Catherine rolled over in bed and instinctively reached for Vincent. Normally her hand would have encountered firm, warm flesh, but on this occasion found only an empty space. The significance of this dragged Catherine up through the layers of unconsciousness and, with difficulty, she opened her eyes.

He sat at his desk bent over something, writing. A stub of candle flickered bravely at his elbow, its life rapidly approaching its end. Catherine knew Vincent wouldn’t light a new one. Apart from being wasteful by illuminating the chamber in the middle of the night, he’d be afraid of waking her with the unaccustomed light.

Blinking, Catherine hauled herself up and reached for her robe. She swung her legs out of bed, searching the chilly stone floor with her toes, for her slippers.

“Vincent?”

At the sound of her voice he turned his head, although the wealth of silvering hair prevented him from seeing her. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.” 

Shivering slightly, Catherine crossed the few steps to where he sat and burrowed under his hair with her hands until she found his shoulders. “What are you doing?  It’s three in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I decided to spend a little time on my journal. I have neglected it shamefully of late.” 

Catherine squeezed his shoulders, kneading the back of his neck gently with her thumbs. “Why can’t you sleep? You’re not upset about next Saturday, are you?”  

Vincent shook his head and laid the pen aside. “No. Apprehensive, perhaps.”

“Then what is it?” 

He lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “A touch of heartburn. Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

“Again?”

“It will pass soon enough. You aren’t pregnant by any chance, are you?” he added, as an afterthought.

“What, at my age?” she chuckled. “I should hope not.” It had become an entertaining part of tunnel history to be repeated and embellished at every possible opportunity, that during the latter part of both Catherine’s pregnancies when she had suffered from chronic heartburn, Vincent had too. He always squirmed at these reminders of something he would much rather forget, feeling acutely embarrassed about the whole thing. But such was their link…and their bond.

Catherine pulled him backwards against her. He made no attempt to resist, and with a sigh, leaned his head between her breasts. Sliding a hand inside the deep, slash neck of his nightshirt, Catherine mussed the silky hairs as she rubbed his chest.

“I warned you not to eat that Danish so late in the evening. You should have woken me.”

“I most certainly should not. You need your rest. You have a double celebration party to plan.” 

Leaning forward, Catherine pressed her lips to the top of his head. “I still can’t quite believe it, can you?” 

Vincent looked up and smiled. “That you will be fifty years old? No.”

“No, silly…I don’t really think that’s cause for celebration. Although when you think of the alternative, I suppose I might as well give in gracefully and enjoy the party. I mean…I’m having a little trouble accepting that our ‘baby’ has fallen in love.”

“Oh.” Vincent sighed. “Yes indeed. She is so very young. Catherine, I believe I am a little jealous. Angelica has come to me for everything since she was barely one year old…toys to be repaired, assistance with her homework…”

“Sympathy when I’ve disciplined her.”

He smiled, turning his head and placing a kiss against her breast in acknowledgement of Catherine’s gentle rebuke. “I always found it so very hard to be angry with her.”

“Tell me about it. From the moment she batted those big blue eyes at you, she’s always been able to wrap you around her little finger.”

“I seemed…helpless against her power. She resembled you so much I just wanted to hold her close to me and never let her go…protect her from everything.”

“Even love?”

Vincent rubbed his cheek against the arm that rested on his chest. “No, never that.  But she is barely seventeen. She is so…so…”

“Young.” Catherine smiled tenderly at the top of her husband’s head. “Yes, you mentioned that. But we don’t choose when to fall in love, Vincent. If we could, it would make everyone’s lives much simpler. And I would have been born in the tunnels,” she added, “so as not to have missed a single moment when I could have been with you.” 

Vincent squeezed her hand briefly, appreciating her words, but was unable to shake his mood. “And now…very soon…I shall be expected to surrender her to another man. Trust him to protect and care for my precious child.”

“You’re not the first father to feel like that, my love,” Catherine reassured him.  “But after all, Danny has agreed to move Below. They’ll be living among us.”

“For how long, I wonder. Danny is coming Below not because his life Above is painful or without hope, but because of Angelica. He is making a huge sacrifice for love and I wonder if he will come to regret such a decision.”

“That depends on which is most important to him; the world Above or his love for Angel.  I know I’ve never been sorry for the decision I made.”

“Not everyone has your strength, Catherine. I fear he will not be able to adjust to a life without air and sunshine and colours. And Angelica…I see so much of Devin in her. Do you remember how she used to sit on his lap when she was little and listen to his stories? Her eyes would grow wide with excitement as he told of his adventures…” Vincent gave a wry smile; “…however embellished you and I knew them to be. She yearns for those far away places he planted in her mind…and now Danny will be the one to show them to her one day.”

“She’ll never travel very far, Vincent. And even if she does, she’ll always come back. She could never bear to be apart from you for long…any more than I could.”

“Her place will be with her husband.”  He lowered his head and was silent for a moment. “Even now…with all my many blessings…I am still selfish enough to wish I could be the one to show her the wonders she craves.” 

Catherine stroked his hair back over his shoulder, saddened that he should still feel the burden of his differences even after so many happy years of marriage and fatherhood; knowing that there were really no words of consolation she could offer him that she hadn’t said a hundred times before. If he was sad, she could only be there for him and provide physical comfort in this instance. Bending to rest her cheek against his, she spoke quietly. “Come on…back to bed.”

At that moment the tiny flame on the candle drowned in its own wax, and the chamber was dark again except for the comforting glow through the stained glass window from the passage beyond.

Hand in hand they crossed the chamber and Catherine kicked off her slippers. Snuggling close together in bed, they both realised how cold Vincent was.

“You’re freezing!” Catherine hissed. “Especially your feet. If you’re going to creep around in the middle of the night, Vincent, you might remember to put your robe and slippers on. You’ll catch your death. You’re not thirty years old any more, Sweetheart.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Catherine. Do I infer from that remark you’ve noticed some kind of deterioration in me?” Rubbing his arms and chest vigorously to warm and comfort him, Catherine smiled against his neck.  At fifty-three, Vincent had hardly changed a scrap. He’d put on maybe four pounds in weight; was as physically strong as ever; and was eager to make love as often as Catherine wanted him…which was, even now, still sometimes twice in a single night. He was rarely sick; hadn’t been injured for many years, and apart from several inexplicable bouts of heartburn in recent weeks, was supremely fit and healthy. Even his hearing and eyesight were just as acute, much to Catherine’s chagrin, having herself had to resort to reading glasses two years previously.

“You know I haven’t. You’ve got a body most men half your age would kill for.”  She ran her hand over the loose weave cotton nightshirt, feeling the impressive, familiar contours concealed beneath it. As much as she loved looking at his naked body, she didn’t need light to see it. Every detail was in a file marked ‘Vincent’ in her brain. Not that she ever really needed to access it. Living and working Below since their marriage twenty years before, meant Vincent was with her every single day. They’d not spent a single night apart, except for when the children were born, and both had been anxious to ensure those separations were as brief as possible.

To Vincent’s astonishment and Catherine’s delight, they had discovered very early on that he had a voracious appetite for making love. It had taken a considerable time for his confidence to grow; to believe, see and feel through their empathic connection, just how much pleasure he was able to bring to Catherine. But his desire was intense, irrefutably invalidating the belief that what a person had never had, they would never miss. And Catherine had never once refused him; or indeed, he her.

Bringing her fingers to rest lightly on the bulge between his thighs, she gave a small gasp of pleasure at finding it much larger than she had expected, given the current circumstances. Raising herself on one elbow, she peered down at him and saw his blue eyes twinkling in the darkness.

“I am in some discomfort, Catherine,” he remarked, innocently. “What are you going to do about it?”

Catherine tried hard to sound shocked, even though her fingers tightened reflexively on her prize, in excited anticipation. “What I…we…usually do, Vincent.” 

And they began their usual preliminaries to making love with all the confidence of a couple who know each other inside out.

***

It had been well over a year since the last celebration, other than the annual Winterfest, had taken place Below. Olivia and Kanin’s eldest son, Luke, had reached the age of twenty-one, and William had enlisted the aid of extra kitchen staff in the preparation of a fitting buffet meal. This time William had somewhat testily insisted on preparing most of the dishes himself, declaring that at sixty-one, he still had many years of cooking ahead of him. He did, however, after much persuasion, grudgingly agree to accept a little help from Rebecca and her daughter Sarah, given the size of the party on this occasion.

Catherine and Vincent arrived as a family with Jacob, Angel, and Danny.  Catherine was wearing a new dress of fine dark green wool which she had made herself and trimmed with cream lace. Fifty years old she may be, but to Vincent she was as lovely as ever. He had never had eyes for any other woman in the whole of their married life, and today was no different.

He led her through the crowd to the area of the Great Hall, reserved on such occasions for dancing, and took her in his arms. She beamed up at him and, standing on tiptoe, nuzzled at the frills on his shirt to place a secret kiss at his throat as the old 1992 Whitney Houston classic, I Will Always Love You, began to play.  

Kipper’s thirteen year old son, Barry, considered himself the resident DJ since acquiring a ten year old combined radio, CD, and tape machine. His first ‘gig’ had been Luke’s coming of age, and he’d impressed everyone so much that it had been decided that until he tired of the task, he would be responsible for providing music at all the future tunnel world celebrations. He had been advised, however, that he needed to vary his range to suit a variety of tastes;  not everyone wanted to listen all evening to the type of music he and the other children enjoyed. This time he was prepared. Even the older residents would have no cause for complaint.

While Vincent’s taste in music rarely wavered from the classical, even he had been captivated by the song which had quickly become Catherine’s all-time favourite.  He much admired the singer, who had achieved legendary status with her amazing talent, winning numerous awards over the years, and both of them had mourned with the rest of the western world when she died.

Just as legendary, in the tunnels at least, was Vincent and Catherine’s love for each other, and more than one hanky was moistened as over two hundred people watched the couple lost in each other’s eyes as they danced.

“I was pregnant with Angel when this song was first popular,” Catherine whispered. “So many beautiful memories.”

Vincent gazed upwards and sighed. “Mmm. All that backache and heartburn.” 

She burst out laughing and jabbed him in the ribs. “You old cynic! Where’s the wonderful, romantic man I married?” 

Vincent merely smiled, held her tighter, and continued dancing.

When the song finished, to Vincent’s astonishment, everyone applauded, and partly to cover his embarrassment, he beckoned to his daughter and her soon-to-become-fiancé to join them on the floor.  This time the song was something much more up to date, and Vincent winced inwardly at what he considered to be little more than a tuneless din. However, prodded by Catherine, he dutifully remained on the floor until it was over. Then he hugged his daughter and shook his future son-in-law’s hand affectionately.

“I believe it is time we made the announcements,” he suggested.

When Vincent raised his hand, the assembled crowd in the Great Hall fell silent.  He cleared his throat and looked around at the friends and family he had lived among for fifty three years. Some dearly loved faces were, sadly, now missing, but somehow he knew they would be watching and giving their blessing and their love on this special day.

“My friends,” Vincent began. “We are here to celebrate two very important events in our world. Firstly…” he turned to Catherine and pulled her closer, feeling her arm slide around his waist, “…though it is difficult for me to believe…almost,” he added conspiratorially to the delight of his audience, “as much so as it is for her…today is Catherine’s fiftieth birthday.”

A tumultuous applause prevented him from speaking for almost thirty seconds.  Eventually, when the noise died down he continued.

“And while she was undecided at first, about how to celebrate the occasion or, indeed, if such an event deserved celebration, she decided to combine her birthday with the engagement of our beautiful daughter Angelica.” At this, he held out his hand and Angel leaned into her parents. “If you will forgive an ageing father’s sentimentality on such a day, I feel the need to say to both the beautiful women in my family…and my strong, handsome son, Jacob, that the three of you have made me the happiest man alive. There was a time, many years ago, that I never considered the possibility that I would ever marry and have children. Catherine changed all that when she came into my life…many of you were here then, and others will know that story, I suspect.” There were more cheers and murmurs of agreement from the floor. Vincent turned to look down at her. “Catherine, I have loved you from the first time I saw you and you are as beautiful to me today as you were then…”

“Well I should hope so, Vincent; I had cuts all over my face that day…I looked a wreck!” 

The assembled friends and family laughed sympathetically, both at her joke and the fact that Vincent’s poignant words had been challenged. He tilted his head, looking ashamed. “I should have chosen my words more carefully. You are still the most beautiful woman in the world, and I love you even more today than I did then.” 

Catherine swallowed hard and her eyes shone with tears as she reached up to kiss him and touch his cheek. “Thank you, Sweetheart…for everything…for sharing my life. Now…” She turned towards the crowd, many of whom were busy sniffing into hankies at Vincent’s charming speech and Catherine’s response. “Much more important than my birthday is Angel and Danny’s engagement. Come here, Danny…you’re one of the family now.” The young man glanced at his parents, then approached slowly, looking from Vincent to Catherine, to Angel and back to Vincent again.

“Catherine is right…you share this day too, Danny,” Vincent agreed. “Now I’m relieved to say that, to date, no other man has ever asked me to give my wife away, but…”

“I’d like to see someone try,” interrupted Catherine with a grin, squeezing Vincent’s arm. “Sorry, Sweetheart, carry on.” Vincent acknowledged her remark with another tilt of his head and a smile only she could see. “Today I am being asked to give my daughter to another man. It is, perhaps, the most difficult thing I have ever done.  Danny, I would ask that you love her, respect her and protect her, as I have, until your last breath.”

“Daddy!” Angel hissed.

“No. He’s right, honey,” the young man answered quickly. “I guess I’ll feel the same way if we ever have a daughter.” Turning back to Vincent, he reddened, but stood tall. “Sir, I love Angel…ah…Angelica, and I’ll take care of her always. That’s a promise.”  

Vincent held out his hand, and when the boy took it, pulled him into a quick hug. “Welcome to our family, Danny…the members of whom have always called me Vincent. I hope that will never change.”

“Thank you, Si..Vincent,” he managed.

The dancing continued until nine o’clock when Rebecca announced that there were two cakes which needed cutting by the celebrants. Catherine delightedly cut the first slice of a huge double layer chocolate cake with the words…’50 Today’ written in pink frosting across the top. When everyone had sung ‘Happy Birthday’, Angel and Danny were called upon to cut their own white, iced cake which proclaimed …‘Angel and Danny – Happy Engagement, Happy Life’, and this was followed by a huge round of applause.

While the cakes were being divided into small pieces and placed onto waiting cardboard plates, Catherine and the young couple began opening presents thrust upon them from every single adult and family in the tunnels. She cherished every one of them, amazed even now, at the resourcefulness of the residents, but the gift from her husband took her breath away.

Vincent had prevailed upon Mouse yet again to polish and set a sparkling, pink-tinged crystal into a ring; the band and claw setting were fashioned from narrow 14k gold which Mouse had somehow managed to procure. Against his better judgement, since the gift was for Catherine, Vincent had restrained himself from enquiring as to the source of such treasure. Catherine gasped when she opened it, wondering how and when her husband had made the journey to the Crystal Cavern. He seldom went far beyond the home tunnels these days, and when he did, she usually accompanied him.

“Vincent, it’s…it’s exquisite,” she breathed, holding out her hand for him to slip it onto the third finger of her left hand; Vincent had never given her an engagement ring. “I should be angry with you; you know I don’t like you to go that deeply into the tunnels. It’s a difficult trip and I don’t have a minute’s peace until you’re safely home.” 

Vincent looked at Mouse and raised his slanted eyebrows even further. “That is why we did not tell you of our plan, Catherine. And why we made the trip there and back in one day…so that you would not have time to worry.”

“One day!” she cried. “Something might have happened to you. You could have slipped and injured yourself, Vincent!”

“Catherine,” he replied patiently. “I never slip. You know full well that I am as surefooted as a mountain goat and have always been able to climb like a cat.  Nothing is going to happen to me, I promise. You worry too much.”

“Because I love you too much,” she scolded, reaching up to kiss him tenderly.  “Thank you, Sweetheart.” Mouse appeared behind Vincent and spotting him, Catherine pulled him into a hug. “So, you’re my husband’s partner in crime,” she grinned. “I might have guessed.”

“You like, Catherine?” Mouse asked eagerly. He was almost forty years old, but still spoke in short, staccato sentences, believing people always used far too many unnecessary words to get a point across. His face had remained unlined and had retained the appearance of a wide-eyed innocent. Famous as a youth for scurrying about like his namesake, he still possessed the energy of one of the long line of raccoons he had kept as pets ever since his first and much beloved Arthur had passed away many years ago.

“I love it, Mouse; thank you for helping Vincent. I know you must have cut the crystal and made it into a ring for us.”

Mouse laughed. “Sure. Vincent can’t cut crystals. Claws, big problem. Vincent do hard part…find crystal. Then Mouse’s turn. Ring from both of us. Vincent and Mouse, good team.”

“Yes, you always were,” Catherine agreed, and, laughing, kissed him on the cheek which made him blush furiously as usual. Wanting to spare him any more embarrassment, Vincent leaned towards him, speaking into his ear.

“I believe the cakes are being distributed, Mouse.” The younger man’s head whipped round and his face broke into a beam. “Bring some for you and Catherine?”

“I was thinking of you. But if it is no trouble, I’m certain Catherine…” 

“No problem. Back soon with cake.” He darted off and Vincent and Catherine looked at each other, intending to dance again. Before they could speak, however, Angel squealed with delight and dragged Catherine around to show her a portrait of herself and Danny painted by a member of the community, and the moment had passed. Vincent was swallowed up in one group of people and Catherine in another. She shrugged and mouthed Later between the moving heads and knew that even if she couldn’t manage to get hold of him before, she would be in her husband’s arms for the final dance.

She exclaimed delightedly over the collection of gifts, and joked about the mess of paper all over the floor, declaring they’d all be there for the rest of the night clearing it up.

Mouse returned juggling two plates containing a slice from each cake.  The chocolate one melted in Catherine’s mouth with the first bite and she knew Vincent would love it. Glancing over, she tried to catch his eye, but he was engaged in animated conversation with Danny’s parents and some of the older Helpers.  However, as soon as he saw Mouse balancing a plate and hovering uncertainly on the perimeter of the group, Vincent leaned over to relieve his friend of his burden and thank him for his trouble. He looked down at the two pieces of cake and Catherine, glancing over to ‘toast’ him, assumed he was deciding which piece to eat first, so she was surprised when he suddenly excused himself from the group and turned away, placing the plate, untouched, on a nearby shelf. Puzzled, Catherine continued to watch him. With his back to his companions, and completely unaware he was being observed, he took a deep breath and pressed his fingers to his chest for a moment before re-joining his friends and resuming the conversation.

Catherine frowned, and as soon as etiquette permitted her escape, threaded her way through the crowd to join Vincent. Linking her arm through his she smiled up at him.

“Will you dance with me before Larry asks, and cripples me for the rest of the evening?” Everyone laughed sympathetically. Larry was a shy young man to whom Catherine had been giving dancing lessons for the last year but who had absolutely no ear for music and was no closer to conquering even the basic steps of a simple waltz, than he had been on his first lesson.

“He needs your support and encouragement, Catherine,” rebuked Vincent gently, “otherwise how will he ever learn?” 

She pulled a face. “Easy for you to say; it’s not your feet he tramples on. I swear I take a wider shoe fitting since the lessons began.” Vincent shook his head in quiet amusement as his companions laughed again. “Besides…” Catherine pretended to pout, “It’s my birthday and I want to dance with you.” With a Forgive me…my wife needs to be humoured look, Vincent excused them both and guided her to the dancing area where he took her in his arms. 

Leaning back against the hand at her waist, Catherine looked up into her husband’s eyes. “Are you okay, Vincent?”

“Certainly.” He looked surprised. “Why do you ask?” 

Catherine shrugged. “I’ve been watching you this evening. You seem a little tense.”

“I’m fine. Just getting used to the idea of losing my daughter.” 

Catherine rubbed his shoulder. “You’ll never lose her, Vincent. She’ll always be your daughter. And now you have another son.”

“Yes,” he answered with a half-smile. “I could not ask for more. Even I can see that Danny loves Angelica. He seems fond of all of us. I have been talking with his parents. They are wonderful people.”

They danced to three more tracks before Vincent suggested they should perhaps sit down with some of the more senior members of the community, less able to join in the music and dancing. Before Catherine could reply, Barry lowered the volume and clapped his hands.

“Time for the last dance, everyone.” 

Catherine glanced at her watch in surprise. “I had no idea it was so late.” She thought she detected a trace of relief on Vincent’s face, but it was gone so quickly she wondered if perhaps she had imagined it. Tilting his head, he pulled her to him once more and she laid her head on his chest happily, wrapping her arms around his back for the last dance of the evening. So many people joined them on the floor that they weren’t able to move around much, but both were content just to rock back and forth in each other’s arms and listen to the words of another much loved song from two decades earlier.

As with Whitney Houston, Richard Marx had been a popular singer/songwriter, and his beautiful Now and Forever had struck a chord in Vincent’s heart from the first moment he heard it. The words seemed to have been written just for him, his life and the way he felt about Catherine. He closed his eyes, pressing a small kiss in her hair and felt her arms tighten around him. The bond between them thrummed with love, tenderness and gratitude for everything they had been to each other. I love you, Vincent’s heart whispered to Catherine and felt hers respond with exactly the same sentiment.

As the final notes died away, they pulled apart reluctantly but with the comforting knowledge that there would be no parting. The friends and Helpers from Above moved around the room making their farewells and expressing thanks for having been included in a very special celebration. Slowly they filed out, happy and smiling, towards the sentries who would guide and monitor their exit from the tunnels.

Eventually only a handful of people remained. Catherine bent to begin retrieving wads of paper, home-made bows, and gift tags from the floor but was stopped by Marcie and Rebecca.

“We’ll do this, Catherine. It’s your birthday.” They turned to Vincent. “Take her home, Vincent.” 

He stood behind Catherine, his hands on her shoulders. “Very well. But I will return in a moment to do my share.”

“No,” they chorused. “You look tired, Vincent. We’ll get some of these younger ones to help. Go on…out!” Murmuring their thanks, Catherine and Vincent moved off to find Angel, Danny, and Jacob. Together the family collected all the presents and carried them first to Angel’s chamber, where the engagement gifts were hurriedly stashed beneath her bed. Her eyes sparkling with happiness, Angel kissed her parents and brother.

“It was a lovely party Mom…Daddy,” she said, hugging them both. “Thanks for everything.”

“Yes, thank you, Catherine…Vincent,” Danny agreed. “I know my Mom and Dad had a good time. It just blows them away coming down here. I think sometimes they wish they could live Below.”

“They will always be welcome, Danny,” said Vincent. “You understand the need for security, but…if at any time they wish to visit, do please fee free to bring them Below.” 

Danny held out his hand to shake Vincent’s. “I really appreciate that, Vincent. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“We’ll be here,” Catherine said, kissing his cheek.

“I am always here,” Vincent affirmed.

“Bye, Sis. See you tomorrow.” Jacob hugged his sister briefly.  “See you at dinner tomorrow, Danny.” The two young men raised their hands in farewell, with Danny stating that he would be returning Above as soon as he’d said goodnight to Angel.  Taking that as a subtle hint that it was time to leave, Catherine pulled Jacob into a hug.

“‘Night, Jake. See you tomorrow.”

“‘Night Mom…Dad.” Vincent embraced his son and then stooped to gather up Catherine’s birthday gifts. Once they were safely balanced in his arms, he and Catherine left their daughter’s chamber and began to make their way home.

“You go in the bathroom first, Sweetheart,” Catherine offered when they arrived.  “I’m going to put all these things away first.”

When he emerged, naked, she slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her nose and lips against his chest, glorying in the scent of him. A wonderfully familiar wave of passion ignited deep inside her, and she rubbed her lower body against him carefully, feeling his most intimate parts moving softly, compressing against her.

“Mmm,” she whispered into his chest. “Have you ever made love with a fifty year old woman?” 

Vincent frowned and pretended to think. “Not that I can recall. But then, of course, my memory is not what it was.” His sense of humour, coaxed and nurtured as his confidence grew during the early years of their marriage, was so very precious to Catherine and she cherished every single teasing remark.

“Well, do you think you could be persuaded to tonight?” She felt his chuckle vibrate against her cheek.

“That depends on what she would expect from me,” he warned.

“Oh nothing too strenuous, I promise.”

“Well, in that case I suppose…”

“Hold that thought; I’ll just be a moment.” Catherine pulled back from him and saw something in his eyes she’d never seen before. She couldn’t quite identify it, but whatever it was disappeared in an instant.  The tension she had felt in his body and which showed itself in the lines around his eyes, remained, however.

Vincent was lying on his back on his side of the bed next to the arched window, his left arm beneath the pillow supporting his head and the covers drawn up to his navel. His eyes were closed, but the moment Catherine came out of the bath chamber, they opened and he watched her approach the bed. She was wearing a floor length homespun tunnel nightgown with long sleeves;  its only concession to femininity being a frilled cuff around each wrist and a scoop neckline with lace tie, something Catherine hadn’t thought it worth fastening.

She climbed on to the bed and sat facing him, tucking her legs beneath her. She made no attempt to get under the covers he lifted for her, and merely leaned her hip against his. 

Vincent raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “Is something wrong?”

“Not with me.” Catherine laid a hand on his chest and stroked the silky softness which covered the muscular hardness beneath. “How was the chocolate cake?”

“Fine.  Why?”

“Liar.” 

He looked at her sharply. “Catherine, I do not appreciate…”

“Tough. I don’t appreciate you not being honest with me.” Vincent looked away.

“You didn’t eat the cake, Vincent.”

“Well, I hardly think that constitutes a crime, Catherine.”

“No, but what concerns me is why you didn’t eat it, especially the chocolate one.” 

Vincent made an exasperated noise. “I was full. I ate far too much before the cakes were cut.”

Catherine leaned over Vincent and increased the pressure of her fingers on his chest. “You hardly ate a thing. You’ve had heartburn all evening again, haven’t you?”

“No,” he snapped, grabbing her hands. “Catherine, I…oh, what is the point? Not all evening anyway.”

“Long enough to make you miserable. Vincent, I know you far too well for you to deceive me over even the smallest thing. And this pain you keep getting is really beginning to worry me.”

With a deep sigh of resignation, Vincent released her hands and dropped his arms back on the bed, allowing her to continue rubbing his chest. “There is nothing to worry about, Catherine. As you were swift to remind me recently, I am not thirty years old any more. Perhaps now I have reached ‘middle age’, the digestive process is beginning to break down.” At her horrified look, he tilted his head on the pillow and blinked at her in the way that had always had the power to melt her heart. “I may have to give up chocolate cake…forever.” 

She couldn’t help smiling. “Oh no! Is there life after chocolate cake!” They both laughed but Catherine wasn’t finished. “Seriously, Sweetheart, I really am worried…whatever you say. I wish you’d let Michael take a look at you.”

“Michael has far more important things to take care of down here than a simple case of heartburn, Catherine. Anyway, how do you know I’m not faking, just to get your attention? You know how much I enjoy your massages.”

“Because you know you don’t have to use devious means for that. And besides, you’ve never faked anything in your life. Have you?” 

Vincent pretended to consider his answer. “Well…like other men, I may have exaggerated the occasional cold or headache…when I was feeling particularly neglected…when you were too busy with the children to notice me, for instance.” 

Catherine laughed and bent to nip his ear between her teeth. “I have never neglected or failed to notice you, Vincent, and you damn well know it!”

While he wouldn’t admit it to Catherine, Vincent had actually found it quite a struggle to dance and remain sociable all evening, the way he was feeling, and he’d been relieved when the party finally ended. All he wanted to do was lay down in his own bed and sleep. So he hadn’t expected to be easily aroused tonight, but suddenly the sight of Catherine’s breasts bobbing freely inside the loose neckline of her nightgown as she leaned forward, caused a major reaction between his thighs, and he raised a leg to push the bed covers down past his knees, exposing to Catherine a need that made her gasp.

“Well, I’m happy to see that nothing else is ‘breaking down’,” she growled, seizing his erection and squeezing gently.

Catherine rose to her knees, allowing Vincent to lift the bottom of her nightgown, and raised her arms as he pulled it over her head. She had only put it on to tease and tempt him anyway, and now she was free of it she sat back to take her time enjoying Vincent’s body. They made love in a variety of different and equally pleasurable ways; the bond never failing to let each know what the other needed at any given moment. Sometimes they came together wildly, passionately; neither able to contain the intensity of the desire they aroused in each other. At other times, Vincent worshipped Catherine’s body with his own; stroking, kissing, and caressing every part of her with his hands and his tongue in an agonizingly slow and seductive manner until she was grinding her teeth to stop herself yelling at him for completion; her mind screaming words and phrases she’d never have believed herself capable of, before falling in love with Vincent.

And then there were other occasions, like tonight, when Vincent preferred to lay back and have Catherine do all the work. The feel of her hands on him excited him as much today as they had the second time she’d made love to him this way. She’d been four months pregnant with Jacob at the time, but because Vincent remembered nothing about the conception of their son, and since he’d had such a hard time dealing with the news, he’d accepted Catherine’s touch with a plethora of emotions. She’d been so gentle with him, and so patient. And each time since then, he experienced again, that same sense of wonder, remembering…

***

It had been in his chamber. She’d fallen asleep in his arms as he read to her one evening on his bed, and experiencing her dream through the bond had nearly caused him to flee to the Mirror Pool to escape the overwhelming feelings he so feared. He’d still believed then, that it had only been his debilitating illness that had protected Catherine in the cave that night, from the violent reaction he’d always feared would accompany such a loss of control. Because of this belief, there had been no intimacy between them since that time.  And he didn’t know why he’d stayed then, unless it was because he’d felt as if he was impaled to the bed…but he was very glad he had. It had been the turning point in their relationship. She’d turned in his arms and held him so tightly he could hardly breathe, all the while pressing herself against him and moving her hand, first over his chest and stomach, then later, his thighs. The sensation and memory was as clear in his mind today as it had been then. His willpower had deserted him and he’d lain rigid, not daring to move a muscle; her every touch feeling like a branding iron on his body, even through the barrier of his clothes. He’d waited, heart hammering in trepidation, to see what would happen if she woke…silently praying that she’d know she was with him.

Her eyes had opened, slowly, beautifully and she’d smiled; his name whispering across her lips like a gentle rain. What had followed had seemed like a miracle to Vincent. Surely no one else would have been so tender with him. Catherine had unlaced his tunic almost without him realising, and her fingers had slowly released the ties on his shirt and crept inside to touch his chest. His heart had felt as if it was expanding and might easily burst as her fingers raked gently through the golden fur; he’d gasped and thrown back his head at the feel of her tongue finding a tight, erect nipple as she pulled his shirt from his pants and bared his chest completely.  And he had truly believed his heart might stop when she unzipped his pants and released the part of him that had brazenly swelled.  He remembered it all so clearly…

***

Slowly, he forced himself back to reality;  a reality which was just as beautiful as the past. Catherine, her eyes soft-focused with desire, was looking down at him.  He smiled and she bent to kiss his lips. Whispering, “I love you,” she moved away and trailed her hair all the way down his chest and over his stomach, tickling him with a delicious sensuality until she was positioned at his hips. Cradling his pulsing organ between both hands, Catherine leaned across his thighs and he felt her breasts compress against them. Vincent felt everything blurring and accelerating the way it always did when he was approaching completion, and he began to shift on the bed with a sensual, rhythmic motion. He arched his back as Catherine took him into her mouth and his head fell back over the pillow, his hair drifting onto the mattress like a golden cloud around his head. Grinding his hips into the bed, he pushed upwards and back with his shoulders, and his laboured breathing became a low growling deep inside his chest. His arms were flung out to the sides and his fingers twisted the sheet beneath him. Vincent could hear nothing but his own thundering heart. At the last second, Catherine was suddenly on top of him, easing herself onto and around him. She lay on top of him, moaning, and ran her hands from his shoulders, along his arms until their fingers were entwined.

Their release was simultaneous, their body fluids merging with a final thrust which caused the world to explode, its fragmented pieces to soar and finally, gradually…shimmer and settle.

***

Three days later Angel and Danny appeared in her parents’ chamber. She was flushed and beaming, a glow of excitement on her face. Catherine smiled. She could well remember her own feelings when, as a teenager, she’d managed to get tickets for her first rock concert by her favourite band. She also remembered the crowds, and how frightening it had been on occasions towards the end of the show when hundreds of people had rushed the stage in the hope of touching their idols.

“Have a wonderful time…but please, do be careful,” she implored.

“We will.” Angel bent to kiss Catherine’s cheek, glancing up at her father as he turned to Danny.

“I’m sure you think us over-cautious, but Angelica has never attended such a function Above. I am trusting you to take great care of her, Danny…and yourself.”

“Oh Daddy, honestly! We’re only going to a concert, not to some den of wickedness and corruption!” 

Vincent refused to be put off. “There is more wickedness up there than you could possibly imagine.”

Catherine stood up and slipped her arm through Vincent’s. “Just promise your father that you’ll take care,” she advised. “It won’t stop him worrying, but it’ll be easier on him if you at least acknowledge there are dangers Above.”

“Angel may not be used to New York City, Vincent, but I am,” Danny attempted to reassure Vincent. “I know the places to avoid and believe me I do…even when Angel isn’t with me. My folks worry about me and my brother just like you guys worry over your kids. We’ll take care, I promise.”

“Promise,” confirmed Angel, reaching up to kiss Vincent’s cheek. “See you later.”

They hurried out and Catherine shook Vincent’s arm gently as he stared after them.

“You know, you’re going to have to get used to this. From now on they’ll be going to all kinds of things together; parties, movie theatres, dinners.” 

Vincent sighed. “I know that. And I will try very hard not to burden them with my fears. Or you,” he added, inclining his head. Catherine smiled and they resumed their seats.

“I share them with you, Sweetheart. It’s hard for all parents to accept that their kids are grown,” she said. “I’m certainly having trouble accepting it. I remember when Jacob began going Above. Heavens, my stomach was clenched so tightly that first night, waiting for him to come home.”

“I remember. When he tried creeping past our chamber to go to his own, you rushed out and screamed at him.”

“He said I frightened him more than being out alone in Central Park at midnight!” Catherine laughed. “Do you suppose that women always worry more about their sons, and men more about their daughters?” 

Vincent smiled. “No. They are equally precious to us both…I know that. But…”

“You feel Jacob is more capable of defending himself.”

“Yes.He has great physical strength, Catherine…something he inherited from me.”  Vincent sighed and ducked his head. 

Reaching across the gap between their chairs, Catherine stroked Vincent’s hand.

“He’s inherited many things from you, my love; wonderful things; as has Angel.  We’ve seen no sign of either of them inheriting anything you’d rather remained dormant.” 

Vincent looked up. “Do you think we should have told them, Catherine? About me? Have we done wrong in keeping something so immense…so…shameful, from them?” 

Catherine shook her head. Rising, she stepped behind Vincent’s chair and rubbed his shoulders. “Jacob was three years old before he even asked why you look different to the other men he knew, Vincent. Angel never asked at all. I guess she may have asked her brother instead,” she added, dropping her hands to link on his chest. “You’re strong, protective, gentle and you love them dearly; you’ve always been there for them when they’ve been frightened, upset or just needed a hug. To them you’re simply their father, and they adore you. Why risk upsetting them with something they don’t need to know?” 

Vincent sighed and leaned his head back against Catherine. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“But you’re not convinced, are you?”

“I suppose I have always believed in being completely truthful with people. I feel somehow…dishonest…that my own children do not fully know me.”

“Telling the truth is not always the best way forward, Vincent. Sometimes, as in this case, it is simply…kinder…to remain silent. If the situation ever changes, well…we’ll deal with it the way we always have. Together.” Vincent didn’t reply.

“You haven’t mentioned this in a long time. Why now?”

He shrugged and bowed his head. “I don’t know. I have a…feeling.”

“What sort of feeling?”

“Nothing I can put a name to. I’m not sure, Catherine. Just…something. And if they knew…if they knew what lies inside me…the things I have done…the blood I have spilled…”

“You honestly think you would lose their love?”

When he remained silent, Catherine moved to sit on the arm of his chair. She placed two fingers beneath his chin and raised his face to look at her. “Have a little faith in your children, Vincent. We raised them to know right from wrong and to look for the good in people; to see the whole picture. They’re good kids; strong, loving and compassionate. Sweetheart, I know what it would cost you to tell them, so I truly hope we’ll never have to. But if it should become necessary, then I’m absolutely certain that if anything, they’ll love you even more, knowing the pain it’s caused you all through your life.”

“I pray you are right.” He shivered slightly even though the chamber was warm.

“Are you cold, Sweetheart?”

“Not exactly. Perhaps I just need a hug.” He pulled her on to his lap and slipped his arms around her waist.

“Hugs I can do.” Catherine pulled his head on to her shoulder and stroked his hair.  She could feel the tension in his shoulders and it worried her, but she knew better than to labour the point by asking him to elaborate. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know. Catherine buried her nose in the shaggy, silver/gold mane and kissed the top of his head. Almost without conscious thought, she held him close, rubbing his back as she had done so many times through the years, both for Vincent and their children.  This man she’d loved for such a very long time now, was more than her husband; their marriage so much more than an ordinary marriage. She’d worked so hard to make him see himself as she saw him. But no matter how much time passed; however many mountains they climbed or how much she loved him, Vincent seemed destined never to find complete peace with himself.

A sudden gust of air extinguished the torch in the passage immediately outside the chamber, startling Catherine and making her jump. Vincent never moved a muscle.  It was almost as though he had been expecting it.

***

The concert over, Angel and Danny left the theatre at 10.45, Angel clutching a mini-disc which her fiancé had bought her as a souvenir, from the collection of merchandise on sale.

“Weren’t they fantastic, Danny? They were just so…so cool!”

“Yeah, it was great. I saw them a couple of years ago in San Francisco while I was on vacation. They were amazing then and they’re even better now.”

“Oh, it was wonderful.  I can’t wait to go again.”

“Well, that won’t be for ages. They’re going all over the States and then they’re off to England for the rest of the tour. After that they’re coming back to start work on another album. Guess we’ll have to make do with our discs and videos for a while.  Coffee?” he asked, slinging his arm around Angel’s shoulders, but she smiled and shook her head.

“Do you mind if I make us one at home? I know how Daddy’s going to worry until we’re safely back, and I don’t want to make it any harder on him than necessary.”

“No problem. I sure don’t want to be the one to upset Vincent.”

“What do you mean?” 

Danny shrugged. “Nothing I guess. Just that I kind of get the feeling I wouldn’t want him sore at me.”

“But you’ve never seen him angry. He’s a pussy cat. He hardly ever gets mad.  Mom and I can twist him around our fingers.”

“You,” Danny grinned, leaning towards her and nipping her ear, “could twist any man around your finger and get what you want. Those big blue eyes of yours are lethal!”  

Angel laughed and hugged him tighter. “Seriously though, it’s important to me how you feel about my Dad. I mean…well, he looks different to other men and I’m glad that doesn’t bother you, but, well…how would you describe him?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Say again?”

“I wouldn’t. Well, isn’t that the whole point? Your Dad has had to live his whole life underground because of the way he looks, so I wouldn’t describe him to anyone. Not a soul.” Angel looked up at Danny and a warm glow spread through her. Not for the first time, she felt very lucky that she had found Daniel James Warner, Junior.

“You’re a quick learner at tunnel security,” she smiled. “And I didn’t mean that as a trick question. I just meant, how would you describe him…well, to me?” 

Danny twisted his mouth, considering.”W-e-l-l…he’s great, I really like him. He’s kind of old-fashioned…in a neat kind of way, you know. And he’s smart as hell; tough, dignified; kind of gets your respect from the first moment you meet him …and he’s got real charm. You know, like those guys in old movies…Timothy Dalton, Harrison Ford…people like that. I bet a lot of women in New York would find him kind of sexy, you know…even at his age. Actually my mom thinks he’s really cute!”

“She does?” Angel laughed delightedly.

“Sure. She couldn’t stop talking about him after she met him that first time. Lucky my Dad’s not the jealous type; otherwise he might not have agreed to go Below for our engagement party!”

“Wow, that’s really neat! I guess maybe fifty-three isn’t that old after all, even though I kid him about it. Mom’s not too thrilled about being fifty now, either!”

They walked along, arms around each other, chattering happily. There were plenty of people about until they reached the park, but once inside the perimeter, it was quiet and Danny tightened his grip around Angel’s shoulders as they made their way towards the path which led to the drainage culvert and Angel’s home. They had just turned onto the path when a noise behind them made them both jump.

“Well, what’ve we got here?” crowed a thick Bronx accent. “A coupla kids who look like they might have a few dimes to spare.”

“Yeah,” another voice joined in, “I figure if they can afford to go to concerts, they can surely afford a coupla cups of coffee for them as ain’t got the price of a cigarette between them. In fact…”  the man’s voice lowered ominously. “…I’d say they couldn’t afford not to.”

“How do you know where we’ve been!” Angel demanded, spinning around in Danny’s grasp to face the two scruffy looking men.

“Angel, don’t. Leave this to me.” At this, one man roared with laughter and snatched the mini-disc from her hand and brandished it, teasingly, just out of reach.  Angel felt her temper rising.

“You followed us from the theatre! How dare you!” 

“Yeah, Angel, honey, we followed you. Hey…what kind of a name is that, anyway.  A-n-g-e-l?” he jeered. “What your folks call you that for? Are you really an angel?  Guess you do kinda look like one. Apart from all this hair; looks like a goddam fucking lion’s mane.” He moved forward and grabbed Angel’s face between his fingers, but he wasn’t expecting the agonizing pain in his shin as she kicked him for all she was worth. “Why, you little…”

Without waiting for him to finish, Danny thrust out a fist to punch him in the face, but before it found its mark, his arms were seized and trapped by the second man who had quietly stepped around behind to thwart the young man’s defence of his fiancée. Danny managed, with difficulty, to jerk an elbow back and catch his captor in the gut, sending him to the grass.

The first man’s eyes narrowed ominously. “Now that’s the trouble with you kids today, see? You got no respect. Here we are, just talking to Angel, here, and all we get is violence and abuse. I think it’s time you learned some manners.” Shoving Angel backwards so hard that she fell, he turned his attention to Danny, approaching him in a confrontational posture, moving around slowly and beckoning with open palms. 

As he and Danny sprang at each other and began throwing punches, Angel swiftly scanned the grass around her and spotted a sturdy looking branch which had broken off a tree. It was about an inch and a half in diameter and almost three feet long. Snatching it up, she scrambled to her feet and whacked Danny’s opponent across the back with it, using more force than she had ever done anything in her seventeen years. The man roared in pain and stumbled, giving Danny enough time to pounce on him from behind again.

The man on the grass had been staring in amazement, but now sprang into action to help his friend. He brought his knee up into Danny’s back and the boy’s grip loosened. Angel had never been so angry in her whole life. Someone she loved was being hurt and suddenly, all she could think of was stopping the two men at whatever cost. She screamed and lunged, pounding at the man nearest to her, over and over again until the branch snapped across his back.  But Angel, a red veil of fury before her eyes, continued to hammer at him with her fists. And when he turned to protect himself from this slip of a girl who seemed to be possessed by a devil, she clawed his face, drawing blood. All that mattered to Angel was saving Danny and herself.

She barely had time to register Danny’s stunned look before the other man grabbed her. She fought like a wildcat until a blow across the face brought her down, blurring her vision with blood, and she found her arms and legs pinned to the ground. The man Danny had jumped on originally, tore an arm free and reached over his shoulder to grab the boy’s hair, yanking cruelly. As the young man grunted in pain, his hold slackened and gave his aggressor the split second he needed.  Whipping around, he raised his knee and hammered Danny in the groin, sending him to his knees. He followed this up with several blows to the head and stomach from a heavily booted foot, until Danny blacked out with pain, his last sight and sound being Angel’s screams as her attackers held her down and one began to lower the zipper on his pants, verbalizing his intended abuse of her.

***

A white hot rage that he hadn’t felt in over twenty years, gripped Vincent and he whirled around, eyes wide and darting about him.  ANGELICA! Bolting from the chamber, he didn’t even take the time to snatch up his cloak. He heard nothing;  saw nothing as he tore through the amber-hued passageways that led, eventually, to the surface; adrenalin surging through his veins and fueling him with greater velocity than any man half his age. Angel’s terror swirled inside him, filling him with the old familiar fury which had lain dormant, lulling him into a false sense of security for so many years. It was still there…the dark, dangerous force inside him that lurked just beneath the surface only waiting to be summoned. And now, Vincent had summoned it.

Blood pumped through the powerful legs, propelling him swiftly onwards and upwards until he was battering himself against the iron gate, blind to everything but his daughter’s distress. Momentarily, logic overpowered the Beast, and Vincent punched the lever on the wall, but even before the gate had fully opened, he was forcing himself through the opening. It could have been daylight; it could have been the 4th of July, when the park would have been crowded with people, a parade even. At that moment there was nothing on earth more important to Vincent than his child and what was happening to her in the world Above his home.

As he reached the end of the drainage culvert he paused, his keen senses trying to distinguish Angel’s precise whereabouts. Her scream was all that was needed. His lips curled back in a snarl of undiluted rage, and even those who had known and loved Vincent all his life would have drawn back in terror at that moment.

Danny and Angel’s attackers turned as they heard a sound which made their hearts lock solid.

“What the fuck…?” The man pinning Angel to the ground, relaxed his hold and glanced over his shoulder; the front of his jeans open and one hand groping beneath Angel’s long skirt. It was the last thing he would ever do; the last memory he would take to his grave was the sight of a feral mountain with fangs and claws bearing down on the small party. The Beast struck Angel’s attacker first with the right hand and then with the left, slashing, ripping and tearing the man apart until he was nothing more than a bloody mass of flesh and dismembered limbs. The would-be rapist’s friend whimpered, knowing he would be next, but his legs shook and all he was able to do was stare alternately at the bloody mess on the grass that had once been his friend; and the instrument of death that now turned glittering, maddened eyes toward him.

“D-Daddy…?” Angel’s tearful gasp was all it took to make the Beast recede and Vincent to re-emerge. He blinked, trying to focus on her; mortified that one of his nightmares had finally come true and one of his children had seen him this way; witnessed at first hand the demon he’d always known lurked inside him, tarnishing his humanity, and knowing he would give his life for it not to have happened.  Trembling violently, he knelt beside Angel, offering her his arms and wondering if she would be as terrified of him as she was of her attacker.

“What did that man do to you, Angelica?” he gasped, fighting to breathe through the emotions that raged inside him. “Did he….?”  He found he couldn’t say the word.

“No. B-but he would have if you hadn’t come.” Shakily drawing the edges of her ripped blouse together, she fell against him, sobbing and babbling, incoherently for the most part, although Vincent managed to catch the word Danny, and, keeping his daughter’s head pressed firmly to his chest, he glanced across at where the boy was beginning to stir.

“Are you badly hurt, Danny?” he asked urgently.

“I-I’m not sure, I…” Danny’s voice jerked Angel from her father’s arms and she half ran, half crawled over to him. She gathered his head and shoulders onto her lap and, stroking his hair, groped for a handkerchief in order to wipe away the blood from the gash in his temple.

Vincent heard the sound of someone vomiting, and turning his head, saw the second attacker huddled near the remains of his friend. Wiping his mouth, he glanced fearfully at Vincent, then scrambled to his feet and lurched away into the darkness. Taking deep breaths and swallowing hard to prevent the contents of his own stomach from returning, Vincent stared at the carnage. What had once been a man, albeit an evil one, now resembled something the keepers at the city zoo might toss into the lions’ cage at feeding time. Vincent slumped on the grass in despair, cradling his head in his hands. He’d almost forgotten this terrible feeling over the years; the guilt;  the shame, and self-disgust at behaving like an animal; the lack of control.

Vincent had fought against loss of control for most of his life. Sometimes he lost, but most of the time he won. This constant battle he waged with his dark twin had been something which had caused much unhappiness during the early days of his relationship with Catherine, since he’d feared the stimulation of sexual excitement and ultimate release would evoke the same kind of violence. It had taken Catherine almost three years to convince him otherwise. Her faith in him had only wavered once through the years and that had been in the very early days, soon after they’d met, when she’d been afraid he donned the mantle of a subway vigilante. Vincent had been terribly hurt, having believed that Catherine saw him for the man he was inside and not, as Topsiders would, for his outward appearance. From the moment she’d known the truth, however, Catherine had despised herself for causing him the pain of her doubt. Since that time, she’d loved him, comforted him, stood by him, borne his children and devoted her life to making him happy. He’d hoped to spare his family the pain of ever again having to see or know about something like this.

“Daddy, help me with Danny.” The sound of his daughter’s voice dragged Vincent to his feet and he lifted Danny from the grass. Angel immediately moved to support him, dismissing Vincent’s further attempt to help.

“I can manage now, thanks.” She looked over Vincent’s shoulder at the bloody heap on the grass. She swallowed hard and he saw a plethora of emotions cross her face.

“Angelica, I must speak with you about what happened here tonight, I…”

“No, please don’t. I – what I mean is, it’s okay, I understand.”

“You cannot understand.”

“You saved my life; you probably saved Danny’s too; you certainly saved me from being raped. Please, Daddy, don’t say any more. I have to get Danny Below. Are you coming?” Vincent nodded slowly, sadly. He began to follow the couple back over the grass, along the drainage culvert to home…and safety.

They’d almost reached the yawning, black circle in the grassy bank when it happened. A pain more excruciating than anything he’d ever experienced, slammed into Vincent’s chest, filling it with white hot agony and stealing his breath. A choked grunt came from his throat and he stumbled backwards against a tree, one hand clamped ineffectually over the source of the pain.

At his strangled gasp, Angel turned, and her frightened voice pierced Vincent’s haze of agony.

“Daddy! What’s wrong?” 

He tried to inhale sufficient air in order to offer her a measure of reassurance but he could only produce staccato sentences. “I…can…manage. Go.”  

Angel’s face was panic-stricken. Her eyes darted back and forth between her bleeding fiancé and her father, who was in obvious agony; torn between the two…her love for each of them and their need of her.  Vincent gritted his teeth and using sheer strength of will, dropped his hand and pushed himself away from the bank.

“It…is…only…a…stitch. Go, Angelica…hurry. Danny…is…hurt. I…will…follow.”  He waved them on, praying she’d go quickly; knowing he couldn’t keep up the pretence for long. He took a few steps forward, attempting to breathe as normally as possible. The effort almost caused him to black out as the crippling pain intensified.

“Will you be all right?”

Vincent nodded.

“I’ll come back, Daddy…with Michael,” Angel promised, her eyes wild with fear.  

He nodded again.

As Danny and Angel disappeared into the tunnel, the latter glancing over her shoulder every few steps to check on her father, Vincent groaned and sagged inside the mouth of the tunnel entrance, clutching his chest again.  It felt as if the evil dark force inside him had decided to take the ultimate revenge upon its host body, compressing, twisting and clawing at Vincent’s heart until nothing remained but a bloodless, charred scrap of tissue. He knew his bizarre thoughts sprang from a light-headedness caused by pain, but he had seen almost every kind of illness and disease among the community in his fifty-three years, and there was no doubt in Vincent’s mind as to what was happening to him. He desperately needed the young man who had studied medicine Above for five years and returned to the tunnels a decade previously to take over when Father ‘retired’.

There was surely only one thing that, without blood being spilled, might feel like a machete shredding his chest into a thousand pieces. He had to be having a heart attack.

“Bring…Catherine,” he whispered feebly, an eerie sense of deja vu filtering through the haze of agony.

***

Catherine had been helping Rebecca with the Winterfest candles when she’d experienced a sense of disquiet within Vincent. Her side of the bond had developed during their years together and she’d learned to trust these occasional surges when she experienced Vincent’s emotions with him. She had gasped and dropped one of the candles they were working on.

“Catherine, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Vincent; something’s happened. I must go.” 

Rebecca immediately looked worried. “Is he all right? Shall I come with you?”

Catherine touched the other woman’s arm. “No, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I’m sorry about the candle, Rebecca.”

“Don’t be silly, I’ll make another. Catherine, send a message if you need me…or anyone.”

“I will. Thanks.”

She hurried out of the chamber and back to the one she had shared with Vincent since their marriage. He was nowhere to be seen and his cloak lay over the back of his chair. That in itself told her a lot about his state of mind when he’d left. He never, ever went Above without the concealment of his cloak.

Where the hell was he? She closed her eyes and concentrated, feeling along the bond the way that a gymnast moves hand over hand along a rope. She could sense the tension building in Vincent. He was angry; not just mad, but…enraged.  Almost, Catherine thought, her heart freezing in terror, as if his anger was veering out of control. What could possibly have made him feel that way again after so many years?  She tried to focus solely on his emotions in order to locate his whereabouts. He was almost certainly Above.

Catherine made her way towards the surface, her steps quickening with the ever-increasing intensity of Vincent’s emotions. When she reached the level nearest the surface she was running; her heart pounding painfully, not only from the unaccustomed exertion and the fear of what was transpiring Above, but something else as well; something even more terrifying; quite suddenly, what she was feeling from Vincent changed; the anger had dissipated and in its place was agonizing, physical pain. She gasped, rubbing her chest as she tried to force aside a paralyzing fear…and the vague sensation that she was losing Vincent.

As she rounded the last corner which would lead directly to the iron gate, she saw Angel and Danny approaching from the opposite direction. The latter had an arm across his stomach and was obviously in great physical discomfort; her daughter, her blouse in shreds, helping to support him.

“Angel! My God, what happened to…are you hurt?”

On spotting her mother, Angel yelled out, her voice confirming the urgency that Catherine’s bond with Vincent had forewarned.

“Mom, thank God you’re here…something terrible’s happened! Danny and I were attacked and Daddy found us…I’m okay but Danny’s hurt. Mom, Daddy k-killed someone…it was just awful; he was like…he was real upset and now…oh Mom, I think he’s sick…  Please hurry!” 

Catherine reached the young couple and touched her daughter’s face, anxiously scanning her appearance to establish she was, indeed, unhurt. “Are you absolutely sure you’re all right?” Catherine was already starting to move away. Angel nodded, swiping a hand across her tear-stained cheeks.

“Yes, but Daddy’s not. I told him I’d go back for him, Mom.”

“Just take care of yourself and Danny. Where’s your father?”

“Just outside…he told us to go on because Danny’s been hurt. He said he’d be okay but…”  

Catherine didn’t hear any more. The cold, sickening dread she was experiencing began to manifest itself in the form of cold sweat. It ran down her face and she felt her sweater sticking to her skin as she shouted over her shoulder.

“Get Michael…NOW!”

She found Vincent in the drainage culvert. He’d managed to walk as far as the soft earth area just outside the iron gate and now leaned, panting, against the wall clinging on to a protruding rock, almost as if he believed as long he remained on his feet somehow everything would be all right. His face was gray and glistening with perspiration. His eyes were closed, but he must have suddenly become aware she was close, because he turned his head and looked at her.

“Catherine…” he murmured, the iron will he’d employed to get himself to safety and to her, crumbling at the sight of her. Whatever happened now, he was almost home.

“VINCENT!” She was beside him in an instant, desperately trying to support him as he began to sink in her arms, slithering down the wall to the ground. His left hand went to his chest, and Catherine dropped to her knees, tearing at the fastenings on his vest and shirt; steeling herself for the blood she expected to see.

“Have you been shot, stabbed? Can you tell me, Sweetheart?” 

His eyes were only half open and he spoke erratically through gritted teeth.

“Not–injured. My–heart–I–think…” 

Catherine didn’t need to hear the end of the sentence he hadn’t the strength or breath to finish, to understand.  She felt as if her whole body had suddenly imploded. “Oh my God; oh my God!” So this was why she’d had that terrifying sense of loss. Clamping her forearm across her mouth to stop herself from screaming, Catherine employed every fibre of her being to stay calm and not distress him any further. 

Taking some deep breaths, she scrambled to her feet. “I’ll be right back, Vincent;  I have to send a message; I can’t get you back alone.” On legs that felt like they belonged to someone else, Catherine dodged inside the heavy sliding door she’d left open in preparation for an emergency, and flew to the nearest pipe, hammering out an S.O.S. Code red: Michael: send stretcher and help to park entrance: Vincent: suspected heart attack: hurry.

Returning to him, Catherine found him struggling to stand. Grabbing his shoulders, she urged him to remain where he was, terrified that the exertion would kill him in his present condition.

“Vincent, please; don’t try to get up. Michael’s on his way.”

He shook his head, fighting her attempts to hold him down with increasingly futile movements. “Not–safe.” 

Catherine darted a look towards the park. From where they were, she could see the black outline of a tree and in the distance she heard a dog barking. It sounded excited; trying to alert its owner to something. She could make an educated guess at what was out there, and prayed that Michael was in one of the home chambers and would be able to get to the surface quickly with some of the others in order to get Vincent to safety before whatever had transpired Above was discovered, and she didn’t want him moving until Michael had seen him.

“We’ll be okay,” she tried to reassure him, “I can see anyone coming this way, but you must keep still, Vincent. They’ll be here soon, I promise.” She was kneeling in front of him, trying to encourage him to lie flat, but he still resisted, and she guessed he wanted to remain in a sitting position where he, too, could see any approaching danger without having to rely solely on her. It went against everything in Vincent’s nature to lose control of a situation.

Lightly, she touched his forehead. It was damp and clammy and his bangs clung limply to his skin. He sat with his back against the wall, trying not to breathe because the pain was almost unbearable when he did. He could manage for about three minutes before a feeling of faintness warned him that his brain was out of oxygen and he had no choice but to drag in the minimum supply of air.

Catherine had never been so desperately afraid in her whole life, but suppress it she must, for Vincent would have to be dead not to feel her emotions and be concerned by them.

“Is the pain very bad?” she asked unnecessarily. He nodded once, without opening his eyes, and if she hadn’t realised before, Catherine knew at that moment, that Vincent’s fear was as great as her own. He always made light of his own discomfort. Pain was something to be borne when necessary and not complained about. This was something very different. He couldn’t control his reaction to this pain; hadn’t the strength to fight it. He knew what was happening to him was deadly serious, and any heart attack, even the mildest form, was potentially life threatening. And the way Vincent’s hand was clamped to his chest, his knuckles visibly white through the honey coloured hair; the way his lips stretched tight across his teeth as the occasional tortured breath hissed between them…all of these things bore testament to the fact this was unlikely to be a mild attack. Catherine’s lower lip trembled treacherously.

“I don’t know how to help you, Vincent,” she whispered shakily, moving in behind him and curling her fingers over the fist that was digging ever deeper in the earth beside him, clenching and unclenching on shale and soil.

“Just–stay–with–me?”

“Oh, Vincent,” Catherine couldn’t keep her voice steady as she eased his head gently onto her shoulder. “I’m here, my love. Where else would I be?” 

Wearily, Vincent’s eyes opened but they were totally unfocussed. Worse than that, they were almost colourless; the beautiful deep blue now so pale and transparent it reminded her of ice. She’d seen him close to death once before and she recognised it again now.

***

Way back then she had made love to him for the first time; desperately and passionately invading the near-death unconscious state he’d brought upon himself…believing it was the only way he could keep his loved ones safe…Catherine had pushed her hands beneath his clothing to touch and stimulate his body in places she had only dreamed of until that moment. Caressing; massaging; striving to bring him to sexual responsiveness…no matter that his family had been just a few feet away outside the cave.

When she’d fallen to the sandy floor with him, she hadn’t had a clue what to do.  When she’d bravely followed him into that terrible place where his tortured roars had reverberated off the walls until she thought her head would explode with the sound, she’d naively thought that if she could just be with him; show him how desperately she loved him, everything would be all right. But of course it hadn’t been. Vincent’s collapse had been as much physical as mental, and when Catherine realised his heart had actually stopped beating, something primal and instinctive drove her to summon a similar, basic need buried within him. And, as unprincipled as it would undoubtedly have been construed by those who waited nearby, had they ever known, Catherine’s unconventional therapy had worked. That night, twenty years ago, Jacob had been conceived. And while Vincent had no memory of it later, the incident had heralded a major change in their relationship.

As fragile as his health had been at the time, Catherine had delayed telling him about the baby, and when she could no longer conceal it, he’d been shocked and distraught, believing any child sired by him would undoubtedly inherit its father’s differences. Wretched at the prospect of another child who would be forced to live its life underground, possibly never knowing physical love or even seeing the sun, he’d sunk into a depression lasting three weeks. Catherine had continued to visit him every day, patiently and repeatedly explaining that her pregnancy was advancing satisfactorily and reinforcing her belief in him and their future together.  Eventually Vincent had forced himself to put his own worries on hold and concentrate on supporting Catherine through the weeks and months that lay ahead.

They had grown closer with every new day, and when, during the seventh month, Catherine had gone into labour, Father had delivered baby Jacob, declaring that it was fortunate for everyone that the child had arrived in only two hours, since Vincent had been impossible to live with from the moment he’d begun to look forward cautiously to its arrival. He’d formed a bond with the baby as early as the fourth month, feeling its tiny heartbeat within his, and even experiencing some of the less pleasant aspects of pregnancy, much to Catherine’s and everyone else’s amusement. But when Jacob was born, there had been no prouder father anywhere on earth. And his relief when Father pronounced the baby normal, at least outwardly, was overwhelming. Anything discovered later would be faced as Vincent and Catherine always did everything else…together.

***

Now Catherine held Vincent carefully against her, biting her lower lip in an attempt not to cry as she listened to his irregular, tortured gasps. His top lip was drawn tightly across gritted teeth and every time he sucked in a little air, he held his breath again for as long as possible. He was steeling himself not to groan with the pain, and all she could do was keep his hair away from his face and lightly cover the hand clutching his chest, with her own; stroking it; telling him without words that she was suffering with him, and if she could absorb any of the pain for him, she would do it.

They had done this for each other all their married life. It had begun when, after almost two and a half years of marriage Catherine had become pregnant again and experienced bouts of debilitating backache. Vincent had made her lay on the bed on her side while he’d massaged her with aromatherapy oils. Afterwards he would lay down behind her, all the while keeping his hands in contact with her back.  She’d found his touch had a healing effect on her and often they’d both fallen asleep. As pleasant as this was, it had not always been convenient, for if it happened in the middle of the day when Vincent was supposed to be working, Catherine had been unable to keep her discomfort from him, no matter how hard she tried. He always knew, and appeared in the doorway to help her, having abandoned his duties until he knew Catherine was well again.

Since that time they’d always helped each other, finding it to be a two way thing, with Catherine able to ease Vincent’s tension headaches with gentle fingers and her loving presence.

The rumble of the heavy sliding door made Catherine jump, but she had never been more glad to see anyone as Michael burst through, closely followed by Jacob and Kipper carrying a stretcher.

“Thank God…oh, thank God you’re here,” she cried, unable to prevent a sob catching in her throat, as Jacob and Michael dropped to their knees; the former beside his father, touching his shoulder lightly while the doctor yanked open his bag, all the while scrutinising his patient.

“Okay now, stay calm, we’ll soon have you feeling more comfortable, Vincent.  Let’s have a look at you.” Vincent raised his head and Michael hooked his stethoscope into his ears. Prising Vincent’s hand from his chest, he replaced it with the flat, silver disc and listened intently, his face grim.

“How long ago did the pain start, Vincent, can you tell me?”

“About–twenty–minutes.”

“Okay, and what were you doing when it started?” Vincent’s eyes opened wider and he stared groggily at the doctor.

“It could be very relevant…were you relaxed; calm, or were you active;  using a lot of energy?” 

Vincent hesitated. “Not–calm.” He didn’t seem about to elaborate, leaving Michael to form his own opinion. He returned the stethoscope to his bag.

“I want you to describe the pain for me, Vincent.” 

It took Vincent a moment to reply. “Like a–knife. Crushing–pressure. Can’t –breathe.” 

Michael looked grim. He glanced at Catherine and then at Jacob and Kipper. “Okay. Now I know the pain’s very bad and I’m going to give you something for it.  Don’t worry…” he said as both Vincent and Catherine looked alarmed, “…it’s just a muscle relaxant… nothing that should prove awkward for you.” 

Reaching inside his bag again, he pulled out a hypodermic and phial. “Catherine, can you roll up his sleeve?” Vincent’s head suddenly fell back and he started to shake. Catherine stifled a scream and put her arms around him, trying to steady him as Michael administered the shot.

“He’s going into shock. Quickly, lay him down. I want him Below…fast!” Swiftly, Vincent was lifted onto the stretcher and the three men hefted it through the doorway. Catherine kept as close as she could, dropping back when the stairs or passages became too narrow and hurrying alongside whenever possible, taking Vincent’s hand or simply holding a lock of his hair.

To her it seemed like forever before they reached the hospital chamber, but eventually, greeted by a distraught Angel and an equally distressed Samantha in nurse’s cover-all, Vincent was transferred to a bed, boots removed and stripped to the waist. Jacob stood stony-faced, with Catherine and Angel, an arm around each of them. He was twenty years old, over six feet tall, broad and powerful; trying hard to be strong for his mother and sister but his eyes held all the terror of a boy unable to face the very real possibility of losing the father he adored. Angel buried her head against his shoulder, sobbing quietly, but Catherine stood unyielding against him, dried tears staining her cheeks and her eyes riveted on Vincent as Michael and Samantha worked on him, hooking him up to heart monitors and taping a drip into place.

The beep of the machine recording Vincent’s weakening heartbeat suddenly changed to a constant high pitched whine, and Catherine screamed, breaking away from Jacob, to fall on Vincent, shaking his shoulders in a kind of insane desperation.

“VINCENT…VINCENT!!!”

“Shit, we’re losing him!”

Michael didn’t have the sophisticated crash trolley any hospital Above would have summoned in a case of cardiac arrest, but he moved with lightning speed, shoving Catherine roughly out of the way and leaning over Vincent. Placing the heel of his left hand in the center of Vincent’s chest, he leaned on it with the other. Throwing all his weight behind the action, he jerked down and up again quickly. Again. No response from the monitors. Alternating soft curses no had ever heard him use, with carefully timed counting, Michael continued his efforts to galvanise Vincent’s heart into action again. The sweat stood out on his forehead, and Samantha reached up with a cloth to wipe it for him. He was the only one in the room breathing.

“Come on, Vincent…breathe, dammit.”

“Vincent…” Catherine sobbed, stroking his face with fingers that couldn’t help, but just needed to touch him – let him know if he was able to sense anything in that murky halfway world he was travelling in — that she was there.  “…please…no, you can’t…not without me…!” She suddenly raised her head and her eyes blazed at Michael.

“Do something, damn you! If you let my husband die, I’ll never forgive you, I swear to God, I’ll…”

“Mom, don’t!” Jacob moved behind Catherine and grabbed her upper arms.

“Get her out of here,” Michael snarled, never missing a beat in his continued efforts to resuscitate Vincent, despite Catherine’s outburst.

“Come on, Mom, come outside. Michael can’t do his work with you in this state.”

“No! I won’t leave him! He needs me!” Catherine fought to wrench free of her son’s grip, but he was much too strong for her.

“Of course he does, but this isn’t helping Dad…it’s not helping anyone…you’re in the way here.”

“Mom, he’s right.” Angel, wiping her tear-stained face with her arm, reached for her mother’s hand. “Michael’s the only one who can help Daddy now. He’s too far gone for your bond to have any effect.”

“No! Our bond brought him back from the dead once before!” Catherine looked around at the distraught faces in the room. They seemed to have fuzzy edges, like a photo when the photographer’s hand wasn’t steady. “You don’t understand its power. None of you understand how much we feel;  you never will!”

Angel and Jacob stared at Catherine as if they were afraid she’d lost her mind.  Only Michael’s rough-edged voice jerked them back to reality.

“I really wish you’d hold this family row outside. My patient needs complete rest and quiet.” Three pairs of eyes turned towards him. He looked as if he’d just run a mile in under a minute. His breathing was heavy and a lock of perspiration soaked hair fell down over his brow. Behind him, the heart monitors were beeping again and the line that had gone flat on the screen now had the most wonderful little pointy bits in it. Catherine didn’t know whether she was going to cry or faint.  Jacob loosened his grip but continued to hold her.

“He’s alive?”

Michael grinned. “Sure. You didn’t think the man who’s survived Paracelsus, Jonathan Gould, a mind-blowing drug, and his own masochistic attempts on his life was going to let a little old heart attack finish him off, did you? And anyway,” he panted, “I’m a hell of a doctor.” His over-bright words didn’t fool anyone.  Vincent had never been closer to death.

By now the message had been broadcast over the entire tunnels communication system that Vincent’s life was poised between darkness and light. 

Angel stepped forward. “Can we…”

“Later. Your father’s back with us, but he’s not out of danger yet. He’s going to need very careful watching for several days. He’s sleeping now and I think your mother is the only one, for the time being, who’ll be able to inject the kind of feelings he needs to get well.” He touched the back of his hand against Angel’s cheek. “I’ll let you know when he’s awake. Now go and take care of that fiancé of yours. He needs some attention as well, you know. Besides, he’s worried about Vincent too.” 

Angel gave him a tearful smile. “I know. I’ll go to him right now. Thank you, Michael.” On her way out, she stooped to kiss Vincent’s cheek. “I love you, Daddy…be well.”

Jacob shook Michael’s hand. “I’m sorry about…” he glanced towards Catherine who was standing very still, looking down at Vincent. “…you know.”

“Hey, no problem. Pass the word, will you? Everyone will be concerned. For the next hour or two if you want me, I’ll be dividing my time between here and the kitchen since that’s the closest and…” he dropped his voice, “…I know your Mom’s gonna need a lot of coffee tonight because there’s no way she’s going to leave here, however tough I get with her, right?” 

Jacob gave a lopsided grin. “Right.” He, too, paused at Vincent’s head before he left, patting his father’s shoulder lightly. “Hang in there, Dad.” Then he touched the back of Catherine’s head and left.

Michael checked all the instruments, reassured himself that Vincent’s blood pressure and respiration were adequate for the time being and then, with a glance at Samantha, beckoned her to follow him.

“We’ll be back in about twenty minutes. If you need either of us, we’ll be in the kitchen…and we’ll bring you back some coffee.” 

Catherine turned tear-filled eyes on the man who’d brought her husband back from the dead. “Michael,” she implored him, “Please forgive me;  that wasn’t me talking.  I don’t know how I could have said what I did. I…the thought of losing Vincent, I just…” 

He silenced her with a squeeze of his fingers. “I know. It’s okay. You’re all bent out of shape…hell, we all are. I don’t suppose there’s any point in me telling you to go to bed and that I’ll call you if there’s any change.” 

Catherine gulped air and shook her head. “None.  You’re very gracious, Michael …thank you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Mmm hmm.” She sniffed, wiped her eyes and smiled that crooked little smile that Michael remembered so well. It was the one he’d fallen in love with so many years ago. The infatuation had lasted only a very short time, but the love and respect he held for her and the man whose life he’d saved tonight, would endure always.

Alone with Vincent, Catherine carried a chair to the side of the bed and slumped onto it. Her legs felt as if they would no longer support her. The self-control which had see-sawed erratically since she’d found Vincent in the drainage culvert, now evaporated completely and she found release at last, sobbing freely and silently as she stared down into his beloved face. His features were blurred as her tears fell onto the mane of hair which tumbled across his shoulders. Michael had shaved some of the hair on either side of Vincent’s chest in order to attach the wires from the heart monitors, and Catherine tentatively traced each strangely bald area in turn, with a gentle finger.

“Oh, my love, I nearly lost you,” she whispered. “We nearly lost you…all of us.  But I wouldn’t have survived your death…wouldn’t have wanted to go on living without you.” Carefully, she lifted his right hand from the edge of the bed and raised it to her trembling lips.

“Sleep now, Sweetheart. Sleep and heal. I’ll be right here with you.” Still holding his hand, Catherine reached out shakily to touch Vincent’s face. Laying her thumb lightly on his nose, she stroked upwards over the velvet-soft hairs with a touch as soft as a butterfly’s wing, into the deep furrow between his eyebrows and over his forehead. “If you can feel our bond, Vincent, you’ll know how much I love you and how I’m giving you all my strength to fight and get well. I’ll take care of you, my darling…always.”

***

Vincent opened his eyes. The rock ceiling above him was familiar, but it wasn’t the chamber he had slept in all his life. Where was he? He blinked twice and realised he felt strangely weak and a little breathless. That was curious, because he was lying flat on his back. He looked down and saw two wires taped to his chest, and the machines to which they were connected seemed to be bleeping with an irritating, regular monotony. Puzzled, he glanced to the right and saw Catherine slumped forward in a chair beside him. Her right arm was thrown across his thighs and her tear-stained face, turned towards him, rested on the edge of the bed. He flexed his fingers and realised she was holding his right hand. Gradually, the events that had brought him here returned. He tried to raise up on his elbows, but the pain this produced forced him back again, panting. His breastbone felt as if it had been splintered in a dozen places. 

At his gasp Catherine awoke immediately. “Vincent?” She pushed the hair out of her eyes and jumped up, bending over him.  “How do you feel, Sweetheart?” 

Vincent thought about it. He didn’t actually feel very well, but on the other hand, he wasn’t dead, and when he remembered the pain he had been in before he’d passed out, this came as something of a surprise. His throat felt parched and when he replied it was little more than a croak. “Thirsty.”

“I’ll get you some water.” Catherine poured a little into a cup and supported Vincent’s head while he took a few sips. As she replaced his head on the pillow he groaned. “What is it, love?  Are you in pain?”

“Mmmm. My chest hurts. No…” he added, seeing Catherine’s look of panic. “…not like before. As if the roof fell in on me.” 

Relief washed over Catherine’s face. “Your heart stopped last night, Vincent.  Michael gave you cardiac massage; he was pretty rough with you, I expect you’re bruised.” She touched his breastbone lightly. “Is this where it hurts?”

“Mmmm.”

Glancing around the hospital chamber, Catherine spotted a bottle of witch hazel on the counter. She rose to fetch it and a pack of cotton wool. Returning to Vincent’s side, she tore off a wad and soaked it with the lotion. Tentatively, afraid of hurting him, she dabbed the center of his chest with the soothing liquid. She didn’t know if it would help; only that she had to do something for him. “Let me know if I’m hurting you.” He nodded, watching her and wishing he could leave the sterile environment he so detested, and return to their chamber.

“How…long?” 

Catherine glanced at her watch. “Hard to say. About eighteen hours, I think. Do you remember what happened?” 

Another nod. “Michael saved my life.”

“Yes. And mine.” 

Vincent frowned in enquiry, then understood the meaning behind her quiet words.  He covered her hand with his own. Suddenly he remembered something else besides the pain. “Angelica…  Is she…”

“She’s okay. She’s fine. She and Jacob were both here until they knew you were going to make it.  Then Michael told them to go get some sleep until you were well enough to see them.”

“I’d like to see them now.”

“Not yet, Sweetheart, but soon. None of us are going anywhere.”

“Did she tell you what happened?”

“Some of it. Vincent, please don’t talk.”

“How is Danny?”

“He’s got some nasty cuts and bruised ribs I think, but he’ll be fine. Vincent, please…you’re not to tire yourself talking. I have to get Michael.”

“I dislike being in here, Catherine. It seemed as if I was always here for one reason or another in my younger days. I will rest much easier in our own chamber…will you help me?”

“Vincent, you know I’ll do anything in the world for you, but only when Michael says you’re well enough to be moved. And I don’t think that will be for several days. Perhaps you don’t realise how sick you are. You’ve had a heart attack…you almost died…correction, you did die at one point. You can’t just…” 

Vincent made an exasperated noise in his throat. “Yes, I do realise that. Where is Michael?”

“Someone mention my name?”

The doctor walked in, with Samantha close behind him. It had pleased Vincent and Catherine enormously when the two of them had finally realised they were in love and married five years previously. Despite the seven year age gap, they had always seemed so right for each other, but it had taken many years and a few broken relationships for each of them along the way, before they realised it.

Samantha had begun training as a nurse at the age of fifteen under the tutelage of Father and Peter Alcott. She had no formal qualifications as she’d never worked in a hospital Above, but she was bright and intelligent and had the compassionate nature so necessary in anyone working with the sick. And since the tunnel community had lost their most senior and beloved members in recent years, Michael and Samantha had become a desperately needed partnership.

Everyone had mourned the deaths of Mary, Elizabeth, and, three years ago…Father, at the age of eighty-six; but none had grieved so intensely or so long as Vincent.  He’d loved them all with a passion, but losing his father had affected him badly.  Catherine had worried that he would make himself ill. He’d grieved openly at first, unashamed that she should witness his tears. For weeks following the funeral, he’d suddenly break down at any time of the day or night and Catherine’s arms would always be there waiting to comfort him. She’d hold him tenderly and they’d cry together. Later, he’d become withdrawn, spending much of his free time alone, and brooding even when he was with his family. Catherine’s patience, legendary among those who had been there from the beginning of their relationship, never wavered during this time, and eventually Vincent had emerged from his depression.

Jacob and Angel complained, only half-jokingly, that Catherine never put up with any nonsense from either of them, but their father could sulk, mess up the chamber, come to the table in filthy work clothes, or show up three hours late for dinner, and yet she never lost her temper with him. Catherine protested constantly that this just wasn’t true; that she often got angry with Vincent, but no one believed her, and privately she admitted they were right.

Sure, sometimes he made her mad even now, but it was rare, and her anger never lasted long. In the early days she’d shouted at him so often that she wondered why he’d put up with it, but there had been a very special and private reason for that.  Something the children had never known about. Vincent’s conviction that she should give herself to Elliot Burch or someone like him, who could provide her with the kind of life he thought she deserved, had caused a great deal of pain and frustration to both of them, and Catherine had practically had to knock Vincent senseless and tie him to a chair to convince him that he was the man she loved; the only man she intended to spend her life with; and the only man whose children she would ever bear. It had taken nearly three years, but, like the Canadian Mounties, Catherine’s tenacity had eventually paid off and she had got her man.

Since then, and that one subject that had caused them so much distress, she had never really been able to stay mad at him for more than a few minutes. She’d work herself into a temper, occasionally flinging small, unimportant objects about the chamber knowing exactly what she was going to say when he showed up hours late for a ruined meal because an emergency of one kind or another had kept him working much longer than usual.  Despite the fact he was now in his early fifties, he was still infinitely stronger than any of the other men, and was always the first to be called upon when stamina, strength, and endurance were needed.

But there was just something about her husband that Catherine had never found in any other man; something that defied description.  The moment he looked at her from beneath that wealth of long, golden hair, and those great blue eyes begged for understanding, she didn’t even need to hear the velvet, gravelled voice murmur… forgive me…the anger had already dissipated and it was hopeless. Inevitably she’d touch his cheek and tell him it was okay, or fall against him listening to the beating of his heart, and simply thank God that he was safe; that he was hers; and that she was the only woman in the world lucky enough to share his life and the only one to whom he gave his love.

***

“Michael, I was just coming to get you. Look who’s awake.” Catherine stepped back and allowed Michael access to his patient.

“Well, it’s good to see you back in the land of the living, Vincent. You had us all pretty worried. How are you feeling?”

“Not as well as usual, but…perhaps better than I should expect, in the circumstances. Michael, how can I ever thank you?”

“By getting completely well. And that means…” He glanced at Catherine and his wife, “…doing exactly as we say, without argument. Arguments cause stress, Vincent, and that’s a luxury you simply can’t afford any more.” Catherine’s grip tightened on Vincent’s hand at the bluntness of Michael’s words. “It kills in the world Above and we don’t have any magic potions down here to protect us from it either. I don’t want to frighten either of you, but nor do I want there to be any misunderstanding. From here on in, there is to be no stress, tension, exertion, or even any kind of excitement in your life until I say so…okay?” 

Vincent offered a small smile. “It sounds very boring. Will you at least allow me to return to my chamber, Michael?”

“I think if you tried to stand up now, you’d fall right back down again, Vincent.  Give it some time. It’s only been a few hours.”

“Yet I would still like to try. Please, Michael…Catherine…will you help me?”

“Vincent, I ran some tests and took a couple of x-rays while you were unconscious.  Until I get the results, I can only say that you’ve experienced what appears to be a heart attack. Now, given your different physiology, possibly even with the results… I can’t be a hundred per cent sure of the damage to your heart. I’d much rather wait until I know what we’re dealing with here before I let you go running around;  figuratively speaking, you understand. Okay?” 

Vincent lowered his eyes. “You said I should avoid stress.”

“Absolutely. What’s your point?”

“Just being here…within these walls…fills my head with memories of blood and pain and death. I shall not rest here. Please, Michael…I need to be in my own chamber…with Catherine.”  

The doctor hesitated, considering Vincent’s words. “Are you in any pain? I want the truth, Vincent.”

“I am not in the habit of lying, Michael. No, I am not in pain. At least, not the kind you mean.” 

Michael frowned and Catherine hurried to explain, wanting to spare Vincent both the effort of unnecessary conversation and, sounding unappreciative of Michael’s efforts to resuscitate him. The doctor listened to Vincent’s heart again, checked his blood pressure and pulse, and then ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I must be out of my mind. Okay, if your heartbeat and blood pressure remain at an acceptable level for thirty minutes after I remove the monitors; and if you give me your word that when you get to your chamber, you’ll lie flat on your back in bed until I tell you otherwise…” 

Vincent raised his fingers in submission. “I believe I understand, Michael, and yes…I will do whatever you say. Anything to leave this place.”

The wires were disconnected and Vincent’s cord pants replaced with a long nightshirt which opened almost to the waist. He refused to allow any of them to see how much discomfort and exhaustion this simple action had caused him. 

Samantha tucked a pillow under his neck. “Okay now, just lie completely still, breathe normally, and don’t talk.” 

Catherine watched Vincent’s expression and squeezed his hand. Only she knew exactly how the change of clothing had affected him. After exactly thirty minutes, Michael hooked his stethoscope into his ears and listened to Vincent’s heart again; on this occasion for several minutes. The blood pressure cuff was secured and inflated and Vincent waited patiently, listening to the ‘whoosh’ from the machine as the needle settled, and watching the doctor’s reaction. At length Michael raised his eyebrows in mild surprise and gestured to Samantha to bring the old fashioned wheelchair around to the side of the bed. 

Vincent stared at it, horrified. “Michael, please…”

“Forget it, Vincent. I wouldn’t allow you to walk around this room…even if you could. You either use this or you stay right here; subject closed.”

“Very well.” He started to raise up onto his elbows and Catherine and Samantha moved in behind to support him.

“If you feel the slightest pain, or think you’re going to pass out, don’t leave it too late to say something,” Michael warned, holding the chair steady.

Vincent supposed he should have expected the wave of dizziness that swept over him as he sat up and swung his legs to the floor, but it passed after a few seconds and, with the two women hovering at either side of him, he lowered himself carefully into the wheelchair, faintly curling his lip in disgust as Samantha tucked a blanket around his shoulders and another over his legs.

“Okay, you’re a free man again,up to a point. Now, let’s get you to your chamber. I want you lying flat again as quickly as possible.”

“You don’t have to do it, Michael,” Catherine said quickly as Michael took the handles of the chair. “I can manage, really.” 

The doctor shook his head. “No way. It’s hard work pushing a wheelchair, especially over these surfaces and I don’t want Vincent ‘helping’ by using his arms.  Right now it would probably kill him. And I warn you,” he added, laying a hand on Vincent’s shoulder, “you’ll be feeling lousy by the time we get there.”

The little party set off for Vincent and Catherine’s chamber, meeting numerous people along the way, all relieved to see Vincent…if not exactly fit and well…at least recovering from what had been communicated over the pipes as being very seriously ill. Vincent detested how he must appear to them; weak and unable to walk; wrapped in blankets like an invalid. Even the thought of such weakness made him cringe with shame and humiliation. He’d been these people’s strength and protection for the whole of his adult life. Father had told him he’d been their inspiration too, but Vincent’s modest nature refused to acknowledge such an honor.

Everyone wanted to speak to him; touch him to reassure themselves that he really was alive; and ask him how he was feeling. It seemed that every few seconds more people appeared, halting the group’s progress through the tunnels. Vincent was glad to see them and wanted to speak; tried to acknowledge all of them with a few words, but suddenly there seemed to be so many faces before him. The youngest children even tried to climb onto his lap, and their eager faces blurred as he reached out a hand to touch them. Despite his tremendous willpower, he could feel his limited reserve of strength fading and his heart began to pound unnaturally fast.

From somewhere over his head he heard Michael’s voice firm and insistent, informing them that Vincent was nowhere near well enough yet even to talk, and all the displays of affection would have to wait for a few days. The doctor was highly respected and his authority seldom questioned, so with the promise that he’d let them know as soon as they could visit, he resolutely moved the wheelchair through the passageways until eventually, to Vincent’s profound relief, they reached the chamber he’d shared with Catherine for twenty years.

“Here you are, then, Vincent,” Michael pointed to the bed. “That is where you’ll spend your convalescence.”

“Thank you.”

“Okay. Let’s get you into bed; I’ll examine you again and then Samantha and I will leave you and Catherine alone for a while. You need complete rest and quiet.”

Catherine hurried to turn down the bed, and Samantha removed the blankets covering Vincent.

“Here, let me help you. Hold on to me.” Vincent stood up slowly, grateful for Samantha’s slim shoulders under his arm as his heartbeat continued to accelerate alarmingly. Michael had been right. He groped for the bed and sat down heavily, feeling Catherine’s hands at his shoulders. Gratefully, Vincent lay back, closing his eyes while he tried to catch his breath.

Loosening the neck of his patient’s nightshirt again after journeying through the chilly tunnels, Michael pressed the stethoscope to Vincent’s chest and swore softly.

“Exactly what I expected. Your heart rate is up by a hundred and fifty per cent. I should never have been persuaded into this. How do you feel?”

“Breathless,” Vincent confessed. “A little dizzy.”

“Yes, well the increased heart rate will do that. Your blood is being forced too quickly around your body for your brain to cope with. Any pain?” 

Vincent forced his eyes open, relieved to find the room more or less in focus. He decided not to push his luck by shaking his head. “Not exactly pain…an uncomfortable pounding sensation. And the feeling that an elephant has been dancing on my chest,” he added pointedly, referring to Michael’s CPR technique.  The others recognised this as a typically courageous attempt on Vincent’s part to lighten the mood. At a nod from her husband, Samantha pulled a hypo and phial from the battered leather Gladstone bag he’d inherited from Father. She prepared it and handed it to Michael, pushing up Vincent’s sleeve for the shot.

“Yeah, well if we’d been Above I’d have re-started your heart with the latest computer technology; down here, all I have is these, and my own bodyweight.” He lifted his hands, spreading his fingers. “You’re lucky you’re only bruised.”

“I am lucky in many ways. I can never repay you, Michael.”

“Hey, I’m a doctor. I didn’t study medicine for years just to come back down here and lose my best friend without a fight. Anyway, you’re not out of the woods yet, so don’t be too grateful.” Michael secured the blood pressure cuff to Vincent’s arm, pumped the instrument and swore softly.

“That bad?” Vincent breathed.

“Not that good.” He dismantled the equipment and Samantha replaced everything in the bag. “I’m not too concerned about the dizziness; that shot I gave you will help to slow your heart rate and that, in turn, will stop the pounding sensation. You should feel better quite quickly. If not…” he turned to Catherine. “…send for me immediately, okay?”

She was seated at Vincent’s head, her hand on his shoulder, listening to every word.  She nodded. “Don’t worry, I will. Michael, is there anything I can do to make Vincent more comfortable?” 

The doctor grinned. “Just keep him still…and quiet. I’m not going to leave any medication until I get the results of the x-rays. When I do, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with. But until then, it’s absolutely imperative that Vincent remains laying down, and that he stays very still and doesn’t talk. He needs all his strength now just to breathe normally and keep his heart functioning. If there’s any change in his condition; however slight; I want to know, okay?”

“Okay. What if he wants to use the bathroom?”

“I’ll leave a bottle now and send a bedpan down with someone a little later. He is not to get out of bed…for any reason.” At the mention of a bottle and bedpan, Vincent’s expression darkened and he turned his face to the wall. “And Vincent, if you experience any chest pain…however slight; for Christ’s sake don’t be a hero…I need to know. Tell Catherine immediately; your life may depend on it. I can’t over-emphasise the severity of your condition. Now I want your word on that.”

“You have my word,” Vincent replied quietly.

Michael removed a sterile bottle from his bag and laid it on the desk. He hefted the Gladstone in one hand and put his hand on Samantha’s shoulder. “Then I guess we’re out of here. I’ll be back to check on you in a couple of hours. Vincent, Catherine.” 

Samantha broke away from Michael and moved to the bed, bending to kiss Vincent’s temple. He turned his head to look at her and although he didn’t smile, she was rewarded with a squeeze of his fingers around hers, and found she had to turn away in order to brush a tear from her eye before he noticed. She might be a highly efficient nurse, well aware of the dangers of getting involved with her patients, but this was Vincent. He’d been her hero from the moment she set eyes on him and she loved him fiercely. The thought that he’d almost died, and possibly still could, without the greatest care, filled her with a sick, icy dread. Taking a deep breath, she turned back, smiling with a bravery she didn’t feel, to hug Catherine before leaving the chamber with her husband.

Suddenly alone with Vincent, Catherine felt the weight of her responsibility and her fear made her shudder slightly.”Well,” she remarked with false brightness, “I could do with a cup of tea. How about you?” 

But before she could rise, Vincent caught her wrist. “You are afraid, Catherine.” 

Instantly she hated herself for allowing her feelings to penetrate the bond and distress him. Biting back idiotic tears that threatened, she looked down into his beloved, pale face. “Yes. I am afraid. We don’t know why this happened yet, Vincent, but you died a few hours ago and I’ve never been more terrified in my life.”

“I’m here,” he said, gently.  “I’m not ready to leave you.” 

That was too much for Catherine. She crumpled, shaking, and Vincent pulled her forward onto his chest while she sobbed. She tried to resist, knowing how unstable his condition was, but he pinned her against his body, and after a moment she reached her arms around his shoulders and cried into the warm comfort of his neck until there were no more tears to come.  And all the while he held her, slowly stroking her back, ignoring her weight on his bruised chest and fuelling her with his own mental strength. At last she lifted her face and sat up.

“I’m sorry, Vincent. I’m supposed to be nursing you. Michael will kill me for causing you to worry about me. You’re not even supposed to be talking.”

“Michael does not truly understand this bond between us…no one does. We cannot conceal fear and heartache from each other.” 

Catherine reached for a tissue from the nightstand and blew her nose. “That’s not true. We’ve each done it before. But I guess I’m as low as I’ve ever been right now.  I’m so very tired.”

“I know. You need to rest. If only I could spare you the burden of worrying about me, Catherine. Why did this have to happen?” 

She smiled bravely and stroked his forehead. “Maybe we’ve been too happy for too long. Why do these awful things ever happen to people, Vincent? No one deserves them.”

“It is a part of living, I suppose. In my case, the obverse side of a coin made shiny and new again by the love you brought into my life.” 

Catherine’s voice trembled again.”Vincent, please don’t make me cry again. I’m going to be your strength now as never before.”

“You’ve always been my strength.”

“No, I mean it. I’m going to take care of you for the rest of your life. You’re never going to do anything that might hurt you ever again. No one is going to make you angry or cause you any kind of stress or tension. If they do, it will be over my dead body. I’m going to make you well, Vincent. You just see if I don’t.”

“For now, why not lie beside me and sleep?”

“Do you think it would be okay?” 

Vincent smiled. “To sleep in your own bed? I think so. You weren’t planning on sleeping on the floor, I hope?”

“Well I…”

“Catherine…” Vincent held her left arm and pulled her down until her lips were just above his. “If I am to obey Michael’s instructions to get well, my life is going to be very dull and frustrating for some time. Please don’t ask me to lie alone in this bed at night as well.” 

She touched her lips to his, and then smiled the smile he had fallen in love with so many years ago. “Well, since you put it that way. Is there anything you need first…a drink, anything?” 

He turned his head once on the pillow and sighed. Vincent had been told not to talk and he was beginning to realise why. His heart was still pounding relentlessly against the wall of his chest and he knew he needed to rest and allow it to slow and settle into an even rhythm. “Only the comfort of you beside me. I, too, am very tired.” 

Standing up, Catherine slipped off her skirt and tunic and climbed into bed beside him. Once under the covers she positioned herself with her face pressed to his neck. She wanted to hear if he made the slightest sound. “If I’m very careful, would it be okay if I hold you?”

“I wish you would.” 

Tentatively she laid her right arm across him, slipping her hand inside his nightshirt to rest lightly on his chest. Catherine bit her lip to suppress a gasp of fear at the way his heart thundered against her palm. Instinctively she began a gentle massage and after a few minutes she felt him inhale and exhale slowly as he began to relax. Not long afterwards they both fell asleep.

***

Michael had used the tiny developing chamber which was really more of a cupboard, to expedite the results of Vincent’s x-rays himself rather than sending them Above. It was something he had enjoyed doing for Father even before he left to go to college and he still remembered what to do even now. As unethical as it might have sounded to an outsider, he privately admitted that a patient had never been more important to him, so he’d sweated in the heat of the tiny room and in just over two hours, produced the results which he now studied intently. Frowning, he rubbed a hand over his chin.

“Come and look at these, Sam.” 

Samantha scrutinised the plates hanging from the line and lit from behind by ancient yet high powered lamps. “It looks like a tear in the outer wall of the heart.”

“Exactly.” 

She turned to look at her husband. “But that’s not possible, surely? And there’s no sign of any significant blood loss. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Me either. But this is Vincent…there’s never been anyone like him before.”

“What could have caused it?” 

Michael shrugged and chewed the end of his pen. “I have absolutely no idea. My guess would be that the fissure has been forming for a little while. Sudden, unusual activity could have been the final straw to create the split.”

“So this wasn’t a regular heart attack.”

“Hard to say. I guess not. But that doesn’t mean it was any less serious or that full recovery can be guaranteed.” 

Samantha fought down the emotion that had bubbled just below the surface ever since they’d found Vincent. “Do you think there’s a chance of the heart repairing itself, or will Vincent need surgery?” 

Michael twisted his mouth into an expression of open-mindedness. “I guess it’s possible it could repair itself. Vincent has always healed extraordinarily quickly from wounds in the past; although this isn’t just an arm or leg. We may get a clue about that in the next few days. But I’ve no idea how long it will take and the only chance of it happening is if Vincent has complete rest for several weeks…maybe even months…who knows; I honestly don’t. And you know how unlikely it is that he’ll follow orders like that for any length of time.”

Samantha leaned against Michael, grateful when his arm came around her shoulders. “Then we…all of us…will just have to convince him, won’t we?  Catherine will be on our side and he’ll do anything for her.” 

Michael frowned again, staring at the x-rays as if willing them to show something less serious. “Even Catherine may not be able to hold out against Vincent’s determination. We may have to scare the shit out of him. Tell you what, we’ll call a Council meeting for tomorrow afternoon and get everyone in on this.”

“Good idea,” Samantha brightened a little. “There’s too many people down here who rely on Vincent far too much. Well, they’re damn well going to have to do without him for a while.” She had a feeling that fighting Vincent’s natural energy and enthusiasm for life in order to keep him alive, might be a little like trying to hold back the ocean, but with the help and support of the entire tunnel community, they’d have a damn good try anyway.

***

A little under two hours after falling asleep, Vincent stirred and Catherine woke instantly. She froze for a moment, waiting to see if he was merely trying to change position, in which case she would try and accommodate him, or if he was actually awake. She couldn’t see his face from her position, but after years of living with him and knowing him almost as well as she knew herself, instinct told her that he was not asleep.

“What is it, love?  Are you okay?”

“I am afraid, Catherine,” he whispered after a few seconds. “I came very close to death, didn’t I?” 

Catherine clamped down on her own emotions as best she could in order to be strong for Vincent. She squeezed closer still, trying not to increase the pressure of her arm on his chest. “It was close, yes. But you’ll get through this, Vincent; I’ll do whatever has to be done to make you well again. I fought for you for three years.  Well, I finally got you and there’s plenty of fight still left in me. How about you?”  She felt him take a deep breath.

“Yes. Forgive me, Catherine. Such weakness is inexcusable after all you and Michael have done for me.”

“You were remembering the pain.”

“Yes. It was terrible, Catherine…I couldn’t breathe.” 

Catherine began to stroke him again, widening her touch to include his ribcage and shoulders in the hope of countering any tension his distress might produce. “I know, my darling. I know. Try not to think about it now…”

“If it should happen again…”

“You’ll be here…safe. Michael will know what to do. But it won’t happen again.  Have faith. The x-ray results will be ready tomorrow and Michael will know exactly how to treat you. My guess is that the main requirement will be rest.  Sweetheart, you should sleep again now, okay? You’ll feel much better about everything in the morning.” 

Again, silence for several minutes, then he spoke again. “Have you ever regretted your decision, Catherine?”

“Decision?”

“To give up your life Above. To be with me. You are so loyal…I know you would never have told me if you’ve sometimes felt like a prisoner down here, but I cannot help wondering sometimes…you rarely go Above any more, and…”  

Catherine raised herself on one elbow and looked down at him in the dim light.

“Vincent, everything I love…everything I need, is right here. You and our two wonderful children, our friends and family. Even if, God help me, I had lost you, I would still stay right here with my family. This is my home, Vincent; apart from a few old friends, the world Above has nothing that I value any more, hasn’t for a very long time. It would be almost as much a stranger to me now as it would to you.”

“What about the sunlight, the warmth? Father told me once that what he missed most was the colours.”

“The moonlight is just as beautiful as sunlight. Especially when we’re walking together beneath it. And as for warmth; Vincent, nothing warms me like your love…and your arms.” She shrugged. “As for the colours, well…I remember Jenny always thought I was colour blind anyway. She thought I had kind of a weird taste in clothes,” she added in explanation.

Vincent struggled to keep his eyes open; he was dreadfully tired, but something had woken him and he had felt the need to talk. “You have been everything to me that I ever dreamed of as a boy, Catherine…a wonderful wife and mother,” he murmured. “I have never doubted how much you love all of us.”

“Hey…”Catherine didn’t like the way his mind was working now. Even his voice was weaker than it had been earlier. “Will you quit sounding like you’re talking in the past tense? My life would be over without you…I’ve loved you for the past twenty-three years and I plan to go right on loving you for another thirty at least.  Now, do we have a deal?” 

Vincent smiled with difficulty and returned the kiss she dropped on his lips. “Deal.” 

She relaxed slightly. “How do you feel?”

“Tired…and hot.” 

To make him more comfortable Catherine pushed the covers down and opened the neck of his nightshirt wider. “There, does that feel better?”

“Mmm. Thank you.”  She lay down again, leaving an inch or two between them.

  “You’re all rightt?  Not in pain or anything?”

“No.”

“You’re breathing much better than before.”

“Yes.”

“No more talk then, you need to sleep.”

“You’ll be here?”

“Always. Close your eyes, Sweetheart.”

It was almost eight in the evening when, as promised, Michael called in to see Vincent, taking the dreaded bedpan with him. He was prepared to do battle over the wretched thing if necessary, as well as examining Vincent again and letting him and Catherine know the results of the x-rays. However, when he detected no light in their chamber he called out softly. Receiving no reply, he moved the curtain doorway aside and stepped in. Both were fast asleep; Vincent on his back and Catherine on her left side, resting her hand on his shoulder. Michael smiled affectionately. Catherine had about eight inches of the bed to sleep in and looked as if she might fall out at any minute.

Just for a moment he was back in her apartment all those years ago when he had stayed with her for a short while before moving onto the college campus. He’d known she loved Vincent even then, but his own infatuation with her, combined with her kindness, had blinded him to the fact there would never be a chance of him receiving more than her friendship and affection. Vincent had been incredible about his appalling betrayal; forgiving him; standing by him, comforting him. And Michael had learned all over again what a very special person Vincent was…and how lucky he was to have him for a friend.

Doctor or no doctor, Michael felt like a voyeur standing in Vincent and Catherine’s darkened chamber while they slept. He hadn’t the heart to wake them, but nevertheless wanted to reassure himself that Vincent’s condition was stable.  Padding over to the bed, he gently encircled his patient’s wrist with his fingers and checked his pulse. It seemed adequate. Since Vincent’s chest was partly exposed, it was a simple matter for Michael to quickly connect his stethoscope and check his patient’s heartbeat for any irregularity. The doctor offered up a silent prayer that Vincent wouldn’t wake up…even seriously ill, no one could predict how he would react to finding himself being touched in his bed by an uninvited guest.  Fortunately, he remained sound asleep, and this in itself, told Michael a lot about Vincent’s level of exhaustion. However, he found his heartbeat to be fairly strong and pumping at an acceptable speed.

The following morning Catherine slid gingerly out of bed, trying hard not to disturb Vincent. She felt drained; worry and concern for Vincent’s condition having prevented her from sleeping for more than a few minutes at a time, but Vincent had not woken again and she was thankful for that. The more he slept and rested, the more optimistic she felt about his recovery.

When she emerged from the bath chamber after her shower, he was awake. She smiled and sat down beside him, rubbing her freshly shampooed hair with a towel.

“Good morning.  How do you feel?”

His eyes smiled and he reached for her hand. “Good morning. Better. Do you think I might have a shower?”

“Are you kidding?” Catherine laughed, amazed that he could possibly consider the idea.

“You could help me.” 

She leaned forward until they were nose to nose. “Read my lips, Vincent; No way.  If you want to wash, I’ll give you a sponge bath, but you’re not moving from that bed.”

“I think I may have to.”

“For what?” 

Vincent cocked his head on the pillow and gave her a pained, do I really have to explain, look. “Because I wish to use the bathroom.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Catherine shook her head and stood up, reaching for the bottle Michael had left the previous evening. She thrust it under Vincent’s nose and he curled his lip in disgust. “You will use this, Vincent.”

“I will not.”

“You certainly will. Come on, let me help you.” She bent to lift the covers, but Vincent scowled, gave a soft snarl and snatched the bottle from her, turning his back and pulling the covers up over his shoulders. Catherine sighed and moved away from the bed to give him the privacy he obviously craved, and carried on drying her hair until she heard him moving around in bed again.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he muttered.

“Give it to me, of course.” She walked back over to the bed and held out her hand, concerned to see his face was flushed and he was breathing heavily again as he leaned on one elbow, bottle in hand.

“Catherine, please…”

“Vincent, I’m your wife; surely you’re not still embarrassed with me after all these years. I will do anything for you to get you well again, you must know that.” She glanced down at the floor where Michael had left the bedpan. Lifting it a little so he could see it, she added,”Who do you imagine is going to empty this for you?”  She immediately regretted her question when Vincent’s eyes opened in horror and he fell back on the pillow, panting.

“No one. Because I will never use it…not ever,” he growled. It would serve no practical purpose to argue with him at this moment; he was already upset.  So Catherine said nothing; merely sighed and took the bottle into the bath chamber to dispose of the contents.

When she returned, it was to find Michael peeping around the curtain.

“Hi. Okay if I come in? I did call out; I guess no one heard.”

“Of course, Michael, come in. I wasn’t expecting you until a little later. Would you like some coffee?”

“Thanks Cathy, I’d love some.”

“Isn’t Samantha with you?”

“Ah, no, she has some things to do. She’ll be in later though, to check out her favourite patient.” He pulled up a chair and sat close to the bed, dumping his bag on the floor, although his stethoscope was already around his neck in preparation for the examination Vincent knew would follow. “Well, Vincent, how did you sleep?” 

“Well, thank you.” Vincent still scowled fiercely as he tried to get his breathing under control. Michael frowned and stood up, easing Vincent forward and tucking a pillow behind him so that he was in a semi-reclining position. “You seem a little out of breath. There, that will be more comfortable for you. At least you can see what’s going on in the room…when you’re not sleeping,” he added pointedly. He attached the stethoscope and listened to Vincent’s chest. “Your heart rate’s up again.  You haven’t been out of bed, have you?”

“No.  I just used that…that,” his voice dropped as he said the word. “Bottle.”

“Well, that shouldn’t have caused you too much of a problem, with Catherine helping you.”

“Ah…Michael,” Catherine turned from where she was making coffee and ignored Vincent’s warning look. “I’m afraid it’s partly my fault. Vincent wanted to go to the bathroom and when I wouldn’t let him, he got a little upset. You know what a private person he is, Michael. Please understand this is very hard for him.  Anyway, to persuade him to let me empty the bottle, I rather stupidly teased him about the bedpan, and I think the combination of sudden movement and the distress over the bedpan probably caused his heart rate to go up. I’m truly sorry.” 

Michael arched his eyebrows. “Well, you’ll have to use it some time, Vincent.  Better get used to the idea.”

Vincent turned his head away from both of them and muttered into the pillow.

“The bottle is bad enough…but there is nothing either of you can say that will ever persuade me to use that…other…thing. You might as well take it away now.” The other two looked at each other, acknowledging they had a problem.

***

Samantha wasn’t working on anything in the lab or the hospital chamber as Michael had intimated. She was, in fact, engaged in enlisting the help of various children to deliver notes to every single chamber asking the residents to attend an extraordinary general meeting of the Council at ten o’clock that morning, in what had previously been Father’s study, but which had been extended many years ago when Vincent decided he didn’t require it for his personal use, and had become a conference room. Since the meeting was about Vincent, the message obviously couldn’t be delivered over the pipes. Many members of the community dined in the main kitchen, but it was imperative that everyone be apprised of the situation, so Samantha had begun scribbling notes immediately she was dressed.

***

“And so, Vincent, this isn’t your classic heart attack. I can’t even be completely certain of the treatment for your condition, but it seems obvious that it was the final tearing of the heart wall that produced the intense pain. What I don’t understand is how this has happened without you having any prior discomfort. I’m sure the tear is the result of a weakening and thinning of that particular area that would have taken at least a few weeks.”

Catherine was sitting on the bed beside Vincent and they exchanged glances. “There has been some discomfort, Michael. Vincent has had pains in his chest recently, but we both put it down to heartburn. It’s been worrying me and I wanted him to see you but, well…”

“I had no wish to trouble you with such a trivial matter,” interjected Vincent. 

Michael sighed and shook his head. “Well, I wish you had. But then hindsight is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? It would be nice if we were all given a lifetime supply at birth…save us all a lot of trouble. Still, what matters now is how we deal with this, right?” 

Catherine nodded. “Right. So what happens now?”

“Well,” Michael paused, searching for the right words. “I’m hoping that with complete rest the fissure will repair itself.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Vincent asked.

“You’ll need surgery. And I’m not sure that’s something I could handle myself.”

“But you have to! Vincent can’t go to a hospital Above…”

“Don’t you think I know that, Catherine? But heart surgery isn’t like taking out an appendix, or delivering a baby.”

“Peter, then…he could still operate in an emergency, I’m certain!”  Michael shook his head.

“Peter was never a heart surgeon, Cathy. Possibly though, he could recommend someone who might agree to come and operate down here; someone who would keep the secret. But look, we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here. I said the heart might repair itself, and I believe that’s quite possible, but only if both of you truly understand how important it is that Vincent lies in that bed and doesn’t move until the x-rays give us some good news.” 

Vincent took a breath and released it audibly. “I will do as you say, Michael. I have no wish to cause any further worry or extra work for anyone. When will you take the next x-rays ?” 

Michael thought for a moment. “Let’s say…ten days from now. I know that’s probably longer than you hoped, but I can’t do them here. We have to get you back to the hospital chamber for that, so I want to be sure we’ve had a real shot at getting you stronger, Vincent. Okay? Are you both comfortable with that?” 

Vincent nodded and Catherine shrugged her acceptance. “We don’t really have a choice, do we? We’re in your hands, Michael and we trust you.”

“Completely,” added Vincent.

Michael stood up and clasped Vincent’s hand in an affectionate handshake. “Good.  How’s your appetite?”

“I am not hungry.”

“You’re not nauseous, are you?” Vincent shook his head. “Good. Well, pretty soon you’ll need to eat, and when you do I think scrambled eggs, fish, soup, that sort of thing will be good for a few days and then we’ll see how you go. I’ll be back again this afternoon, okay?” 

Vincent nodded his thanks.

When Michael had left, Vincent turned to Catherine seated beside him on the bed.

“This is going to be an unacceptable burden on you, Catherine. Could we perhaps impose on Angelica and Jacob’s time and ask them to help out?”

“Doing what?” Vincent and Catherine looked up immediately and their faces brightened to see their daughter standing in the doorway. In her arms was a huge, furry toy lion with the words; To The World’s Best Dad; printed in red across his furry, golden tummy. “Can I come in?”

Catherine jumped up and held out her arms. Letting the cuddly toy dangle by one ear, Angel hugged her mother, watching Vincent anxiously over Catherine’s shoulder. After a moment she pulled back, smiled at Catherine, and moved to the bed. For several seconds she just stood there, ignoring Vincent’s open arms and looking as if she was going to cry. “Daddy,” she said at last, her voice quivering.  “I thought you were going to die. I – I was so scared…I still am.”

“Then let me hold you,” Vincent invited softly and his voice unlocked the dam of emotions inside his daughter. She flung herself into his arms and hugged his neck, talking and crying so hard that neither Vincent nor Catherine could understand a word she was saying. They exchanged a look over Angel’s head, and as Vincent tenderly stroked their daughter’s back, Catherine found herself blinking back her own tears at the picture they made.

“How is Danny?” Vincent asked gently when Angel’s sobs eventually began to subside and her shuddering lessened.

“He – he’s okay, a bit sore,” she sniffed. “He wants to see you, too.”

“And I want to see him,” Vincent agreed. “But I would rather it wasn’t from this bed. Do you think his desire to see me can be postponed for another day or two when I am dressed and am at least able to greet him from my chair?” He inclined his head to see her face better and there was a smile in his voice as he added, “Or is his need for my company too urgent?” 

Angel offered him a watery grin, and Vincent rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks, removing the trail of tears. “Here, dry your eyes, my darling.” He reached for the tissue and handed her one, teasing her gently about her ruined mascara making her look like a beautiful panda.

Angel blew her nose and managed a wobbly smile. She rubbed the soft hair on his right hand. “I remember Mom telling me you said that to her once.” She looked at Catherine for confirmation and her mother nodded.

“It’s true.  I’d been crying and must have looked a wreck, but your father never seemed to notice those times.”

“Why were you crying?”

Catherine rolled her eyes heavenward. “I have no idea, Angel. It was years and years ago. I used to do a lot of crying back then.”

“About you and Daddy?” Catherine looked at Vincent and their eyes met …remembering. “Sometimes. I don’t really think you want to hear about that now.  I thought you’d come to cheer Daddy up.”

 Angel smiled and hugged Vincent again. “Yeah. But you don’t get out of it that easy, Mom. I love hearing about how you and Daddy fell in love and how Pop tried to keep you apart and everything, but how you kept right on coming back here until Daddy gave in and asked you to marry him. God, it’s so romantic!” 

Vincent chuckled softly and glanced at Catherine. “Is that really how it was? I forget.”

Liar, thought Catherine. Neither of us have forgotten anything about our traumatic, wonderful relationship before we married. How could we? The times we nearly parted, or were driven apart by people who didn’t think our love would survive.  Well, we showed ’em, Vincent.

“I assume this is for me?” Vincent said, reaching for the toy lion which had been dumped unceremoniously on the bed as father and daughter embraced.

“Uh huh,” Angel sniffed, “I know it’s dumb, but no one ever buys you silly things and there was something about him that kind of reminded me of you. I think it was his eyes.” 

Vincent stared at the lion’s yellow and brown plastic eyes and glanced up to see Catherine’s mouth fall open in amazement. Far from being hurt by their daughter’s likening Vincent’s beautiful blue, very human eyes to that of a toy, both felt a tightening of each other’s hearts through the bond, that Angel truly had no awareness of her father’s physical leonine characteristics. Deciding to test that theory one more time, Vincent studied the toy animal, stroking its fuzzy mane with one finger. “You know, you’re right. He does look a lot like me.” 

Angel pulled a face. “Oh, Daddy, really! He’s just a toy lion. But he’s awfully cute and cuddly. I loved him right off and I knew Mom would too.” Before Catherine could agree, Jacob’s head appeared around the curtained doorway.

“I heard you guys talking so I guess it’s okay to visit?”

The next half an hour was spent happily as a family having had to face the possibility of losing its beloved head, and now being forced to confront the reality of the circumstances. Catherine and Vincent explained the situation as they knew it, honestly and fairly, withholding nothing. It had been their policy through the years to tell their children the truth as far as possible without frightening them or making them overly distrustful of others. They had learned to compromise on this, since Vincent was inclined to believe there was good in every human being, but Catherine had lived too long in the world Above to fully accept this theory.  Knowing Jacob and Angel would one day probably spend time and possibly even find love in that beautiful but sometimes frighteningly hostile world, she had been less charitable and tried to instil an awareness in their children that not all people are as good and kind as those that had surrounded them since their birth in the tunnels.

Both Vincent and Catherine had been pleased with the results of their teaching.  The loving, energetic and generous souls that Jacob and Angel had been as children, had endured through the years and they now possessed many of Vincent’s endearing traits together with Catherine’s impulsive good nature and streetwise intuition. The result was two loving and lovable human beings who had made their parents proud.

After about thirty minutes Vincent began to show signs of tiring, and Catherine moved to where her son and daughter sprawled comfortably on their parents’ bed.

“Okay gang, time to wash up if you want to find anything left at lunch.”

“Are you coming, Mom?” asked Jacob, but Catherine smiled and shook her head.

“Perhaps tomorrow. We’ll see.”

“Catherine, you need to eat,” Vincent pointed out. “How are you going to cope with the burden of an invalid husband if you don’t take your meals?”

“You are no burden, and I will eat. I’d just rather be with you, that’s all. We’ll have lunch together.”

“Okay, I’ll have something sent down for you both,” Jacob replied. “Take it easy, Dad…and remember…you need me for anything, I’m here. I won’t be going Above until I know for sure you’re gonna be okay.”

“That goes for me too,” echoed Angel, bending to kiss Vincent and then hugging Catherine. “I’ll do anything you guys need; run errands; help change the bed; dress Dad;  even just be here to keep him company when you need some space, Mom, okay?”

“Thanks.” Catherine smiled. “I promise we’ll let you know when we need you.  Now, off you go; we’ll see you both later.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Vincent closed his eyes and balled his fists around the bed covers. “Did you hear that?  My own child offering to help…dress me.”

“I heard. It made me proud. I would think you’d be too.” Vincent turned his head away. He was in no mood to be rebuked and didn’t have the strength for an argument. The visit with his children, while filled with pleasure, had exhausted him more than he would admit. The emotions of his family; Angel’s in particular, continued to assault him and he lay back on his pillows to rest.

Catherine washed her hands before lunch and then filled the kettle to boil water for tea. Quietly she walked over to Vincent and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t open his eyes, although something told her he wasn’t asleep. Leaning forward she laid a hand lightly over his heart.  It was thumping hard again. “The kids tired you out.”

“It makes no difference. I have all the time in the world now, to rest.”

“I’ll get Michael;  he can give you a shot.”

“No. I will be all right.” 

Catherine stood up and turned towards the door but Vincent grabbed her wrist.

“I said  I’ll be all right. I just need a few minutes.” Before she could respond, a nervous voice called out.

“Catherine, I’ve brought lunch for you and Vincent. Is it okay to leave it outside?”  Hurrying to the doorway, Catherine swept the curtain aside and took the tray from Jodie, one of the youngsters in Vincent’s poetry class. “You don’t have to be afraid, Jodie. Vincent doesn’t have anything catching.”

“I know that. I just don’t like him being sick, that’s all. It’s not the same without him. Can I say hi?” Catherine glanced over her shoulder. Now wasn’t a good time, but on the other hand the child might just manage to shake Vincent’s mood and get him to eat lunch. “Well, he’s kind of tired, Jodie, but if you’re real quick.”

The boy’s eyes lit up and he pushed past Catherine. “Hi, Vincent! You okay or what?” 

Vincent wasn’t sure he liked the sound of the ‘or what’, so he forced a smile he hoped was reassuring, and raised a hand to ruffle the child’s hair. “I’m okay. Just tired. Who is taking your class today, Jodie?”

“Angel, I think. Don’t worry, Vincent, it’ll be cool for a while, but you will come back soon, won’t you?”

“I promise. Now, go and have your lunch and say hello to everyone for me.”

“I will. Bye, Vincent.” The child put one knee on the bed and leaned against Vincent to hug him before dashing off. As he lay listening to the boy’s footsteps diminishing, Vincent felt his thudding heart contract with emotion. Jodie was not a particularly affectionate child. He considered himself far too big now for hugs and kisses, so his spontaneous embrace was particularly revealing of his feelings for Vincent.

Setting the tray on the table, Catherine uncovered the two plates. Each contained a generous helping of delicious, piping hot fish pie; pure white flaked fish with melted cheese, topped with fluffy creamed potato. She realised how long it had been since she had eaten and how ravenous she was, and re-covered one plate while she took the other over to Vincent. 

He inhaled the tempting aroma but then turned his head away. “Not for me, thank you.”

“Please, Vincent; just a little.”

“No. I’m not hungry.”

“But Vincent…”

“I said I’m not hungry. I believe I would like to sleep.” He turned his head away, making it painfully obvious that he had no intention of discussing the subject of eating or anything else. Feeling childishly rejected, Catherine hesitated only a fraction of a second before standing up and returning to the table to eat her own meal.

Two days later Vincent was much perkier. He was able to move around in bed, even sitting up unaided, without his heart rate escalating and making him feel light-headed.  He’d even begun to start reading again.

Angel stuck her head around the curtained entrance at about 8.45 and hurried in when she saw her father was awake. “Hi, Mom. Daddy, how you doing?” She stooped to hug Vincent and kiss his cheek.

“Better. Thank you. I am hoping to get up for a while later.”

“Well, just take it easy, okay?”   

Vincent mimicked a salute. “Okay.”

“I have to go. I’ll see you later.” Angel paused in the doorway and looked back at Catherine. “Ah…Mom, I need to speak with you. Is it okay if I come by after school’s out?” Angel had recently made a career move Below, switching from librarian to teacher of some of the youngest children. The move had pleased Vincent, since he had always thought his daughter was too intelligent to spend her days removing and returning books to their shelves. He hoped she’d eventually take over his literature classes with the older children when he decided to retire.

“Sure.” Catherine smiled. “I’ll be here.”

Catherine gave Vincent his sponge bath at nine o’clock, which tired him since he’d insisted on helping, but he’d rested after that and by midmorning he was comfortably settled with his robe around his shoulders and a book propped up on his knees. He refused lunch again, but drank two mugs of herbal tea, so Catherine tried not to worry when he said he wasn’t hungry, and told herself he’d be bound to feel more like eating as time went by.

They’d spent the afternoon quietly together. Catherine had read some of Vincent’s favourite poetry to him, and when he’d fallen asleep, she’d pottered around their living accommodation tidying and sorting laundry. She’d even written a long-overdue letter to Jenny and had young Kenny take it to the central collection point for mail to go Above. It didn’t go every day, but very often one of the teenagers was happy to take it to the post office as an excuse for venturing Above.

True to her word, Angel stopped by about three thirty, and since Vincent was asleep, Catherine motioned her to the doorway. “We’ll go to your old chamber as it’s so close,” she whispered. “I don’t want to disturb your father. He needs as much sleep as possible.” 

The girl peered anxiously at Vincent over her shoulder as they left, but Catherine smiled, squeezing her arm in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. The two women walked the few yards down the passage to the next chamber; the one Angel had used since she was three years old until she was fourteen and needed something bigger. It was kept as a guest chamber now, and they sat down, facing each other, on the bed.

“What is it? Is something worrying you, Sweetheart?” Catherine asked.

“I didn’t know if I should tell you or not. It’s kind of hard…you know?”

“Is it about you and Danny?” 

Angel glared at Catherine. “Mom, I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you mean!”

“I never said…”

“That’s what you were thinking though, isn’t it? Well, isn’t it?”

“Angel, there’s no need to take that tone. I only asked…”

“I’m sorry…” Angel squeezed Catherine’s hand and sprang up from the bed.  Chewing her fingertips, she began to pace around the tiny chamber. “I didn’t mean to get mad, Mom. In fact that’s what I wanted to speak with you about.” She paused for a moment, touching the china ornaments from her babyhood that still remained on the chest of drawers, and then resumed pacing. “Do you ever get so mad you want to…hurt someone?” She turned to look at Catherine and there was real fear in her eyes. “I mean really hurt them.” 

A thread of unease stirred, low in Catherine’s stomach, and she shifted her position on the bed. “You mean just…anyone, or someone who’s doing something to hurt you.”

“Mostly if someone’s threatening me…or someone I love. Like the other night.”  

Catherine felt as if she’d been preparing for this conversation or one like it, for the last twenty years. The irony was, she’d expected to be having it with Jacob. “We ah…we never actually had a chance to talk about that…what with Daddy getting sick.” She patted the bed beside her. “I’ve really felt bad about it, Angel but I couldn’t leave him…I hope you understand. Why don’t you come and sit down and tell me what really happened.” 

The girl wandered back to the bed and sat down again. “It was weird, Mom. When those men stopped us in the park, they started saying stuff, you know, teasing me about my name, saying they knew we’d been to the concert…can you believe those lowlifes had followed us from the theatre! And then, when they grabbed Danny and me…something happened, I…I don’t know…at first I didn’t do anything, but I felt my stomach churning with so much anger;  so much…hate…for those guys.  They hurt Danny and I knew they were going to rape me, Mom, and suddenly it was like I lost control; lost…myself. I picked up a piece of wood and I started hitting one of the men. I hit him over and over until the wood broke.”

Angel shivered and Catherine put her arm around her, partly to comfort her daughter and partly because she herself felt the need to hold on to something.

“What happened then?”

“It didn’t stop me. I just carried on hitting him with my fists, I even clawed his face. I wanted to kill him, Mom! What’s wrong with me? Am I sick? You and Daddy have always taught us to be kind and good.” 

Holding her tighter, Catherine hoped her words were the right ones. She had no idea how far to go with this conversation and wished with all her heart that Vincent was well enough to face the dilemma with her. “You’re not sick, Angel. Please believe me, you’re not sick. It’s natural to want to hit back when someone you love is being hurt.” 

But the girl shook her head. “Not like that. And…that’s not all, Mom. When Daddy came, he…”

So, the moment had finally arrived. Their daughter had adored and respected Vincent all her life without questioning his outward differences. Now, it seemed, Catherine was going to have to explain that the differences were not merely on the outside. “I think I know what Daddy did.”

“No! You can’t possibly! It was awful, Mom…Daddy acted like an…an-animal! He literally attacked those guys and tore one of them apart. Even the sounds he made were like a…”

“I know, Angel! Please…don’t say any more. I do know.” 

The girl drew back to study her mother’s face. Catherine knew her mouth was quivering and willed herself not to cry. She had to handle this not only with extreme delicacy but with courage. If she screwed up, Vincent might lose his daughter’s love forever. He might anyway…whatever she said, although Catherine had too much faith in Angel to allow herself to believe that. Taking the girl’s hands in hers, Catherine drew a deep breath and prayed to whatever God might be listening to guide her through the next few minutes.

“Angel, Daddy is not exactly like other men. You already know that. No, please,” she insisted as the girl tried to interrupt. “He’s good and kind and the most wonderful man I’ve ever known, but…there is another side to him, a…wild side that is terrifying to watch…no matter how many times you’ve seen it before. Angel ..many years ago before you were born, I used to work in the DA’s office and sometimes the work was dangerous.  There were occasions when certain people tried to hurt me if I came close to getting evidence for a conviction. Well, you know what? Daddy always knew; you know how he always seems to know what we’re thinking, you and I? He’s an empath; always has been, so I’m told. Well, he’d always come to me when I needed his help, and sometimes…to save my life, he’s …hurt people.”

Time for the terrible truth that they’d hoped their children would never need to know.  But lying, covering-up and making excuses for Vincent, wasn’t on. He didn’t need anyone to make excuses for him. He’d never done that for himself.

“Sometimes he’s – he’s killed people.” Catherine paused, giving Angel time to absorb that particular piece of information before continuing. The girl sat, staring into Catherine’s face. She didn’t say a word.

“What he did was wrong, Angel, but it was because of the…wildness inside him.  He can’t help it; it’s something he was born with and he’s fought to control it every minute of his life since he was your age. You can’t begin to imagine how he’s suffered. The guilt over the things he’s done almost killed him more than once.”  Catherine paused, remembering. “There was a terrible time, not long before we discovered I was expecting Jake and…Well, anyway, Daddy became very sick…he lost his ability to deal with the rages. He thought he was losing his mind. It became so bad that he was terrified he would hurt someone down here.” 

Catherine reached out and clasped Angel’s upper arms to underscore the importance of what she was saying. “Angel, he actually took himself off to die; alone, like a-a wounded animal; beneath the catacombs, rather than risk completely losing his hold on himself and possibly hurting any of his friends or family.”

“But he didn’t die. What happened?”

“Pop sent for me. He told me later that Daddy had tried to attack him during one of his rages, but at the last minute he’d seemed to realise what he’d almost done, and collapsed in his arms. He pleaded with Pop to bring me down here.”

“And then?” 

Catherine took a deep breath, realising she was on very private and delicate ground now. “He – he almost died. Somehow, I managed to revive him…get through to him how much I loved him. I think, even then, our bond allowed him to understand that as long as we were together, he would be okay. All he had to do was put his trust in me. And he did.”

Angel eased herself out of Catherine’s grip, and stood up. She walked to the chest of drawers and stood with her back to her mother.

Catherine didn’t breathe for a full minute. “I want you to know that Daddy never hurt anyone that didn’t deserve to be punished to the full extent of the law, Angel.  And in some states those men would have gone to the electric chair…every one of them was vicious and evil. You know how gentle and kind Daddy is. He detests cruelty…almost as much as he detests himself when something like this happens.  And it hasn’t happened for over twenty years. Not since I gave up my job and moved Below to become his wife. He – he hoped that you and Jacob would never know about any of this.”  

Again, silence. Angel stared down at the tiny china ornaments, stroking each one with a finger. Catherine could hear her heart beating along with the ticking of the clock beside the bed. She began to feel uncomfortably warm and knew it was the tension of waiting for Angel’s reaction which seemed as if it was never going to come. “Angel, please say something.” Her voice wavered and she bit her lip. Don’t cry, dammit. You have to be strong for all of us. 

Slowly Angel turned round. “Then this temper of mine; these rages I feel sometimes now; I’ve inherited them…from him.” 

Catherine moved her head up and down once. “It would seem to be the most likely explanation.”

“And did your love for Daddy change in any way when you first found out about this?”

“Ah, no. Well, actually, although we were…drawn…to each other right from the start, we’d only known each other for about ten days or so when it happened the first time. We – we weren’t actually in love then.”

“But you still fell in love with him, even after seeing him do those awful things?”

“Yes.” The reply came out more quietly than she had intended and this somehow, absurdly felt like betraying Vincent. “Oh, yes. I think it was inevitable that I would love him. How could I not?”

“Didn’t you ever see him as some kind of monster?” 

Catherine felt as if her daughter had stuck a knife in her gut and twisted it, and her hand went automatically to her stomach as if to protect it from further injury. “During my years Above, Angel, I ran into quite a few people who would fit into that category…men who rape and terrorize women…people who take innocent human beings and turn them into drug addicts…those who abduct and torture children. And, of course, the wife beaters and people who murder just because they don’t like a person’s color or race. Those people are monsters. Does that answer your question?”

“I guess so. And you still love him.” It wasn’t a question. Angel knew the answer to that.

“More than ever. More with every day of our lives together.”

“Then…”

Oh God, please don’t let them hurt each other. I’ll do anything  Don’t let this destroy our family…

“Then, he’ll understand, won’t he, Mom? Why I feel the way I do sometimes? He won’t stop loving me…will he?”

Catherine couldn’t believe she’d heard correctly. She stood up and took a step towards her daughter. “Stop loving you? Oh, Angel, he’ll never stop loving you; he worships you! He’s been so terribly afraid that you’d stop loving him if you ever found out about this. I had more faith in you.” Catherine wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but suddenly they were in each other’s arms crying and laughing.

“Angelica?”  

They both turned to see Vincent in the doorway. He was leaning against the wall in the doorway, breathing hard, and his face was flushed and damp with perspiration.  Angel ran to him and almost disappeared into the folds of his robe as his arms enfolded her totally.

“How much did you hear?” Catherine asked. 

Vincent looked up from kissing his daughter’s hair and there were tears on his face.

“Enough.” He held out his right arm and Catherine moved under it, holding him around the waist, letting him lean a little, and stroking Angel’s hair as she sobbed against Vincent’s shoulder.

“I’ve been so afraid, Daddy,” she whimpered. “Afraid to tell you, then terrified because I couldn’t.” She lifted a tear-stained face and looked up at Vincent, her expression a heart-wrenching plea for wisdom and understanding from the person she trusted most in the world. “I saw Danny’s face when it was happening; he couldn’t believe it was me. He hasn’t said anything, but I’m so afraid in case it happens again and he dumps me. Daddy, what should I do?”

“Tell him. Danny loves you, Angelica. If he is the man I believe him to be, then he will understand and love you all the more. The…wildness…won’t be so strong in you, my dearest. But it is something you must be aware of and guard against. Tell Danny about me when you think the time is right. You followed your heart when you fell in love with him. Trust him now to be your strength.” 

Angel dropped her forehead against Vincent’s chest. “Thank you. You, too, Mom,” she added, offering Catherine a tearful attempt at a smile. 

Catherine felt Vincent lean on her a little more heavily. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, Sweetheart,” she reminded him. “Come on, let’s get you back. Angel, help me.” Together they helped him back to the chamber and he sank on to the bed, drained and breathless. Angel looked anxiously at Catherine, but her mother motioned to her that it was best now to leave and let him sleep. 

Angel bent to kiss his forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Daddy. I love you.”

“And I love you, my darling.” His voice was weakened by emotion and exhaustion, but he was happier than he had been in days.  They would worry about the possible repercussions of his forbidden excursion tomorrow. She knew he would sleep tonight.

When Angel had left, Catherine lay down on the bed beside Vincent. She, too, felt emotionally bankrupt, but at least one area of their lives was less complicated. A little of the tension of the last few weeks slipped away. Vincent’s premonition had come true. He’d known something terrible was going to happen, and he’d even felt that his children were going to discover that darker side of his personality. Well, he’d been right on both counts, at least in Angel’s case, but thankfully his fears that the knowledge would diminish her love for him, had proved groundless. Maybe this was what Vincent needed to help him get well.

He had fallen asleep immediately, and now Catherine laid her arm across his shoulders and joined him.

***

The next day, after examination by Michael in the morning, Vincent was allowed to get up and sit in a chair for a little while. Catherine hadn’t planned to tell the doctor about Vincent’s unauthorised walk down the passage the previous afternoon, but her husband had used it to argue the point that since he hadn’t suffered any real ill effects, it was logical to assume he’d be able to sit in a chair without collapsing.  Controlling his irritation at having his orders contravened, Michael eventually agreed and even gave permission for a small group of children to come and visit with Vincent.

The visit was a great success. Five of the younger children arrived with Lena at three o’clock, and all rushed up to Vincent, standing on tiptoe and holding up their little faces to kiss him. He reached to lift the youngest, Zoe, but Lena moved immediately to help him, and soon the group looked very much the way Vincent’s lessons always had in the past…him in the centre and surrounded by children, all eagerly listening to what he had to say and chipping in with their own comments and observations.

Catherine and Lena watched, smiling indulgently, but although they chatted amiably, Catherine’s eyes rarely strayed from Vincent, watching for signs of discomfort or tiredness.

When they left almost an hour later, however, Vincent seemed cheerful and even stimulated by the noise and activity of the children. He smiled at Catherine as she fussed around him, drawing his robe more snugly across his chest and waiting to help him up.

“Catherine, I am fine. I don’t want to return to bed just yet. Please…let me just enjoy sitting here. Angelica, Jacob, and Danny are coming later and I promised I would greet Danny from my chair.”

 Catherine patted his shoulder. “Okay. Just so long as you don’t overdo it and then refuse to admit you’re struggling.”

“With you scrutinising me?” Vincent tilted his head. “I can conceal nothing from you, Catherine.”

The teenagers came by as soon as Danny finished work and was able to get Below.  It was the first time he’d been allowed to see Vincent and had been worried about him. He wouldn’t let Vincent stand to shake his hand, but was content to sit and chat with his fiancée and future brother- and parents-in-law. Vincent was pleased to note that he was just as affectionate to Angel as usual, and felt certain the young man would love and support his daughter through any bad times that might arise during their life together. The conversation was animated and covered various subjects of interest to them all. Catherine popped to the kitchen to replenish their supply of coffee and then served it twice during the visit.

Eventually it was time for dinner, and the young people stood up to leave. With his arm around Angel, Danny held out his hand and Vincent shook it warmly. “So long, Vincent. It’s great to see you at last. I’m only sorry that this happened because of us.” 

Vincent shook his head, dismissing the young man’s concern. “Do not concern yourself, Danny. This would have happened anyway sooner or later. Michael has made that clear. And I am on the road to recovery thanks to him and my wonderful family down here.” 

Angel bent to kiss her father. “I love you,” she whispered so that he alone could hear. Vincent had to swallow hard as she moved aside to make room for her brother.

“See you tomorrow, Dad.” Jacob smiled, “and ah, could we talk sometime, maybe next week if Michael gives you the all-clear?” 

Vincent’s expression clouded. “Of course. But we can talk any time, Jacob. You do not have to wait for permission from Michael. I am here for you always.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s no big deal, Dad, honestly. Don’t go worrying yourself, okay?” 

Something in Jacob’s eyes told Vincent that he and Angelica had spoken, and this was his son’s way of reassuring him that he knew, and that it made no difference to his own feelings for his father. Relaxing a little, Vincent clasped Jacob’s hand.

“Whenever you say, and…thank you.”

When they were alone again, Catherine reached for Vincent’s hand. “Come on now, no arguments. You look exhausted and you’re very pale.” 

Vincent sighed and stood up.  Putting her arms around his waist, Catherine looked up at him. “It seems ages since we did this.” She leaned her head against his chest and he put both arms around her, holding her close.

“Five days. Yes, it does. Perhaps tomorrow I could get dressed and we could go for a walk…just around the passages close by,” he added as she looked horrified. “I have to try my wings some time, Catherine. I have no intention of remaining in this chamber for the rest of my life.”

“W-e-l-l, maybe you can get dressed, but only to walk from the bed to the chair, no further. On one condition.” 

Vincent’s spirits sank, just a little. “And that is?”

“That you get into bed right now.” 

He looked down at her sadly. “I suppose if I resist, you will punish me tomorrow by refusing to allow me up at all.” Catherine looked shocked. Removing her arm from his waist, but taking his elbow in case he wanted to lean, they walked to the bed and Catherine turned back the covers. Vincent sat down and prepared to remove his slippers, but Catherine beat him to it. He lay down with a sigh, and she drew the covers up to his waist.

Sitting down beside him, Catherine braced her arms on the bed. “Is that really how you see me, Vincent? As someone who orders you about like a child and punishes you if you disobey?”

“Forgive me, Catherine,” he appealed. “I should not have said that. Of course, I don’t see you that way. I know whatever you say and do is with my welfare in mind.”

“But it still feels like you’re the prisoner and I’m the jailer, bossing you around.” 

He gave her his most beguiling smile. “Sometimes it feels a little like that, yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Catherine, I am the one who should be sorry.” He picked up her left hand and kissed it, holding it to his cheek for a moment. “Forgive me for being such an ungrateful, bad-tempered patient. I have never taken well to that particular role. I cannot bear being ill and having to rely on others to do things for me.  It is …humiliating.”

“I know you see it that way.”

“But you don’t.” 

Catherine shook her head. “Of course not. I love taking care of you. God knows, I didn’t want this to happen; it’s been absolutely terrifying…but they do say every cloud has a silver lining; even one as dark as this. And for me, it’s being able to be with you all the time. Usually I see so little of you in the daytime that it’s kind of nice to have you all to myself.”

“I would have thought I’d be very poor company for you.”

“No, Sweetheart. I never tire of your company, even when you’re tetchy…which you have every right to be at the moment.” 

Vincent turned his head a couple of times on the pillow, amazed at her strength of character. “You constantly surprise me, Catherine,” he murmured. “I feel your love for me now, even more strongly than when we were young and had so many obstacles ahead of us.”

“That’s not so surprising. My love for you is stronger now. We’ve been through so much together; overcome all those obstacles.” Her voice trembled a little and she leaned forward to stroke his cheek. “Words just can’t express how much I love you, Vincent. You are even more precious to me than our beautiful children…and I would gladly give my life for either of them. Does that tell you anything?” 

Vincent sighed and raised his head to meet her lips in a tender kiss. Immediately Catherine moved her hands to support his head, not breaking the contact with his lips. “It tells me,” he gasped, eventually, “that I am the luckiest man in the world and my love for you deepens with every day of our lives.”

Catherine smiled and a tear escaped her eye and fell on to Vincent’s cheek, making him blink. Catherine kissed it away and they both laughed softly.  Moving her hand over Vincent’s chest, she paused to feel his heartbeat. It was certainly thumping hard, but he merely smiled at her concerned expression.

“I am fine,” he assured her. “You haven’t kissed me like that since…before this happened. What you feel is my heart welcoming you back.”

***

Two days later marked a full week since Vincent’s ‘heart attack’ and was looked upon as something of a milestone that had been passed. He’d had no chest pain, his bruised ribs had healed, and he’d learned that he only suffered the distressing acceleration in his heartbeat if he did something silly. He did, however, suffer increasingly from dizzy spells whenever he stood up, but that aside, he seemed to be recovering well, sitting in his chair for up to two hours a day now.  Even Michael was pleased with his progress.

The trouble was, he had still taken no solid food.

Michael had visited every day, two or three times even at first, and Catherine had mentioned Vincent’s lack of appetite to him on the fourth day. He’d advised her not to make a big deal of it and just keep gently tempting him with things she knew he liked. He’d eat eventually, Michael assured her, because he was beginning to use energy and would need to fuel it. He did, however, want to be kept apprised of the situation.

Catherine still protested that she didn’t want to go to the kitchen to eat her meals without Vincent, and so trays continued to be sent down twice a day and taken away again with one meal still untouched.

Catherine was becoming frantic, especially as Vincent seemed disinclined to discuss the subject, so, despite their conversation when Vincent had confessed to sometimes feeling like a prisoner being ordered about, she planned to tackle him about it if he refused food again today.

He’d been reading in bed for most of the morning. He didn’t get up until after lunch because his sponge bath continued to tire him. He’d pleaded to be allowed to go into the bathroom, but both Catherine and Michael had told him that this was out of the question. And since Vincent had promised to try and be a better patient, he’d carried on using the despised bottle, turning his head in embarrassment, even now, when he gave it to Catherine for disposal.

As lunch time approached, Catherine came to perch on the edge of the bed.  Vincent looked up, a gentle smile on his unique features.

“How would you like to get up for lunch today?” she enquired brightly. 

His smile faded. “I am not hungry. You go ahead and eat.”

“But we could sit at the table together, just like we used to when we wanted to be alone some evenings. We haven’t done that in a while.”

“I am sorry. I could not eat.”

“But Vincent, why? I mean, you say you feel well.”

“I do.”

“Then why won’t you eat something? What are you afraid of?” 

He looked up sharply. “Do I have to be afraid of something? I am simply not hungry.”

“I don’t believe you. I believe you are afraid.” 

Vincent picked up his book again and began to read. This made Catherine furious.  Grabbing the book, she tossed it to the end of the bed. “Don’t you dare dismiss me that way, Vincent!”   

His blue eyes glinted with irritation. “Then do not accuse me of lying.” 

Catherine forced herself to calm down. Making him angry was just about the worst thing she could do to him right now. Still, she had feelings too, dammit. “I’m sorry, Vincent, but I’m so worried that you keep saying you’re not hungry. It’s not surprising you feel dizzy so often. Why won’t you talk to me about this? I thought we told each other everything.” 

Making an effort to match her apology, Vincent shifted his position in bed and looked at her, a hint of something strange in his eyes. “What is it that you think I’m afraid of?”

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

“I cannot guarantee that, but I’ll try not to be.” 

Catherine supposed that would have to do, and took a deep breath. “I think you’re worried that if you do eat and for some reason you should throw up, then the strain on your heart might be too much. I think you’re afraid you might die, Vincent.”  

To her surprise, Vincent actually smiled and took her hand. “Catherine, if it will make you feel any better, I promise you faithfully, no such thoughts have entered my head. Now, will you please go to the kitchen and take your lunch with the others. You have neglected them shamefully for a whole week. Please? For me?”  

She considered his words, relieved that her fear was unfounded, but still unhappy about his not wanting to eat. “No. I’d rather stay here with you.”

“Catherine, please.”

“No. I won’t leave you.” Vincent leaned his head back on the pillow in defeat.   When the tray arrived, Catherine ate alone at the table again.

Another small group of children and three adults came to visit after lunch when Vincent was up and sitting in his chair. The tension between himself and Catherine temporarily forgotten, he really seemed like his old self, reading pieces of poetry aloud and cuddling the children as they clambered onto his lap. Again though, he was very much aware of Catherine watching him the whole time as if he was suddenly going to drop dead. He found the loving scrutiny illogically disturbing.

At Vincent’s request, Jacob stayed on after Angel left, later that afternoon. He pulled his chair closer to his father. “Have you spoken to Angelica about what happened…that night?” Vincent asked.

“Yeah. Before she spoke with you and Mom. She was worried, Dad. She needed to talk to someone and she couldn’t go to either of you then, with you being so sick.”  He shrugged his shoulders. “She came to me. I’m glad she did.”

“But the two of you have spoken again?”

“Yes. She told me everything.”

“I see,” Vincent observed. “And how do you feel about what you have learned?  About the…shameful part of my nature…the part I’ve struggled to control for most of my life.”

“It’s not a problem Dad, believe me.” 

Vincent’s eyes glittered angrily. “How can you say it’s not a problem? I killed a man a week ago. I ripped him limb from limb until he was just a mass of blood and bones!”  

Catherine came to Vincent and put her hands on his shoulders. “Vincent, please don’t get upset or I shall ask Jake to leave.”

“I am not upset!” Vincent felt his heartbeat increasing and used all his strength of will to force down the anger. Catherine’s hands were still on his shoulders, soothing and drawing out the tension he felt.

“Look, Dad, I’m not saying I wasn’t shocked at what Angel told me. When I said it’s not a problem, what I meant was, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a terrific father…the best. Whatever else you are, you’re good and kind…fair and loving and you always know how to make us happy when we’re down. That’s the father I know.”

“What about the one you don’t? The part inside me that will never give me peace… even after all these years,” he added, almost to himself.

“I haven’t seen it for myself, so I guess I can’t comment.All I know is, Angel said if you hadn’t done what you did, those men would have raped my sister and probably killed her and Danny. There isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t have used all the weapons at his disposal to protect his daughter. Sounds to me like you already have your weapons built-in, that’s all. I’d have had to use a gun.” 

Vincent held out his hand to clasp his son’s. “Oh, Jacob, I pray you will never need to hold a gun in your hand.”

“Me too, because the outcome would be just as final as what you’re blaming yourself for.” 

Vincent acknowledged the truth of that with the merest inclination of his head.

“Jacob, have you ever felt the kind of rage we’re talking about? Maybe if you see some act of cruelty Above?”

“I’ve seen things that make me mad, sure. Who hasn’t? I’ve even stepped in sometimes to help, but what you’re talking about…what Angel described that she felt…no, I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite the same thing. Maybe it’s just as well…we both know I could kill a man just by hitting him.” It was true. Jacob had Vincent’s strength but not, it seemed, the same dark force that caused the latter so much heartache.

“Can you…accept me as I am, Jacob? Or is what happened that night…what Angelica has described to you…going to change what we have between us?” 

Jacob stood up and pulled Vincent to his feet, drawing him into a bear hug. “Dad, I love you, and nothing’s going to change that.” His voice was muffled against his father’s hair, but Vincent heard every word. Jacob pulled back and both men had tears glistening in their eyes.

“I’m gonna go now before Mom kicks me out for tiring you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  He headed for the doorway and paused for a moment to look back at Vincent. “It may not be quite the same for me, Dad, but if I’d had a gun the other night, there’d be two dead bodies up there, not one. And, who’s to say what would have happened if I’d been there with only my fists to protect my sister?” With that, he shrugged his shoulders and disappeared through the doorway, leaving Vincent standing with Catherine at his side holding on to his arm. She looked up at him and smoothed his hair, ruffled by the embrace with their son.

“I’d say we have two pretty wonderful kids, wouldn’t you?”

Vincent couldn’t speak, so he pulled Catherine into his arms, held her tightly and nodded against her hair.

***

The following day, Vincent felt more restless than he had at any time since his illness. He was comfortably settled in bed, with everything he might need within easy reach; books, writing paper, pen and radio. But these walls which had represented home and safety all his life now seemed to be closing in on him. His eyes darted about the chamber. Even the air felt oppressive to him. His sanctuary, which had been the base of so much happiness for the last twenty years, felt more like a prison.

It had been eight days. He looked at the clock. Two forty-five. Catherine wouldn’t be back until at least three-thirty. They’d been together twenty-four hours a day since his illness, and she’d watched him constantly all that time. She didn’t even know he was aware of it, but it was driving him crazy.

This afternoon, at Vincent’s insistence and after eliciting repeated assurances from him that he was feeling fine, she’d finally agreed to meet with Rebecca about arrangements for the coming Winterfest, promising him she wouldn’t be more than an hour. It shamed him that he’d felt a vague sense of relief when she’d left, because he realised he was viewing the time without Catherine as ‘free’.

He sighed. ‘Free’. What a strange word to use. Freedom was the very luxury he’d never had in fifty-three years. Yet compared with how he was forced to spend his time right now, Vincent knew he’d give almost anything to turn the clock back to a little over a week ago and appreciate that freedom he’d actually enjoyed then. If only he could go walking in the park; fill his lungs with fresh clean air and run through the trees, gathering droplets of moisture on his hair from the low, leafy branches as he swept along. Impossible, of course, firstly because it was daylight and secondly, because even Vincent himself knew he wasn’t up to flying through the park, his hair blowing in the wind the way he used to, years ago, on his way to meet Catherine.

And…there was another reason he was relieved to be alone for the very first time;  an intensely private and personal one. He glowered at the tip of the despised bedpan which seemed to jeer at him from beneath the bed. He’d finally gotten accustomed to using the bottle and had become marginally less embarrassed about having to hand it over to Catherine for disposal, but, true to his word, he had not used the bedpan. In a strategy born of sheer desperation, he’d refused all solid food for eight days in the hope it would avoid the need to use it, but his empty stomach now felt bloated and painful. He rubbed a hand across it, wincing. A decision could be postponed no longer.

Throwing back the bedcovers, Vincent slowly, carefully put his feet to the floor and pushed himself upright. He waited for the dizziness he knew would come, and when it did, it was in a wave of blackness that made him cling to the back of the chair next to the bed. It was getting worse. He and Catherine both knew it and they knew why. Eight days without food was far too long, especially when one was recovering from a serious illness. It also took longer to pass than it had at first, and Vincent was glad he was alone as he hung onto the chair, swaying and taking long, deep breaths. He prayed he wasn’t going to pass out. He would never hear the end of it from Catherine if someone should stop by and find him on the floor.  Eventually, however, he opened his eyes and the spinning room had stabilised. He took a few experimental steps forward. The bath chamber was only a short walk and after all, he had to get there sometime.

Vincent accomplished his mission in the bathroom without too much difficulty and was feeling much more comfortable when his eyes strayed to the bathtub and its old-fashioned shower spray above. He hadn’t been able to bathe himself properly since the morning of his illness. Catherine had brought a bowl of water, soap and washcloth in daily and washed him as best she could, dressing him in a clean nightshirt each morning, but he still felt horribly dirty and smelly.

Suddenly he couldn’t stand it any longer; pulling his nightshirt over his head and stepping into the tub, turning on the taps for the shower. The warm water felt glorious cascading down his body and he tilted his head back to feel it refreshing his face and hair. It was while he was lathering himself from head to toe with the shower gel, that his heart began to race again. Vincent ignored it, knowing he was probably being too vigorous, but reasoning that he’d be through in just a few minutes. He’d go straight back to bed and rest and no harm would have been done.

He stood for several seconds allowing the water to rinse his body and hair, then turned off the tap. Rubbing the water from his eyes he looked around for a towel.  It was just out of reach on the rail and Vincent silently cursed himself for not having the sense to ensure it was close by before he stepped into the tub. Dripping water, he leaned out over the bath, stretching as far as he could. He could almost touch it; just another inch and…he stretched further…and further still until his fingers just brushed the pile on the towel. Even before he managed to hook a claw under it and yank it towards him, Vincent knew he’d made a mistake. There was a sudden sharp pain in his chest and a tightening as if someone were drawing a steel band around it. His heart hammered harder and faster until it felt like the only thing keeping his chest from splitting open was the invisible constriction around it. He managed to get out of the bath and wrap the towel around his waist, before slumping on the edge holding his chest with one hand and bracing himself with the other.

“Vincent?” 

He hadn’t realised she’d returned, but suddenly Catherine was in the doorway. Instead of reacting as he’d feared, she sat down beside him, speaking quietly.  “You’ll catch cold in here. Can you stand?” He was having trouble breathing evenly, but nodded and straightened. She wrapped another towel around his shoulders and held his arm, ready to support him if necessary. They went back into the main chamber and Vincent sat down heavily on the bed, angry at his stupidity and a little afraid of the further damage he may have inflicted upon his heart.  Catherine sat beside him, gently drying his upper body with the towel and patting the ends of his hair.

“You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

“A little.” He sat up straighter, squaring his shoulders and rubbing the left side of his chest.  The pain had shifted up a gear with the walk from the bath chamber, and every accelerated heartbeat was laced with fire. Catherine was frightened; he could feel her trying to suppress it, but it was there in her voice all the same, and he was furious with himself for causing her further concern. Hadn’t she been through enough already, without him making things worse?  He hoped his ridiculous pride wasn’t going to set his recovery back.

“Lay down, Vincent.” He didn’t argue. Catherine rearranged the pillows and eased him backwards. She lifted his legs, whisking the towel from his waist, and drew the covers part way up his naked body. “I’m sending for Michael.” 

Vincent opened his mouth to protest but Catherine was already tapping out a message on the overhead pipe. Vincent closed his eyes, fully occupied with trying to regulate his breathing and bring the pain under control.  Suddenly an unreasonable sense of injustice at their situation seized him, and he experienced a powerful urge to pull Catherine against him and hold onto her until he felt stronger.  To his dismay, angry tears gathered behind his eyelids, and he turned his head away, disgustedly, in case they should fall. All he needed now to make him feel a hundred times worse, was a display of self-pitying tears, and he squeezed his eyelids together even tighter.

Vincent felt the bed move and knew Catherine was beside him, but he didn’t yet trust himself to speak or open his eyes. He wanted to cry; to rage; to pound on the walls until his hands bled; to roar his anger to the world but he hadn’t the strength to do anything. Then he felt Catherine’s hands on either side of his chest, gently stroking over his ribcage, upwards, outwards and back again. She seemed to instinctively find the site of the burning pain and zeroed in on it. She couldn’t physically heal him of course, but her palms were warm, and to Vincent’s raw emotions it felt as if she had reached inside and was massaging his injured heart.

“You’re holding your breath, Sweetheart,” she said quietly. “Try and relax…come on…”  The combination of her hands and her voice soothed Vincent both physically and mentally and he released a painful breath. The sound that accompanied it was a choked combination of a growl and a sob. Neither one of them had spoken for nearly ten minutes. Then, as the fire in his chest began to cool a fraction, Vincent reluctantly opened his eyes.

“What use am I to you and our children in this condition, Catherine,” he muttered.  “Perhaps it would have been better if I had died.” 

She stopped stroking him and he felt the tips of her nails curl into his flesh. “I don’t believe you said that.”

“If I cannot even take a shower without this happening…”

“It’s only been eight days!”

“It feels like eight months.”

“I’m sure it does, but that’s not the point. Why did you do it, Vincent?” There was reproach in her voice and he tried to look away, but she touched his face and urged his reluctant gaze back to hers.

“To see if I could.”

“Now you sound like a child.”

“Perhaps that is how I feel.” He sighed and made an irritated noise in his throat. “I needed to use the bathroom and afterwards I…I felt the urge to bathe. I have not felt really clean for over a week now.” Some of the spark returned to his eyes and he twisted a corner of the sheet in a clenched fist. “I had to start walking about sometime, Catherine. Today seemed…appropriate.”

“Because I wasn’t here.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. I told you I would never use that…thing.”  

Catherine frowned and Vincent could almost hear the cogs of her mind whirring.

“You mean you needed to… Is that why…”

“Yes,” he said in answer to her unfinished question. “By not eating, I had hoped to avoid the need for a confrontation…with…” His eyes flicked to the object of hatred beneath the bed and he practically spat out the next word,”…that. Unfortunately, things did not work out quite as I had planned.” 

Understanding and compassion softened Catherine’s expression and she blinked back a tear. “Oh, Vincent, you idiot. Your pride really will kill you one day. Surely you must have realised how weak you’d be after eight days without food? You’re very lucky you didn’t faint in the shower. Do you realise how serious it could have been if you’d fallen and hit your head?”  

Before Vincent could reply, Michael called out from beyond the doorway. “Vincent, Catherine…can I come in?”

“Yes, Michael…please do.” Catherine jumped up to welcome the doctor and he strode in, breathless from running and an anxious look on his face.

“I’m sorry; I came as quickly as I could; I was setting young Terry’s leg after a fall when I heard the message. What is it, Vincent? Not feeling so hot?”

“I had some pain begin a short time ago and Catherine insisted on sending for you.  It is my own fault, Michael I tried walking around a little for the first time today and I believe I must have over-extended myself.” 

Michael pulled a face. “Hmm. You’ve been making such good progress, I’m surprised to hear that. Show me where the pain is.” Vincent touched the left side of his chest and Michael snatched his stethoscope from the bag. “Okay, and what were you doing when it started?”

“Taking a shower.” 

Michael’s mouth dropped open and he paused, his stethoscope dangling. “Taking a shower?! Are you out of your mind?” 

Catherine stepped forward in an attempt to help Vincent out. “I was upset at first, too, Michael, but as Vincent pointed out, he had to try moving around sometime. I just wish he’d waited until I got back. I ah…I’d gone to help Rebecca with the candles,” she added in explanation. “It’s the first time I’ve left him, and I was only away for about an hour.” 

Vincent shook his head on the pillow. “The fault is mine, Michael.” 

The doctor silenced them both by raising his hand, and pressed the silver disc of his instrument to Vincent’s chest. “I’m not interested in whose fault it is; only that it happened at all, and now you’re paying the price for blatant stupidity. Walking slowly around the chamber shouldn’t have caused this kind of reaction, but godammit,Vincent;taking a shower! Are you tired of life, is that it?” 

Vincent opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it.

“Now, breathe in, as deeply as you can, and don’t breathe out again until I tell you.”  Vincent complied, staring at the ceiling and feeling like a child again, being ordered about by the younger man. Frowning with concentration, Michael repeated his instructions several times, listening intently through his instrument. After a moment or two he shook his head, exasperated.

“Your heart rate’s off the wall again. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that, you must be feeling pretty bad. How’s the pain now?”

“Manageable. Less severe.” 

The doctor dived into his bag and produced a hypo which he charged with a phial of clear liquid and then discharged into a vein in Vincent’s upper arm. “This is the same shot as I gave you the first day. We’re  going to wait fifteen minutes, and if you don’t feel better, I’m taking you right back to the hospital chamber and you’ll stay there until I’m satisfied that your heart is repairing itself. Okay now…I need you to describe to me exactly what you were doing when the pain started, Vincent.”

Guiltily, Vincent related the story again, taking care to leave out the reason for going to the bath chamber in the first place. He knew that Michael would have no patience with his modesty and need for privacy. Father, although a doctor himself, had always striven to protect Vincent’s feelings and sensitivity. His role as a loving and sometimes overprotective parent sometimes warred with his role as a physician where Vincent was concerned, but Michael was tougher. It wasn’t that he was any less caring or compassionate, and Vincent was a very dear friend; but as far as he was concerned, all bodies functioned in more or less the same way — including Vincent’s – and you just had to get on with whatever was needed, without a lot of pussyfooting around. There simply wasn’t time to cater to some people’s delicate sensitivities. Samantha had tried to make him understand that Vincent was a special case because he was different to other men, and sometimes she knew her husband made an effort, but the bottom line was, he did whatever was necessary to get the people well – however unpleasant it might seem — and he expected his patients to do as they were told.

When Vincent had finished Michael looked as if he’d like to shake him.

“Dammit, Vincent!” he exploded, thumping his knee with a fist.  “I’ll bet you’ve blown to hell all the healing that’s been going on over the last several days.

“I’m sorry.”

“So you damn well should be.”

The pain was letting up, but Vincent’s heart was still trying to batter its way out of his chest. and he felt a stirring of anger at being spoken to that way. “Michael…I have apologised for my foolishness. I also sincerely regret any extra work I may have placed upon you or, indeed, Catherine, because of it. But you are right…I am not feeling particularly well at this moment, and I’d appreciate not being shouted at like a ten year old boy.” 

Michael glared at his patient and opened his mouth to retaliate, then closed it again. He replaced the stethoscope and hypo in the bag and, tight-jawed, attached the blood pressure cuff to Vincent’s arm. He pumped quickly, allowing the needle to fall, then repeated the procedure.

The silence in the room was charged with tension, and all three felt uncomfortable.

“I’m going to make some tea,” Catherine said, brightly. “You’ll stay for a cup, won’t you, Michael?” 

The doctor was about to refuse when Vincent touched his arm briefly. “Please join us.”

Michael puffed his cheeks, audibly releasing a breath. “Okay, sure.” He rose and walked around the chamber, obviously trying to calm his anger. After a few minutes, he pulled up a chair near the bed and offered Vincent a wry grin. “Sorry.  How’re you doing?”

“Better. And I promise to behave from now on.” Vincent smiled and Michael patted his shoulder.

“Good. Well, I’ll stick my neck out here and say I think what may have happened, is that there’s been a breaching of the partially healed tear in the heart wall. I can’t be certain, of course, without x-rays, but my guess is that this is what caused the pain. Another few days of complete rest should put you back on track, Vincent, but I do mean, complete rest.”

“When may I try getting up again?”

“I’d say another four or five days at least. And only then if you’ve taken adequate nourishment over that period. You are eating properly, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Vincent and Catherine chorused, and Michael stared from one to the other.

“Okay, okay, but…” he warned, gratefully accepting the mug of tea Catherine offered, “if you don’t, I guarantee you’ll keel over, and if you fall on these solid rock floors, the jolt your heart will receive will set you back indefinitely.” 

Vincent shifted in bed to drink his tea as Catherine plumped the pillows behind him. “Thank you, Michael.  I will remember.”

“He’s having chicken soup for supper,” Catherine informed, “aren’t you, Sweetheart?”

“So I am…told.” Vincent glanced up furtively, but Michael had risen to sit in a chair, and he thought he’d probably gotten away with it.

***

Vincent stayed in bed for the next four days as directed, not daring to get out of it and having chicken soup and steamed fish forced down his throat whenever Catherine deemed it necessary. Consequently he was not in the best of humour and practically growled at everyone who stopped by. His behaviour was so totally out of character that the adults were troubled by it and stopped coming. The children, however, were unfazed and continued to visit, for which Catherine was immensely grateful, since only they seemed able to restore Vincent’s good humour, at least temporarily.

Exactly three weeks after his ‘heart attack’, Vincent was taken back to the hospital chamber where he was x-rayed and ordered to spend the night. And it was to everyone’s profound relief the following day that Michael announced the tear in the wall of Vincent’s heart had fused and appeared to be completely healed. Catherine threw her arms around Vincent and they hugged for two whole minutes before turning to Michael and Samantha.

“Oh thank you, you two!” Catherine cried, throwing an arm around each of them. “You’ve been wonderful. And so patient!”

“Indeed you have,” echoed Vincent. “I have always been told I am not the easiest of patients. There are so many restrictions on my life anyway, that I find it almost impossible to accept others due to unaccustomed ill health.” He waited until Catherine had moved away and then stepped forward to embrace Michael and Samantha. “Know that you have my enduring gratitude and admiration. Forgive me?”

“Oh, Vincent.” Samantha grinned. “There’s nothing to forgive. We understand how hard this has been on you and Catherine.”

“That’s right,” Michael added with a smile. “And now you simply have to take things slowly for a while and gradually build up to a normal life again. I’ll want to check you over, say, every two weeks for a while.”

“What is he allowed to do?” Catherine asked.

“Whatever he feels like…within reason, of course,” Michael added. “Obviously nothing strenuous; no physical exertion for a while yet. You’ll know immediately if you’re overdoing things. Thank heavens you don’t go clambering about on high buildings these days.” Everyone laughed at Michael’s reference to the way Vincent and Catherine had conducted their courtship.

“I imagine I would be ‘grounded’ for some time.” Vincent smiled.

“Damn right. But seriously, start taking gentle exercise; a short walk to begin with and perhaps going a little further each day. Oh, and I’ll tell your literature class that you’ll be back in harness in a few days, okay?”

Vincent breathed a sigh of relief. He’d missed his classes more than anything else.

“Thank you, Michael.”

***

Encouraged by the results of the x-rays, Vincent’s health and spirits underwent a startling change. The very next morning he ate a bowl of oatmeal before rising at nine, and then took a long, leisurely bath, knowing Catherine was close by if he needed her. In the event, he discovered that as long as he took his time and did everything slowly, the dizziness was kept to a minimum. And since he was now free to visit the bathroom whenever he wished, he began to eat. His stomach had shrunk due to lack of food and at first he couldn’t manage very much at a time, but he heaved a sigh of relief when Catherine told him the hated bottle and bedpan had been returned to the hospital chamber, and the knowledge seemed to improve his appetite.

Within a few days he was eating almost normally, with the result that he felt much stronger. The dizziness only occurred first thing in the morning and passed off quickly. He and Catherine also took their first walk together outside their own chamber.

They strolled to visit Rebecca, whose accommodation was only about thirty yards down the passage. Catherine had warned that for his first ‘authorised’ trip out, they should visit with friends nearby in order that Vincent could rest before returning.  He arrived, only a little out of breath, and absurdly pleased with himself, to take tea with his old friend and her husband.

Rebecca had married quite late in life at 43 when she fell in love with a new Helper who’d agreed to supply candle wax to the community. Dennis had recently served three years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and it was a tribute to his strength of character and courage that he’d determined to begin again by opening a small business. With a minimum of bank-financed capital, the only premises he could afford had been on the Lower East Side of the city, and although he’d eventually paid off his loan and begun to make a profit, it hadn’t been a particularly pleasant or peaceful existence. As a new trader in the neighbourhood, he met with hostility from his peers, and during the first week received a visit from a representative of the local protection mob demanding money in order to avoid a tragic ‘accident’ to his shop. This had reduced his meagre profit each week and he was beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake trying to set up on his own.   When he met Rebecca three months later and the two had fallen hopelessly in love almost at first sight, he’d been only too willing and grateful to move Below, giving up his premises and working from home, even learning how to actually make the candles and thus being able to take an active and useful part in the community.

***

After supper that same evening Vincent was restless again, but for an entirely different reason. Far from tiring him, he felt exhilarated by the visit to Rebecca and Dennis. It had been hugely enjoyable spending time with good friends. Vincent felt excited at the prospect of his new freedom and it had stimulated not only his mind, but his body. He found himself thinking about other things he’d not been able to do recently.

At Catherine’s suggestion he was sitting in his favourite chair listening to music.  He’d chosen a peaceful, classical movement which was supposed to be restful, but that wasn’t how Vincent felt at all.

Catherine was turning out the drawer of their bureau. She had lugged it out onto the floor, glaring fiercely at Vincent when he bent to help her. She seemed to be constantly up and down, sorting, re-positioning some things and discarding others.  Her figure was as perfect as ever, and the jeans she wore looked as good if not better than many of the younger women. She was actually fuller breasted than she had been before the children were born, and neither she nor Vincent had any complaints about that. He was reminded of this now, as the open neck, loose denim shirt she was wearing slipped forward each time she bent to her task beside Vincent’s chair. Her still honey-brown hair was tucked behind her ear on one side and she frowned in concentration as she worked, a pair of tortoiseshell-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose. Vincent found himself becoming aroused as he watched her.

Reaching out a hand, he touched the side of her neck, rubbing a finger gently around her ear. She stopped what she was doing and smiled, tipping her head sideways to give him a larger area to work on. He obliged her for a few seconds, then moved his hand slowly downwards inside the neck of her shirt until he felt the curve of her breast. He heard her soft intake of breath and felt ridiculously pleased.  His moving, caressing fingers found her nipple and she shuffled backwards into the ‘v’ between his legs, letting her head fall back to press against the mounting pressure in his pants. Vincent leaned over her, his mouth a heartbeat from hers. He could feel her quickening breath meeting his and stroked her throat tenderly with his left hand while the other closed over her breast, massaging the taut nipple with his thumb. She gasped and he lowered his other hand to locate its twin. The enlarged neck of her shirt surrendered to his probing, and two poppers snapped open, enabling Vincent to fill his palms with Catherine’s exquisite, satiny breasts.  They felt cool and delightfully heavy against his hands as he lifted them from the cradle of her bra, eliciting a moan of pleasure from her.

“Vincent, please don’t,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse.

He moved his mouth to her ear, flicking his tongue around its edges as he whispered back. “Oh, you don’t like it?” he teased gently. “Catherine, I love you. I need to love you properly…I’ve missed you.” The stimulation between his legs was swelling and throbbing with each heartbeat, and this time the pumping in his chest was a sensual, primal urge rather than something to be feared.

Catherine hooked her arms around his legs and spread her knees in unconscious invitation. Digging her fingers into his thighs she arched backwards, searching for his mouth as she pressed her breasts harder into his hands. Their lips came together and the bond exploded with all the passion denied them in the last few weeks. Had either of them wanted to pretend otherwise, the bond would have betrayed the pulsating, burning desire of each for the other.

Keeping hold of her, Vincent slipped on to the floor, turning her in his arms as he slipped the button on his jeans and reached for his zipper. He had to free himself from the restriction of his jeans before he did something he hadn’t needed to do for over twenty years.

“Vincent no! NO!”

Suddenly Catherine rolled over and out from under him. He stared at her, stunned.  What had he done?  He couldn’t possibly have hurt her in any way. “What? What is it?”

“We can’t do this! I’m sorry, I should never have let things go this far.”

“Catherine, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please…I need you…come back to me!”

“No, it’s too soon. You’re not fit.” Vincent couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  He watched, dumbfounded, as Catherine straightened her clothes and sat back on her heels beside him, her breathing ragged. She pressed her palms against highly flushed cheeks. 

Vincent rolled over onto his back, his chest heaving. “Catherine, please don’t do this to me…”

Her voice shook a little when she spoke. “I have to be strong for both of us, Vincent. It’s much too soon! Gentle exercise, Michael said! And the way we need each other is not gentle. It’s for your own good, Sweetheart.”  

Realising she was deadly serious, Vincent dragged himself into a sitting position against the bed, leaning his head back as he made an attempt to throw his body and mind into reverse. “This, is good for me?”  

Catherine got slowly to her feet. Bending, she held out both hands to Vincent. “Let me help you up.”

“I can manage.” Ignoring her outstretched palms, he rose and began to pace the chamber.

“Vincent look, I – I think we both need to calm down and relax. It’s almost ten…let’s go to bed. This is your first real day;  ou have to be tired.” 

Vincent whirled around. “Tiredness is not what I am feeling. I think you know  what I am feeling!”

“Well of course I do! Do you think it’s any easier for me? I want you just as much, Vincent. I was aching for you…every single nerve in my body is still tingling. It’s only because I love you so much that I stopped us doing what might be terribly dangerous for you. It’s too strenuous…please understand?” 

Vincent stared at her, torn between the conflicting emotions knotting his insides.  He wanted to throttle her for making him feel like this; he also wanted her hands to soothe away the awful throbbing in his groin which felt like an iron bar pressing into his stomach. But he couldn’t do either of those things. He’d kill himself before he’d ever lose control and do the first; and foolish male pride refused to allow him to beg her to do the second.

He stalked about for a few minutes, knowing she was watching him, worrying about him. Eventually she said hesitantly, “Why don’t you come and lie down, Vincent? I could…”

“No!”

“I’m sure that would be all right. Please?”

“I said, no!” Even though my heart is screaming yes! He darted a glance in her direction. She looked crestfallen;  guilty for putting him through all this.

“Then, is it okay if I use the bathroom?”

“Of course. Why should it not be?”

“I ah, I just thought…knowing how you feel, you…you might…”

“When I use the bathroom,” he snapped, “it will be to ready myself for bed. I am not a sixteen year old boy any more, Catherine.”

“No. Okay, I’ll go then.” She walked carefully past him, almost as if she was afraid he was going to grab her and throw her to the floor. The thought hurt him and a sob filled his throat to battle the anger. He knew he was behaving badly. She was only thinking of his wretched heart. If only he could go Above and take out his frustration by walking in the park. Fill his lungs with clear, fresh night air would soothe him and calm all the throbbing, aching in his body. But he couldn’t do that to her, he decided, with a sigh. She’d only come looking for him. And if he didn’t make it; if he found he wasn’t yet up to the long walk to the surface and had to turn around and come back, well then he’d have made a complete fool of himself. No, it was better to do as Catherine had suggested. Lie down, try and relax and eventually sleep.

Vincent removed his vest and tunic and partly unbuttoned his shirt. He sat down on the edge of the bed and toed off his soft, fringed boots. Lifting his legs, he moved across to the far side of the bed and lay down on his back, staring at the orange stained glass window which had been a symbol of his small area of privacy all his life.

He released the zipper on his jeans and breathed deeply several times. Despite the tension and sharp words between them, he was still fully erect and his stomach hurt. He laid a hand on it, rubbing gently and trying to think peaceful, gentle thoughts. After a moment or two Catherine returned from the bathroom. She undressed quickly – putting on a floor length, high-necked nightgown — Vincent noticed, glancing surreptitiously over his shoulder; and padded over to the bed.

“Aren’t you going to undress properly and get under the covers?” she asked. 

He didn’t turn his head. “Not right now. I will later.” He felt the bed move and sensed through he bond that she was trying to think of the right thing to say and do.  She didn’t know whether to lay close and hold him as they always did, or whether she should keep her distance.  He felt her unhappiness at the situation; her sorrow that they’d argued; and her own, fading sexual frustration. He was still staring at the window but he felt her eyes on him. She seemed to have decided to stay on the far side of the bed.

“I’m really very sorry, Vincent. I should never have allowed things to go so far. It was just so wonderful to feel your touch…but I never meant to hurt you or make you feel bad. I swear I was only thinking of you, and how something as strenuous as making love would affect your heart.”  

Vincent reached for her hand and squeezed it, although he still didn’t face her.

“I know. Forgive me for behaving as I did. I have no excuses…there could be none for the way I spoke to you.” 

“Nothing to forgive. Are you okay, Sweetheart?

“I’m fine. Go to sleep.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

***

Since his eyes were closed, Catherine studied Vincent’s profile in the half light of the chamber. With his head tilted back slightly on the pillow and his hair away from his face, his Adam’s Apple was clearly visible in his neck. She wanted to lean over and kiss it; to feel against her cheek the tiny pulse that beat just where his neck and shoulders joined. Her eyes travelled down to the deep swell of his breast.  His breathing was calmer now. He was wearing a thigh-length shirt with buttons through a gathered yoke to mid chest. The first three buttons were undone now and his hand had pushed the shirt up at the front to rest on his stomach. She remembered now, of course…on the very few occasions through their marriage when Vincent had been frustrated, it had always caused a pain in his stomach.  Remorse sliced through her and she clamped down on it for fear it would distress him. Angry with her he might be, but that wouldn’t stop him worrying about her.

He took a huge breath and held it for a moment, his chest rising and making Catherine ache to feel it beneath her hands. He expelled air slowly between parted lips and she wasn’t completely sure if he was still awake or not. All she could think of was how she had disappointed and upset him and how very much she wanted to hold him…touch his body…stroke him…

Instead, she lay rigidly on her side of the bed and made a mental promise to them both that she wouldn’t let their feelings for each other rage out of control again.  Not until she was absolutely certain that Vincent was one hundred per cent fit. It was up to her now. She had come so close to losing him; she would make certain he did nothing that could possibly jeopardize his health again.

***

As the weeks turned into months, two, then three, the tunnel community noticed a subtle change in Vincent. While his physical health had ceased to be a major concern as he became stronger with every day, his mental state was beginning to worry them. He and Catherine ate all their meals in the dining chamber, arriving and leaving together, but he had a tense, drawn look about him.

Even the fact that his regular x-rays continued to show complete healing of the heart wall, didn’t seem to bring him much joy. Catherine, on the other hand, seemed to receive the news with a huge release of tension each time, and Michael cut back the check-ups to once a month, sure that Vincent would respond to some positive action. His spirits didn’t improve, however. He seldom laughed any more, and even raising a smile was hard work. He taught his classes as diligently as he always had, painstakingly preparing lessons in advance, but even the children noticed the change in him. He’d always helped the slower students by giving them individual attention after school, and although he still did this when it was considered absolutely essential, at Catherine’s insistence it was only on Saturday mornings and for a maximum of two hours. She was adamant that Vincent’s normal working day should not be extended for any reason.

One evening, two of the younger men arrived to ask if Vincent could possibly help them out by taking a turn on all-night sentry duty because so many of the regular sentries were down with the flu. Catherine lost her temper and called them selfish, uncaring individuals who didn’t give a damn about Vincent. They looked shocked and backed off, apologising for their insensitivity. Vincent had been acutely embarrassed and wanted to help, but Catherine became so emotional that he acceded to her wishes. He followed the two men outside and quietly apologized for his wife’s outburst, impressing upon them that he wanted to be kept informed on the situation with the flu virus and assuring them the situation would be reviewed in the morning.

He regularly walked to the surface now, but Catherine always went with him and made him promise he wouldn’t ask to go further than the entrance. Sometimes he yearned to go alone just so that he could run. He was quite certain that he could, and wanted to know if he would be as fast as he’d been before his illness.

One day Mouse arrived and asked Vincent to accompany him to the Crystal Cavern. A group of children had expressed a wish to visit the place where, many years before, Vincent had found the crystal that Catherine still wore around her neck.  He brightened at the invitation, but Catherine immediately looked worried.

“It’s a long way, Vincent, and there’s climbing involved. You know I hated you going alone before, and now…”

“You would prefer me not to go.” She nodded, offering an apologetic smile to Mouse, whose shoulders slumped at the news that his best friend would not be accompanying him.

“Not difficult, Catherine,” he urged, hopefully. “Vincent and Mouse made journey lots of times. Vincent not alone. Six children, Kipper…and Mouse!” He obviously thought that would clinch the situation. He was to be disappointed.

“I’m sorry, Mouse, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” She turned to her husband. “I can’t stop you going, Vincent, but I’d be worried sick all the time you were gone.” 

He sighed and looked at his semi-literate friend of so many years, raising his hands in defeat. “Knowing that Catherine was worried would make me poor company, Mouse. Forgive me?” 

Mouse shrugged and patted Vincent’s arm. “Okay good. Another time.”

“Another time,” Vincent promised.

A freakishly warm spring hit Manhattan in mid-April, with temperatures soaring to 75 degrees. The tunnels, so chilly during winter time, seemed to hold heat during the summer months and it was then that the Mirror Pool was at its most popular.  Children and adults alike had been lured to its midnight blue depths throughout the years for fun, recreation, and exercise. Vincent had always been one of its most frequent visitors. Even as a toddler, Father had instructed Devin or one of the older children to take him along, firstly allowing him only to paddle at the edge, and then, as his confidence grew, personally taught his adopted son to swim. Vincent had become the strongest and most able swimmer in the community; a title he still held, even at 53.

As he and Catherine fanned themselves in their chamber one afternoon, Vincent suggested a revitalising swim. “Maybe Jacob and Angelica would join us…and Danny, too, if he’s Below.”

“Mmm. It would be nice,” Catherine agreed. “But…” 

Vincent leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees. “But what? What can you possibly object to?”

Catherine smiled quickly. “N-nothing. No, of course not. We’ll go.”

“Sure?”

“Positive. Let’s find our swimsuits.”

Within fifteen minutes they were on their way to the Mirror Pool with Jacob, Angel, and Danny, and Vincent’s spirits lifted at the prospect of a family outing. It reminded him of when the children were little and he’d taught them to swim, supporting their stomachs on his hands under the water as they’d tried to perfect the leg and arm movements he’d shown them. They’d both learned quickly and Jacob was streaking across the width of the Pool by the time he was four years old. His parents had been so proud, even though Catherine had held her breath until he’d safely reached the other side. Angel had been less confident but had persevered nonetheless and was soon swimming around the shallower parts of the Pool.

Danny had never seen Vincent in less than his normal everyday clothes, so Angel, sensitive as always to her father’s feelings, quietly explained en route that while Vincent had a physique most men half his age would envy, he did have extensive hair covering most of his body and he hated it. Danny nodded in understanding and squeezed his fiancé’s hand.  When the family undressed to reveal swimsuits underneath, he gave his future father-in-law no more than a cursory glance before diving into the Mirror Pool shouting, “last one in buys the ice cream!” Laughing, the others raced down to the edge, but as Vincent raised his arms to plunge in, Catherine touched his shoulder.

“Take it easy, it’s not a race, Sweetheart…you don’t have to prove a thing.” 

Vincent stared at her and a tiny nerve twitched at the edge of his eye;  a sign of irritation, but his voice remained patient when he replied. “I’m aware of that, Catherine. I simply want to swim.”

“Okay, fine. Just don’t overdo it, that’s all.” 

Clamping his lips together firmly, Vincent moved smoothly into the deeper water and was soon swimming strongly to the other side of the Pool. After about ten minutes of laughing, splashing, and fooling about like kids, Jacob called across to Vincent.

“Hey, Dad, why don’t we show Danny our high dive act?” Vincent glanced up to the overhanging rock high above their heads from which they’d been diving together since Jacob was ten years old.  Vincent had been doing the same thing, without Father’s knowledge, since he was one year younger even than his son. He opened his mouth to call back when Catherine grabbed his arm.

“Please, Vincent, don’t do it.”

“Why? It’s perfectly safe, you know it is.”

“No, it isn’t. Not any more. Probably never was.”

“What does that mean?” 

Catherine trod water and lowered her voice so that Angel and Danny didn’t hear.

“It means I never liked you and Jacob doing it. It scared me every time, but at least then you were…”

“I was what? Say it, Catherine!” The tears that filled her eyes stopped him, and with enormous difficulty he forced himself to clamp down on his exasperation.  Ducking underwater to compose himself before he spoke, Vincent surfaced, whipping his head back and forth and sending droplets from his hair everywhere.  He called back to Jacob.

“Why don’t you show Danny, Jacob?  I’ll probably just slow you down, an old man like me.”  

Jacob roared with laughter. “Are you kidding me? What’s with this ‘old man’ stuff?  Hey, Danny,” he yelled, pointing at his father proudly, “this guy could’ve taken Olympic Gold in diving, even last year.

“I’ll bet he could,” Danny replied, but at a nudge from Angel, he glanced at Catherine and apparently picked up on the fact that something was going on between the two of them.

“Mom and I need Dad and Danny down here,” Angel shouted, laughing. “You know how easy it is to get cramp in this cold water. Why don’t we all watch you?  You’re such a show-off, Jake, you’ll love that!” It wasn’t true and they all knew it, but Jacob shrugged and hauled himself out of the Pool to climb up the rocks.  Watched by the others, he executed a beautiful dive right into the center of the Mirror Pool, disappearing for several seconds before surfacing with a huge grin.

“Wow!” Danny exclaimed. “That was something else! You guys are gonna have to teach me how to do that.”

“It will be our pleasure, Danny,” Vincent said. “But not today. First we must be sure you have the stamina and lung capacity to hold your breath for at least half a minute, preferably longer. The dive has to be made into the very center of the Pool at its deepest point, and you will be underwater for a good thirty seconds or more, depending on the velocity with which you hit the surface.”

“Got you.” Danny nodded. “Well, I was swimming champion at school in my final semester, so I should be okay.” 

Vincent clapped Jacob on the back, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. “Well done, son. That was a magnificent dive.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Jacob grinned. “Lucky for me you chickened out, or I wouldn’t have looked so good.” Vincent dropped his eyes as had always been his habit whenever he received a compliment, but he couldn’t prevent a small smile. His son’s comment had helped to assuage his disappointment at having to pull out the most exciting part of their swimming ritual.

As the family made their way back to the home chambers later, Angel whispered something to Danny and he nodded, moving ahead to walk with Jacob.

“Ouch,” Angel exclaimed. “I think I have a nail in my shoe…Daddy, will you help me?” Vincent turned and walked back to where his daughter hopped on one foot.   He took the shoe and examined it in his hand.

“Are you okay, honey?” asked Catherine.

“Sure. You go ahead, Daddy will fix it.” With a smile, Catherine fell into step between Jacob and Danny and continued walking. Vincent went down on one knee and held out the shoe. “I can find nothing sharp either inside or outside, Angelica,” he commented. “Let me see your foot.”

Resting her hand lightly on his head as she offered him her foot, she smiled down at him. “There’s nothing wrong with my shoe or my foot, Daddy. I just wanted to walk with you,” Angel confessed. Vincent glanced at her before slipping the shoe on to the slender foot he held in his palm. “I feel like Cinderella,” she giggled, holding out her hands to help him up, unrepentant of her innocent deception.

“I hesitate to think what that makes me,” Vincent replied, arching his eyebrows, “certainly not Prince Charming.”

Angel slipped her arm through his and he covered her hand with his own. “You’re Mom’s Prince Charming…and my hero.” 

Vincent looked down at the lovely face of his daughter, sparkling with life and open affection for him and couldn’t suppress an amused grin. “I cannot pretend to agree with either of those descriptions, my dearest child, but I appreciate the sentiments.”

“Oh, you! You never could take a compliment.” They walked in companionable silence for several seconds before Angel spoke again. “Daddy, look don’t get mad but I’m worried about you. You seem kind of down these days, you know? I don’t mean today…you’ve seemed more like your old self this afternoon, but most of the time now, well…everyone’s noticed it. I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you. Is it to do with…” She hesitated, wondering if she was probing too deeply, “…your illness?”

“Yes…and no.”

“Tell me.” 

Vincent sighed and rubbed the hand on his arm. “I am feeling a little like a prisoner.”

Angel said nothing, waiting for him to explain.

“I didn’t have a heart attack, Angelica. My heart was damaged, and the symptoms it produced made it appear like a heart attack.”

“I know. Michael explained it to me. But you’re okay now, aren’t you? It won’t happen again?”

“There is no reason why it should, although even Michael cannot be one hundred per cent sure because it was something that just happened, apparently for no reason. But yes, I am perfectly fit again now; the damage has repaired itself and my heart is completely healed and as strong as ever.”

“Then I guess it’s Mom, isn’t it? She won’t let you do anything.” Vincent was surprised at his daughter’s perception of what was happening.

“I’m not blind, Daddy;  just because I have Danny now and we’re preparing to live our own lives that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped watching, listening, and caring about what happens with you guys.” 

Vincent appreciated Angel’s concern and in one way he yearned to confide in someone…who better than his own daughter? Yet, he was uncomfortable about discussing Catherine in such a way; it seemed disloyal. “Your mother is afraid.  She doesn’t completely believe that I am well. She has always sought to protect me with the strength and fierceness of a lioness with her cubs. There have been times in my life when, without that strength, I might not have survived. How can I add to her anxiety now by going against her to pursue my own selfish interests.” 

Angel stopped walking and suggested they sit down. Perched on a rock, she looked at Vincent intently. “It’s not selfish to want to live your life as fully as you can, Daddy. I love Mom too, and I know it’s because she’s so crazy about you that she’s acting this way. But you have to tell her, Daddy. You have to fight back. You can’t live the rest of your life the way she wants you to; never having fun; never climbing, diving or using your energy; never running in the park. Why, I’ll bet you and she never even…”

“That, is none of your concern, Angelica,” Vincent warned.

“Okay, okay, I was out of line. I’m sorry. But trust me, Daddy, you have to do something about this before you give up wanting any more. If you like, I’ll have a talk with her.” 

Vincent shook his head. “No. I appreciate the offer, but this is something I have to figure out myself.” He rose from the rock and held out his hand. Angel took it and moved under his arm, hugging him around the waist. “Just don’t let it go on too long, Daddy.”

That night, when Vincent climbed into bed, he breached the strategic gap that Catherine always left between them now, to snuggle close to her. He felt and heard her intake of breath as he placed a hand on her stomach.

“Vincent…”

“Don’t say it, Catherine, please,” he whispered. “It will be all right, I promise. I love you…I need you, please…feel how much I need you.” He took her hand and placed it against his erection, willing her self-imposed restraints to crumble and take him in her arms. “I’m so lonely without you, my love.” The rigidity in her body started to soften and for an instant he thought he’d managed to penetrate her iron willpower. Then, almost as quickly as he’d felt her relax, she snatched her hand away from his body.

“No, Vincent! I’m not going to be responsible for you getting sick again. Please, please go back over to your own side of the bed and don’t ask me to do this!”

Vincent felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.  He rolled away, defeated, and lay on his back, his insides churning with too many emotions to deal with. All he could do was close his eyes tightly and breathe through gritted teeth until sleep eventually carried him away.

***

Two weeks later they were both in their chamber; it was the middle of the evening and Vincent was marking some homework handed in by his class earlier in the day.  Catherine had just made some tea and she brought over a cup and stood it on the desk beside him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Are you going to be working on that much longer, Vincent?”

“I will be a little while yet, why? Is there something else you wish me to do?”

“Only have an early night. You’ve been working too many hours today. You’re looking very tired.”  

A pencil snapped in Vincent’s hand. “How can I be tired?  I have done nothing to make me tired. All I am doing every day is taking classes and fetching library books.” 

Catherine sat on the edge of the desk and sipped her tea. “Well, that probably explains it. The library is almost half a mile away, Vincent. Couldn’t you get one of the children to get the books you need? You could give them a list and they could take it in turns. Or I could go for you.” She put a hand on his forehead, apparently not noticing how his jaw had tightened. He jerked his head away impatiently and her hand was left hanging in mid air.

“So…you would even have me stop walking now.”

“Of course not. We can walk together whenever you want.”

“How far?” Vincent demanded.

“What do you mean?” 

Vincent scraped back his chair and stood up. “I mean how far! To the Chamber of the Falls?”

“Well, perhaps not that far. The Mirror Pool? Vincent, are you feeling all right?  You seem very tense this evening.”

“Yes! No. I don’t know!”

“What’s wrong, Vincent? Tell me, please. If you’re not feeling well I’ll send for Michael. You’ve probably worn yourself out with the children…”

Vincent felt the frustration building inside him. His hands clenched as he listened to Catherine’s words. For the first time in his life, he felt as if her love was smothering him. He paced around the chamber like a caged tiger, feeling the tension building and escalating until he could contain it no longer. Whirling on his heel he swept his arm across the desk, scattering its contents everywhere; his cup of tea splashed over the homework papers before careering off the desk; ornaments crashed to the floor and books flew through the air to smash against the walls.

“NO! NO MORE!”

Catherine jumped, gasping, and her hand flew to her throat. “Vincent, please calm down…you mustn’t get angry!” 

He spun around, his eyes glittering with rage. “Because if I do, I might drop dead…isn’t that right, Catherine!”

“Vincent, don’t…please.” She stood up and started towards him, but he jerked backwards and turned away as if he couldn’t bear to be comforted, hugged or touched by her.

“Catherine, I cannot live like this any more…don’t you understand? My life might as well be over now for all the joy it brings me!” He raised his arms to waist level, uncurling his fists and balling them again as he tried to retain a measure of control.  God, he was hurting her with every word. This woman who loved him more than her own life, and for whom he would walk through fire, was standing there looking as if she was afraid of him. But Vincent was like a toy that had been fully wound up and now had to keep running until the motor ran down.

“Every day of my life you ask me how I feel…I tell you I’m fine but I can see in your eyes that you don’t really believe it. You won’t let me work…even the simplest of tasks. You say I mustn’t overtax myself. You restrict my outings with the children in case they exhaust me; I haven’t walked beyond the edge of the park because you’re afraid if anyone saw me and I needed to run, that my heart would give out! You won’t let me make love to you…you won’t even touch me any more…”

“Because I’m afraid you’ll have a heart attack and die while we’re making love…!”

So…it was out; she’d finally said it;  the fear she’d tried to keep hidden without success. Catherine’s hand went to her mouth in an effort to stifle the sobs that were shaking her body. “I want to keep you s-safe, Vincent,” she stammered lamely, “protect you…”

“Safe? Protect me…from what? Living? From the physical joy we used to share?  The pleasure we know it’s possible to give each other just by the touch of a hand;  the excitement of sharing an orgasm so powerful and all-encompassing that it feels as if we are one being! You want to protect me from all of that;  in case I have another heart attack!”

“Yes! It’s true…it could happen!”

“It’s not true!” Vincent brought his fist crashing down on the top of the desk and they both heard the sound of wood splintering. “Michael has told you over and over…my heart is not diseased…it was damaged. His x-ray equipment confirms that the damage has repaired itself. My heart is as strong as ever. And even if that was not so…would you have me live the rest of my life pampered and cosseted like a new born baby? Devoid of real feelings! Catherine…I cannot live my life in this cocoon you have woven around me. It is suffocating me…killing me with the strength of its fibres.”

He tugged at the neck of his tunic as if he really was being suffocated. Catherine wanted to touch him, he knew, but she didn’t dare. He was unpredictable now. Her sorrow showed in her eyes and she pressed a hand to her breast when she replied.

“Fibres woven with love, Vincent;  not from a need to control or possess you, but from a cold, paralyzing fear that I might lose you.” He dropped his clenched fists and rested them on his hips, trying to diffuse his anger with a cleansing breath before he answered.

“I understand that. I do  I have tried hard to be patient…to reverse our situation in my mind…endeavour to determine my own feelings and actions if I were afraid of losing you, but it is too painful, too overwhelming for me to dwell on.” He dragged in a long breath, releasing it audibly; feeling the anger draining from his body and being replaced with a mixture of emotions. “Catherine, I know how much you love me…”

“No, you don’t. You couldn’t. Vincent, when I remember that night; how you looked; how much pain you were in…and later, how I felt when Michael said we were losing you, I feel sick to my stomach. Sometimes I wake suddenly in the night for no reason and I watch you while you’re asleep. Sometimes…if I can’t hear you breathing…I reach out and put my hand on your chest just to feel your heart beating.” 

Vincent’s eyes opened wide and he gaped at her. “I never knew you did that.”

“No. Well, it’s not the sort of thing you go around telling people. At least not if you want to stay on their guest list.”

In that moment, Vincent had never loved Catherine more. It filled him; almost hurting him with its intensity. He could almost feel it leaking out of him. Tears filled his eyes and he fought not to blink and let them escape. He slowly walked towards her and raised his arms. Her response was a choked sob as she fell against him, her arms clasping him around the waist so tightly that he marvelled anew at her strength. Vincent found he needed to be acutely aware of the power in his own arms at that moment. He wanted to crush Catherine to him until her body was part of his. He compromised by holding her closely with one arm and stroking the other over her back and shoulders, breathing in the scent of her hair as he whispered garbled words of love and remorse against the top of her head.

He felt her sag slightly in his arms and immediately tightened his grip to support her, afraid she’d fainted. He held her back slightly to check, and was relieved and a little surprised to see that although her eyes looked unfocussed, it wasn’t from indisposition. Her still beautiful face was smiling, and Vincent bent his head to tenderly kiss away the tears from her cheeks.

“I’ve made you cry with my harsh words, my dearest love. Can you ever forgive me?” 

Catherine brushed aside his apology and slid her hands under his tunic, rubbing his back through his shirt. “I’m the one who needs forgiveness, Vincent; I’ve made your life a living hell with my selfish fears. I promise you…I promise you, Sweetheart, I’ll be different; I’ll make you happy again…” 

Inhaling quickly he raised his eyes to the ceiling and closed them for an instant, overwhelmed by the intensity with which her love pulsated through the bond. This time there was no stopping the tears and when he looked down at her again, they slid over his velvet cheeks, only to be kissed away by Catherine as she mirrored his own gesture a few seconds earlier.

“You have brought me nothing but happiness since the first moment I saw you,” he whispered, struggling to keep his voice even. “And I do remember how very hard it is…to love someone enough to let them go their own way. To trust in that person not to be reckless, not to take risks…to allow them their freedom.”

“That was how you felt when I was a young, crusading D.A. who thought she could change the world.”

He nodded, remembering it all so clearly. The anguish he went through day after day when he knew she was working on a particularly dangerous case. “I was so terribly afraid that one day when you needed me, I might not reach you in time.”  He shuddered. “One night, my fears almost came true.”

“Oh, Vincent, I caused you so much heartache back then.” Catherine moved one hand to his face, studying it anxiously as she caressed his cheek and smoothed back the strands of hair dampened by his tears.

His voice was tinged with sadness when he replied. “And I am causing you so much now.”

“We may have inadvertently caused each other pain, Vincent, but how many people can claim as deep a love as we share. I wouldn’t trade any part of what we have…the pain or the joy.”

“Nor I.”

As they continued to stare at each other, it was the most natural thing in the world that they pressed closer. Catherine’s arms slid over Vincent’s shoulders and around his neck and her toes barely touched the floor as he crushed her to him. At the feel of their bodies moulding together for the first time in almost three months, all the feelings they’d never fully been able to suppress, exploded within them and Vincent scooped Catherine into his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her on her back in the middle and straightened to wrench off his clothes, but she was on her knees before him in an instant.

“No, let me,” she breathed, tearing at his tunic and shirt until they lay, tossed carelessly, in a state of disrepair on the floor. Catherine gasped and opened her mouth against his chest, nipping and sucking at his flesh through its silken covering. His heart pumped so hard that he had to open his mouth to breathe, reaching around her back and shredding her shirt and bra in one fluid movement of his hand. Her breasts fell against him and she ground them into his lower chest.  He took a moment to savour the sensation, then swiftly unzipped her jeans and, sliding his palms inside to clasp her buttocks, eased them off. She was already working on his pants, wrenching off the button and easing her hand inside to protect him while she tore at the zipper with animalistic fervour. Suddenly the part of Vincent that had continued to rise and swell for her each night as he lay on his own lonely side of the bed, found its resting place at last. There was no time to lay down as they each gasped when he slipped easily inside her; not because she wasn’t ready for him; but because she was, and the sensation stole the breath from each of them.

“Oh God, I’ve missed you, Vincent!” Before he could respond, Catherine arched backwards over his arm and pulled his head down to her breasts, begging him without words, to complete the sensations he knew were reaching fever pitch.  Vincent buried his face in the satin softness, teasing each nipple with his velvety nose before making her moan with the exquisite torment of his tongue and lips. He even used the points of his teeth, very carefully, to prolong the torture.

Trusting him to support her completely, Catherine, in turn, moved her hands slowly down his chest and stomach until she reached the point where their bodies joined.  He lifted his head briefly, anxious not to bite her…knowing where she would touch him next and waiting for it. Her hands moved lower, gently grasping and massaging the round fullness at the base of his maleness and he growled in ecstasy.

Their release after so long apart, was simultaneous, swift and so utterly overpowering in its intensity that they fell in a heap on the bed, with Catherine on her back. When he tried to move his legs, Vincent discovered that they were trapped by his jeans midway down his thighs; such had been their lust for each other that they had never actually gotten him naked. With a growl of irritation, he wrenched them off and collapsed back on the bed, laying his cheek on Catherine’s belly and enclosing her breasts with his hands. He loved to feel the way they rose and fell deeply as she recovered from their passionate encounter. It never failed to thrill him the way Catherine responded to their lovemaking.

***

Over the years, and with Catherine’s love, he had learned to look in the mirror she used for her hair and make-up, without feeling the film of pain his reflection had always produced previously when viewed in the Mirror Pool. In fact, since their marriage, she had made him sit at the mirror every few months while she trimmed his hair.  He’d hated it at first, refusing to meet his image and instead, studying his hands. He knew this had worried Catherine but saw no reason to torment himself unnecessarily by forcing himself to confront what he saw as his inhuman reflection.

They had been married about four months, when one morning before he’d finished dressing, she’d announced his hair was looking ratty around the ends again. He’d sighed and agreed to endure another trim. He was in the process of buttoning his shirt when Catherine stayed his hand.

“Why not take it off?  The hairs will fall inside and make you uncomfortable.”  He’d given her a wry smile and parted the edges of his shirt to remind her of the thick, honey blond hair that covered his upper chest. “I do not think I shall notice a few extra hairs, Catherine.” 

She’d shrugged and stood behind the chair as she waited for him to take his seat before the dressing table mirror. After a moment or two spent brushing and combing the thick mane of gold, she’d lifted it back over his shoulders and put her hands on his jaw to encourage him to raise his head. Reluctantly he’d complied, dragging his eyes upwards to meet hers, then his own in the mirror.

“What do you see, Vincent?”

“You…about to cut my hair.”

“No, you know what I mean. What do you see when you look at yourself?”

“I prefer not to.”  

Catherine had moved her hands to the sides of his head and now eased it back to lean against her midriff.  Then she’d stroked her fingers down his cheeks and over his throat, gently massaging the front of his neck.

“I’ll tell you what I see. I see my wonderful, incredible husband. Not only the man I love more than anyone or anything in the world, but the man who makes my heart beat faster just looking at him.” Catherine had moved her fingers to his shoulders and begun to knead them gently, easing away the tension that looking at his reflection always produced. Vincent had blinked, mesmerised by his wife’s words and the way she was touching him as she spoke them.

“What I see makes me lose concentration. I’d screw up at work right in the middle of a meeting sometimes because I’d suddenly visualise your naked body. I’d want to touch you so badly I could almost taste it…I’d imagine you making love to me and I’d actually feel the heat in my skin. Sometimes I even had to excuse myself and go splash cold water on my face.”  

Vincent could hardly believe what she was saying. He’d stared at her, uncomprehending, in the mirror, feeling his own body responding as Catherine slid her hands inside the neck of his shirt and began, slowly and sensually, to massage his chest. He’d felt his pectoral muscles tighten at the sensation.

“Catherine,” he’d breathed, attempting to lighten a situation over which he felt he was rapidly losing control. “That face you see in the mirror is not a handsome one.  Most women would be repulsed by the thought of my touching their bare flesh.”  She’d responded by opening his shirt completely and nibbling his right ear lobe as she raked her fingers through the silky, curling chest hair.

“Some, maybe,” she’d whispered, “but you’ve more sensuality and sex appeal than is good for just one man, Sweetheart, and I guarantee you there’s a lot of women out there who would see it if they met you. But…” she’d continued huskily, between assaults on his ear, “just let any of them try taking you away from me. I’d show you a Dark Side you just wouldn’t believe.” 

He’d smiled shyly then. “Catherine, you need have no fear. I am yours alone…body and soul…forever.”

She had moved around the chair then and dropped to her knees in front of him, opening his legs wider by wriggling between them. Vincent’s head had fallen back, panting for breath, as she’d unbuttoned his pants and released the throbbing source of his masculinity. She’d buried her face against it, kissing and stimulating him…making him swell rapidly with the most delicious sensations he could imagine. His heart had thundered in his breast and Vincent had tangled his fingers in her hair, pressing her face tighter into his groin and enjoying the feel of his continued expansion beneath her cheek.

His hair had continued to grow that day, but so had his confidence in his appearance, and although he still found it awesome that she held such passion and lust for him, he knew it was true and accepted the knowledge with quiet gratitude.

***

“Wow, what was that?” Catherine asked eventually, stroking his hair. 

He raised his head and shunted up the bed, coming up on his elbows until they were face to face. “I have no idea. It just seemed to…happen, didn’t it?”

“Whatever it was, it was pretty wonderful. Do you feel okay?”

“I feel wonderful…rejuvenated. If I was at the Mirror Pool now, I’d leave those youngsters standing.” 

Catherine chuckled and lifted her head to kiss his mouth. It was so unlike him to boast.”Well. of course. you would! My fears were never that you couldn’t do anything, Vincent. Only what might happen if you did.”

“I know. I understand. But you won’t be afraid any more?”

“I’ll try very hard not to be. And when I am, I won’t show it.”    

Vincent smiled. “I will know anyway.” 

Catherine acknowledged the truth of his words with a movement of her head. “But I won’t let it become an issue between us. I won’t try to stop you doing anything you want to do. If the way we made love just now didn’t affect your heart, then surely nothing will!” 

Vincent rolled over onto his back and stretched. “I didn’t say it wasn’t affected.  Actually, it’s pounding. Here, feel…” Catherine shot up, leaning over him and laying her hands on his chest. Vincent blinked his blue eyes as innocently as he knew how, and watched her face change.

“You! Vincent, you frightened the life out of me!” 

He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back, making her squirm with pleasure. “If you had allowed us to make love sooner it would have saved you much anxiety,” he commented, “instead of leaving me alone and bereft every night, aching for you.”

“Don’t you think I ached for you too? God, Vincent, I practically had to tie my hands behind my back each night to stop myself from throwing caution to the winds and hurling myself on top of you.” 

He sighed and tilted his head on the pillow. “The foolish things we do in the name of love.” Catherine leaned down and they kissed, taking all the time in the world to renew the familiarity with each other’s mouths.

“I have heard,” Vincent purred at last into her ear, with the air of one trying hard to make his ploy sound credible, “…that celibacy can induce a heart attack.”

Their kiss seemed to leave Catherine unable to focus clearly on anything but Vincent’s face but she managed a hoarse reply. “Is that a fact? Well, then we should both do everything to protect ourselves, don’t you think?”

“Indeed I do.”

THE END

‘AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER‘