him against her beneath her only blanket, protecting him from others who would have stolen the shoes off a sick man’s feet. And she had nursed him through the worst of his delirium.  She was his people ever since.

“Let the woman sleep. We can get her to a shelter in the morning, OK?”

Chance scowled, but reluctantly nodded her agreement. Turning to look in the woman’s direction, she said, “Floor’s cold as ice. C’mon, Rolley, hand me that moving blanket.”

* * *

The woman awoke slowly; the hardness of the floor was still underneath her, but a soft weight was on her now. A blanket. She hadn’t had a blanket when she’d gone to sleep. Fatigue instantly left her and she sat up, terrified they’d found her.

A young man and a teenage girl were watching her.

The young man spoke. “Don’t worry, we’re not trouble. We squat here and came home to find you. Looks like you need a doctor, lady,” he gestured toward her stomach, “and soon. Me and Chance can walk you to the ER. They gotta take you in, that’s the rule.” He looked at Chance, who still hadn’t spoken, and clearly was expecting that their good deed of letting her sleep through the night was done and it was time to hustle the woman out of their space.

He spoke again. “My name’s Rolley, this is Chance. What’s your name?”

His name fluttered something in her memory but the racing panic of they-must-not-get-my-baby swept over it and blotted out her past again. “I…don’t know… I had a name.” She was suddenly cautious. “How do I know you aren’t working for them? That this isn’t some trick?”

Chance whistled softly under her breath. “Oh, Jesus, she’s crazy, too. Rolley…”

Rolley gently pressed his hand on hers and continued. “We don’t work for anybody at all, ma’am. You might say we’re freelance. I play an old busted-up piano outside a diner for tips sometimes. Chance scavenges, and we both ain’t above asking some Wall Street fat cat if they can spare some change.”

Chance laughed a little and spoke, finally. “That’s about the size of it. We don’t got no nursery for a baby, lady, so whatever is chasing you, we can’t help. But a doctor can. Can even get you in touch with the police-”

“No!” Now the woman was on her feet and pacing. “No police, the police work for them, for him, for the man in the tower.”

Rolley walked up to her and draped the blanket over her shoulders, which stilled her movements. “You real scared of this tower man, huh?”

“Tower Man wants my baby,” the woman said, picking up his phrasing without thinking, “he wants my baby to rule the world with him. He’ll never get my baby. Never.”

Rolley could see dropping her off at an ER would do more harm than good. At least, right now. She had to come down, whether from drugs or an episode or both, Rolley wasn’t sure. But he knew dropping her off at an ER would send her into a panic the moment a nurse or security guard walked up, and she’d start to fight, assuming they were one of whoever “they” were.

Chance could see his resolve to get the woman out of there was fading and gritted her teeth. “Rolley, we can’t, she’s about to deliver.”

“We don’t know that, could be a few weeks yet.”

“A few weeks! And what are we supposed to do with her for a few weeks?”

“I could watch your things while you are away,” the woman said.

“Uh huh, and what if somebody comes in trying to take them, you gonna fight them off?”

“I can…a little. I won’t get in the way.” Fatigue was returning from the months of imprisonment and constant surveillance. “Just for a few more days. Maybe I can remember…” she began trailing off “…if there’s a place I can go…”

Rolley sighed. “OK, another day or two can’t hurt. Food won’t be much and we ain’t got no TV. But there’s some old books and magazines over there. And a radio that sometimes works.”

Chance slipped on a heavier jacket over her layers of clothes. “We usually come back after it gets dark. If you leave before then, be sure to pull the board back into place.” She said that with the clear hope that the woman would decide to leave of her own accord while they were away, and be someone else’s problem.

The woman nodded. “Thank you both, so much. I promise I won’t be too much trouble.”

“You already are,” Chance muttered, but she paused by the scavenged cooler in which they kept a few drinks stashed. The orange juice bottle said it was a good source of folic acid. Wasn’t that something pregnant ladies were always needing? Well, it wouldn’t do to have a pregnant lady who couldn’t get any folic acid while she was here.

“There’s an orange juice in the cooler. It’s good for babies, I read somewhere. Help yourself to it, I’ll get another one while I’m out today.”

Rolley slipped on his heaviest coat and watched the woman as she walked to the milk crate full of old books and magazines. She picked up a novelization for some movie where a couple was cursed; one turned into an animal by day and one by night, and so they could never be together. She folded the edges of her blanket underneath her as she sat back down, and began to read hungrily, clearly devouring the words as she rapidly turned the pages.

Rolley zipped up his coat. Someone kept words from you. Someone did something very bad to you, and you went crazy because it was better to be crazy than be sane and remember what they did. He shook his head. There was something familiar about the woman’s face that he could see better in the growing light filling the warehouse. A memory stirred and settled back into mist.

Rolley thought about the woman on the walk to the piano outside the diner. He felt he’d seen her before, but knew that couldn’t be it. He resolved to see if he could help her remember her name as he began to play. He surprised himself when he realized his fingers, almost without his bidding, were striking their way through the Moonlight Sonata.

Huh, I haven’t played that piece in years…

* * *

Rolley walked out of the bodega carrying a full bag, a rare occurrence. His piano playing had drawn a bigger than usual crowd and his sampling of classical music had emptied a few pockets, enough that dinner for three was within his scope. His pocket even jingled with a little leftover change.

He hunkered in his coat against the wall of a bank building, shielding himself from the cold wind that was blowing, and waited for Chance. He knew she wasn’t happy with him because he’d let the pregnant lady stick around, but helping those in need had been ingrained in him as a youngster, and he’d had little enough opportunity to provide it to anyone. If a crazy pregnant lady didn’t qualify, he didn’t know who could.

“Tag, you’re it!” Chance pounced on him from behind and he jerked into standing position. When he turned to her, she was smiling at the sight of the laden bag he held. “Whatcha got there?” She tried to finger the bag open a few inches to inspect its contents but he tugged it away.

“Had a good day,” he replied. “You?”

Chance waggled her eyebrows. “Found a decent stash of only slightly bruised fruit behind Gristede’s. Managed to grab some before they ran me off.” She indicated the bulging pockets of her coat.

“Dinner’s baloney sandwiches…with cheese,” Rolley declared proudly. “And you got us dessert!”

Night and a light rain had begun to fall before they arrived at their destination, both of them bent and shivering against the wind coming off the river. They made their way carefully, warily, to the hidden entrance of “their” warehouse, and Chance pried the boards loose as Rolley kept watch. Quickly they moved inside, Chance replacing the boards as Rolley used a flashlight to inspect the floor. No wet footprints meant no surprises…he hoped.

From behind a stack of barrels someone peered out at them. Again Rolley had that strange flash of recognition as he gazed at their unnamed guest. But he couldn’t catch a hint of an identity before the flash again faded away.

“It’s just us,” he whispered. “Anyone else come in?”

The pregnant woman stepped out from her hiding place. “Quiet all day.” She relaxed visibly at seeing their faces. “So nice,” she added.

“Dinner is served,” Rolley said, brandishing the white plastic bag in his hand. All three of them heard the pregnant woman’s stomach rumble, and Chance was gratified to see an embarrassed smile cross the stranger’s lips. Good. The sooner she gets her mind right, the sooner we can be rid of her.

Rolley led the way back through the maze of equipment and boxes to the niche they had carved out for themselves. He made sandwiches while Chance tore off a couple of paper towels from an almost exhausted roll to serve as plates.

The stomach rumbling got louder as Rolley worked, so the first sandwich went to their guest. She accepted it eagerly but, despite what he knew was a deep hunger, she politely waited until both Rolley and Chance had sandwiches in hand before taking her first bite.

Chance watched the way the pregnant lady ate, taking a bite then lowering her sandwich to the paper towel as she chewed and swallowed. This stranger had what her aunt had called “table manners” – not that Chance ever paid much attention to such niceties, even before she lived on the streets. And no matter what they had been taught, “table manners” among the homeless people she had encountered generally went by the wayside where food was concerned – people usually grabbed and gulped before someone could snatch their food from them. She figured that this woman, until recently, had been fed regularly, no matter how famished she obviously was now.

Rolley fished a bottle of juice from his bag and handed it to the woman, who nodded her thanks and drank it down thirstily. Watching her drain the bottle, Chance realized they had forgotten to show the woman the spigot that still had water flowing from it, which served them for drinking and bathing purposes. Despite her lack of desire for the woman’s continued company, she was chagrinned that she had failed to provide such basic information.

“Sheesh, Rolley, we weren’t thinking,” she remarked, abashed.

“Huh?” By the confused look on his face, it was obvious he hadn’t made the connection yet.

“We left her this morning without knowing where to get water…or, for that matter, where to pee!” In retrospect, Chance thought, maybe not knowing where the spigot was had prevented the woman from having an accident. But that also meant she must be dehydrated.

Rolley jumped up, leaving his sandwich partially uneaten. “Cripes, sorry about that!”

The woman smiled sheepishly and rose to follow Rolley as he beckoned her into the depths of the warehouse. Chance remained with the food, snagging a slice of American cheese and chewing it while she listened to Rolley explaining their bathroom rituals; basic as they were, they at least had privacy and water, two things most who lived on the streets did not.

He returned and began to make more sandwiches, allowing their guest time alone. When she returned, sporting a very relieved expression, they all smiled. Rolley handed her a second sandwich. She accepted it and sat, nibbling it as she glanced around the warehouse, showing more interest than she had before.

Chance burped and they all laughed. Considering the sorry state the stranger had been in just 24 hours earlier, the sound of her very normal laughter was a major step forward. Chance figured that being fed and watered did marvels for dialing the “crazy” down, although she wouldn’t be surprised if the woman soon began ranting again, with renewed vigor.

Rolley asked her, “Anything coming clear for you yet?”

A wariness returned to her eyes before the pregnant lady responded with a shake of the head.

“Give it time,” he said. “Give it time.”

Chance frowned. Time?! She really didn’t want to give this woman time to do anything but rest up and leave.

The pregnant lady winced and laid one hand on her protruding stomach.

Chance’s face froze, the frown etched deeply. Uh-oh.

The woman breathed deeply; the tension on her face eased. “It’s all right, the closer I get to delivery, the more these kinds of false alarms happen.”

Chance sighed. “Lady, you know we can’t deliver your baby, right? Like, the most we can do is spread some newspapers on the floor. And you gotta want better than that, right?” Chance said the words not with unkindness but with weariness. She was feeling protective of the woman in spite of not wanting to, and a chilly, dusty warehouse was no place to have a baby.

Rolley looked thoughtful. “The free clinic on Eighth, it’s where I got my methadone to get clean. They got the stuff you need to deliver a baby, doctor and nurses too. The doc, Doc Tran, she’s real good. Some of the girls who work the streets had their babies there. They’re used to people with no names, or fake ones, coming through. They don’t ask a lot of questions. When it’s time, will you let us take you there?”

The woman looked down at her hands clasped over her big belly. She couldn’t give birth here, and a big hospital meant people who might recognize her and tell Tower Man. But a free clinic…she could be just another Jane Doe off the streets, running from a bad past and with no place to go.

The woman took a deep breath. “OK, when it’s time, I’ll go. But it’s not time yet.” She smiled. “I haven’t gotten to the end of the book I’m reading. I have to know if the curse gets broken.”

They spent the rest of the evening in easy silence, broken by them taking turns reading to each other or telling stories. The woman drifted off to sleep first. Chance and Rolley stayed up a bit later, talking.

“Do you think she’ll get better enough to remember who she is?” Chance asked, tucking her hands under her coat.

Rolley looked at the sleeping woman. “I don’t know. Something bad happened to her. Somebody made her be like she is. I don’t know if you can fix that. But maybe we can help her some. At least let her know she’s safe here.”

It always made Chance feel so proud when Rolley talked like that, and it drove her crazy too. That kind of tenderness got you eaten alive in this world. Chance felt that you had to carefully choose what you were tender about and then fight like hell to protect it. And that was Rolley for her. She wished the woman had never found her way in. And then she shook off that thought; what if she had decided to not cut through that alley and hadn’t found Rolley?

“Well, I guess we’re stuck with her until she remembers.” Chance looked thoughtful. “I wonder if there is somebody after her. She doesn’t look the Bellevue type. Wash her hair and give her a manicure, she looks like one of those Fifth Avenue ladies. I wonder how she ended up like this?”

Rolley shook his head. “Nobody from Fifth Avenue would end up here. I wonder if she’s got people looking for her who are worried sick about her.”

Rolley looked into the darkness of the warehouse, seeing something that Chance couldn’t. She hadn’t learned much about Rolley’s past, and she was committed to the street code of letting someone’s business be theirs, but at times like this, she had the feeling he had people once, too.

Rolley knew better than to think too hard about before, when he’d been let into that special place and given the gift of music. It led to self-pity,  which led to picking up the needle again. He shook his head. That place was closed to him forever, and he grieved that, but he had Chance, and now he had a very pregnant white lady with no idea who she was.

Rolley sighed and put his arm around Chance. “Get some sleep, baby girl. Got another long day ahead of us.”

They cocooned themselves in their blankets and were soon asleep.

Across from them, the woman dreamed. She was walking on a dry riverbed in a parched landscape, carrying a child. She knew she must not die here. The child’s face was bandaged and she couldn’t see it. Her feet ached and night was closing in. The dream shifted to two figures making love under torch light, and the woman moaned softly in her sleep. She reached for her phantom lover and he melted away, and the dream faded to the white room. Only it was a space of white light and nothing else now. She felt the old fear press in, and then a lion’s roar shattered the room, and her eyes flew open to the dull early morning light of the warehouse.

She knew she wasn’t getting back to sleep, and gently rubbed her belly. She couldn’t remember the name of her lover but she knew he’d given her this child. A truth beyond memory formed in her mind: this child had been made in love and so, no matter what happened, this child would be loved in turn. If she could not escape Tower Man, her child would. The thought gave her courage, and she thought forward to when the child finally would be born.

She would need a name for the clinic. A name from an old book came to her, a book she could not remember reading but felt a sense of safety from. Estella…yes, that was a good name. A name that smelled like candle smoke and clove oil, for some reason.

She watched Chance and Rolley slowly wake up and shake their blankets off. They noticed she was awake and she smiled.

“Good morning. Since you need to call me something besides ‘lady,’ call me Estella; that’s a good name, I think.”

Chance smiled back. “Estella? That’s pretty. You get that name off a perfume bottle or something?”

The woman calling herself Estella laughed. “A book, but I think it’s pretty too.”

Rolley folded his blanket and looked thoughtful. Rolley and Chance, and Estella makes three. And soon there will be four.

He looked at her. “Well, Estella, we’ll be heading out soon, is there something in particular you want us to get you?”

* * *

Days turned into two weeks. The woman now calling herself Estella continued to have strange dreams. Her child grew in her belly, active and kicking during the day, but never waking her…as if it, too, was dreaming the nights away. Always there was the lover, shielded from her gaze in a haze of torch light…always there was a feeling of safety and deep need when they made love. Only little by little did she perceive other things around them. Inexplicable things.  The dim sound of subways rushing by overhead. Metallic clattering, as if someone was banging on big pipes. And the dreams always ended with the same roaring, as of a lion in anger…or pain?

Cramping greeted her awakening this day. She rubbed her swollen belly, trying to ease the pain, and it slowly diminished. Looking around, she realized she had slept longer than usual, and both members of her little family – for so she had begun to think of them – were gone.

Estella eased herself up, first to her knees and then, leaning on a close-by box, to one leg and then the other. The effort to get into a standing position was greater by the day, as was her morning urge to empty her bladder. She barely made it to their makeshift bathroom in time, and after, as she was washing her hands, the cramping gripped her guts again.

Slowly she waddled toward a hidden area where she usually spent her days now – a nest of scavenged chairs and pillows where she kept her books, close to the bathroom and far from the entry point of their home.

As she settled deeply into an old armchair, she sighed with relief. The cramping was easing again.

Tired despite a long night’s sleep, she sat with her eyes closed, absentmindedly rubbing her stomach. Out of nowhere, a vision of…something…crossed her mind – a return to her dream? A memory? – so unexpected, it startled her, it’s context unknown but at the same time oddly familiar.

Torch-lit tunnels. A corridor ending in a large room filled with cast-off furnishings, made cozy with colorful if threadbare rugs, piles of hardback books, a large, rumpled  bed…and a man, an imposing-looking man with broad shoulders and long golden hair, sitting in a massive velvet and mahogany armchair with his back to her, head down and seemingly in deep contemplation.

As she took in this phantom image, something even more bizarre  happened. The strange man…no, not really strange, for there was something familiar about him, something compelling and powerfully attractive…sat up suddenly, as if he felt her entering this dream-like chamber. When he turned, her hand froze mid-stroke across her belly. The face of a lion…and piercing blue eyes widened in surprise. Just as the vision vanished with her own eyes opening, she heard a gravelly voice begin to call out Cath…

* * *

Vincent paced in front of Father’s desk, talking excitedly for the first time in months. “It was like she was right there, wrapped in a blanket at the entrance to my chamber. She was dirty and seemed lost but she looked at me, recognized me, and then faded away. I believe she is still alive and is waiting for me!”

Father looked down at his tea cup very carefully. “I don’t doubt you thought you saw her but it is important to consider the possibility-”

“Don’t, Father! She lives. I no longer have our Bond but I would know if she was…gone, for on that day my heart would stop beating also. I see I will get no help here, and it’s hours until nightfall when I can begin my search again.” Vincent stalked out of Father’s study.

Father sighed and put his head in his hands. There was a time he would have tried to tell Vincent Topside women were fickle and not quick to stay during times of difficulty. But he would not damn Catherine like that now. He had seen enough of her courage, her tenacity to love Vincent against all reason, to think she’d disappear without a word. And there had been no word, no note, nothing. Which meant she was dead.

Father dreaded Peter’s visits now. As with each one, he expected Peter to hand over the newspaper that said the body of a missing assistant D.A. had been found. He let his tears come; he would need to be strong when the inevitable happened.

“Oh, Vincent, if I could only have spared you this. Perhaps I could have if I had not fought so hard against something so clearly meant to be…”

* * *

Rolley felt uneasy. His piano playing had been off all morning and the tips had been scanty as a result. He felt he should go back just to check on Estella. He tried a few more bars of “Sweet Blindness” and decided that if he checked in with Estella and found her well, he might be able to come back and salvage the day. He had walked just a few blocks when he ran into Chance, also on her way home.

Chance looked embarrassed. “I just got this weird feeling I should make sure Estella is doing OK.” She shuffled her feet, almost looking like she was going to change her mind.

Rolley kept it light. “Couldn’t hurt. Let’s go, and then, if she’s OK, we’ll go and try to make some money.”

“Yeah.” Chance nodded and they both walked with increasing speed to the warehouse.

They got there to find Estella huddled in a pile of blankets, the pain stretched plain across her face. She gasped between fits of clutching a fistful of blanket. “I think…it’s time…”

Chance felt like all the blood had left her body. But Rolley was walking to the coffee can they kept their emergency funds in.

“She ain’t gonna make it on the subway, we gotta take a cab.”

Chance didn’t even think to argue that half that money was hers and she should get a say in what to do with it. She just took off her outermost coat and slipped it on Estella. “You can’t just go in wrapped in blankets. Come on.”

They carefully half-carried her to the street. Rolley turned to Estella. “You’re gonna have to hail the cab,” his mouth quirked, “’cause they ain’t gonna stop for me.”

Estella laughed bitterly. “OK.” She gritted her teeth and waved down a cab. They piled into the back and Rolley gave the address of the free clinic. It was the first time Chance had ever ridden in a taxi cab, and the streets seemed to flow into rivers of stone and steel as they zoomed toward their destination. Rolley paid the driver and they helped Estella out of the cab and up the stoop into the clinic.

Inside, Doc Tran was reading over a patient’s chart on her clipboard. It had been a strangely quiet day. She looked up and saw Rolley and the young woman he lived with… Chance?… bringing in an unknown white woman who was very, very pregnant. Well, it wasn’t going to be a quiet day anymore.

She smiled at the party. “Hey, Rolley, looks like your friend needs help.”

“Yeah. Her name’s Estella and she’s gonna have a baby.”

Estella felt herself pulled into a desire to run, yet drawn to the calm, friendly professionalism of the doctor. She could not deliver this child alone, but something tugged at her. She couldn’t stop blurting it out. “This child may be…different.”

Doc Tran’s eyebrows raised, but not in judgment. She expected the woman’s clearly unusual living conditions could lead to…complications in the pregnancy. But her job was to see a child born safely. She smiled. “I’ve seen all kinds of babies in my time and I’m sure you’re about to have a beautiful one.”

Estella let herself be helped into a wheelchair and pushed towards a delivery room. “They will be beautiful even if they don’t look like me but their…father.” The earlier memory of the lion man came back to her. Why?

Rolley was watching her closely as a nurse wheeled her away. There was nothing to do but wait now. Chance had already sat down and was trying to busy her hands by flipping through a magazine.

Doc Tran turned to him before following Estella into the room. “You did a good thing bringing her here. Let’s get this kid born.” And she walked into a room where Rolley could just make out Estella being helped onto a special table for delivery.

He sat down next to Chance. Her hands were trembling. He took one of her hands in his own, his rough thumb tracing the smooth skin between her thumb and palm. “It’s gonna be all right, Chancey Girl. It’s gonna be all right.”

* * *

The labor took a long time, at least in Rolley’s mind. Unfamiliar as he was with the labor and delivery process, he still strongly felt this strange woman’s prior ordeal contributed to her slow, painful journey to birthing her child.

He was really surprised that Chance had opted to hang around waiting. As the hours dragged on, she fidgeted, she paced, she made numerous trips to the bathroom, but she kept returning to her seat beside him.

Rolley had a lot of time to think, with nothing but waiting to do. This woman who couldn’t remember her life, her home…even her name, was about to have responsibility for a new life, one totally dependent on her. On them, on their little makeshift family. But he couldn’t imagine how they would do it, in the bitter cold of a New York City that took so little care of those who struggled most under the weight of life.

Something else was on his mind, something that he still hadn’t shared with Chance. He’d had that weird flash of almost recognition when Estella had first stumbled into their lives, frightened, drugged out, and in desperate need of kindness. There had been something about her… but he’d put that aside in the days and weeks since. Now that she had recovered so much of her strength, and her mind was not as fractured as it had been, he could afford to consider it again. He contemplated that moment that had seemed to snag on a memory so many weeks ago. What was it about her that hinted at a glancing familiarity?

Finally, he shook his head. Maybe it would come if he didn’t worry on it so much.

* * *

It was very late…or perhaps it was better to say it was very early when Estella’s baby’s lusty wail could be heard in the waiting room. Rolley’s eyes snapped open at the sharp high sound. Chance had been leaning against Rolley’s shoulder, sleeping fitfully, and she roused, too, yawning as she glanced at the clock on the wall: 3:15 a.m.

Rolley stood up, stretching his shoulders, rubbing the small of his back. Doc Tran, looking exhausted, poked her head in and gave them a quick update. “It’s a beautiful girl! Looks like her mother!” She disappeared back into the delivery room.

“Seems we have a little Miss to add to our menagerie.” Rolley turned and smiled at Chance.

She raised her fist. “Woman power, baby!” and laughed. She and Rolley hugged, happy and relieved.

* * *

The doctor stayed in the delivery room for a good long while, making them both worry. Finally, about an hour later, Doc Tran emerged again. “She’ll be OK but…she had a real hard delivery. I think it would be best to keep her here for today, since we have the space right now. I’d like to keep an eye on her child, consult with a volunteer doctor who will be here later in the morning. She’s a fierce little warrior, but she had a hard time coming into the world. Why don’t you two go home? Come back for her in, say…late afternoon?”

Chance shrugged. “Don’t have the funds for multiple trips. If it’s OK with you, we’ll hang around until then?”

Rolley added, “We can do some chores for you. Empty trash, mop up, whatever.”

Doc smiled kindly. “No need, although I thank you for the offer. Stay, of course. The church down the street gives out coffee and bagels starting at 5. I don’t think you two have eaten in a while.” Without waiting for a reply, the doctor turned to greet another patient.

* * *

The woman called Estella was slumbering, her baby asleep in her arms, both exhausted after the difficult birth. From seemingly far away, she heard voices.

“I’d like you to check on this child that was born a few hours ago. Mother shows obvious signs of drug use, although nothing recent. The child, though…some of the tests showed…unusual results. It was a rough delivery, so I’d rather let them both sleep right now. When she wakes up?”

Roused but still drowsy, Estella’s eyelids barely opened, and she saw Doc Tran with a tall, elegant-looking older man. He was just turning her way when she lowered her lids to make it seem as if she were still asleep. He didn’t realize she was awake…but her heart froze in her chest when she saw his face, his shocked look of recognition clear. He looked familiar to her, too, although not to the same extent as she obviously looked to him.

He must be from the Tower Man, sent to find her!

Panic flooded through her, sending adrenaline coursing through her veins. She had to run!

When the tall man followed Doc Tran out of the room, he turned to look at her over his shoulder, obviously wanting to come over to her instead of listening to the Doc’s litany of other concerns. But he must have decided to grab her when there were no witnesses.

Once the doctors had left, Estella pushed her covers off and quietly rose, keeping her newborn clutched in one arm. She reached for her clothes, which had been put in a large plastic bag. On bare feet she made her way to the door, silent, frightened, and looked through the window at head height. She could just make out one end of the waiting room, and her relief at seeing two familiar faces sitting there nearly made her weep.

She cracked open the door as quietly as she could, looking both ways before hissing at her only friends.

Chance saw her first, and she started to smile then frowned. She grabbed at Rolley behind her without taking her eyes off Estella. “C’mon,” she muttered, the stark terror on Estella’s face prompting them to move quickly and quietly.

“Someone recognized me,” Estella managed to say through teeth clenched in panic. “I think…I think he’s from Tower Man, come to take me back!”

“Oh, hell, no,” Chance blurted. “Got the baby?”

Estella nodded.

“We’re outta here.” Chance opened the door wider and grabbed Estella’s bag of clothes. Rolley threw his coat over Estella’s shoulders, then lifted her and the baby into his arms.

They exited the clinic quickly, leaving the others in the waiting room gaping at them, although no one tried to stop them. Nobody in the chairs there wondered at their need to leave in an unconventional way.

Moments later, Doc Tran escorted her volunteer back to Estella’s room. “I don’t understand the need for haste, Dr. Alcott, she’s still…” The empty bed belied her next words. Her patient was no longer sleeping. And, as a quick search proved, she was no longer in the clinic.

PART TWO

It was a journey and a half back to their squat. They stuck to the back alleys and took frequent breaks so that Estella could rest and see that the baby was still doing well. But they eventually made it back to the warehouse, an exhausted Rolley setting an even more exhausted Estella on a nest of blankets.

The baby had begun to wail in earnest. Estella’s hand fluttered to her shirt. She unbuttoned the top and brought the baby to her breast, and they started to settle as they nursed.

Estella’s mind heaved and throbbed as Chance and Rolley sat down across from her, clearly expecting something of an explanation when she was able to give it to them. There was near silence for several minutes as they all caught their breath; the only sound was the baby nursing.

Chance broke the silence. “So…what are you gonna name her?” She looked as surprised as Estella and Rolley that that had been the first question out of her mouth. But it seemed safer ground than immediately addressing what had happened in the clinic.

Estella looked at the child delicately suckling at her chest. Her heart swelled with the thought of tender new things, of spring, and the promise that every winter is felled by the return of birds trilling in the trees of the park. One in particular she remembered loving to see as a little girl; it meant spring was truly just around the corner.

Estella smiled mysteriously. “Robin. I think Robin would be a good name for her.”

“Estella and her daughter Robin,” Rolley said, trying it out, “yeah, I like that a lot.”

“Welcome to the world, Robin girl,” Chance said, her eyes tender like warm tea on a cold day. She could see Robin was finishing her meal, and that the baby and Estella were going to collapse into sleep.

Rolley brought over an orange crate. They filled it with a blanket and placed Robin in it. Estella curled around it. She wasn’t going to let anyone take this child, Rolley realized, and as they covered her with another blanket, she fell fast asleep.

“Oh, Rolley, what are we gonna do?” Chance asked helplessly. They couldn’t take care of the two of them, but to toss them out was out of the question now.

“I don’t know.” Rolley sighed. “Maybe Estella will help us when she wakes back up; maybe she’ll remember something else.”

* * *

In a quietly luxurious private office in his brownstone, Peter looked at the file again. He felt a slight guilt at the lie he’d told Doctor Tran. After the search had turned up no woman or her baby, he’d asked if he could borrow the file to consult with someone he knew at Columbia. But he had no intention of ever returning the file. And he was hoping the caseload of the clinic and the sheer number of people constantly passing through its doors would make Doc Tran forget the strange woman, or at the least make asking for the return of the file not a pressing concern.

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose again. He was sure the woman in the bed had been Catherine. Long stringy hair and the strains of childbirth couldn’t disguise those bright green eyes, and her mother’s mouth. And if it had been desperation on his part to believe she wasn’t buried in a shallow grave in the marshes at the edges of the city, the file confirmed it. He had only seen results like that once before, when Vincent was ill.

Which meant Catherine was alive and had just given birth to Vincent’s child.

The weight of that didn’t break upon him only because there were still too many unanswered questions. Namely, when and how had this happened? And how was he to find a Catherine who apparently did not want to be found? He felt that to go to Jacob and Vincent with this information would cause more suffering, as he suspected neither knew about the child. And yet, he had to tell them he had seen her. Didn’t he?

He clasped his hands and sighed. Why did you run when you saw me? Why are you so frightened of me now? Do you not want Vincent to know about the baby? Oh, Cathy…

* * *

Back at the warehouse, Estella dreamed. She was in an arid place, and crows flew in great black streams around her. She saw a small robin pierced by an arrow and cried out as the dream shifted to a street sometime in the future. She saw an old woman as gray as the rags she was dressed in, and knew the woman was her. A flock of security escorted a coldly beautiful woman on the arm of a stone-faced man from a building. The woman was Robin, the mistress of the brute she held onto without affection or fear. Robin’s face was a mask as she scanned the crowd. She looked curiously at the bag woman, but was half-shoved into a waiting limo before the older woman could cry out. Estella watched helplessly as the limo drove away.

A familiar voice spoke to her from the shadows in the alley behind her. “It is not your fault what happened.”

“It is. I let them take her from me.”

“You fought till your last breath. They thought you were dead.”

“I wish I was.”

“Come home, Catherine.”

“I have no home.”

“So long as I live, you have a home with me.”

“I lost our child. I failed us. I failed everyone.”

“Come home, please, it’s too cold to stay outside tonight.”

The dream began to press ice into her skin. She was in the white room again, only a pregnant Robin was there beating on the window. She had her father’s strength, and the window shattered. There were the sounds of guards at the door but Robin was too quick. She made a sound that was as much a laugh as a scream. “Time for the little bird to fly away,” she said as she leapt out of the window.

And Estella screamed herself awake.

Robin was wailing in her crate. Estella picked her up and rocked her back and forth, needing the reality of her in her arms as much as the child needed comfort. The commotion woke Rolley and Chance, who went to her side. Estella rocked Robin some more, and the child went back to sleep.

The air was heavy now, and none of the adults were ready to go back to sleep yet. Estella looked at her child. She had to give Rolley and Chance the pieces of her dream. She was going to lose Robin if she kept trying to do this mostly by herself.

She spoke quietly. “I had a name. It was…is…Catherine. My name was Catherine.”

Rolley became very still as Chance listened intently.

Estella continued, “I don’t remember it all, just that my name was Catherine, and Robin’s…father lived in a secret place I had to protect. I can almost remember his name. But his face doesn’t make sense. I see a lion man instead of a man and I don’t know why.”

Rolley felt his throat constrict as Estella’s face seemed to smooth into the polished woman he’d remembered offering him half a hundred dollar bill to talk to a certain lion man. He kept his counsel as Estella finished.

“That’s all I really remember. Robin’s father lives in a secret place I can’t remember. And he doesn’t know about her. He never would abandon a child. I can’t remember his face but I know that. It’s funny how the mind works.”

Sleep was finally finding its way back to her. They helped her resettle Robin and covered her back up. Chance crawled back into her blankets. Rolley made to lie down but kept an eye on the slant of light into the warehouse, his heart hammering.

When enough sunlight was streaming through the window, he judged it might be late enough for Clarence to be busking for the morning rush at the Natural History station. He hastily scribbled a note to Chance: “Gone to check in with a friend, be back as soon as I can.” He slipped on another coat and walked quietly and quickly toward the nearest subway stop, the last of their change jangling in his pockets.

* * *

He heard the notes of Clarence’s sax before he saw him, the sound  brassy and bright, breaking like copper raindrops over the crowd. Rolley recognized the tune as an old standard, “God Bless the Child.” He made his way towards Clarence.

Clarence looked at him with pleasant surprise. He’d seen Rolley come and go this way several times, but Rolley was always careful not to do any more than nod at him. He stopped playing as the younger man stepped before him.

Rolley looked around. Nobody was paying them the slightest attention.

“Hey, Mr. Clarence, how’s it going?”

“Can’t complain.” He smiled. “But you ain’t just here to ask about me.”

Rolley laughed. “That obvious, huh?” He took a deep breath. “I got clean, and I guess I started missing the old crowd. They doing okay?”

Clarence’s expression got cloudy. “Most of them are, but V, man, he’s hurting, real bad. His lady disappeared and nobody can find her.”

Rolley’s heart felt like it was going to break through his ribs. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think I might have found his lady friend…”

* * *

Clarence’s eyes had widened with shock. After months of fruitless searching by those Below and their Helpers, Clarence had become convinced that the lady was gone. Maybe dead and buried somewhere…maybe taken…maybe split for her own reasons…but still and all: gone. How much to trust this former Tunnel friend who had turned his back on everyone and gone down a dark path of his own choosing? Still, he had to hold onto this slim shred of hope offered out of the clear blue of a cold winter sky.

So Clarence had simply nodded, packed up his sax, and led Rolley toward Eli’s shop.

* * *

When Rolley realized where they were headed, he shrank back. Clarence turned to look at him. “Well, come on. You want to let them know? This is the way.”

Shaking his head, Rolley stammered, “I…I can’t…I can’t. Eli…”

With some sympathy, Clarence walked back to the younger man and clapped him on his slender shoulder. “Did you think I’d just take you Below without checking in to see if they’d want you there? Last they knew of you, you were drugged out, living bad out on the mean streets. They’ve got to be sure.”

Rolley sighed deeply then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I see that.” He stood straighter and looked Clarence in the eyes. “Let’s go. Eli’s just one of a bunch of people who need an apology from me…and more.”

Clarence patted his shoulder in encouragement. “If you’ve kicked the drugs, this part should be easier. It was for me.”

They made their way the last block and entered Eli’s shop. The bell on the door tinkled as they did so, and a voice from the back called out, “Be right there.” When Eli parted the curtain, his smile of greeting fell into an open-mouthed stare. He looked from Rolley to Clarence and back again. “What’s this now?”

Rolley took one hesitant step forward. “Mr. Eli, I’m clean now. Been wanting to come tell you for a while but kept losing my nerve.”

Eli’s face melted into one of kindness and relief. “That’s good then. Come here, let me look at you properly.”

When Rolley neared him, Eli grabbed him into a bear hug, and Rolley’s eyes filled with tears. They heard the bell sound again as Clarence left the shop.

“I’ve been worried about you, more than I can say.” Eli pulled back and looked at Rolley, noting the clear eyes and warm complexion that confirmed his statement about getting clean.

“I don’t deserve that, but I thank you for it.” Rolley gave him a brief smile before getting to the reason for his visit. “I talked to Clarence. He told me about Vincent’s lady friend being missing. I think…I’m pretty sure I found her. Thought I should let someone know who could tell them Below. You know, to be safe.”

The color drained from Eli’s face as Rolley spoke. When he was finished, Eli said, “You have to be sure. It would be cruel to get their hopes up…Vincent’s hopes. She’s been missing for so long.”

“I met her once. I was in pretty bad shape, but I remember.” He hesitated before adding, “She’s been through a lot. Her memory…it’s been slow to return. She only just remembered her first name. That triggered my memory. She’d looked familiar but I couldn’t place her, especially because she’s…well…she’s in better shape now but when I stumbled on her, she was…” He shrugged, not knowing a better way to say it. “She was a mess. She was…crazy.”

Eli frowned. “What happened to her?”

Shaking his head, Rolley said, “Don’t really know. Some guys took her and I think they drugged her to find out who the father of her baby is.”

“Baby?!” Eli’s voice went squeaky with surprise. “She’s got a baby?!”

“Just had it yesterday. She thought one of the doctors at the clinic recognized her, maybe from where she’d escaped from, so we got her out of there, me and Chance, my pal.”

Eli sighed deeply. “This is sounding stranger and stranger. Are you sure it’s her?”

“I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t.” Rolley shrugged. “Only one way for you to know if I’m right, I suppose. Somebody else needs to see her who knows her.”

The door opened, the bell tinkling as they both turned to look at the new arrival. A young woman stood there, her clothes marking her as from the Tunnel community. She was wary when she saw the stranger talking to Eli, and she shifted from foot to foot, anxious to deliver her news but afraid to say anything in the hearing of someone who wasn’t a Helper.

“Jamie, come in!” Eli motioned her closer, and skittishly she complied, half turned so as to be ready to scamper away.

“This is Rolley. He knows about Below. You can tell me what you came for. What is it?” As he spoke, he approached the door of the shop, locking it from the inside to prevent anyone else from venturing within.

Wide-eyed and unsure, her eyes never leaving Rolley, Jamie said, “It’s about…you know, the person who’s missing.”

Eli and Rolley looked at each other, then Eli turned back to her and said, “Go on.”

“Dr. Peter’s pretty sure he saw her yesterday at a free clinic. But she left before he could talk to her. So we’re re-instituting the search.” She clamped her lips shut, having given the barest of information in the presence of the stranger, despite Eli’s assurance he was to be trusted.

Rolley looked at Eli. “The doctor…the clinic… Seems more certain now, right?”

Confused, Jamie asked, “What are you talking about?”

Eli explained the reason for Rolley’s visit, concluding, “So what you’ve just told us appears to confirm that this woman Rolley was with is Catherine.”

“That’s fantastic!” Now Jamie was relaxed and grinning. “Just wait’ll Vincent hears this! He’ll be…”

“He’ll be confused, Jamie. He never mentioned that Catherine was pregnant, so likely he’s not aware. If she’s had a baby, it may mean she’s with someone else now. We must be careful with how we tell him this news, and what we tell him, as well.”

Rolley spoke into the sudden silence. “She mentioned she had to protect the baby’s father, a lion man who lives in a secret place. Must mean it’s Vincent’s, don’t you think?”

“And he doesn’t know? I thought they had a Bond?” Eli was perplexed.

“It’s gone,” Jamie informed him. “That’s what he said, why it’s been so hard to find her.” She sighed. “It’s why Father believes…believed… she’s dead.”

“Jamie, could you go with Rolley, make sure we aren’t just being hopeful?” Eli looked at Rolley. “Would that be all right? Wherever she is, could Jamie see her?”

Rolley considered the request. Jamie was a young woman who didn’t look like she could put up much of a struggle if Estella…Catherine…decided she wasn’t to be trusted. But if they had to leave their warehouse…where else could they find that would be as safe? He struggled over the decision.

“What’s wrong? Why won’t you take me?” Jamie was getting suspicious. She hated trusting strangers, even ones Helpers said were OK.

“Where we’re staying…it’s safe for now. Bringing someone we don’t know there…it’s risky. And it’s not my risk to take. I’ve got Estell…Catherine, her baby, and Chance to think about.”

Eli pondered the dilemma. “All right, so going to your safe place isn’t a good idea. Can they come here?”

Rolley shook his head. “It’s too far. She just had a baby, and it’s too cold for her or for Robin – that’s the baby’s name.”

“It’s not fair to Vincent to make him wait any longer.” Jamie had fire in her eyes. “Look, I’m not going to tell anyone where you’re squatting. If I can keep the tunnels a secret, why wouldn’t I keep your safe place a secret?”

Considering that, Rolley accepted the truth of it. This young woman understood where he was coming from, how important keeping a place secret was. He nodded. “OK. I’ll trust you.”

“Go. Now,” Eli urged them. “I’ll wait for you and we can go Below to tell them, if this Estella is indeed Catherine.”

* * *

They walked in silence, Jamie uneasy with her new acquaintance, Rolley anticipating Chance’s reaction, and Est…Catherine’s. When they got to the subway station, Jamie started down the stairs.

“Haven’t got the fare, sorry. Used all my spare change getting to Clarence.” He shrugged his apology.

Jamie regarded him carefully, searching for signs of deceit. But he seemed honest enough and kind of embarrassed to admit his lack of funds. She shrugged. “I’ve got it. I was supposed to visit other Helpers today, so came prepared. Come on.”

They descended into the subway, paid their fares, and raced to catch the train in the station. Soon they were at Rolley’s stop. As they climbed the stairs to the street, he said, “Let me go in first, OK? Prepare them for a stranger coming inside…one who promised to keep our squat a secret.” He added the latter as a reminder and a warning.

“Sure.” She shrugged, her fingers crossed inside the pockets of her jacket. She didn’t plan to let him disappear, but she’d promise the moon if it meant finding Catherine for Vincent.

Rolley led the way to an abandoned warehouse, careful and vigilant about his approach. Finding nobody in the area, he slipped inside. Jamie counted to twenty then followed him.

As she tiptoed into the warehouse, dodging old equipment and stacks of tin cans set up as an early warning system, she heard his voice off to the right. Following the sound, she arrived behind a stack of rusting barrels just as she heard him say, “She’s from where your lion man is from, Catherine. We can trust her. She just wants to be sure you are the person she’s been looking for all these months.”

“If I’m not?” Catherine’s voice trembled with the question.

It had been a long time, but Jamie recognized the timbre and pitch of that voice. It was her! Excited now, Jamie waited impatiently, eager to be brought into the discussion.

“If you’re not, she’ll leave and forget all about this place,” Rolley assured Catherine.

A different woman’s voice, full of suspicion, said, “Do you trust her?” just as the familiar voice asked, “And…if I am the ‘right’ Catherine?”

Rolley answered the first woman who spoke before Catherine. “I do trust her, Chance. And Catherine, if you are the one they’re looking for…and I’m sure you are…then we’ll all talk about what to do next. She really wants to see you, everyone from where she’s from does, especially Vincent.”

Jamie heard a deep sigh. “OK, I guess.” That was from Catherine. Then the other woman, this Chance person, said, “You’d better be rock solid sure about this, Rolley. I don’t want to lose this crib but, mostly, I don’t want Catherine and Robin in any more danger.”

Impatient with the arguments, Jamie moved into view. “Nobody’s going to put Catherine and her baby in danger. We love her and only want to keep her safe, like you do.” She smiled and added, “Hi, Catherine! I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Vincent’s friend. I sure am glad to finally see you again!” She turned to the other woman, obviously the suspicious one named Chance. “I can understand you wanting to keep this place secret. It’s dry and pretty safe, and beats anyplace I ever found to squat in when I lived on the streets. I’ll keep it secret, I promise.”

Chance’s initial shock gave way to a knowing grin. This gal was good people, she could tell. And Rolley looked relieved that Chance hadn’t blown up at seeing Jamie. Chance could tell that, too.

Catherine stared hard at Jamie. For a moment her brow was furrowed in confusion then her face relaxed. “I do know you! You’re…Jamie, right?” She gazed at Chance and Rolley, relief suffusing her features. “I remember her! Oh, God…I remember!”

Chance froze as wonder and terror chased each other over Catherine’s face. She would cool on the newcomer in a flash if this was the suffering Jamie was going to bring.

Rolley noticed Chance’s demeanor change and stepped in. He didn’t know Jamie, but he knew Tunnel people. Their kindness and eagerness was borne of an innocence that sometimes could do harm if it wasn’t tempered by experience. He could tell Jamie wanted to take Catherine Below now, but that Catherine needed some time to gather herself together again.

“It’ll be all right, Catherine.” He turned to Jamie. “Let her rest. We’ll find a way to bring her Below if she wants to go.”

“If she wants to go?” Now Jamie was all confused anger and hands on hips, elbows pointed out like arrowheads. “She’s going. She needs to be back with her family. We’re all she’s got now.”

Chance gave no quarter. “We’re her family too, and we’ve kept her alive and safe. And we don’t just hand her over to some white girl dressed liked she escaped from ‘Cats’ ‘cause she says so!”

Catherine smiled. “Maybe I have something to say on where I go or don’t?” Her heart swelled with love for both of the young women. She’d missed Jamie’s fierceness, and Chance’s newly found but iron-true loyalty to her gave her strength that there were still good people in her world.

Both women looked embarrassed and then quieted and looked to her for what came next.

What happened next was a burble from an orange crate by Catherine. Catherine scooped Robin into her arms and gently rocked her until she settled again. Jamie’s eyes went wide. She’d heard them say Catherine had a baby but somehow seeing Robin in Catherine’s arms made it click into reality. She knew where babies came from, and she knew Catherine and Vincent weren’t…that way with each other. Father saw to that. Was this why Catherine had disappeared?

Catherine saw Jamie’s confusion. Her smile this time was weary. “She’s Vincent’s baby. It’s a very long story, one I think I should tell him first.”

Jamie’s eyes went wider. “Yes, he doesn’t know.”

Now the reality of telling Vincent about Robin weighed on Catherine. He had been so terrified he would hurt her…and he hadn’t, not even in the depths of his madness. But the result of their coupling had been her imprisonment and near death.

A chilling thought passed through her: what if he thought the child wasn’t his? Father was almost certain to voice suspicions over the impossibility of Vincent even fathering a child.

She looked into Robin’s bright gray eyes. There was something of her father in the slant of her cheekbones and the ruddiness of her skin. But she was a beautiful human child, on the outside at least. Something Vincent had said to her once brushed through her memory: “We must go with courage and we must go with care.” She certainly was going to be careful, and she hoped that would be enough to make the courage she definitely did not feel right now tag along.

Catherine looked at Jamie. “Tell him to go to the Bethesda Fountain at eleven tonight. Tell him someone wants to meet him there with information about me. But don’t tell him it’s me. He won’t stay Below if he knows I’m alive, and I won’t put him in any more danger than I have to.”

Jamie looked like she was about to argue but then understanding clicked. “All right. You will be there, won’t you, Catherine?” Jamie had to ask it, already not forgiving herself if she let Catherine slip through her fingers.

Catherine gave Jamie a look Jamie had come to call The Chandler Special. She first saw that expression the day they saved Vincent and Father from the cave-in. It was more than a promise, it was a vow to be there until the end.

“I’ll be there, Jamie. Now go. And remember, tell him only that someone wants to meet with him about me.”

“I will.” And Jamie left, clearly unhappy about leaving Catherine but excited, too, about the meeting she was to set up.

One of Robin’s tiny palms clasped around one of Catherine’s fingers. The silence felt heavy now.

Chance spoke first. “Well, you two better rest up, you’ve got a big night ahead of you.”

If you don’t say goodbye then you don’t have to admit you lost somebody, Chance thought, as she busied herself checking the bottles in the cooler.

Rolley sighed. Chance was going to take this hard. So was he, he admitted to himself. But he hoped Vincent would be happy to see Catherine and the baby.

He wondered what his and Chance’s lives would look like now. He wondered what would happen to Catherine – she was clearly in Up Top trouble. One disaster at a time, he reminded himself.

He watched Catherine and Robin, as both of them had fallen asleep again on a nest of blankets.

Chance hummed a Stevie Wonder tune, and the light stretched out as the day began its slow march into the evening.

* * *

The night air was chill and silent around them as they walked to the terrace. The park was mostly empty at this hour and the terrace deserted, as they’d hoped. They walked to the fountain, the angel looking down on them with her unreadable expression. Chance never could tell if she liked her duty or not. She wondered if the angel would have helped humanity if God hadn’t told her to. Chance shivered, and not from the cold.

They stood, tense, bundled in blankets and coats, with Chance holding Robin. Catherine had sensed it was important to her to do that as they walked to this meeting.

Rolley scanned the area around him. “Don’t see nobody. Maybe they didn’t believe we’d be here.”

“Catherine.”

A name. It came from the other side of the fountain. From a hooded figure who seemed to have materialized out of the night air.

“Catherine.”

The figure repeated it, and it was more than a name. It was a bead on a rosary, an offering on an altar, it was raspy with hope and sorrow.

The figure moved forward. They could see him in the light of the moon now. Chance’s mouth went dry as Catherine cried out, “Vincent!” and rushed toward him.

They embraced and wept in turn. Vincent tasted the salt of her tears and felt the threads of their Bond revive like rain falling on parched earth. “I knew you lived, I somehow knew beyond all reason or hope. Oh, Catherine.”

Chance walked up and handed the baby to Catherine then backed away.

There was a moment that felt like an eternity as Vincent looked at the child.

Chance and Rolley looked at each other and nodded. They melted back into the shadows and returned the way they had come. Vincent and Catherine and Robin were still by the fountain, not noticing their departure.

Catherine felt her heart like a steel weight in her chest. “She’s yours, Vincent.”

Vincent smiled mysteriously and traced a clawed finger over the baby’s forehead. “I know.”

“You do? How?”

“Because you told me.”

He saw the confusion on Catherine’s face. “Since the day you told me you loved me, when you saved us from the cave-in, I have refused to believe what is so clearly in front of my face. It nearly cost me you. Our Bond will return – I can feel flickers of you like drops of dew even now – but even if it doesn’t fully recover or goes away again, it won’t matter. I love you, Catherine. And you love me. And you telling me this child is mine is all I need to know.”

Catherine sank into Vincent’s arms, crying and laughing at her tears at the same time. “Oh, Vincent, if I knew having a baby would get you to see reason, I would have done it a lot sooner.”

And Vincent laughed through his tears, and picked both of them up in his arms. He started for home…our home… with a quick stride and a renewed sense of purpose. He had found Catherine. And he was a father. A father. He laughed again as he neared the culvert entrance.

Devin is surely in for a surprise in my next letter to him.

* * *

It had been a week since they had left Catherine and Robin in the park, and their lives had gotten back to the usual routine. Tips were good, and Chance had found an unopened bag of sour cream and onion chips in the trash. They were dividing the contents into two neat piles in the evening gloom of the warehouse.

“Still not used to how quiet it is all the time,” Chance said. It was the first mention she’d made of Catherine and Robin since that night in the park.

Rolley nodded and took up the thread of conversation carefully. “Yeah, I kinda miss them, too.”

A noise startled them from behind a crate. Before they had time to react, Catherine walked up with Vincent; Robin was bundled to his chest. Catherine set down a basket she was carrying. “We thought we’d have dinner with you two tonight.”

Rolley nodded in surprise as Catherine handed out roast chicken sandwiches and oranges from the basket. A thermos was full of hot vegetable soup and she poured it into mismatched bowls.

They all ate in silence at first, Chance trying not to stare at Vincent and then unable to not burst out with “Man, you are actually real!” She started to apologize but Vincent laughed heartily.

“Yes, I am very real.” He looked at Catherine. “And love makes you real, as a very wise writer once said.”

Catherine smiled back and put down her soup bowl. “Now, there is a dessert of peach pie,” she looked at Chance and Rolley, “…but it’s waiting Below with a pot of hot tea. I thought you might like to have it there.”

Chance and Rolley looked at each other, a lifetime of hurts and broken promises passing between them. Rolley looked down at his hands. He looked at Robin – a tiny little thing named for another tiny little thing, something that every time it returned to the park was a herald that all winters end. Maybe it was time for his winter to end, too.

“Well, going Below for dessert can’t hurt. Right, Chance?”

Chance nodded cautiously. “Yeah, it’s just for the night, so it’s no big deal.”

They all gathered the contents of the basket and packed it back up. They had started for the exit when Chance darted back to the milk crate full of books and magazines. She picked up the novelization Catherine had read. “I figure Robin might like to read this when she’s old enough. It’s a good story.”

“It’s a very good story,” Catherine said.

And maybe you’ll be the one to read it to her. Maybe a lot of things. Maybe I will never live Above again. Maybe I will. Maybe Jenny and Joe will always have to believe I’m dead. Maybe they’ll be at next year’s Winterfest. Maybe I have to learn to trust the day I’m given and believe that with love all things are possible. Because they are. They absolutely are.

Catherine smiled to herself. But first, before any of that, they would have a slice of peach pie.

I have a Bird in spring
Which for myself doth sing –
The spring decoys.
And as the summer nears –
And as the Rose appears,
Robin is gone.

Yet do I not repine
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown –
Learneth beyond the sea
Melody new for me
And will return.

~ Emily Dickinson