I AM THE ANSWER
Part 5

By Joan Stephens


Busily scribbling away on a brief that Joe had asked her to rewrite, Catherine heard the perky, cheerful morning voice of Edie heading her way. "Morning, Joe," Edie bubbled as she craned her neck around the doorframe of his office. His faint, "Good Morning," floated out on the air-conditioned breeze that wafted through the bullpen. "Cathy!" Edie squealed as she spied her newly returned friend sitting behind her desk. She waltzed around the desks, her hips doing their usual sexy little dance and flung her arms around her best buddy. "Girlfriend, it is so good to see you back at work. It’s been so boring with you gone. Now, maybe, we can get down to some serious bad guy stuff. Like putting ‘em away for years and years."

Laughing, Cathy returned her hug. "I missed you, too," she said, smiling tearfully at her friend’s fervent welcome. "How about lunch; I’ll buy."

"Sure, but none of this vending machine junk. A New York hot dog would be great."

"Ok. We can sit in the park and catch up on old times."

"It’s a date." Edie waved as she headed for her computer. "Twelve, ok?"

"Twelve," Cathy agreed.

Joe had been almost as enthusiastic in his greeting when she came in this morning. He’d hugged her fiercely, relieved that she was back at last.  He needed a competent investigator, besides she was his friend--then led her to her desk. He had filled her in on all that had transpired while she was gone and left her with the usual stack of manila folders in her inbox.

Grateful to finally be where she could do some good, she silently thanked Vincent for saving her and for his quiet belief in her abilities. She knew she had a friend that she could always depend on. One who would always put her welfare before his own, as she would his. Happily, she immersed herself in the brief before her.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

On a cold, windy March Day, foot sore and bone weary, she returned to her desk. Since she had returned to work, her feet had certainly taken a beating, tracking down elusive witnesses and getting their uncooperative help, but one witness had actually saved her aching feet by coming to her. A Carol Stabler had diffidently come up to her desk and asked to speak with her. The poor woman looked as if she had taken a severe beating, which turned out to be the case. One eye was pulled down in a slant, her lip was brutally cut, and there were several deep cuts on her face. Cathy’s heart went out to her. Carol Stabler had been a beautiful woman once.

"What can I do for you, Carol?" the young attorney asked after they had made their introductions.

"I want to get the guys that did this," Carol gestured at her face.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Cathy leaned forward expectantly.

Nodding abruptly, Carol began her narrative. It was the usual story of a small town girl lured to the city with promises of a modeling career. As with a high percentage of these girls, she ended up as a prostitute. She worked for the Mayfair Escort Service as a high-priced call girl. She rebelled when the owner, Marty Belmont, told her that she was to help in his shakedown plan. He wanted her to take a tape recorder with her, and he was going to tape her sessions with her clients. For some reason, when she refused, he believed that she was going to go to the police. To shut her up and to show her who was the boss, Belmont had her beaten and slashed. She ended her story with the statement, "I will do anything to put them in jail, so I can go back home safely."

"You’re sure about this, Carol?" Cathy asked.

"Definitely," she replied in a determined voice, "yes."

"All right. Let me get your statement then we’ll find you a temporary safe house until we can find a permanent one."

"I can’t go back to my apartment?" Carol questioned

"No, it will be too dangerous; they know where you live."

Carol nodded apprehensively but smiled and agreed.

When shown the rap sheets for Belmont and his men, Carol identified them as the men who had beaten her and arrest warrants were immediately issued.

"I’ll get Paul to take you. I have a friend who is renovating an old brownstone, and she left the keys with me when she had to go out of town. Don’t answer the door unless you hear my voice. I’ll stay with you tonight until we find a permanent safe house for you."

When Paul and Carol left the building, they failed to notice a scruffy, sour looking man lounging against the foyer wall. He straightened and followed them out the door.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Catherine exited the taxicab, a bag of groceries in her arms, and walked to the front steps of the brownstone Carol’s safe house. She unlocked the door and stepped into a remodeled house in the making: paint, ladders, paneling cluttered the hallway and the front room that she peeked into. "Carol?" she called. No answer. Worried, she called again, louder, "Carol?" Setting the bag of groceries at the foot of the stairs that led to the second floor, she hurried up the stairs. In an unfinished bedroom she found the lifeless body of the former call girl.

A rustle of clothing caught her attention, and she looked up to see Marty Belmont and two of his goons standing in the doorway. "She’s dead," one of them said, brandishing a switchblade back and forth. "And so are you," Belmont said calmly.

Isaac had taught her to use anything available as a weapon, and grabbing a floor lamp, she dove at them, driving them back into the wall. She ran as fast as she could into another room and locked the door. Looking around for anything to use as a weapon, she noticed another door. As they banged on the door of the room she was hiding in, she fled down the staircase, shoving the man who was coming to cut her off out of the way. He landed in the stair well and grabbed her foot as she tried to get past him. Kicking at him, she fell to the floor. Trying to get a bottle of wine from the grocery bag still sitting at the foot of the stairs to use as a weapon, she heard footsteps pounding down the stairs.

At the minute that Catherine was attempting to escape from the killers, Vincent was traveling through the tunnels on his way to Dr. Wong’s shop in Chinatown. Not far from the brownstone where she was struggling for her life, Catherine’s fears crashed through the barriers Vincent had erected to keep her inner thoughts private. Racing through the tunnels, he was approaching the brownstone’s basement.

"Uh huh," Belmont said as he stepped off the bottom step. "That’s not nice." He leveled his gun at her. Several low growls came from behind the landing wall. A crazy thought skittered through her mind wild dogs in the house? As she stared into a leering face that promised a brutal, ugly death.

Snarling and wild-eyed, Vincent burst through the wall. Something in her responded to the wildness in him, and she smiled with satisfaction as he swiftly and lethally dispatched the four killers. In minutes, it was over and she stared at him in numb amazement as he fell to his knees, sank back on his heels, and dropped his bloody hands into his lap. The snarl slowly softened, and then The Other raised his eyes to look directly into hers with a triumphant gleam that said, "For you. Only for you." The love in his dark, midnight eyes reached deep inside her and settled deep into the core of her very being.

His shoulders slumped as he dropped his head. Then he was frantically scrambling back from the dead body he knelt beside, and he dropped onto the bench that ran along the wall. With a look of pure horror, he beheld the chaos that had been caused by The Other, who had done as he had promised; he had protected Catherine.

Quickly Catherine climbed to her feet and grabbed his bloody hands. He tried to pull away, but she held on with surprising strength. "Come on, we’ve got to get you out of here," she declared, pulling on him. He raised dazed, numb eyes to hers. With a start, he jumped to his feet, the confused, stunned statement leaving his face to be replaced by one of determination and, reversing holds, took her by the hand. He led her through the broken wall, down into the basement, then into the tunnels. Silently, they fled to the next tunnel junction.

"I’ve got to go back," she said, pulling him to a stop.

"Why?" He was afraid for her.

"To call the police."

Dejected, hanging his head so that his hair hid his face, the remorse he felt tore him apart. He couldn’t face her. "I’m sorry you saw me as I was."

"I’m not. You saved my life." He could feel the gratitude and love pouring from her. Still, he wished she had never seen The Other in action. It shamed him. "Go now," she said gently. "I’ll be all right. They are . . . ," she left the words hanging between them, but they both knew what she meant.

"I’ll come to you later tonight," he whispered and turned into the right tunnel which took him back to his home.

Returning to the house, she washed her bloody hands, thoroughly cleaned the sink, then found a payphone and called the police. When she was assured that they were on their way, she sat on the stoop, waiting for their arrival. Shivering, she braved the cool breeze of an early March day while she thought about the way he had looked at her, and the triumphant, loving aspect of his eyes. Then his shame as he apologized. Why was he so ashamed that he had saved her? No, it wasn’t that, it was the manner in which it was done. He was ashamed of that part of him. It had to be that. But all humans and she thought of him as nothing but human carry their animal ancestry in them. It was just more obvious with him. She wondered: Had Diana known of this side of him? She didn’t think so. Diana would have had it in her journal if she had known.

The police arrived, shocking her back to the present. Instead of ruminating on Vincent, she should have been working on a plausible cover story. The only thing she could do was to claim that she had arrived after all were dead.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

In the loneliness of his darkened chamber, Vincent was confronted by his dark twin.

"See . . . I told you. She knows me," he gloated.

"She was repulsed at what you did," Vincent replied.

"Idiot! She was unprepared for what happened. That would daze anyone. She gladly took our bloody hands in hers, didn’t she?"

"I wish she hadn’t. Now she is soiled with your blood lust." He turned on The Other, "Did you have to be so vicious?"

"I told you, no one . . . no one harms her. And I guess it depends on your definition of vicious. I used what weapons I had," The Other explained as if to a small child.

"You enjoyed it."

"Damn right," he gloated. "They got what they deserved. Admit it. You were glad that I destroyed them."

"No."

Looking at him with a jaundiced eye, The Other continued, "Would you rather I politely asked them to leave? Or let them kill her?"

"No, of course not. But why didn’t you defend Diana?"

"She was not The One. There could be no bond with her."

"But I loved her."

"So you did, but I didn’t, and that’s the problem. Believe me . . . Friend, when you come to love Catherine, it will be our salvation."

"You keep saying that, but you won’t explain."

"I’ve said all I can say; the rest is up to you."

Frustrated, Vincent closed his eyes. When he opened them, his dark twin was gone. What The Other wanted was more than he could do. He would never love again. "Are you sure you know what love is, my . . . enemy?" a dark voice insinuated into his thoughts.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Expecting to see Vincent that night, Catherine came home from work and found a note that had been shoved under the door. The elegant handwriting told her it was from Vincent. Uneasy, she opened the note, then leaning against the door frame, she read,

Forgive me, Catherine, but I am unable to come to you tonight. I will be far away at a special place I go to when I need to be alone. I will be gone several days. I will come to you when I return.

Vincent

She sank onto the nearest love seat, reading the message again. Could he be that troubled by what happened? Didn’t he know that he could tell her anything? She knew he had been ashamed that she had seen him lost to himself but that didn’t change anything. He was still her best friend. Maybe Father would tell her. She swiftly changed into a pair of worn jeans and a light blue sweatshirt. Stuffing her feet into a pair of sneakers, she grabbed her keys and was out the door.

She found Father in the library going over the next day’s work schedule with Cullen, Kanin, and Mouse.

Mouse greeted her wholeheartedly, "Hi, Vincent’s Catherine." He had begun to call her that recently.

Father grimaced unhappily as she entered. Kanin and Cullen nodded to her politely then turned back to their conference with Father. Catherine took a seat at the council table and settled back to wait until the men were finished. At last, Father could no longer put off the confrontation with the determined young woman. She smiled brightly at the two men and Mouse as they said good bye.

"Well, Catherine, what brings you to my chamber?" he asked brusquely. He thought she was here to learn about Vincent’s dark side, and he wondered just how much he could tell her without bringing his son’s wrath down on him.

"You know what happened tonight?" she began.

"Yes, I know," he answered. "I wish I didn’t." He sat beside her at the table and, leaning back, prepared himself for her questions.

"That was Vincent, yet it wasn’t. Tell me, please, what happened to him."

He fingered his beard then gave her a searching look. Her eyes revealed nothing but concern for his unhappy son. "I cannot tell you the full story. That is Vincent’s right."

"Then tell me what you can," she begged. "I want to understand him."

"Understand Vincent? I don’t know if any of us can. He is a power unto himself. I don’t think any of us know how difficult it is for him to maintain the emotional balance that he does."

"But why does he have to maintain a balance?" she asked, puzzled by his answer.

"Vincent has within him a darkness that none of us have. He must constantly be on guard against this darkness taking over."

This was not right. She knew it. Father was wrong. She tried to convince him of the error of his ways, "But, Father, surely you know that we all have a dark side that we control with a veneer of civilization."

He shook his head, "Of course, I know, but Vincent’s is so much stronger. It is a constant struggle for him."

Leaning intently toward him, she said, as she laid a comforting hand on his arm, "Father, I believe love can conquer anything. Maybe this darkness needs love." She had seen it in his eyes when he had looked at her over the body of a dead man that he had killed.

"I don’t know." Father was out of his element. He believed in science, and the wonders that it had created. Maybe that science had even created his son. "Love is so fragile and easily broken. Witness Vincent’s reaction to Diana’s death. It has been very hard on him."

"I know but, Father, let me assure you that he will never lose my friendship. I will always be here for him." Earnestly she pleaded her case; she had to get Father on her side if she was to help Vincent.

"Father, when you look at Vincent, what do you see?" Not giving him time to answer, she continued, "Do you see him as something striving to be a man? Or . . . "

Cutting through her words, he interjected, "I see my son."

"But is he a man, a beast, a freak of nature, or a lab experiment gone wrong?"

Incensed, he retorted, "How can you use those words to describe him?"

"Because I love him, Father. Because I see him as a man. A man who must fight his dark side as I must fight my own. I love both the light and dark that is in him, and I will help him all I can to reconcile the two sides of him. He deserves to be whole and complete. He deserves to be happy."

"And I suppose you think that only you can make him happy."

"I like to think so, but if I can’t, I will help him find one who can." Catherine looked at him closely, hoping he would see the truth in her words.

"But how could you endanger him like that? Diana never would."

"I’m not Diana," she retorted. "But I am his friend, and I did not ask for him to save me."

"You did nothing but put him in danger," he accused.

"I can’t help it if he shows up and saves me."

"You don’t know?"

"Know what?"

"How he knew you were in danger?"

"He said something about being able to sense people’s feelings when close to them, and I assumed he happened to be passing by and felt my need."

"No, that’s not how it happened."

Exasperated at his reticent answers, she asked, "Then how? Tell me."

Father was uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. He wasn’t sure that he should tell her, but if he did maybe, just maybe, she would leave his son alone. He decided to tell before he lost his nerve. "He has a bond with you. You are connected and he knows what you are feeling."

"Oh, my god," she uttered as she stared at him, realizing for the first time why Vincent was always there when she needed him and how much danger she had put him in.

"Yes . . . oh my god."

She was trying to assimilate this new information. It was so amazing, but it gave her a warm feeling to realize that she was connected to someone who cared for her. But she was still puzzled, "Why wouldn’t he tell me?"

"He was never bonded with Diana. He may see it as a betrayal of her love." Then, he asked, "What are you going to do? You can’t tell him, you know."

"But won’t he know?"

"He will feel you are keeping something from him, but he would never pry."

Silent for several minutes, Catherine came to a decision. "I’ve got to get out of investigations and right away."

"That would help," Father stated bluntly.

"I suppose you’d like me to get out of his life completely."

"If you would," he gruffly asked.

"Well, I won’t," she snarled back. Shaking herself inwardly, she thought that it did her no good to make him angry. In a much softer tone, she said, "I love him, Father. He’s my best friend and I won’t abandon him. He’s been left behind enough. No more."

"Vincent cannot live the life you wish for him," Father stated.

"I know that, but I want him to experience everything in my world he is capable of experiencing."

Alarmed at her answer, he snapped, "You would endanger his life to do this?"

"No, of course not, I will be as cautious as you."

"I hope nothing happens to make you regret this decision."

"Nothing will if I can prevent it," she boldly declared.

True to her word, the next day she sat in Joe’s office, waiting for him to come in. For once, he was late. When he finally breezed in, she immediately told him that she could no longer work as an investigator. He was not too happy about this turn of events, but said he would put the change through right away. Elated, she hugged him swiftly then darted out the door back to her desk.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Finally, Vincent returned, a much chastened and withdrawn man. Father soon earned his wrath for telling Catherine so much about him, but the older man didn’t tell him that he had told her about the bond. Catherine accepted him as he was and ignored his gloomy countenance and thoughts. Sitting side-by-side on his bed, he tried to explain, "There are times I need to be alone, to sort out my feelings, come to terms with myself."

"Father told me that you often did so. Are you all right now?" she asked solicitously. Gazing at him soberly, without conscious thought, she stroked his arm softly. Ten days apart was too long.

"Yes, everything is all right." Still, she noticed a shadow in the depths of his cornflower blue eyes.

She told him how dear he was to her, how much she valued his friendship, and, skirting around his darkness, told him there was nothing about him that she did not value. He was an important part of her life, and she would have been devastated if he had never returned. In the end, after he finally accepted that the feelings he was getting from her were true, he relaxed his rigid control and smiled down at her. Her glowing face revealed to him just how much she did care. Afraid that his dark side would terrify her and that she would leave him, he realized, at last, just how steadfast a friend she was. Both of them were slowly approaching a huge change in their relationship.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Eight months had passed since Diana had been murdered and four months since Estelle Fuentes’ death--still the killer walked freely along the crowded streets of New York. The authorities had waited with bated breath for February the third to arrive and sighed with relief when no one was killed. The third of April rolled around and no mutilated body was found. The powers-that-be, in all their wisdom, decided to cut back on the manpower assigned to the case.

Frustrated as hell, Joe had just told Cathy about the cutback and had stepped back expecting an explosion. She didn’t disappoint him.

"You can’t do this!" she shouted, erupting from her chair.

"I’ve got no choice," he hotly countered. "I’ve been ordered to cutback, Cathy, I’m not shutting down."

She knew it wasn’t his fault, and knowing him as she did, she knew he had put up a whale of a fight. But even he had to bow to superior forces. Arguing more for affect than effect, she said, "I know, but . . ."

He cut in indignantly, "Don’t try to make me the bad guy."

"I’m not, Joe, but . . ."

"Look, I’m as unhappy about this as you are, but we do have other cases that can’t wait." Adamantly he insisted that they needed to concentrate on the overwhelming caseload that faced them daily. "If and when we have some new evidence, I’ll add more manpower but until then my hands are tied."

Reluctantly, she agreed, but privately she felt as if she had failed Joe, Mrs. Bennett, herself, and most of all Vincent.

The rest of the day settled down into the old routine of readying each case for court. This new job had more paper work than her old one, and Joe seemed intent on working her to a frazzle. But eventually even she went home. After a light dinner and a refreshing soak in the tub, she donned a pair of silk pajamas and a matching caftan. Wandering out onto the terrace, she wondered where Vincent was now. He had sent her a note, saying that he was going on a scouting mission with Mouse, looking for another source of pure water.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Anyone meeting Catherine Chandler today for the first time would wonder why she was considered an elegant, fashionable woman. Clad in an oversized shirt that she had appropriated from her father, shorts, and a bandana tied around her head, she was giving her apartment a thorough spring-cleaning. Somehow she had missed the fall cleaning and chuckled happily at the reason. She had been Below, healing from the attack. A horrible and brutal attack had given her ten days with Vincent, and at the end of those ten days, she and Vincent were friends. Good friends. Best of friends. She wished he would return soon from his explorations. She missed him.

Having been at it all day, she was beginning to run out of steam. Without changing, she fixed a light supper and, sitting in front of the TV, devoured it. She was hungrier than she thought. Rising to take the dishes back to the kitchen, she saw a large shadow looming behind the French doors. She put her tray of dishes on the counter and hurried into the warm April evening to greet her best friend.

Vincent had to admit that she looked adorable. How would you like to have that in your arms? The Other whispered from the recesses of his mind. Ignoring the hated voice, he noticed a smudge of dirt on the end of her lovely nose, and he gently touched it with a long, elegant finger. He looked her up and down. "What are you doing, Catherine?" he asked solemnly but with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh? I suppose you don’t do spring and fall cleaning in the tunnels?" she laughingly teased him.

"Oh yes," he stated, his eyes sparking, "Father insists on regular cleaning. ‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness’ he declares over and over." He opened his arms, inviting her in.

She cocked her head, her eyes dancing with mischief. Grinning wickedly, she asked, "You sure you want to hug a dusty, dirty woman? You look so fresh and clean."

He beckoned with his arms, and with a happy sigh, she walked slowly into his embrace. "I’ve missed you, Vincent," she whispered into his vest. "You’ve been gone a long time."

"And I’ve missed you." Once again the voice of The Other spoke in his mind, I’ve missed her, too.

"Did you find what you were seeking?" she asked.

"Yes." Enthusiastically he told her of his journey and how enjoyable Mouse had made it with his antics. Then, he smiled mysteriously, "But that is not why I am here."

"Oh?" Her curiosity was getting the best of her. "Why are you here?"

"To invite you Below. The children are putting on a play tomorrow night."

"Which one?" she asked eagerly.

"Beauty and the Beast."

"Oh, that’s my favorite fairy tale," she exclaimed.

"Then you will come?" He fervently hoped she would.

"Of course, I’ll come. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away." Already she was planning on what she would wear. It had to be something that Vincent would like but not too revealing.

"Then I’ll come for you tomorrow at seven," he said, pleased that she was actually coming. He knew she could see any Broadway play or Carnegie Hall concert she wanted to, and for her to accept so readily and gladly showed him just how much she cared for his world.

"Wonderful!" She couldn’t bear to have him leave so soon after being gone for ten days; so, she said, "I have just bought a new copy of ‘Sense and Sensibility.’ Will you read part of it to me?" She hurriedly retrieved the book and said as she stepped up beside him, "Jane Austen is my favorite author. Along with the Brontè sisters. I love the Victorian writers."

Taking the book from her and settling against the balustrade, he pulled her down beside him. She fit so comfortably in the crook of his arm. Contented, he began to read.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Promptly at seven, Catherine was descending the metal ladder. Suddenly, Vincent’s hands were around her waist and he lifted her down to the sandy floor. "Thank you, Vincent," she said as she turned to smile up at him. She was comfortably dressed in a many-colored peasant blouse and skirt and a pair of low-heeled Mary Janes. She looked utterly delightful and the gaze Vincent showered on her held his distinct approval.

Olivia, one of the few who were born Below and Kanin Evans’ wife, watched the merry couple enter the theater chamber. She noticed that even though they were laughing there was an uneasiness, a desperate control about them. There was not the casual camaraderie between them as there had been between Vincent and Diana. Whenever they were together, there was a sexual tension between them that she could plainly see, yet they were deaf and blind to the signals given off by the other. It seemed, they were intent on keeping their friendship on a platonic level, and it would have made a delightful romantic comedy if it weren’t so tragic. All those Below, with the exception of Father, wished that they would take the first step into love, but with Vincent’s loyalty to the love he had for Diana and Catherine’s desire to keep their relationship on an easy footing, so as not to send him flying, it seemed an impossible dream. Olivia wondered if in the dark of night and in her dreams, Catherine dared to hope. She had noticed, when Catherine thought no one was looking, the look that she bent on Vincent.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Catherine was the first to break; she didn’t have the practice in controlling her emotions as Vincent did. After several nights of soul-searching, she came to the conclusion that he could only be a friend to her and not a lover. At this low point in her life, Elliot Burch entered the picture. He was instantly captivated by her beauty, intelligence, and dedication. She was just what he wanted, and he set about to woo and win her. He showered her with expensive and beautiful gifts, took her to interesting places, and loved her with no hesitation or reservations. It was like a spring rain, cleansing and reviving, and her love starved heart responded, convincing her that she loved him in return. Vincent encouraged her, believing this was best for her, which only re-enforced her belief that he was nothing more than a friend.

Frantically raging, The Other tried to make Vincent understand that he was condemning them to a bleak and dreary life without The One. Vincent would have none of it, stating that she deserved the life that Elliot Burch could give her.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

On a dark night, Vincent was striding through the silent streets when he heard the sound of a piano emanating from an apartment building basement. Leaning back against the tenement wall, he enjoyed the music until a car screeched into the alley. Two young men spilled from it and, as the car waited, lit two Molotov cocktails and tossed them through the golden glow of the basement window. The music stopped, the window went dark, and the two men hurried to the car, got in, and it roared backwards out of the alley.

Vincent heard repeated calls for help and, with no thought to his own safety, broke through the window and into the basement. An old man was lying on the floor, coughing heavily. He passed out as Vincent removed his cloak and began to beat out the flames. When the old man--he said his name was Mischa Langer--awakened he convinced Vincent to show himself. Startled at first, Mischa quickly accepted the unusual man standing before him. Mischa told him how he and the other residents were fighting eviction and of all the damaging things had been done to them. After making sure the old man was all right, Vincent took the information to Catherine. Their meeting was tense and almost unbearable for her, but she strengthened her heart and listened to what he had to say. Promising to do what she could, she watched him leave, an emptiness enveloping her.

Night after night, Catherine awoke from dreams of both Vincent and Elliot. Her dreams were as confusing as her life had become. Was she truly in love with Elliot or was it that she needed the love he offered her? She knew that Vincent loved her but only as a friend. Could that be enough? And could she marry Elliot and still be friends with Vincent? She didn’t want to do anything that would damage their friendship and couldn’t imagine a life without him.

She was toying with the idea of breaking off with Elliot when it was decided for her. Edie had finally come through with the answer. Through his lawyer, Elliot was behind the attacks on the elderly tenants. When she confronted him, he denied all knowledge of the attacks. She left his building in tears, realizing how close she had come to making the biggest mistake of her life. Any kind of relationship with Vincent was better than one with any other man.

After a final attack on the elderly residents, which Vincent prevented, Elliot was exposed and the apartment building was saved. Catherine received the thanks of all the residents and Mischa said, "I wish there was some way we could thank that man . . ."

"Vincent," she pronounced his name proudly.

"Thank you. I wish there was some way we could thank Vincent for saving us."

"Don’t worry," Catherine told him, "I’ll be sure to tell him of your gratitude. But don’t be surprised if he comes to listen to your music again."

Mischa grinned at her and, taking his wife by the arm, entered his home. Happily, Catherine sighed. She had accomplished something today, something that made her feel very good.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Patiently she waited, cleansed of all doubt, for him to come to her. At long last, she heard the light tapping on the glass door that she had waited for. But when she came out on the terrace, she found only a book of Shakespeare’s Sonnets with sonnet #30 marked with a yellow rose, the rose of friendship. ‘ The inscription on the flyleaf read, "Shakespeare knew everything." She clasped the book to her heart, knowing all was well. Sinking onto the chaise lounge, she began to read:

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear Time’s waste.
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since canceled woe,
And moan th’ expense of many a vanished sight;
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

He needed her as a child needs its mother, a starving man needs food, a thirsty man needs water, and he wanted her as he had never wanted anything before in his life . . . but he admitted this only in his dreams. Dreams that haunted him, dreams that he strove to forget, and succeeded. He would wake to laughing green eyes that faded quickly as he slowly came awake. The Other railed at him fruitlessly, but he was determined that he would never again experience the pain he felt from Diana’s death. If the truth be told, it was her betrayal of his secret that hurt him the most. It was all so mixed up in his mind, and the battle raged on between heart and mind, fear and love.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

In another part of the tunnels, which Catherine was unaware of, lived a man who was the mortal enemy of Jacob Wells. Along with Jacob, Henrí Pascal, Grace Devin, and Harry Patton, Olivia’s father, he was one of the founding members of the tunnel world. His name was John Pater, although he preferred to be called by his pseudonym--Paracelsus. And he was totally and irrevocably mad. After a disastrous take-over attempt, he was banished from the tunnel community. He blamed Jacob for his banishment, and in his delusions believed Vincent to be his natural son, even though it was his wife, Anna, who had found the baby Vincent in the trash behind St. Vincent’s hospital. Now, after thirty years and numerous attempts to destroy that world, his one objective in life was to ruin then kill his one-time friend, Jacob Wells, and so too, Vincent, the son that Wells had stolen from him.

The latest plan he had put in motion had born fruit already. Vincent that spineless, weak-kneed persona that housed the true and fearsome object of Paracelsus’ desire had once met and loved a woman from Above. It had been no trouble to find a killer, one who delighted in murder and torture. Gilbert Smit would soon be discharged from prison, where he was serving time for a minor robbery. Two years with time off for good behavior meant he would spend one year in jail and was to be released around Christmas. Paracelsus had not been pleased, to put it mildly, with his protégée when he had been arrested. It had delayed his plans.

Over a year ago, Gilbert Smit, at his instructions, had kidnapped, murdered, and mutilated the woman that Vincent loved. That had been the plan, but Diana Bennett had willed her own death before Smit could begin his ‘fun.’ And it had not brought Vincent to her rescue as Paracelsus had thought it would. But he did have the joy of seeing Vincent and the community grieve for the stupid woman who could love a weakling like him. He was looking for a new way to torment Wells and Vincent when he learned that Jacob’s mislabeled ‘son’ had another woman friend. What was it with these women that they found this milksop so appealing? No matter, it gave him another chance to destroy his enemies. After Smit was released from prison, he would put his plan into action again.

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Continuing to fool themselves into believing they were just good friends, Catherine and Vincent spent as much time together as they could spare from their equally busy lives. Catherine went Below as often as Vincent came Above. Halloween was spent walking the streets of the city where he was complimented several times on the professionalism of his makeup and costume. Catherine laughed delightedly at Vincent’s indignant stare. It was dawn when they parted at Battery Park. Both of them went home weary and happy to sleep most of the day away.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Catherine conspired with William to provide a Thanksgiving dinner that was never to be forgotten. The poor cook was grilled intensely by a disgruntled Father. He suspected that his son’s so-called best friend was behind the bountiful feast, and he resented it. Was she trying to buy her way into the affections of Vincent’s family? Well, that wouldn’t work. Everyone stuffed themselves until they could barely move, and even Father unbent enough to offer a gracious toast to the unknown benefactor. Striving to hide her blushing face, Catherine suddenly developed a coughing fit and snatched her napkin from her lap, covering her face. When she could raise her eyes, she caught Vincent smiling secretively at her. Her heart melted at his look. The exchange didn’t go unnoticed by an annoyed Father.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

On a cold, crisp December day, the children Below were vying for the privilege of delivering a Winterfest candle to Catherine. Rebecca appealed to Vincent to pick the lucky one. Thoughtfully, he glanced from one child to another. "Rebecca, I think I can solve your problem." With dejected faces, the children heard his pronouncement, then brightening, they grabbed their baskets of candles and darted out of the chandlery.

Grinning, Rebecca handed Catherine’s candle to the victor. "Here’s your candle, Vincent. Now don’t get lost and come right home." Her merry laughter trilled forth as the grinning man joined her, remembering the admonitions from their childhood.

Later that night Catherine gasped with delight when Vincent presented her with her very own Winterfest candle and extended an invitation to celebrate the tunnel holiday with the tunnel folk. He explained that it was their way of thanking their Helpers and celebrating another safe year. "You will come, won’t you?" he asked. "The children so want you to. And I do to."

"I’d love to," she answered, smiling broadly.

Winterfest was the most enjoyable and tiring party she had ever attended. Every male member from 3’ 6" to 6' 3", old or young, had to have a dance with her. Even Father had to defeat her in at least one game of chess, and William, who had taken to her, dragged her over to the laden trestle table to sample the punch and cake. Anxiously, he hovered around until she pronounced both of them excellent. A big, wide smile wreathed his face as he watched Vincent escort Catherine to the dance floor. Leaning against the Great Hall wall, he watched with approbation as they waltzed around the floor.

"Thank you, Vincent. It was a wonderful party." They had stayed until the party was over and all was put away. Then Vincent had guided her to her basement threshold. Bending down, she removed her shoes with a sigh and wiggled her toes in the sandy floor. "Oh, that feels so good," she commented.

"You are tired. You need your rest."

"I’m going to be worse than useless at the office tomorrow but it was definitely worth it."

They hugged briefly and each went to their respective beds for a few hours of needed sleep.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Christmas Eve was spent with her father and his rich friends. Staring out at his snow-covered garden, she found herself wishing she was Below with her tunnel family. Her father gave her many valuable, expensive gifts but the gift that meant the most to her was the small, six by nine-inch, handmade triptych from Vincent. With the help of Elizabeth, who painted the fantasy scenes, and Mouse, who found the wood and assembled the individual panels, Vincent had put together a one of a kind gift that was priceless to Catherine. Each panel held a vision in soft, misty colors: the Whispering Gallery, the Chamber of Three Falls, and Father’s library with father and son hunched over a chess game. Catherine was stunned by the beauty of the triptych and proud that it had been given with the love of her tunnel family.

Looking for the right gift for Vincent, she had searched for weeks in dusty antique stores and book shops. Her gift was a rare first edition of Tennyson’s ‘Enoch Arden.’ As he gently fingered the gold embossed, leather bound volume, he couldn’t find the words to thank her. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he literally croaked, "Catherine, this is too much. It must have cost a great deal."

"It did but does it make you happy?"

"Oh yes, it does."

"Then, my dear friend, it was worth it."

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Gilbert Smit celebrated Christmas--not that it meant anything to him--by being released from prison. It was a gift he had worked hard for, for a whole year, trying to convince the parole board that he was a reformed man. He succeeded. As soon as he arrived in the city, he went in search of his old friend P. He was sure that old P had a gift picked out for him already. It had been a long time.

‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘‘

Catherine spent New Year’s Eve Below in Vincent’s snug chamber. She had declined all invitations, preferring to spend a quiet night in the sanctuary of the tunnel world. When midnight struck, they embraced, thankful that they were safe and healthy. Then she looked up at him and, with an impish gleam in her eyes, said, "That’s not the way to bring in the New Year."

"No?" Vincent tilted his head and gave her a small smile.

"No, it’s not. Want me to show you the right way?"

He considered for a few seconds than nodded.

She stood on tiptoe, pulled his head down, and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Happy New Year, Vincent," she said breathlessly. No kiss had ever stolen her breath away before.

"Happy New Year, Catherine." The taste of her on his lips was heaven. The Other was ecstatic. See what we’ve been missing, he moaned. Again. Let’s do it again, he begged.

Exercising what control he had, the man banished The Other to the nether reaches of his mind. "An interesting custom, Catherine but I’ve seen it before."

"Well, why didn’t you kiss me then?"

"I didn’t think it was proper. I thought it was only between lovers."

"Oh no, friends, relatives, acquaintances do it."

"Then I’m glad we saw the New Year in, in the proper manner."

"Me, too," she agreed fervently, settling back comfortably into the smaller of the two chairs pulled up to his writing desk. Vincent had scoured the storage chambers, hoping to find such a chair for her comfort. She was prepared to learn what he had planned for the rest of the night.



*I am a member of Beta Sigma Phi, a cultural and educational sorority for women. The yellow rose is the sorority flower and stands for friendship. I have used that meaning in this story.