Chapter Five

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At last, Catherine heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway and the hushed voices of several men. The squeak of the door as it was opened and the sound of dragging feet told her that someone was being brought in who couldn’t walk. Compton’s men had transferred Vincent to the care of Elliot and several of Jordan’s men and had promptly disappeared. Catherine never had the chance to meet and thank the mercenary for rescuing Vincent.

Rushing to the front door, she found McCaffrey, one of Jordan’s top investigators, and Elliot struggling to maneuver Vincent through the doorway. Seeing his wretched appearance, she stepped back loosing a shocked sigh of pent-up air, giving them access to the bedroom. As she closely followed them into the room, she heard the quite audible gasp of dismay from Diana who stood off to the right, next to the only window in the room. When she spared a glance at the other woman, Catherine noted tears in her eyes as she felt her own creep silently down her cheeks. Angrily she dashed them away with the back of her hand. She didn’t have the time for this right now; Vincent needed her. He looked so thin and wasted, the result of four years of inactivity. How he had survived was a mystery to her. She couldn’t imagine what he had been put through, but she vowed that if it was in her power she would see that these so-called scientists were deprived of their licenses and any chance to ever do that to another human being. Slowly and carefully, the unconscious man was lowered to the bed.

"Sorry," McCaffrey said, "but they had to tranquilize him. I don’t know what you’ve got here, but I guess he’s quite a fighter. Fought them all the way. Don’t know what they did to him in that place, but he doesn’t believe anything he sees."

"Where’s my son?" she asked tightly.

A noise at the doorway caused her to turn and behold a blond, blue-eyed bundle of energy pull out of a man’s arms and rush to the unconscious man on the bed. "Daddy?" he pleaded. "Wake up." He plucked at his Daddy’s sleeve, trying to wake him. "I’m scared. I don’t know any of these people." Even if it had been a prison, the research facility had been the only home that the child remembered, and it meant security to him.

"I guess he fought like a tiger, too," McCaffrey said, shaking his head.

Quietly Catherine approached the frightened little boy who was trying to arouse his father. Getting down on her knees, she said softly, "Jacob? Is your name Jacob?"

He turned to see the woman he had dreamed about for as long as he could remember. He nodded reluctantly, pressing close to his father’s side.

"Jacob, I’m your mother."

His eyes widened as he closely examined the feeling in his heart, and he knew that she spoke the truth. When she opened her arms to him, he stepped into them without reservation. Catherine cuddled him to her breast, crying and whispering, "Oh baby, baby, I’ve missed you so much. I love you."

He pulled out of her arms to stare at her accusingly. "Where have you been, Mommy? I called to you so many times but you never came. Daddy needed you."

"But not you?" she asked with a choked, watery laugh.

Puffing out his little chest, he boasted, "No, I’m a big boy, and I’m a lot stronger than they ever knew."

"Oh Jacob," she crushed him to her. "I couldn’t come to you. I was in a prison too. But I came as soon as I found out where you were. Everything is going to be all right from now on. And no one will ever separate us again. That I promise you on my love for you."

He laced his small arms around her neck and hugged her as hard as he could. "I love you, Mommy," he vowed.

"Oh honey, if you only knew how long I’ve waited to hear those words. I was afraid that I never would."

"When I grew up, I would have found you."

"Yes, I think you would have, at that. You’re quite a young man, my son." She noticed that he was looking wilted and sleepy. "Would you do something for me?" she asked. "You look very tired and sleepy. I want you to take a nap, ok?"

"Do I have to?" he asked. He didn’t want to leave his father or his mother now that he had found her.

"You’ll be in the very next room, and your Daddy and I will be here when you wake up. Promise."

"Ok," he reluctantly agreed, and with a kiss on his mother’s cheek, he stepped out of her arms and reached to gently pat his father’s cheek.

Suddenly her arms felt cold and empty, and she wanted to close them around his small body again. But there would be time for that later. "Diana?" she asked, turning to the other woman. "Will you take Jacob to the room next door? I don’t want to leave Vincent alone."

Of course, you don’t, the other woman thought, reaching out tentatively to touch Vincent’s limp hand. Noticing the gesture, an immediate flash of irrational jealously erupted in Catherine. But was it irrational? She wouldn’t know until he was awake and knew that she was back.

With all his faculties trained on first his father and then his mother, Jacob hadn’t noticed the other woman in the room standing by the bedside. Catherine wondered when she had moved from the shadows to stand by the bed. Jacob stared up at the other woman. "Diana? You’re the lady my Daddy told me about; the one that helped him find me."

"Yes, that’s me," Diana said, continuing to stare at the unconscious man sprawled on the bed. Tearing herself away from the sight of Vincent asleep, she smiled into the Vincent-colored eyes of the little boy and, taking his hand, led him from the room and to his own bed.

Watching her son leave her tore at Catherine’s heart, but she gave him an encouraging smile and a wave.

"My Daddy told me the whole story and how much help you were," Jacob’s voice faded away as they left the room.

Then she turned to the figure of her love. He was tossing around as if in the throes of a nightmare.

"Oh Vincent," she whispered, holding her tears back. Now was not the time for tears, now was the time for strength and courage. She would bring him back to himself. She had done it before; she could do it again. "No more dreams, my love. No more nightmares." Unconsciously, returning the words he had said to her, she whispered, "You’re safe now. Sleep, my love."

Slowly he quieted and turned his face to her, nuzzling into the hand she had rested on his cheek. He slept, quietly and peacefully for a few hours.

As she waited for him to awaken, she heard a querulous voice in the hall that was very familiar. Turning toward the door, she witnessed a distraught Father stumble into the room. Following close on his heels was Elliot who was trying to restrain him.

"Let me go, you fool! Let me see my son." Father raised his cane to strike out at the man who was keeping him from his son.

"Let him go, Elliot. He’s Vincent’s father," she said. This was a Father she had never thought to see. His hair was snow-white and scraggly like his beard. A haggard face sported deep lines and creases in the forehead and around his mouth and eyes. And he was wearing a lab coat over a white shirt and tan cotton trousers. Like Peter, the past four years had not been kind to him.

He looked in her direction when he heard her voice. He squinted his eyes to look closely at her, and his mouth dropped open when he realized who she was. "Catherine?" his voice quavered.

Catherine gently placed the hand she was holding on Vincent’s lightly moving chest and rose from her chair. "Yes, Father, it’s me."

"No!" He thundered, backing away from her. "It can’t be. You’re dead; I went to your funeral. What kind of sick joke is this?" He looked around wildly. When he didn’t find those he was seeking, he shouted, "Where are you, you devils? Haven’t you done enough damage to my son without adding this torture to his already befuddled brain?"

Slowly she approached him. He backed away until he was boxed in a corner and raised his cane; this time in defense. "Father, please calm down. You’ll disturb Vincent." As the old man tried to edge away from her, she said softly, "Father, look at me. Look at me, closely." She held her hair away from her left ear, giving him the opportunity to see the scar there.

He searched her face and tentatively reached out to trace the scar. "This could have been placed there by plastic surgery."

"True," she granted, "But it wasn’t. I wear it proudly as the badge of my commitment to Vincent and our love."

Still, he couldn’t quite believe, and she could see it in his eyes. "Ask something of me that only you and I would know."

He thought for a few minutes, then with a challenging look, asked, "Remember when Vincent was in the cave fighting for his sanity and life?" She nodded. "What did I say to you?"

"We were in your chamber talking about Vincent’s struggle to keep his life in balance, and the miracle it was that he maintained that balance. But how that balance had been upset and I offered to stay away." She gazed back at him with glowing eyes, "And then you said the sweetest thing that anyone had ever said to me."

Almost word for word they recited together with only a few miscues, "Catherine, dear Catherine, you must know by now that you are part of that miracle. You saw him and all that he is and you gave him a dream. For that I shall be ever grateful."

Dumbfounded, he stared at her. "It is you. But how?"

"Somehow I survived a lethal injection and have been in protective custody until about a year ago. It has taken us that long to find you." She took his frail body into her warm arms, holding it closely as she let a few tears slip down her cheeks. "Come. Look. Vincent is fine. He’s only been sedated for his own good. They didn’t want to hurt him."

Together, her arm around his shoulder, they gazed at the sleeping man. "Where are we, Catherine?" Father asked.

"In a safe place. Away from that horrible prison. They will never find us. We arranged to have the building blown up to cover your escape. For all intents and purposes, you, Vincent, and Jacob are dead. When he wakes, we will go to another place in the mountains, far away from prying eyes."

"You arranged all of this?"

"Yes, with the help of Elliot. I couldn’t have done it without him. Even Joe Maxwell helped although he didn’t know it."

With a strange look, Father asked, "You know about Vincent and Diana?"

"Yes, I know. I know that she loves him, but I also know that he doesn’t love her. Anyway, not the way she wants him to."

Abruptly Vincent’s eyes opened and found hers. He stared at her for a long moment then awareness and horror filled them. He backed away as far as he could, coming to rest against the wall behind his bed. "Noooooo," he moaned. "You promised. I did what you said." Almost babbling, he shouted, "Stay away from ne. You’re not real. Don’t touch me."

"But it’s me, Catherine," she assured him, reaching out to touch him. With a vicious snarl, he slapped her hand away, scratching her lightly on the wrist.

Father grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing the distraught man to look at him. "Calm yourself, Vincent. It is Catherine."

"No, she’s dead." Wildly shaking his head, he retreated into himself. He had seen this vision too many times, and it had always turned into something disastrous. It was never she.

"I’m not; I’m alive," she cried. "Touch me. Feel me. I’m as real as you are."

"It doesn’t matter;" he growled. "You’ve fooled me before. You are not Catherine." He wrapped his arms around himself as if he was suddenly cold and utterly shut her out.

Turning to her, Father advised, "Maybe you had better leave, Catherine. They have tortured him with dreams and visions of you, trying to mess with his mind, trying to break him."

"Oh god," she whispered, suddenly chilled to the bone. She hadn’t expected this and her heart crumbled.

The dark confusion in his eyes lightened as he spied a friendly face, and like a lost child he held his hands out beseechingly. "Help me, Diana," he wailed. "Make her go away."

Incredulous at this turn of events, Catherine turned to find Diana slowly entering. With an unreadable look to Catherine, she stopped beside her, shaking her head. "I can’t. She is Catherine."

"Oh god," he grabbed his head and, with a pleading look, said, "You, too? Can I trust no one?"

"She truly is Catherine, my son," Father said. As he took a step toward the disoriented man, Vincent pressed further into the wall.

Shaking his head, violently, he cried, "I wish I were dead. Then these nightmares would end."

"Don’t say that," two voices chorused as two bodies moved closer. Catherine stopped and let Diana continue up to the edge of the bed.

"Don’t say that," she murmured again. "Jacob needs you." She took his shaking hands in hers. Unable to bear the sight of her beloved turning to another woman for the comfort and solace that she had always given to him, Catherine turned away and found comfort in Father’s arms.

Without warning, Vincent wildly yelled, "Jacob! Where’s Jacob? What have you done with him?"

"He’s safe," Father soothed him, "next door sleeping; it’s been a long day for him."

"I don’t believe you. If he’s here, produce him."

"But he’s just gone to sleep," Catherine protested.

At that time, Jacob came running in. His father’s unease and fear had awakened him, and he rushed to his father’s side. Climbing into Vincent’s lap, he said, "I’m all right, Daddy. Nobody hurt me." Turning to look at his mother, with his arms still tightly wound around his father’s neck, he asked, "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing, Jacob," she answered, aghast that he would think that of her, but with the conditions they had been living under, they had learned to trust no one and nothing, and it was understandable. "I was just trying to convince your father that I am who I say I am: Catherine and your mother."

Diana had moved aside and was watching the unfolding reunion with a shattered heart. When he had looked to her for the truth, for a moment, she hoped. But it was only his deep-seated fear that Catherine was only an illusion fostered upon him by the people who were abusing him that made him turn to her.

Jacob’s sky-blue eyes gazed sincerely into his father’s. "It’s true, Daddy. She is my mother. I looked into her heart and saw all the love she has for you and me." He grabbed his mother’s hand and entwined it with his father’s. Holding his hand over theirs, he used his bond with both of them to convince his father that the woman standing next to his bed was the woman he loved and the mother of his child.

"C - Catherine?" the bewildered man asked, the light of hope beginning to glow in his eyes. "Oh, don’t let this be another illusion. I couldn’t bear it."

"I’m no illusion, Vincent. I’m real and I’ll never leave you again. Never. I swear it." Tentatively, she sat on the edge of the bed, still holding tightly to his hand.

With a sudden movement, he flipped her right-hand palm-side up. With a taloned finger, he traced the almost minuscule brown dot on the edge of her palm about an inch and a half below the lowest knuckle of the little finger. Muttering to himself, she heard him say, "They wouldn’t know about this. They couldn’t. It’s not that important. Just a little, trivial thing. But it proves . . . It has to, doesn’t it?" His voice trailed away as his eyes sought hers. She saw the dawning of his acceptance. Hesitantly, he reached out for her, and with a deep sigh of "Vincent," she went into his arms. But it was not to be a gentle caress. Still somewhat unable to shake the fear that all this was a dream, he clutched her to his breast, frantically.

"Catherine . . . Oh Catherine," he babbled, "they invaded my mind and took all my precious memories of you and then distorted them . . . tainted them and made them squalid. I didn’t know what was real from imaginary. The only real thing in my life was Jacob."

"I’m here now. I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you ever again." Still, she knew it would be a long, difficult road for them until he was sound in mind as well as body. Weeping softly, Catherine kissed him. First on his forehead, then his cheeks and finally she found his mouth. Her kiss was the beginning of a long, slow healing. But they knew it would be together. And with that kiss, they felt the faintest flutter of their bond begin. It would take time, but she knew that eventually it would grow until it was even stronger than before.