After the Ashes by Ginny Shearin

Chapter 5

Catherine dreaded the next conversation with her father.

Vincent insisted that her father know everything, including the worst of what had happened in the past two years, as well as what he could see for himself or glean from others. Under no circumstances did Vincent want Catherine’s father to think he and Catherine had kept anything else from him – especially information as potentially devastating as his methods of protecting Catherine. It wasn’t a subject Vincent relished discussing on any terms, especially with the father of the woman he loved, but he believed it necessary.

The last thing Catherine wanted was for her father to see Vincent as some kind of monster, and considering the mood Charles was in lately, he might jump at the chance to find another argument against him. It had to be done, though. Vincent was adamant about honesty. He intended to speak to Charles himself, but Catherine insisted that she would talk to him first.

She was there in her father’s apartment again. After the initial part of their exchange, which was going better at that point than the last one had, Catherine took a deep breath and exhaled sharply – a clear indication to the father who knew most of her habits well that she had something important to say, and was determined to get it said.

“What?” Charles asked.

“There are other things you need to know.”

“Good God, Cathy. More secrets? Will they ever end?”

“They’ll end here. I promise…but these secrets are more like nightmares. I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to even look at either of us again without....” She lowered her head, obviously ashamed of something. “Please don’t stop me until I finish. I don’t know if I can tell you everything if I have to hear your response before I’ve finished.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Yes.” She intended to speak clearly, but her answer came in a hoarse whisper. Gathering  her strength again before she continued, she asked, “Do you remember one of my first cases…the man who was behind the attack after Tom’s party?”

“Do you think I could forget how hard you worked to build the case against your attackers? I was so proud of you. Your witness was killed, wasn’t she? But not the same way as her killers. Didn’t they find them downstairs? Something else had killed them. You were lucky not to be there.”

“No more now, Dad. Okay? Just let me talk.”

Catherine saw her father’s expression change suddenly. He had apparently remembered the details of how the men had been killed, and she could imagine that Charles’ blood ran cold…that he suspected what was coming.

“Somebody had followed when Carol was escorted to the brownstone. When I went to take her some groceries later, I found her. She was dead, and the killers were still in the house.”

“None of the reports mentioned that you were there.”

“No interruptions…remember? No one knows I was there after she died. I ran from those men, tried to hide, used everything Isaac had taught me…and I had almost gotten past them, when one of them caught me. Vincent had felt my fear when I first realized they were there. He knew I was in danger. That hole in the basement wall…he knocked it down coming to help me. I was fighting as hard as I knew how, but there were three of them. The same men who had attacked me before were there…attacking me again. Vincent killed them all...no weapons...just his strength…and his hands. It was over in a couple of minutes. I was in shock…and so was he. He’s protected his family Below, but he’d never done anything quite like that before. He was so ashamed.… I looked around at all the bodies, the carnage in our path… I knew what he’d done, but all I could think of was Vincent. I couldn’t let him be caught there.”

Catherine glanced up at her father through the hair that had fallen toward her face.

He looked pale and shaken. She need not worry about more interruptions. He seemed speechless and probably couldn’t have interrupted her right then if he had tried.

Feeling consuming shame, she immediately looked down again before going on. “It wasn’t the only time it happened. He’s so connected to me…. When he knows someone is threatening my life, rage takes over...and he’s so strong…it doesn’t take long for him to do a lot of damage. Vincent is what happened to Stephen, too. He didn’t kill Stephen because….” She took a deep, resigned breath before she continued, “because I stopped him.”

Charles turned and found a chair. He dropped into it as if all his bones had disintegrated.

“I’m a part of it, too. I don’t know what possessed me. First I felt I had to prove to the DA’s office that I could handle anything they gave me. There were some cases that were so important…we had worked so hard and were so close that I couldn’t back down. A lot of it was that I had to prove to myself that I could face fear. I put myself into some bad situations a couple of times and it drew Vincent to protect me. Even knowing the consequences, I still put myself in those situations. Most of the time I couldn’t have predicted that there would be danger, but the results were the same. It was all because of me…done to protect me…and I think it had a lot to do with his illness. I had to be there to take care of him. It was all my fault.”

“Are you finished? Is that all?” her father asked softly, his face drained of most of its color.

“I could list dates and places, but it would be redundant.”

“My God. All those newspaper articles about maulings? None of them mentioned you. The subway killings?”

“Not the subway killings…but all the others.” She was still looking down, fiddling with her fingernails. “And most of the others…I was there. I just left with Vincent before anyone knew. Daddy, I’m sorry. I never wanted you to know. I didn’t want you involved, but Vincent insisted that you know everything. He didn’t want you to feel we had hidden anything else from you.”

The tone of her father’s voice told Catherine that anger was beginning to rise from the shock.

“So he sent you to do the dirty work instead of telling me this himself?”

“No. He wanted to talk to you, but I couldn’t bear the thought of the way you’d look at him. I insisted on telling you alone…and I’m not sure I can bear the thought of the way you’ll look at me.” There was a short pause. “Besides that, I knew he’d accept all of the responsibility. He wouldn’t even hint that any of the blame could be mine. You needed to hear that, too.”

“How do you live with all this, Cathy. It’s…”

“Don’t say it…please,” she begged, finally looking up. “I know what it is. I’ve seen it. I don’t need to hear the words.”

“What do you expect from me? How am I…”

“Just know that I’m guilty, too…that I drew him to it. All of those people were in the act of trying to kill someone…usually me…but that doesn’t make it right. I know that.”

“How can you be sure what would happen if he were angry with you – or if you were in his path when he’s angry with someone else? My God, he could rip you to pieces.”

“The same thing that draws him to me keeps him from hurting me. I’ve seen him in some pretty bad conditions, and if I touch him or say his name, he knows me…and he knows not to hurt me - no matter how he relates to anyone else.”

“That bond thing?”

“Yeah.”

“You saw all those killings?”

“Yes.”

“And you still love him?”

“With everything I am.”

“How could you love that?”

“You’ve been around him, Dad. What you’ve seen is who he is unless someone he cares about is in danger. Your friend Darrell just retired from the army. You only know him as a friend…a former neighbor...a family man. He’s been in wars…in battle. Have you ever imagined him actually shooting people – maybe having to stalk them like prey and fire a gun at them before they can do the same thing to his soldiers? You weren’t there to see the mangled bodies their grenades may have left behind when he and his troops were defending their unit. Is he any less a good man…any less a friend when you have to think about it?”

He knew she had made a valid point…and he understood that she was alive to make it only because Vincent had seen to it that she was safe. But the way he did it… Charles’ stomach churned at the thought. Five minutes ago he would have unflinchingly described the perpetrator of those killings as a monster. Now he had to reconcile that with the gentle man he had visited in the tunnels…the one who so tenderly responded to his daughter on her balcony the first time he saw them together. To add to the confusion, he had to reconcile himself to the idea that his own daughter had seen most of it happen…had been the reason it happened…had helped the killer escape. And she was in love with the “monster”…who didn’t seem like a monster. She said this was the last of the secrets. Good Lord, he hoped so. If he heard any more secrets of this magnitude, they’d have to lock him away somewhere.

Catherine looked at her father, who was sitting with his head turned away, staring blankly across the room. She was beginning to understand a little of how Vincent felt when he asked her to leave after those attacks. Maybe she could talk him into taking her to that nameless river for a few days to regroup.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I do need some time to absorb all this.”

“Is it okay to kiss you good-bye?”

Catherine saw Charles look up in surprise at that question. Tears were glistening in her eyes. She felt transported to childhood…times when she had done something wrong and was afraid he’d be angry with her. She thought she must have been wearing the same look, too, because he rose from the chair and had his arms around her almost in one move.

“Honey, it’s always okay to kiss your father. As hard as it was for me to hear all this, I know how much courage it must have taken for you to come here and tell me.”

Catherine still looked as if she might be afraid he couldn’t love her now that he knew.

“I’ll always love you…no matter what,” he assured her and kissed her forehead.

“This was a lot more ‘what’ than anybody ought to have to love me through,” she answered through tears of relief as she snuggled against him.

“I said I’d always love you. I didn’t say that I won’t need a stiff drink after you leave,” Charles answered wryly, hugging her close to reassure her.

***

 No matter how much progress they seemed to make, subsequent conversations always ended in the same place.

“Cathy, you’re a child of sunlight and spring breezes. I can’t bear to think of you locking yourself away in the bowels of the earth - even for love. And the secrets.… How will you live with that for decades? Your friends will tell you about their husbands and children, and you can’t tell them anything about…”

“I’ve lived that way for nearly three years. I’m becoming very good at it. And I wouldn’t be locked away. It isn’t some possessive cult down there. You know that by now. Everyone is free to come and go as they please. Vincent and I will figure it out. We don’t know how yet, but we’ll make it work. If I continue to live Above, I need to find a safer way for Vincent to reach me. It’s too dangerous for him to keep coming to my balcony. He’s been caught Above before, and barely escaped with his life.” She realized she had been pacing, a habit she had, no doubt, picked up from Vincent.

“Are you at least talking about it now?”

“Yes.”

After several of these frustrating conversations with her father during the past month, Catherine had a revelation. In spite of all his objections, her father wasn’t voicing much in the way of objections to Vincent himself – her double life, her sacrifices, her disappearing into the underground society, the thought of children - but nothing specifically about Vincent himself or the killings. How strange.

In truth, Charles had had that revelation himself, and it had taken him by surprise as well. He’d had a brief, but revealing conversation with Vincent about the rages he felt in protecting Catherine. He had thought about it often and had spoken to Father (who, after watching her return unscathed from that cavern, had finally come around to Catherine’s point of view) about the possibility that Vincent could hurt her. Charles thought a lot of things through, taking several into consideration – not the least of which was the fact that he still had a living daughter. He wondered exactly when it was that he had taken leave of his senses. His daughter had fallen in love with someone who had traits of a different species and had admitted to killing with his bare hands for her protection, yet with the exception of his thoughts of grandchildren, his overall objections were of an entirely different nature. He decided he and Cathy must both be daft.

One night in early December, he answered his door to find Kipper, candle in hand, inviting him to Winterfest. He shook the young man’s hand and thanked him, promising to attend.

In the two weeks before Winterfest, Charles did a lot of soul searching about Vincent and his daughter; and he began to re-examine his position. Catherine had made some bad choices in the man department in the past. Those men were social climbers, interested as much or more in his money and social position as they were in his daughter. He had finally realized that Tom Gunther belonged in that category. Then there was Stephen Bass…Elliot Burch… Those men could give her a life in a normal world, but at what cost to her? Not one of them gave her as much of himself as Vincent. Not one of them gave her the look he saw on her face when she was near Vincent. Not one of them was willing to give her the freedom to make her own choices or was willing to put her needs before his own. He had to admit, in spite of himself, that he couldn’t really see Vincent insisting that Cathy limit her life in any way she didn’t choose of her own volition. Being painfully honest with himself, he couldn’t even see Vincent allowing her to limit some parts of her life for him. From what Cathy said, Vincent seemed to want what was best for her, no matter what he wanted for himself. It was hard to find fault with that when it came to his little girl. So where did his objections stand?

***

Winterfest was in full swing, and Charles was still fascinated at the things he found in the tunnels. Where in the world had those stairs come from…and this hall? The tapestries seemed to be a mystery, too. And the picture of Vincent lifting the bar from the door, the strength that required – that was hard to get out of his mind.

The things Cathy had told him about how Vincent had protected her went through his mind, too. He had now seen the kind of strength that accompanied the rage she described. It was hard to reconcile that picture with the only one he had seen - a gentle man who loves his family and has infinite patience with their frailties…and very little patience with his own - a man who would always put Cathy before his own life. The two images were difficult to square with one another. He could only justify it, as Cathy had pointed out, as he would see soldiers, who had a similar dilemma to overcome. The difference was that their dilemma was a legal one.

Having completed several serious discussions with himself before he arrived, and having come to the conclusions he felt he could accept, Charles found Vincent briefly standing alone. Taking advantage of that rare moment, he took Vincent’s arm and guided him away from the crowd where they could talk privately.

“You’ve been seeing my daughter for three years now, Vincent. What are your intentions?”

Vincent didn’t know how to answer. He knew that Charles had accepted him as his close friend, but he still wasn’t sure Charles could bear the thought of his daughter spending her life with someone not entirely human.

“I intend to love her and watch over her until my last breath, to protect her and care for her as long as I live.”

“And…? Is that it? Do you intend to make a public commitment to her? If she’s willing to severely complicate her life to keep you in it, don’t you think she deserves that?”

“You can accept this for your daughter?” Vincent asked in surprise, motioning toward himself as he looked around the hall. When he looked back at Catherine’s father, he dared to feel hopeful.

“Do you think I have a choice? I’m sure you’ve encountered Cathy’s iron will and determination at one time or another yourself.” The two men shared an understanding smile at that remark.

“Catherine belongs to both of our worlds. I don’t want to confine her…to force her to choose.”

“From what she tells me, you’ve been making all the choices for her…deciding what’s best for her… She’s had enough of that from me. She doesn’t need another father. Before she can make a choice, young man, the choices have to be offered.” At this point in the conversation, Charles caught himself poking a finger into Vincent’s very solid chest to make his point more clearly. “Allow her to decide for herself.”

“You can accept me as a partner for your daughter?”

Charles looked down before he answered, trying to put aside images he would rather not have to think of. “The two of you have told me things that were disturbing…things she takes equal responsibility for…things I have trouble coming to terms with. But those things saved her from death again. I have to be grateful for that.” He paused for a few seconds before going on. “Vincent, how could I deny her the kind of love the two of you share. When she talks about you, it’s as if a light comes on in her soul. She hasn’t chosen an easy life, but she’s chosen a happy one. That’s what her mother and I wanted for her.” Looking around the room he added, “I’m not sure her mother could have imagined this in her wildest dreams, but I think it would have her approval. It looks like Jacob has already accepted Cathy as a daughter. It seems only fair that he ante up that son I never had. You know it took me some time to come to this, but please understand that it had very little to do with accepting you. It was anger and pride holding me back, and concern that my child had chosen a double life...that the two of you had hidden it from me…even after I knew you. I couldn’t ask her to find a man Above who would have more of my respect…who I would trust more with her heart.”

Vincent looked at Charles in disbelief. Son? Could he mean what it seemed?  “I don’t know what to say. Your words…”

“Well, decide on something…and say it to Cathy if you intend to.” Charles reached in his pocket, pulled out a small box and placed it in Vincent’s hand. “I know what you can give her. I also know what you can’t give her, so I brought you something. These are yours, to do with as you see fit. They come with my blessings.”

Vincent opened the box and found three rings.

“Those belonged to my wife and me. I kept them for Cathy – for her to have something of her parents when I was gone.”

“I can’t accept such a gift. These should be with you...” Vincent protested, offering the box back to him, but Charles interrupted.

“Of course you can,” he insisted, taking Vincent’s hand and folding the clawed fingers around the box. “These rings hold memories of a strong love and a happy marriage. I want that for my little girl…and I want that for you. I don’t need these rings to remember my wife. Those memories will always be with me. Make these rings a part of something alive and vibrant again.”

“I have no words…” Vincent answered quietly.

“Better to find them for Cathy, anyway.” Charles smiled, and Vincent folded him into a filial embrace.

If Catherine and her father could accept such a union – expect such a union, why couldn’t he? And what her father said was true. When had she ever been offered a real choice?

“Thank you…for the gift of your acceptance…and your memories,” Vincent said, moving from the warm hug Charles had returned.

Charles simply smiled and pointed out that Catherine seemed to have found a free moment.

Stopping at the buffet table, Charles watched as Vincent found Catherine and asked to steal her away for a few minutes. The small tunnel orchestra was taking a break, the children were all gathered around Sebastian, and the adults who had been dancing were migrating toward the buffet table. It was a perfect time for them to find a quiet corner away from the crowd.

Vincent seated Catherine on a bench and knelt beside her, resting one arm on the small table beside it, his back to the crowd.

“I had hoped we could have a few minutes to ourselves. It looks like Dad has forgiven us.” She smiled.

“He brought me a gift. I believe he expects me to give it to you, but that requires your consent.”

“What is it? What do I need to consent to?”

Vincent held the small velvet box closed in his large hand. “Catherine, I don’t want to confine you to my life. I don’t want to limit your life any more than I already have. I can’t give you material things…not the ring that most men could give you…not even the freedom to speak of us to your acquaintances. I can only offer you myself…and my love. If that is truly enough for you, I would be honored if you would consent to be my wife.”

“It’s more than enough, Vincent…and the honor would be mine.” Catherine placed her hand on Vincent’s cheek, joy pouring through their bond, and gently placed a kiss on his lips.

And he responded…reveling in the touch of her lips on his…feeling that he might expire on the spot from more happiness than anyone had a right to feel.

“Mmmm…. That was nice. Can we explore that further when we’re alone?” Catherine asked mischievously.

His answer was one of his small smiles.

Vincent was still kneeling next to Catherine’s chair between her and the party goers, and even kneeling, he was tall enough that she was nearly hidden behind him. So far their exchange hadn’t attracted much attention from the crowd, but one Winterfest guest was watching carefully. Vincent opened his hand, then opened the box.

“My parents’ rings? He gave you their rings?” Catherine whispered in surprise.

“A gift I will always cherish,” Vincent answered as he took one ring from the box, and slipped it on the ring finger of the hand she automatically held out to accept it. He took her hand in his. “Your father told me of the love and happiness these rings represent. He said he wanted that for me…as well as for you. He spoke of me as a son. I find it quite humbling…and a great honor. I’ll do my best to never disappoint either of you.” He rested his forehead against hers and kissed her hand near the ring.

“Then we have his blessings?”

“It seems so,” Vincent smiled. “He questioned my intentions. I was beginning to expect a shotgun. I thought it wise to ask you now…before he had time to change his mind.”

Catherine laughed and hugged him enthusiastically.

Looking down at her hand again, she repeated softly, “He gave you their rings.” She looked back up at Vincent. “In my world I can wear the rings on the chain with my crystal. No one will question that. Here I’ll wear them as they’re intended…proudly…so everyone can see that I’m yours.”

Seeing her already making plans for keeping the symbols of their union close to her, Vincent smiled, his heart filled with love for this small woman who had brought such wonderful changes to his life.

He saw Catherine looking over his shoulder, searching the room, and he turned to follow her gaze. They found her father watching as she smiled jubilantly and held her hand up where the diamond could twinkle at him in the bright candlelight.

Charles returned the smile, lifting his glass toward them and bowing slightly in their direction. He then returned to the punch bowl and picked up three drinks before walking a short distance to join Father and Peter. Handing Father one of the drinks and Peter another, he nodded toward Vincent, who was now seated on the bench next to Catherine. The young couple looked very happy.

“Well, my friends, I think we may have an announcement to make.” He smiled.

The other two men looked at Vincent and Catherine and understood immediately.

There they stood – three aging Cupids, inordinately proud of themselves. The three of them raised their glasses and clicked them together in a toast to their children’s future.

~~~