Author’s Note: Based on an original idea by Sharon Scrase

* * *

Vincent wouldn’t have been surprised to learn his boots had cut a visible track in the stone floor leading from the kitchen to Selina Merron’s chamber over the past two weeks, so many trips had he made back and forth. As the last member of the underground community to fall prey to the epidemic which had ravaged the tunnels, Selina had responded slowly but surely to Vincent’s unstinting care and tireless devotion to getting her well. As she lay delirious and drenched in the perspiration he gently absorbed with cooling towels, it was his name that sprang from her parched lips whenever some demon in her mind threatened to reverse the progress of all Father’s medicines. And now, the fever and other symptoms of the illness well behind her, the high points of her days were hearing his soft tread and gentle voice announce that he had brought her some restorative liquid or a special offering from William to tempt her lapsed appetite.

“Come in, Vincent, please,” she called as she spotted the tall shadow at the doorway of her chamber. “This will be the last time you need to wait on me. I’m getting up this afternoon and I shall be taking my meals with everyone else after that.”

Vincent placed a tray on the bedside table and sat down on a chair next to the bed. “Are you quite sure you are feeling strong enough, Selina?” he enquired gently. “You have been fortunate to survive this terrible ordeal, and no one is expecting you to return to your duties immediately.”

Selina reached for Vincent’s hand and stroked his fingers. “I am so bored lying here, Vincent…I can’t wait to get back to work. And I do realise how lucky I am to be alive…thanks to you. Poor little Ellie – she wasn’t lucky enough to have your undivided attention like me.”  

Vincent bowed his head, a shard of pain piercing his heart as he remembered the conversation he’d had with Eric following Ellie’s death when he’d had to tell the boy that his sister was dead; if he closed his eyes, he could still feel the pitiful blows the child had rained on him in his grief and anger that, in his immature mind, Ellie had broken her promise and left him alone. Vincent took a deep breath.

“No. And Father and I will never forgive ourselves that we were unable to save her. There were so many to nurse, and so few who were well enough to carry out that responsibility.”

“Ellie was little more than a child, Vincent. She was weak; she hadn’t lived long enough to build up resistance to disease. No amount of individual nursing from you or Father would have saved her.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“You can. You saved me. You, Vincent. Not Father or the medication. You saved my life with your endless care and patience. I remember waking sometimes and seeing you beside me, your face grey with exhaustion from lack of sleep. So don’t ever reproach yourself, Vincent…I am alive today because of you, and you have come to mean a great deal to me.” 

Vincent smiled and gently withdrew his hand. “You overstate my powers, Selina, but I draw comfort from your words.” He stood up. “Now, I must return to my own duties or Father will be sending out a search party. Take care of yourself. I will see you again soon.”

“Goodbye for now, Vincent . And thank you…for everything.” Selina smiled and Vincent turned to leave. He didn’t see the wistful look on her face as she gazed at his retreating back.

One night, a week later, Vincent had just returned from seeing Catherine. They had spent several hours together listening to music and enjoying a meal that Catherine had prepared especially for him. He was in a mellow mood and humming softly to himself as he undressed for bed. He had stripped to the waist and was about to pull off his boots when a voice at the doorway made him jump.

“May I come in, Vincent?” Glancing round he saw Selina framed in the opening, candlelight illuminating the contours of her body beneath the kind of nightgown that was rarely seen in the world Below.

“Selina!  It is very late…is something wrong?” She came towards him slowly, stopping only when they were so close his nostrils were filled with her perfume and the full breasts which strained against the lacy material only millimetres from his ribcage.

“No, Vincent. Nothing is wrong…well not in the way you mean. But I am disturbed, as I know you are. I’ve come to show you my gratitude, Vincent.” She reached up and laid her palm against his bare chest, closing her eyes and sniffing appreciatively at the scent of him. Astonished at this unexpected change in her behaviour, Vincent took a step backwards.

“Are you sure you are quite recovered, Selina?” he asked, peering hard at her to see if she was actually sleepwalking.

She laughed softly. “Of course I am. And I know exactly what I’m doing.” She put her other hand on his chest and began to slide it upwards and over his shoulder.

“I want you, Vincent,” she purred. “I love you…surely you must have realised over these last few weeks how I feel about you.”

He grabbed her exploring hands and held them firmly away from his body. “No. I had no idea. But I am afraid what you ask is impossible. You know that my heart is with Catherine. Please, Selina, return to your own chamber and we will never speak of this again.”

“No! You need me…oh, I know you think you’re in love with Catherine, but where is she when you’re lying in bed each night — every part of you aching for the warmth and comfort of a woman beside you, Vincent? Where is she then!”

“She is where she has to be. Catherine and I are forced to make certain sacrifices in order to continue our relationship. That does not mean she loves me less. One day we will be together, but until then I have no wish to…give myself…to any other woman, Selina. Do you understand?”

Selina pulled her hands free of Vincent’s grip and covered her eyes, turning away from him. “I’m sorry. I’ve made a fool of myself, haven’ t I?”

“No. I am flattered, Selina. That you should wish to give yourself to me in…that way is…more than I ever dreamt possible. I hope you can understand why I have to decline.”

Suddenly Selina spun around, her eyes shimmering with tears in the soft amber light. “Reject, you mean!”

“No, I…”

“Yes, Vincent, you’ve rejected me. I would have thought you, of all people, who know what it is to be rejected, would have welcomed what I offer you.” She turned away and her shoulders shook as she began to cry. Immediately, despair and guilt flooded Vincent’s heart. It was true. He had suffered rejection from innumerable sources throughout his life. Who was he to inflict it now, upon another human being? But, by the same token, how could he accept Selina’s offer either?  He suspected she was exaggerating her feelings for him and would soon come to realise this, but in the meantime, he had to restore her self-esteem somehow. All his natural compassion and gentleness called out for him to take her in his arms, but in the circumstances he knew it would be imprudent. Tentatively he reached out to touch her shoulder.

“Please Selina, try and understand. Your…visit here tonight has touched my heart. I feel very privileged to know that you wished to give yourself to me. Perhaps it is a failing within me that I cannot accept. But please do not feel ashamed. You will find someone one day who will be worthy of your gift. Are we…can we still be friends?”

Selina turned round to face him, wiping a hand across her eyes. Forcing a smile she said, “It’s all right Vincent…I’ve been rejected before and survived. I guess I will again.”

Before he could reply she ran from the chamber, leaving Vincent alone and bewildered at the whole scenario, including her sudden apparent acceptance of the situation.

Back in her own chamber, Selina lay in bed staring at the ceiling, humming tunelessly. Her pupils had grown very large and her expression wavered between sadness and a chilling determination.

Oh no, Vincent, you are not the first man to have rejected my love.

“And you never realised her feelings for you ran so deeply?” asked Catherine. It was two nights later and they stood on Catherine’s balcony. Vincent leaned on the railing and looked out at the darkness which hung over the city.

“No. I knew she cared for me…but as a friend, I thought. The same way that I care for her. She has lived among us for over a year, and has never declared her true feelings until now.”

Catherine went to stand beside him and slipped one arm beneath his cloak, his body heat warming it as she held him. “Maybe it was her illness and you nursing her through it, that escalated those feelings. Sometimes people can be friends for years before they realise they love each other.”  He looked down, his own love for her shining clearly from the vibrant pools of blue. “And sometimes they know by looking at someone just once.”

“Yes.” Catherine’s look was penetrating. “I’m sorry you had to hurt her, Vincent. “

“So am I. My heart is heavy in the knowledge that Selina’s pride has been wounded by my words and actions. But to have agreed to her request would have meant hurting you…there was no choice .

“No,” she agreed softly, “there isn’t a choice for either of us…not any more.”

***

“Isn’t it time to break yet, Vincent? We’ve been at it for hours.” Cullen’s voice held a note of childish temper as he flung down his pickaxe. Vincent straightened from a pile of rocks he was shifting and wiped the dust from his face with his sleeve. “You’re right, Cullen. I believe we have earned our lunch today.”

As if on cue they heard voices, and turned to see Rebecca and Selina coming towards them carrying cloth-covered trays. The men sank down on the floor gratefully and the two women distributed sandwiches and jugs of coffee, offering words of praise and encouragement at the progress that had been made on the new chambers. Selina handed plates of food to Mouse and Winslow, then turned to Vincent.

“Here you are, Vincent. Enjoy.”

“Thank you, Selina.” He smiled up at her warmly, relieved that she apparently bore him no ill will and hoped the delicate subject which had arisen between them would not be mentioned again.

The women stayed to talk for a while, pouring coffee and handing it around. Usually a rota system operated for the preparation and delivery of lunch to the various work parties, but on returning to light duties after her illness, Selina had offered to take on the work indefinitely. It was not difficult, she’d said, and she enjoyed preparing food infinitely more than cleaning up afterwards. When the men had finished eating, Rebecca and Selina gathered up the debris and made their way back to the kitchens, leaving the men to carry on working.

They’d been at it solidly for about an hour and a half when, suddenly, Vincent dropped the boulder he and Mouse were manoeuvring into position, gasped and doubled over, clutching his stomach. The others turned to see poor Mouse, unable to hold the huge rock alone, stagger backwards barely managing to steer it away from them as it fell.

“Dammit Vincent, what the hell happened?” shouted Winslow. “Mouse could have been badly hurt!”

“I’m sorry!” he gasped between gritted teeth. The others, realising something must be seriously wrong to make Vincent subject any of them to danger, dumped their tools and ran to him.

“What’s wrong, Vincent…are you sick?” asked Cullen, a worried expression on his face. Vincent tried to straighten up but he was still holding his stomach and perspiration beaded his forehead.

“Should have told us, Vincent,” cried Mouse. “When Mouse sick…not work. You sick…not work.”

“I was perfectly well until j-just a moment ago,” Vincent stammered. “Then suddenly…pain…burning inside me like fire.”

“Do you think it’s Catherine?” queried Cullen, remembering the bond between the two and how it had affected Vincent on other occasions when she had been hurt. Vincent fell forward again, unable to speak immediately as he fought the way his stomach churned and contracted in agony.

“No,” he replied at last, with obvious difficulty. “It is…not Catherine.”

Winslow, becoming concerned for his friend, took Vincent’s arm. “I think we’d better get you back, pal. You should lie down. C’mon.” The others moved to help, when suddenly Vincent turned and fled down the tunnels, leaving his friends to stand and stare.

Ten minutes passed and Vincent returned, his face chalk white but apparently feeling a little better. Winslow was his usual direct self. “You throw up?”

Vincent nodded. “I am sorry. I cannot imagine what could have affected me that way. Can you forgive me, Mouse?” he added.

The boy clapped Vincent on the upper arm. “No problem, Vincent…Mouse not hurt…you okay now?”

“Yes, I-I think so.” He turned to the others. “But I wish to freshen up… I shall not be long.”

“Take all the time you want, Vincent. We’ll manage here,” replied Winslow.

Vincent returned to his chamber, stripped to the waist and poured a bowl of water. He washed and dried himself, puzzled at the cold, clamminess of his skin. After brushing his teeth he put on a clean shirt and, despite still feeling a little shaky, returned to work.

He had instructed the others not to mention the incident to Father, but the old man was clearly surprised at how little Vincent ate that evening at dinner. To Father’s irritation, Vincent won their evening game of chess with his usual well plotted strategy and, since Catherine was spending the evening with Jenny, opted for an early night.

“Very well,” said Father, “if you refuse to allow me to take my revenge, I shall have all the more time to plan my moves for tomorrow night.”

Vincent chuckled softly. “I shall look forward to it, Father. Now goodnight.”

“Won’t you even stay to enjoy a cup of tea with me?” the old man asked, but Vincent shook his head.

“I have a few pages of a book to finish before I go to sleep Father, and I am a little tired this evening, so if you will excuse me?”

“Oh, all right then, go,” Father replied testily, although he couldn’t help reaching up a hand to pat Vincent’s hair as his son bent to kiss his cheek.

Vincent made himself a cup of his favourite herbal tea, undressed and settled down in bed to finish his book. He could hardly keep his eyes open, and as the last few words disappeared off the page, he replaced the empty cup on the bedside table and snuffed out the candle.

For a split second in the darkness, Vincent couldn’t think what had awakened him, when suddenly a violent pain gripped his stomach, the ferocity of it taking his breath away and making him draw his knees up beneath the covers. It diminished briefly only to seize him again seconds later. Vincent had never experienced anything like it; as a rule pain was something he didn’t allow to dominate him. Although unpleasant, he usually knew what it was and accepted it. Whenever he’d been injured, as had happened with increasing frequency over the years due to his nocturnal forays Above, especially since he’d known Catherine, he resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do but wait for the injury to heal, as it inevitably would. But this was something different; something alien, the cause of which he didn’t understand, and it frightened him.

Feeling the nausea rise again, he crawled out of bed and groped his way to the bathroom, but since there was hardly more than a cup of herbal tea in his stomach, the sickness this time brought little relief. He splashed his face with cold water and wrenched off his night-shirt which was suddenly drenched in perspiration and sticking to his body.

Unable to decide which was more bearable, walking around or lying down, Vincent pulled on a pair of jeans with a vague intention of going into the park for some fresh air. As he struggled with the button, the pains intensified again and, frightened and angry, Vincent’s low growl of anguish became a roar. He immediately felt ashamed of losing control when Father appeared in the doorway, a look of shocked horror on his face. The old man set down the candle he was carrying and tried to support Vincent as he doubled over again in a fresh bout of pain.

“Dear God, what is it, Vincent!” he cried. “You must have woken the whole tunnels. Come and lie down. Where are you hurting?”

“Stomach c-cramps, Father,” Vincent gasped. “I don’t know what to do!”

“I’ll get my bag. Hold on now; I won’t be long.”

Father hurried out of the chamber, colliding en route with several residents alarmed at Vincent’s roar of pain. Briefly he explained that Vincent was sick and that he’d call if he needed any of them. In his own chamber he unlocked his cupboard and rummaged through various preparations in the search for an effective painkiller, grabbed his medical bag and, praying this wasn’t the beginning of another Dark Time for his beloved son, returned to Vincent as quickly as he could.

He found him lying on his back on the bed, knees bent and clawed hands pressing cruelly into the flesh of his stomach, almost as if he thought by inflicting pain on the outside, he could divert his attention from the pain on the inside. His head was thrown back on the pillow and his face, deathly white in the candlelight was damp with perspiration. It was obvious to Father that his son was in agony. He opened his bag, filled a syringe and flicked the skin on Vincent’s arm to access the vein he was seeking. Expelling the air from the syringe, he injected Vincent, talking soothingly to him.

“All right now, just hold on; that will soon take effect and then you can tell me when all this started.”  He replaced his instruments in the bag and, with difficulty, prised his son’s hands from his stomach. Slowly the tension began to leave Vincent as the drug took effect and his breathing slowed until, after several minutes he was able to speak normally again.

“Now,” said Father, “let’s see if we can find out what this is all about.” Gently but with his usual authority, he palpated Vincent’s stomach, glancing at his son’s face each time for any reaction. There was none other than acute embarrassment at calling so much attention to himself.

“Well, it’s not your appendix,” he pronounced. “The symptoms appeared to indicate that was the most likely problem. Tell me, Vincent, when did this start?”

Vincent pulled himself up to a sitting position. “It happened the first time this afternoon while I was working.”

“As bad as this?”

“Yes. “

“Any vomiting?” Vincent nodded, his head bowed, hating anything he considered to be weakness in him, yet was unable to control.

“Both times?”

“Very little tonight. I was unable to face much at dinner so I made a cup of herbal tea when I returned from my game with you.”

“And the pain was the same each time?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Father. I feel very foolish.”

Father reached out to stroke Vincent’s hair. “Don’t be ridiculous. You normally bear pain so bravely. That, in itself, tells me how bad this was. What did you have for lunch?”

Vincent shrugged. “Beef sandwiches the same as the others. The only one among us to have something different was Cullen; he had egg.”  

Father stood up. “Well, if it hasn’t affected anyone else it’s probably just one of those things. How do you feel now?”

“Tired. Thank you, Father.”

“For what?  Doing my duty as a parent and a doctor? Get some sleep now. We’ll talk more tomorrow.  Goodnight Vincent.”

“Goodnight Father.”

The following morning Vincent made coffee for himself and, determined to put the events of the previous day out of his mind, went to work early, throwing himself into strenuous activity before the others even arrived. It came as something of a shock to him to find that by mid-morning he felt drained and breathless. When Rebecca and Selina brought the lunch he could only manage half a sandwich and Selina put her hand on his brow, a look of concern on her face.

“You should take it easy, Vincent,” she advised. “I heard you didn’t feel good yesterday. How about some coffee?”

“Thank you.” He smiled and accepted a mug gratefully.

“I hope you didn’t let on you got sick after eating my sandwiches,” she joked. “That wouldn’t do much for my image as William’s assistant!”

“Do not worry, Selina,” Vincent reassured her, “Father has assured me my indisposition was one of those inexplicable maladies that beset us all occasionally.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” smiled Selina, “you take care of yourself now, you hear?”

At dinner that evening, convinced the weakness he felt in his limbs was probably due to lack of nourishment, Vincent forced himself to eat most of what was put before him, albeit without much enthusiasm. After the meal he washed and changed, feeling more light-hearted as he prepared to meet Catherine. He journeyed through the maze of tunnels, onward and upward until he was standing on the roof of the elevator which would take him to the floor below her apartment. As the elevator ground to a halt, he sprang off and scrambled up to the balcony, clambering over and landing, unusually out of breath from the exertion, on her terrace. She was waiting for him, her eyes sparkling delightedly at seeing him again. He opened his arms and she threw herself into them, hugging him and kissing his neck. It felt so good to hold her again.

“Catherine,” he whispered, “you look so beautiful tonight. Have you been to the theatre’?” She was wearing a short black crepe de chine dress with black tights and high heels, and the crystal drops at her ears matched the pendant she always wore; his gift to her on their first anniversary of meeting. She pulled back to look at him, her lovely face aglow with love.

“No, Vincent, I haven’t been anywhere. This…” She indicated her dress, “…is for you. ” Her smile faded and she studied his face. “You look so pale tonight; I was worried about you yesterday…are you okay?'”

He suddenly felt the need to sit down; his legs were behaving treacherously, as though they might give way at any moment. Reluctant to admit to Catherine that he had been feeling far from well, he merely dropped into the nearest chair and pulled her down to sit on his knee. “Yes,” he answered softly. “Now tell me about your day.”

Catherine had put on a compact disc containing one of Vincent’s favourite concertos, and, slipping one arm around his neck she leaned her head against his, swaying slightly to the delicate strains, content just to be with him. The feel of his warm hand stroking her back sent odd little shivering sensations through her. She chattered away, telling him a little about one of the cases she was working on, although she had the impression he wasn’t really concentrating on what she was saying. His wine glass, too, remained untouched. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he suddenly sucked in his breath and clutched at his stomach, dislodging her from his knee so abruptly that she almost fell to the floor.

“Vincent!” she cried, as loudly as she dared. “What’s wrong!” He was rocking back and forth on the chair obviously in agony.

“What can I do!” she asked, kneeling beside him, feeling totally helpless.

“Nothing. It…will…pass,” he replied, every word a concentrated effort. He stood up and began to pace the terrace, then suddenly moved towards the French doors.

“Forgive me, Catherine, I must use your bathroom.” Taking his arm, she led him quickly through the apartment, opened the bathroom door and shut it behind him, knowing full well the last thing he would want was for her to witness what he would undoubtedly consider a private and possibly the most ultimate degradation. Instead she returned to the terrace to wait for him.

After several minutes, Vincent appeared in the doorway and her heart constricted at his appearance. He was as pale as parchment and his hair lay damply against his face as he leaned against the frame. He looked so drained and exhausted she found it almost physically painful herself.

“I apologise, Catherine. I should never have come tonight,” he said, “but I wanted to see you so badly.” 

Taking his hand, she guided him back inside. “Why don’t you lie down in my bedroom, Vincent? You can spend the night here, you know that, don’t you?”

But he shook his head. “No. I must go. It is safer for me Below. Do not concern yourself about me, Catherine.”

“Vincent, how can I not concern myself?  I’ve never seen you like this. But if you insist on going home, then I’m going with you. Sit down for a few minutes while I get my things.” He sat down on one of the couches and leaned back, eyes closed, his arms folded across his stomach.

Collecting her coat, purse and keys from the bedroom, Catherine’s mind was filled with questions she knew wouldn’t be answered tonight. Returning to the living room, she looked down at Vincent. For once he seemed oblivious to her presence and she reached down to feel his forehead for any sign of fever.  Jerking awake he stood up.

“It is not necessary for you to accompany me, Catherine.” But his voice held a note of exhaustion, and when she slipped an arm around his waist, he leaned on her slightly as they walked.

On reaching the tunnels they made their way down the spiral staircase and along the passages towards Vincent’s chamber, drawing the occasional surprised glance from some of the residents, unused, in recent months, to seeing their friend and protector returning so early. As they approached the doorway to Vincent’s chamber, they met Selina Merron coming out. The woman looked from one to the other.

“Oh, er, hello, Vincent…Catherine. I was just…”

“What, Selina?” asked Catherine. “What were you doing in Vincent’s chamber when he wasn’t there?”

“Catherine, please; it is quite all right,” interrupted Vincent, but Selina smiled brightly

“It’s okay, Vincent. I’m not offended. Actually, I came to top up your jars of herbal tea and coffee. And now I’m leaving.” She looked hard at Vincent. “You look just awful, Vincent. You should get to bed.” She turned to Catherine. “Did he tell you he hasn’t been feeling well for two days now? But don’t worry; when you go home, I’ll take care of him.”

Vincent reached out and squeezed her hand briefly. “Goodnight, Selina. And thank you.” The woman threw Catherine a strange look and walked quickly away, leaving Catherine staring after her.

“Am I imagining things, or is Selina becoming a little overly possessive with you?” she muttered as they went inside the chamber. “Did something else happen that I don’t know about?” Vincent took a deep breath and slumped wearily on to the bed, loosening his cloak from his shoulders and allowing it to fall. “No.”

Catherine was beside him in an instant, folding his cloak and laying it over a chair. “Forgive me, Vincent,” she pleaded. “The last thing you need right now is two women fighting over you. Come on, into bed. Let me help you.” He allowed her to unclasp his belt and help him off with his patched suede waistcoat and shirt, but then, still strangely shy with her, he retreated to the bathroom.

“How about a drink to settle your stomach?” she offered, once he was tucked up in bed. “Would you like coffee? Or some of your favourite tea?” She lifted the lids of the two jars and stared. “That’s strange. “

“I think I would just like some water please, Catherine,” Vincent replied. “What is strange?”

“Oh, nothing.” She smiled, pouring him a glass of water. “Now, would you like me to stay with you tonight? I can sleep here or next door in the guest chamber so I’ll be close by if you need me.”

Vincent shook his head. “No, Catherine. You must return home. You have to work tomorrow. I believe I am quite recovered now. And if not, Father is here.”

“And Selina.”  

Vincent raised an eyebrow, a tight smile on his face. “Yes. And Selina.”

Catherine waited until Vincent had finished his glass of water and then, with a niggling feeling of unease, returned to her apartment. Whatever rational explanation she tried to apply, the fact remained the same;  there had been barely more than a teaspoonful of coffee and tea in Vincent’s jars when she looked; so just what had brought Selina Merron to his chamber while he was away?

***

Catherine had intended to check on Vincent at lunchtime the following day, since she had been unable to shake the heavy sensation of foreboding which had crept over her before she left him. Joe Maxwell had other ideas, however, so bemoaning the fact she wasn’t able to call Vincent on the phone like anyone else, she buried her head in a pile of files dumped unceremoniously on her desk by Joe, and tried unsuccessfully to concentrate. By 3 pm she had barely managed to scratch the surface and Joe was not amused.

“What is it with you today, Radcliffe?” he yelled.  “That lot should’ve taken you a coupl’a hours…three at most, so what gives, huh? I told you I needed your report on the Sam Parnell case on my desk by three-thirty.  If I don’t get it, Moreno’ll be looking for some butt to kick and you can be damn sure whose it’s gonna be.” 

Cathy looked up and rubbed a hand over her eyes. “I’ll get to it, Joe, I promise.  I’m jut having a little trouble concentrating today.” 

Joe raised a cynical eyebrow. “Really? Tell me about it.” He leaned over the desk. “Read my lips, Cathy…half an hour from now.” Muttering something about PMT and women in general, he returned to his own office, leaving Catherine fuming and no further advanced with her workload.

***

To Vincent’s frustration and dismay, he was not recovered from the mystery virus. On the contrary, the symptoms were becoming progressively worse. He found he was unable to keep down even the lightest meal, although this in itself wasn’t a problem since even the thought of food was enough to make his stomach churn. Of much greater concern to both himself and Father, when Vincent finally admitted it, was the increasing weakness he was experiencing.  Following another attack of severe stomach cramps in the night, he had slept fairly well, so it came as an unpleasant surprise the next morning to find that by the time he had washed and dressed, he felt breathless and dizzy and all he really wanted to do was lie down again.

“Father, what is happening  to me?” he snapped. He was sitting in his chair, hands held out in front of him, watching, as they trembled with the effort of keeping them raised even for a few seconds.

Father covered one with his own. “I don’t know, Vincent. Your blood pressure and temperature are normal. Your heartbeat, although erratic during an attack, is sound. Although certain factors don’t correspond, I’m still inclined to believe it must be gastric enteritis.”

“But you have given me something for that…why isn’t it working?” 

The old man took a deep breath. “Vincent, I truly don’t know. If you’re no better tomorrow, I shall have to take a blood sample. I know how much you detest needles, but it can’t be helped. Now, before I go – have you had anything to drink this morning?” Vincent shook his head irritably.  “Then I’ll make you some tea. All right?”

“I don’t know. I am almost afraid to drink now.”

“I know, son,” replied Father, patting Vincent’s shoulder, “but if you don’t, you’ll dehydrate and feel even worse. Ah good, here’s Selina with fresh water.  Good morning, my dear.”

“Good morning Father…Vincent. How are you feeling today?” 

Vincent scraped back his chair and rose to move around the room. “Don’t ask.”

Father raised an eyebrow and patted Selina’s arm. “I’m afraid my son is no better, which accounts for his bad humour.” The woman nodded sympathetically.

“I apologise for my rudeness, Selina,” said Vincent, finding that even the few steps around the room had exhausted him. “I have grown impatient with feeling ill.” He sat down heavily on the bed.

“Leave us now, Selina,” Father said gently. “Vincent needs to rest.”

“I’m so sorry you’re sick, Vincent,” she commented as she hurried out.“I’m sure it won’t go on much longer.”

“I hope she’s right,” muttered Vincent as he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He listened to the sound of a spoon clinking against china as Father prepared the tea.

“Won’t you stay with me?” Vincent asked as the cup was placed beside his head.

“Yes, certainly I will, but you know I cannot abide this stuff, or that decaffeinated coffee you drink. I’ll make myself a cup of the real thing and come back in a few minutes.

***

It was 7 pm before Catherine reached the Tunnels, and to her surprise, Father intercepted her on the way to Vincent’s chamber.

“May I speak to you please, Catherine?”

“What is it?  Is Vincent all right?” Father took her elbow and gestured towards his study. “Father, please, what’s wrong? Is Vincent still sick?”

The old man nodded and the look in his eyes frightened Catherine more than his words. “I’m afraid so. In fact, his condition has deteriorated dramatically even during the last few hours.”

“Oh God, tell me!”

“Last night, after you’d returned home, I went in to check on him. He told me about the attack of stomach cramps he’d suffered at your apartment. He was mortified that you should have seen him like that.”

“Father…” Catherine interrupted. “I was mortified to see him like that, too!  Because I love him so deeply! I can’t bear to see him sick or hurt. Tell me what’s happened, please!” 

Father moved slowly around the room. He looked tired and more worried than she had ever seen him.  He leaned heavily on his cane. “Vincent had another attack in the night, and two more today. Catherine, he’s desperately ill and I don’t know how to treat him.”

“I have to go to him!”

“Very well. I just wanted to warn you.”

Her heart racing in genuine terror, Catherine ran up the steps and along the passageways to Vincent’s chamber with Father following behind as quickly as he was able. Selina Merron was standing over Vincent. She had her arm under his head and had obviously just given him a drink. As Catherine drew in her breath sharply, the other woman looked around and moved away from the bed.

“What did you just give him?” demanded Catherine.

“Just some water. Why?”

“Has he had anything to eat today?” 

Selina shook her head. “No, only liquid. Father made him tea this morning, but since then he’s only had a few sips of water.” 

Catherine walked towards Selina purposefully. “Thank you, Selina. I’m here now and I’ll take care of Vincent. Why don’t you get some rest?” 

The other woman shrugged and passed Father in the doorway as she left.

Close to tears, Catherine sat on the edge of Vincent’s bed and lifted his fingers to her lips. His breathing was shallow and his eyes were dull and lifeless when he tried to focus on her.

“Catherine?” he whispered.

“I’m here, Vincent. And I’m not going to leave you alone again until you’re well.” His eyelids fluttered closed again, and she leaned forward to kiss his pale cheek.

“I’m at my wit’s end, Catherine,” murmured Father. “He’s getting weaker by the hour and I haven’t been able to diagnose anything specific. But if it’s merely a gastric condition, it’s the worst case I’ve ever seen. Of course, that could be due to Vincent’s physiological differences, but still…” As he shook his head and gestured helplessly with his hands, Catherine stood up and faced Father.

“This is more than a gastric condition! Have you considered the possibility that he is being poisoned?”

“What!  Have you gone quite mad, Catherine? If it was food poisoning, others would have gone down with it.”

“Not if someone was systematically poisoning Vincent.” 

Father looked at Catherine aghast. “Who could possibly want to do such a thing?  The very idea is preposterous!”

“What do you know about Selina Merron?”

“Selina? Well, she’s been with us for about fourteen months. She was a nurse in the world Above; a very caring lady. She’s devoted to Vincent. Surely you can’t possibly think…”

“She propositioned Vincent a few days ago,” Catherine interjected. “She told him she loved him and wanted to go to bed with him.”

“What!”

“Vincent refused her, of course,” continued Catherine, “oh, he did it gently, of course, but she was very upset. Then, suddenly, she just seemed to accept it and rushed out of Vincent’s chamber. A few days later Vincent had the first attack.”

Father sat down heavily in Vincent’s chair, trying hard to make sense of what Catherine was saying.  He rubbed at his forehead with his hand.

“But why should you think she would try and poison Vincent? That’s somewhat extreme, don’t you think? I – I mean I can understand she was upset at his refusal of her…love, but I really think you’re getting into the realms of fantasy by suggesting she’d try to kill him!”

“Maybe. But think about it, Father. Vincent nursed her all through her illness;  she became close to him. Then, when she was well enough to take up her chores again, she was put in the kitchen preparing food, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“She made the sandwiches for lunch that day.”

“With Rebecca, Catherine! Are you accusing her, too?”

“No, of course not. But Selina would have had a chance to put something in Vincent’s sandwiches if she wanted to.” 

Father shook his head. “But he ate practically nothing that first evening. All he had was a cup of herbal tea which he made himself when he retired to bed, yet he had another attack in the night. How do you explain that?”  

Catherine walked over to the tray containing the tea and coffee jars and brought one over for Father’s inspection.

“Selina replaces everyone’s supplies, doesn’t she? But she lied to Vincent and I last night. She was just leaving this chamber when we arrived and her excuse for being here was that she’d topped up the jars. Well, she hadn’t; they were almost empty when I looked. Now they’re full, and I think we should have a sample of each tested.”

“But…and I’m not saying I believe any of your theories, Catherine…but just supposing you’re right; if she didn’t refill the jars last night, what caused Vincent to have a further attack in the night?” 

Catherine looked grim and pointed to Vincent’s bureau. “The water. I believe she’s been slipping poison into anything that Vincent alone consumes. I could be wrong, but it all fits, Father. Vincent rejected Selina Merron and she was so bitter…her mind so twisted, that she decided to kill him by doctoring his food, and when he’s felt too sick to eat, she’s merely switched to spiking  his drinks.” 

Father took a deep breath and expelled the air slowly. “But what would she use?  And where would she get it?”

“You’ve provided the answer to that, yourself, Father. She was a nurse. She’s probably still got contacts Above, and if not, she still knows what to use. She could even be stealing from you.”

“Dear God.” Father dropped his head into his hands, and Catherine put her arm around him, wishing she hadn’t had to be so brutal, but desperate to convince him.

“Father, we have to act fast. I promised Vincent I’d stay with him, but we must get samples of the water, tea and coffee tested and it has to be done Above, so I guess that’s down to me.”

She turned and walked over to where Vincent lay. He was so still her heart contracted with fear. Kneeling down, she placed her right hand on his chest, frowned and moved it a little, pressing harder.

“Father, quickly! I think his heart’s stopped!” The old man was beside her in an instant and sat down on the bed. Pulling his stethoscope from his bag, he quickly opened Vincent’s night-shirt and listened, breathing a huge sigh of relief when he heard the weak thump in his ears.

“Thank God,” he breathed. “But it’s very faint; I must take a blood sample. It’s vital we determine what is poisoning Vincent so we can get Peter to rush us an antidote. Perhaps you could get him to come back with you, Catherine?” She nodded, afraid that if she spoke, she’d lose the control she’d managed to build in order to persuade Father she was right about Selina. Now, badly frightened that Vincent was really dying, she hoped she had the courage to do what had to be done.

While Father took samples of the tea, coffee and water, Catherine sat beside Vincent, holding his hand and speaking softly to him, although she doubted if he was aware of anything she said. When Father had the phials safely capped and ready, he took a syringe from his bag and withdrew a small amount of blood from Vincent’s arm, transferring it to a sterilised container.

“That’s it, Catherine. Everything’s ready. Take these to Peter and he’ll arrange to get them tested for us. I know I don’t need to tell you to impress on him the urgency of this. Vincent’s life depends on the speed we can get hold of an antidote.”

“No, Father, you don’t need to tell me.”

Catherine touched her fingers to Vincent’s cheek, then rose and picked up the samples. With a last glance at the unique being whose life had become more important to her than her own, Catherine bade farewell to Father and hurried from the chamber.

Peter Alcott was out, so, cursing in silent frustration, Catherine hastily scribbled a note and pushed this, together with the phials, through the mailbox, praying the doctor would return home soon. From Peter’s home she returned to the DA’s office, gaining entry with her security key. During the time she had worked with Edie and more recently, Rita, the women had acquainted Catherine with the computer files to a degree that she was able to access whatever information she wanted. As expected, the name ‘Selina Merron’ was unknown to the stored data, so Catherine wracked her brains to come up with similar sounding names, common names with the same initials; anything she could think of that might lead her to Selina Merron. As desperate as she was to return Below, her mission here was vital if her suspicions regarding the ex-nurse were correct. She and Father had agreed that, for the time being, until they could come up with the proof they needed, they would not tackle Selina or arouse her own suspicion which could possibly panic her into an even more dangerous situation for Vincent.

After an hour of punching keys and staring frustratedly at the monitor, the phone rang on Catherine’s desk. Rubbing a hand over her sore eyes, she pushed back the chair and stood up. It had to be Peter. Apart from Father, no one else knew where she was. Running to her own desk, she snatched up the receiver.

“Catherine Chandler.”

“Cathy, it’s Peter.”

“Thank God. Have you had a chance to test those samples?”

“That’s why I’m calling. You’re right. All three contain unusually high traces of strychnine. Not very imaginative but still lethal in the sort of quantity it’s obviously being administered. Vincent will need the antidote immediately if we’re to save his life.”

“Do you have it, Peter?”

“I’m leaving right now. Do you need a ride?”

“I appreciate it, Peter, but I’m not through here yet.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get a lead on Selina Merron. I’m certain she’s the one who’s been poisoning Vincent. Obviously, she’s not in the files under that name, so I’ve been trying everything I can think of.” There was a pause at the other end of the line.

“Peter, are you still there?”

“Yes, I was just thinking. Selina Merron? I met Selina’s mother once in a hospital in San Francisco; I worked there for a short time. Of course, I didn’t know who she was then, but later, when I got to know Selina, I realised who she was.”

“What was her name?”

“Patricia something…ah, ‘Terry’, I think. But I remember now, when I met her, it was just after Selina was born and we somehow got around to talking about movies. There was an actress, of sorts, around at that time in the sixties called ‘Sabrina’ and Patricia thought she was so beautiful that she named her baby after her.  I realised Selina had changed her last name, but I didn’t attach any importance to the fact she obviously changed her first name too.”   Catherine felt a ray of hope surge in her chest.

“Thanks Peter. This might be it. I’ll join you Below just as soon as I can.”

Tripping over a waste bin in her desperation to get back to the computer, Catherine punched in the name ‘Sabrina Terry’. After a few seconds, Selina’s face appeared on the screen with a whole batch of information that made Catherine gasp and reach for her pen.

***

“I can’t thank you enough for this, Peter.” Father grasped the other man’s hand warmly as he came through the doorway.

“Just glad I can help, Jacob. How is he?”

“Not good.” Both men went straight to Vincent’s bed and Peter sat down. “May I?” he asked, his hand automatically reaching for his bag.

“Please do.”

Peter raised Vincent’s eyelids and checked the vacant blue orbs beneath with an ophthalmoscope. Then he took Vincent’s pulse and listened to his heart, frowning as he lowered the stethoscope from his ears.

“He’s extremely weak. I hope we’re in time.” Filling a syringe with the precious liquid, Peter buried the needle in Vincent’s arm and emptied it into a vein. As he withdrew the needle, he looked up at his old friend. “That’s all we can do for now. Assuming we’re not too late, I’d expect to see some improvement by morning.” Father nodded.

“I have no reason to suppose Vincent would react differently to the drug than anyone else, but you can never be sure with his physiology.  All we can do now is wait…and pray.”

Peter stood up, replaced his instruments and handed a small bottle to Father.

“Sedative…something new. I’ll leave this with you just in case. Incidentally, Jacob, have you checked your stock of strychnine lately? That’s what it was, you know.” 

Father put the bottle in the pocket of his robe and sat down, running his hands wearily over his face. “Some things I only check once a month; that was one of them. And only Vincent, Mary, and myself even know of its existence. I keep the stuff mainly for the odd occasion when we spot a rat. Other than that, I have used it oh, maybe twice in the last five years, in minute quantities as a stimulant.” 

Peter nodded. “It can be very effective. Catherine told me she suspects Selina.  What do you intend to do about it?”

“Well, it’s hard to believe, but what Catherine says is logical; and no one can doubt she has a sixth sense where Vincent is concerned. We’ll just have to be extra vigilant until we can actually prove what she’s doing. Someone will remain with Vincent for every second of the day and night.” 

Peter nodded his agreement. “If Catherine is right, Vincent is still in grave danger.”

At that moment Catherine appeared. She was out of breath from running and barely glanced at the two doctors as she knelt beside Vincent’s bed. “How is he?”

“We’ll know in a few hours,” said Father. “Until then, all we can do is wait.” 

Catherine lifted Vincent’s right hand and held it against her forehead. “He has to live,” she whispered. “He just has to.” In a voice which threatened to break any moment, she murmured, “He said it was safer for him, Below.” Eventually, she stood up, her composure regained. “Where’s Selina?”

“In her chamber, I suppose. She hasn’t been here.” Catherine went to the doorway and looked up and down the passage. Returning to the table where the men sat watching her, she took a computer print-out from her pocket.

“Look at this,” she commanded. “Selina is wanted for the murder of two men.  One was her fiancé. He was discovered two years ago in the basement of a brownstone they used to rent. He’d been given a lethal dose of cyanide a week after he broke off their engagement. The other was eighteen months before that.  An ex-patient of Selina’s. She apparently developed an obsession for him while he was in the hospital. After he came out, they began to see each other and guess what; he tried to dump her and a few weeks later was found dead from barbiturate poisoning. Seems Selina had tampered with the small dosage the hospital had prescribed. Different drugs…same M.O.”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” muttered Father, a shiver of revulsion running through him as he thought of the woman the Tunnel community had taken to their hearts in friendship.

“And my Vincent almost became her next victim,” added Catherine shakily.  

Peter Alcott rose and picked up his bag. “It’s terrifying. I think I’ll call it a night.  If you need me, you know my number.”  

Father stood up and pumped the other man’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Peter. It would have taken me much longer to test those samples with my limited equipment. By the time I’d established what was poisoning my son, well…”   The other doctor squeezed Father’s shoulder.

“I’m just glad I was able to help. Vincent’s like a favourite nephew to me, you know. Now, try and get some sleep, Jacob; you look exhausted.”

After a final hug from Catherine, Peter left and it was decided that Father and Catherine would take turns to sit up with Vincent. Despite his friend’s advice, Father took the first shift and used the opportunity to replace the store of tea and coffee with new packets Catherine had brought with her. The jars would need careful monitoring, as would the supply of fresh water he fetched himself.

***

Vincent opened his eyes. Something was different; he felt…different. Something lay in his right hand. Turning his head, he found Catherine beside him on the bed, her small hand in his furred one. With a rush of emotion, he squeezed it gently and she came instantly awake.

“Vincent, what is it? Are you okay?” She scrambled up on her knees and smoothed a strand of hair from his face.

“What are you doing here, Catherine? Not that I am complaining.” 

She chewed her lower lip and he could see tears in her eyes. “It’s a long story, Vincent, and I promise I’ll tell you all about it when you’re well. How do you feel?” 

He started to sit up. “As if I need to go to the bathroom.” 

Catherine was immediately anxious. “Do you feel sick?”

“No, just uncomfortable. Will you help me, please, Catherine?”

“Do you really have to ask, silly?” She threw back the covers and put both arms around him as he got slowly to his feet. He felt disoriented, like a man coming out of a time warp where he’d been sleeping for years. They walked the few steps to the bathroom.

“I’ll come in with you,” she stated simply, and he looked at her, unable to believe he’d heard correctly.

“You certainly will not, Catherine.”

“But you might feel faint,” she protested. “You almost died, Vincent!” He gave a small smile and extricated himself from her grip.

“I shall not faint, Catherine,” he answered patiently. “I have no intention of attempting weight-lifting in there. I will just be a moment.” And he went inside…alone.

When he pushed open the door, she was waiting exactly where he’d left her and he admitted, silently, that he was glad of her shoulder to lean on as she led him back to bed. Just the feel of her arms around him made him feel stronger. It seemed so long ago that they’d embraced. She piled up the pillows behind him and pulled the covers back up to his waist.

“What can I get you? Do you feel like eating anything?” 

Vincent shook his head. “Not just yet. Some tea would be very welcome though.”

A sound made them both turn. Father was coming through the doorway, his lined features breaking into a smile when he saw Vincent sitting up in bed.

“Oh, Vincent,” he said, hoarsely. “Thank God. Thank God.” He slumped down on the edge of the bed and Vincent put his arms around him.

“I am sorry to have worried you so badly, Father. I am feeling much better, thanks to you and Catherine. Are you going to tell me what was wrong with me?”

“What has Catherine told you?” 

Vincent shrugged. “Simply that she would explain fully when I am completely recovered.”

“Quite right, too. I don’t want you worrying about anything. You need to rest quietly for a few days and get your strength back.”

Catherine poured the tea and brought three mugs over on a tray. She sat down at Vincent’s head and handed one each to Father and Vincent. She took a sip of her own, keeping her hand on Vincent’s shoulder. He reached up and squeezed it briefly, hoping his look would tell her how much he loved her.

“You seem very much improved this morning, Vincent,” Father said. “How are you really feeling…exactly? I’m asking as your doctor, so please don’t make a joke of it. I need to monitor your condition very carefully.”

Vincent tilted his head graciously. “I would never undermine your authority as a physician, Father. And I feel as weak as a kitten…but I have no pain and no nausea. My stomach feels settled for the first time in days.” He laid a hand on his belly. “Although it feels like I was run over by a truck.” Catherine bent her head to kiss his forehead and Father smiled.

“Hardly surprising with all you’ve been through. Now, I’ll leave you to enjoy your tea in Catherine’s company. Will you let me know when you wish to leave, my dear?” he added, addressing Catherine.

“I’m staying as long as Vincent needs me, Father. Joe knows I have some personal things to take care of, so I’ve taken a few days leave that were due to me.”

“Splendid. Then I’ll see you both later.”

“It’s not necessary for both you and Father to watch over me constantly, Catherine,” said Vincent with a smile. “I am not a child. I am quite sure I can manage to call if I need any help.” Catherine hugged him fiercely, hoping he wouldn’t hear the way her heart pounded at the mere thought of leaving him alone and unprotected against Selina Merron’s murderous intentions.

Vincent slept for much of the day, but in between he was cheerful and good company, if a little over-optimistic at his rate of recovery. Catherine kept him supplied with drinks and read to him favourite passages of poetry and classic novels. She had just settled him in a chair while she changed the sheets, when a voice at the doorway halted the flow of blood through her veins.

“Vincent! You’re better!” Selina Merron walked towards him carrying two large packets.

“Hello Selina. Yes, I am.” Catherine hugged a pillow protectively to her as if it was Vincent himself.

“You sound surprised, Selina,” she said. And disappointed.

“Well I…guess I am,” the other woman responded. “You were so ill yesterday that I really thought…well, never mind. I’m so pleased, Vincent.” 

 I’ll just bet you are.

“Thank you. Have you brought more tea and coffee for me?”

Selina shook the bags and grinned. “That’s right. I don’t suppose you’re right out yet, but I like to keep your jars topped up.”

“No need, Selina,” said Catherine, attempting to keep her voice reasonably friendly but finding it the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Her violent thoughts towards the ex-nurse actually frightened her. “There’s plenty of each left.”

“Oh well, since I’m here.” She started for the bureau, but Catherine jumped off the bed and intercepted her

“I brought Vincent a new one to try. Wouldn’t want to mix them, would we?”  Forcing a smile, she glanced at Vincent, who seemed to be watching this exchange with faint amusement. Selina backed off.

“Okay.  I’ll come back again tomorrow.”

Alone again, Vincent turned to Catherine. “What was all that about? The tea I’ve been drinking today is the same flavour I have had for months.” Catherine turned to remake the bed with clean sheets, using her feelings for Selina to pummel the pillows viciously.

“Then it was obviously a waste of time,” she announced brightly. “I’ll get a stronger flavour next time.” 

Vincent watched her for a moment then said, “Are you angry with me, Catherine?” Dammit!  He’d picked up on her thoughts towards Selina Merron.

“Of course not, Vincent!” She came over and put her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek tenderly.”

“This must be extremely boring for you, here. I wish you would consider returning Above.”

“No way. Don’t you know how happy I am taking care of you? Of course it was terrible while you were so sick, but I love being here with you like this.” Again, she hugged and kissed him, pouring the strength of her love for him into her action to reassure him. He said nothing, but smiled after a moment and she returned to finish the bed.

Father popped in to see them on and off throughout the day, asking Vincent questions and checking his temperature and pulse to make sure there was no deterioration in his condition.

About 8 pm Vincent sighed and looked up from his book. Catherine had gone to visit with Mary and have some supper, and Father was keeping Vincent company.

“I haven’t bathed properly in over two days, Father. I cannot endure feeling like this any longer. I intend to relax in a hot bath.” 

Father was on his feet immediately. “I’m not at all sure that’s a good idea, so soon. Why don’t you let me bring some hot water and I’ll help you?” But Vincent shook his head and threw back the bedclothes.

“No, thank you, Father. That would not be the same at all. Perhaps if you would just give me your arm?” 

The old man helped Vincent up. “Very well, if you insist.” He put in the plug and turned on both taps in Vincent’s heavy, iron tub. As the tiny chamber began to fill with steam, he helped Vincent off with his night-shirt and went to fetch his bathrobe.

“Father, where are my towels?” Looking around the door again, Father tutted irritably, realising he would have to leave his son alone for a few minutes.

“Really, this is too bad. I’ll have to go and get some for you. Now please, Vincent, don’t get in the bath until I return.  In your condition, the heat in there could make you feel faint. Now, promise me?” 

Vincent raised his eyes to the rough ceiling. “You sound just like Catherine, Father. I am not in the habit of fainting! Now, if you would be kind enough to bring me some towels I should be very grateful.” Jacob wavered a moment in his dilemma. After a moment, however, he muttered something under his breath and hurried out.

Vincent sat on the edge of the bath listening to the rush of water from the taps.  It was the only sound in the room. He bent to feel the temperature of the water.  It was quite hot and steam now filled the little chamber.  Vincent stood up and pushed the door almost closed.  As he turned to climb into the bath, he realised he had moved too quickly. The room suddenly started to spin, and he grabbed at the rock wall to steady himself. Perhaps Father and Catherine had been right after all. It was certainly very warm in the tiny bathchamber, and Vincent wasn’t sure if his vision was obscured because of the steam or the waves of dizziness that rippled through him. He groped for the edge of the bath and sat down, bending forward in the hope that the feeling would pass.

Suddenly, a piercing scream made Vincent’s head snap up in time to see the flash of silver as a long-handled knife descended towards him. With every bit of strength he could gather, he swung out his right arm and heard a grunt of pain.  Through the blackness and the steam he could just make out the shape of Selina Merron.

“Selina?” he gasped. The woman recovered quicker than he, and made a dive for the knife which had spun across the floor when she fell. Pouncing on it, she was on her feet again in seconds and lunging towards him. Again, he lashed out, but not before Selina had brought the knife down into his shoulder. With a snarl of pain and rage, he hurled her away straight into the arms of Catherine and Father who, between them, dealt with Selina easily, especially since Vincent’s last blow had caught her on the side of the head, stunning her.

Vincent slid to the floor panting. He heard Father say, “All right, Catherine, I’ll deal with this young woman. Look after Vincent.” Suddenly Catherine was beside him on the floor, her arms around his naked body and he found he couldn’t stop shaking.

“Oh, Vincent!” she cried. “She nearly killed you! She’s been trying to kill you for days; slipping poison into your food and drinks. That’s why we didn’t want you to be alone, even for a few minutes, but the towels; Father; we didn’t want to tell you but now…oh Vincent!” He leaned his head against her shoulder as she held him, not fully understanding her incoherent babbling, knowing only that he wanted, more than anything, to get out of this room.

“Catherine,” he muttered, “help me.”

It was as if she needed to hear his voice in order to jolt her out of her panic.  Almost instantly, she recovered her composure and hauled him to his feet, her arms only leaving him to pick up his robe. He was vaguely aware he was naked, and if he hadn’t felt so bad, he would have been mortified. Catherine wrapped his robe around him and helped him back to bed. He slumped down and she eased the robe away from his shoulder to look at the wound.

“It is nothing to concern yourself over, Catherine,” he said, dragging himself up on the pillows. His head was already starting to clear now that he was out of that room, where all he could see was the steam, the glint of steel. and the manic look on Selina Merron’s face.

When Father returned, he took over, bathing and bandaging Vincent’s shoulder.

“Well, it’s finally over, thank God,” he said tiredly. “Winslow has taken Selina to one of our Helpers who is a retired police officer. He can be trusted to do the right thing and Selina will no doubt end up in a hospital where they can help her.  She’s obviously a very sick woman.” He leaned over and kissed Vincent’s temple, acknowledging his son’s grateful smile and the squeeze of his hand.

***

“Her hate for me, and her need to see me dead, must have taken control of her life…provided her with the sole reason for living,” Vincent commented quietly when he and Catherine were alone again later. Her heart turned over at the hurt his words implied.

“Vincent, I told you once that jealousy was the other side of love. Well, I still believe that it comes with love, but, more accurately, ‘hate’ is the other side of love. It is equally powerful and can eventually dominate in some people who don’t have our strength. Selina killed two men she professed to love. In her sick, twisted way she loved you, but if she couldn’t have you, then she was determined no one else could.” 

He gave her one of his endearing half smiles and reached for her hand. “Could you ever hate me. Catherine?”

She dropped her eyes briefly before returning his gaze. “If you’re asking if I could ever wish you dead, then the answer, obviously, is no,” she said, truthfully.  “But could I ever hate you? I honestly don’t know, Vincent. If you fell in love with someone else…my feelings for you run so deeply that I don’t know how I’d feel. I know I’d want to die myself. I hope to God I’d never hate you, but I can’t guarantee it. When you love someone as much as I love you, and that love is not reciprocated…I just don’t know. I couldn’t kill of course,” she added. She saw he had turned his head away and prayed she hadn’t hurt him with her candour.

“Vincent? What about you? Wouldn’t you hate me if you thought I’d stopped loving you?”

He looked at her again and she saw his blue eyes glistening. “Never Catherine.  But it is different for me. I know that I should want you to love someone else.  That if you did, you would have a less complicated, happier life. If it happened, I would have no choice but to accept it and try and be happy for you.” 

She leaned over him and slipped her hand inside his robe, pressing it over his heart. “Forget what your head tells you to feel, Vincent. The only thing that matters is what you feel here.”

They held each other’s gaze, reading the emotions which ran so deeply in both of them. He covered her hand with his own.

“You know what is in my heart almost as clearly as I know yours,” he said.  “And you know that if you stopped loving me, it would die.”

“Then why are we even discussing this?” she whispered, “because I’ll never stop loving you, Vincent…never.”

With a groan, he pulled her down and they clung to each other, knowing they’d never be parted again; either in this life or the one which Vincent had so nearly crossed over into that night.