From One Darkness To Another I, by Joan Stephens

FROM ONE DARKNESS TO ANOTHER
by Joan Stephens

From one darkness
into another darkness
I soon must go.
Light the long way before me,
moon on the mountain rim!

~Lady Izumi Shikibu
(c. 970 - 1030)

Deep Beyond Death ~

“Vincent!!” The heart-rending cry tore at Father’s heart. Even before he heard the uncontrollable sobbing, he knew what he would find. His son had lost his battle with the darkness that lived in him. And rather than bring pain and sorrow to his loved ones, he had chosen death. Father hurried into the darkened cave, following Pascal, Mouse, and Jamie who had rushed in ahead of him. He found them standing frozen around Catherine who was crouched on the floor, holding Vincent’s head in her lap. His lax body spoke to Father of the bitter loss of his son. No more would that imposing, glorious body move with fluid grace through the tunnel world. Catherine raised grief-stricken eyes to him. “He’s gone, Father. I’ve lost him.”

“Yes, child, I know.” He carefully lowered his weary, aching body to sit beside her on the cold hard floor and put his arm around her. She leaned into his shoulder for what comfort he could give her. Gently he touched his son’s cheek and smoothed the hair back from his face. “I know, Catherine, I know. It has been his constant battle throughout his life.”

She straightened up and braced her shoulders. “I must be brave. He would expect that of me.” Then her face crumpled like a piece of paper crushed in an uncaring hand. “But how do I live without him. He is my life!” Weeping as if her heart were broken, she buried her face in Father’s shoulder. He laid his head on her shoulder and wept with her.

Jamie and Mouse were in each other’s arms crying softly. They could not believe that Vincent was gone. How could he be? He had seemed so strong, so invincible that they had never considered or even thought such a thing was possible. Pascal slowly slid down the wall of the cavern to the floor and buried his head in his hands. He wept silently unable to believe that his boyhood friend and boon companion was gone. It was impossible.

“Mouse, Jamie . . . get a stretcher and some of the others to take Vincent home.” With the aid of his cane, Father slowly climbed to his feet. “Catherine, you should go with them. Pascal and I will watch over him.”

“No! I won’t leave him. How could you ask that of me?” The tears streaming down her face fell gently on Vincent’s silent face as she bent protectively over his still body. The stubborn set of her shoulders told Father it would be useless to insist. Leaning on his cane, he kept watch over the softly weeping woman and the motionless form of this dearly beloved son.

Vincent’s body was placed in the Common Room: with two large candles at the foot and two at the head of his bier. Father insisted that Catherine lay down and rest, giving her a sedative to ensure that she slept. After she had fallen into a restless sleep, Mary and Sarah helped him prepare Vincent’s body for burial. Catherine had vehemently insisted that he was to be buried instead of cremated--Father could not deny her--and it was decided that he would be buried in the catacombs.

Within two hours Catherine was up and keeping vigil beside the bier. “Catherine, you need . . .”

“Don’t ask me to leave him until I have to. I need to be here. My strength comes from him.”

Defeated, the grief stricken man reluctantly said, “All right, but if you feel tired I want you to rest.”

“Thank you, Father, I will,” she replied, managing a small, if unhappy smile for him.

He left her then, and with a heavy heart, went to see how the work on Vincent’s tomb was coming. Vincent’s friends were working on it, nonstop, until it was finished.

Mary asked, “Would you like a cup of tea, dear?” For the last hour she and Sarah had kept vigil with Catherine. Mary and Sarah’s eyes were red and swollen from the tears they had shed while they had related a few incidences from Vincent’s life.

Catherine shook her head, “No, thank you, Mary. But you and Sarah go ahead if you want.”

Mary patted her on the shoulder then left with Sarah. Throughout the night and the next day members of the community came in and sat with her. They would quietly talk and reminisce about the man and boy that had been Vincent. It was their way of telling her how much they loved him and how much they had come to love her.

Peter, his old friend, Jacob Wells or Father as all Below called him, thought, I must get word to Peter. He was sure Peter’s housekeeper, Molly, would get the message to him immediately. Especially if it concerned the tunnels as she had been a helper for years. Hopefully, he would not have an emergency that would keep him from the . . . Father could not say the word, even in his mind.

As he rounded a corner, he was nearly bowled over by a speeding Geoffrey. “How many times have I told you not to run in the tunnels, young man?” Grabbing the boy by his shoulders, Father held him in front of him.

“Sorry, Father,” an abashed ten-year-old said, looking passably contrite. “I’m taking a note for Catherine to Long so Benny can deliver it to her boss.”

“Ok.” Geoffrey left at a sedate pace until he was out of sight then took off as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Catherine, whom he loved almost more than he loved Vincent, depended on him to deliver this note right away. He wouldn’t let her down.

Gently shaking his head and taking an ‘oh well’ sigh, Father quite definitely heard Geoffrey picking up speed as the young boy hurried on his important task. He wondered, briefly, if all the children paid that much attention to his admonitions.

So, Catherine was sending notice to her boss that she would not be in to work for a few days. The tunnel patriarch wondered how long she would stay below and what kind of excuse she gave.
Whatever it was, he knew he had nothing to worry about.

“It’s time, Catherine.” Father lightly touched her shoulder. A single day that had seemed like a year had passed and Vincent’s tomb was ready to receive him.

“May I have a few minutes with him alone?” Mutely, Father nodded and he shooed everyone out giving her the privacy she needed to say good bye to the other half of her soul. She leaned wearily on the bier, studying the still, immobile face of her love. “Oh Vincent, how could you do this? How could you leave me? How do I exist without you? You were my strength and reason for living. Wherever you are wait for me, I will come. I love you.” Slowly, as if in a dream, she turned to the entrance and called, “Father?”

Unable to let go, Catherine held the side of Vincent’s bier tightly as she walked beside him on his final journey. Father walked on the opposite side. If only Devin was here, but there hadn’t been time enough to get a message to him. Holding large cylindrical candles, Pascal and Steven lead the way followed by Mouse, Cullen, Michael, and John carrying the bier. Jamie and Lena carrying two more large cylindrical candles led the rest of the community behind the cortege. In silence the community followed Vincent on his last journey through the tunnels. A muffled cry or tiny sob from one of the children occasionallybroke the silence followed by a soft word of consolation.

The entourage halted in front of the freshly prepared sarcophagus that lay on a raised platform. The four candles were placed two on a side beside the sarcophagus. Vincent’s body was gently lowered into it, amid cries and sobs, then the four men stepped back and quietly merged into the crowd gathered around it.

Father knew the woman beside him was partially responsible for Vincent’s emotional breakdown but he didn’t have the heart to blame her. The bond that tied Vincent and Catherine together was both a blessing and a curse. It was Vincent’s plunge into depression and madness that had finally shown her how fragile the balance was that he maintained between his humanity and the beast. The continued strain of dealing with the aftermath of the beast’s rages was more than his brittle psyche could stand. She had faced this knowledge and had accepted her part of the blame. It was something she would have to live with for as long as she lived, however long that may be.

With an air of distraction, Father followed the proceedings. After a few minutes of silence had passed, Catherine leaned over and touched his arm. He jumped and looked at her as if to say I can’t do this. She squeezed his hand encouragingly, and then, taking a deep breath, he looked out on his flock and saw his old friend standing in the back. Peter smiled sadly, sending Jacob all his love and support. Jacob nodded, relieved that Peter had made it, and began, “Night has fallen upon us. But all nights end. We must resolve that this night will end, that the light will shine for us once again. Vincent is gone . . .” his voice caught then he continued, “But he has left us a legacy of love and strength. He overcame many obstacles to become the man we all love and admire. We can do no less. We must all work together to overcome whatever obstacles come our way. We honor Vincent in doing so.” Turning to Catherine, he asked, “Would you like to say something, Catherine?”

She stepped forward, looked around, and took a deep breath. She started to speak then shook her head. All had been said when she said her farewell to him in the common room. Stepping back beside Father, she grasped his hand in a crushing grip.

One by one, the community filed past the sarcophagus: some touched him softly, others just looked at him and shook their heads. Many of the children dropped a little token of their love beside the still body. Finally, all the mourners had left with the exception of Father, Catherine, and the four pall bearers who would close the tomb. She stood aside as the suddenly aged patriarch said his final farewells to his youngest son. For the last time, he looked at the form of this tall, strong man that he had raised and loved. “Goodbye, my son, may your rest be the peace you have always sought.” He lightly touched Vincent’s face then turned to Catherine.

She smiled at him sadly, then walked to the side of the bier and grasped the sarcophagus that held the body of her only true love. He looked so peaceful, his vital energy stilled, his beautiful voice silenced. How could she leave him here, alone in the dark? She vowed that there would always be a torch lit by his tomb. She gazed at him for several minutes, drinking in his beauty, then heaved a ragged sigh. “Sleep safely, my love. I will love you forever.” Someone took her by the arm as she turned to leave. “Narcissa?” Startled she turned to face the old seeress.

“Death is a journey, child, and all journeys’ end. Come to me when you have nowhere else to go,” she said.

Catherine stared after her, puzzled. What did she mean, death is a journey? Ah well, it was just Narcissa being cryptic as usual. She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh course, I will,” she muttered and swiftly walked away. To see that beloved face disappear from her sight forever was almost more than she could bear.

She found Father waiting for her at the base of the stairway that led to the next level. They walked up the stairs, strengthening each other with every step, and were silent until they reached Father’s chambers.

Peter was there, waiting. He enfolded his unhappy goddaughter into a firm embrace. “I’m so sorry, honey.” Weeping softly, she buried her face in his breast. He looked over her head into the tear-dampened eyes of his lifelong friend. “Jacob, I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s not much you can say. I know you loved him, too.” Jacob took the hand that was held out to him and squeezed it tightly. “Well, shall we sit down,” he offered, shakily, “I’ll make some tea for us.”

“Thanks, but I can’t stay, Jacob. I have a mother going into labor and simply took the time to come for Vincent’s . . . ah . . . funeral. I hope she waited for me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Gazing down at the small woman in his arms, he asked, “Honey, will you be all right?”

“Yes, Peter, I’ll be fine. I’m going to stay Below for a while.” Wiping her eyes with a handkerchief that she had had balled up in her hand, she stepped out of his arms and sank onto one of the chairs pulled up to the table.

Jacob and Peter embraced, patting each other on the back then the tall, lean doctor returned Above to usher in a new life.

While Father made the tea, Catherine sat with her head bowed, staring at her hands laying in her lap.

Taking the cup he offered her, she transferred her gaze to the bottom of the cup.

“When?” He settled into a chair beside her and reached over, taking her cold hand in his.

In a remote inflectionless voice, she answered him. “When I realized how much I loved him, and what I would do to be with him.”

A soft look of remembrance came into her eyes. “He had come to see me. I had had a very bad day: lost a witness, had one killed, got into an argument with Joe. I was depressed . . . I was beat. He had come to make my pain his. We talked; he encouraged me. He held me until my strength and courage had returned. After he left, I sat on the balcony before going to bed, and I realized that I loved him with all my heart and soul, and that I would sacrifice everything for him.” A single tear trickled down her cheek and she absentmindedly brushed it away.

“Remember that, Catherine, let it guide your life.” He leaned forward and planted a small kiss on her cheek.

“Oh god, how do I go on without him?” She dissolved into a torrent of tears. Fathers hugged her tightly.

“Don’t fight it. Let it wash over you. It will bring you back stronger. Give in to your grief.” He held her until her storm of weeping spent itself. “There now. Dry your eyes and tell me what plans you have, if any.”

“I don’t know. Keep on working, I guess, but I will be spending more time here. Father, I will not allow this world of Vincent’s to die. I will do anything to protect it.”
They sat up late into the night talking about Vincent’s struggle to grow into the man they loved. She needed to hear these stories and Father needed to tell them.

“Father,” Catherine suddenly asked, “May I have Vincent’s chamber to use when I am down here?”

“No, I don’t want to change anything. I want everything as Vincent left it.”

“I don’t want to face that world just now. I don’t know if I can without Vincent’s strength to lean on.” She took a sip of tea.

He patted her on the shoulder. “You underestimate yourself, Catherine,” he said as he settled back into his chair. “You are a strong woman. That is one of the qualities that Vincent loved most about you.”

“Thank you, Father.” She stood up. “But it’s getting late. I think I will try to sleep.”

“Good night, Catherine. Sleep well.” She smiled mistily as she left him.

As she lay in Vincent’s oversized bed, the enormity of her loss hit her. The tears started to flow and soon she was sobbing convulsively into Vincent’s pillow.

Father hobbled in, sat down on the bed, and gathered her into his arms. “I’ve lost him Father. He’s gone. What do I do now?” She sobbed into his shoulder.

He stroked her hair, trying to comfort her. “We face each day with courage and strength. I promise that it eases a little every day.”

“I don’t think so,” she whispered, clinging to him as if she was drowning. Finally she was able to stop crying. “You need to get some sleep. You have so much to do tomorrow,” she said. “Thank you, Father . . . Father,” she said musingly. “You have become my father, you know.”

“I have felt like your father for many months,” he countered with a tremendous bear hug.

“Who would have ever thought that we would have come so far, eh, Father?” she said with a watery grin.

“Not me,” he chuckled as he painfully climbed to his feet.
“I think I can sleep now. Thank you again. Good night.”

“Well, if you need some just call for me. Sleep well . . . if you can.” He returned to his bed.

Surprisingly, she was asleep in a few short minutes and dreamt of Vincent calling her name and searching for her.

Vincent woke in a dim, cold strange tunnel. Where am I? He wondered. What is this place? This was a part of the tunnels he had never been in. How had he gotten here and where was Catherine? Why did she seem so far away? What was going on?

A thorough search of the tunnel left him no wiser. While he was searching, his eyes fully adjusted to the dim light, and he noticed a faint glow down the tunnel to his right. Following the will-o-wisp glow, he stumbled into an enormous cavern so large that the ceiling was lost in darkness. A surly mob of men swarmed at the farther end. He recognized many of them as men he had killed. They grinned at him maliciously as if they knew something he didn’t, then the mob parted and Paracelsus ambled through.

“Your world?” Vincent cast his eyes around for any escape he could find.

“I killed you, yes, but I didn’t murder you. You brought it on yourself. But why am I here? All of you are dead.”

“Oh, it’s true all right. Even now Catherine is starting her new life without you. I have plans for her.” The madman purred, almost rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

“I’m warning you! Leave Catherine alone!” Vincent warned, low and deadly as he backed away from him.

“Or what? You’ll kill me? What can you do to me now? Besides she is part of the game.”
“What game?”

“It’s really a very interesting game. You must defeat all your old enemies before you come to me. If you defeat me, you save Catherine, and since she is your soul, you save it, too. Otherwise . . . ,” Paracelsus’ voice trailed off into silence.

Realizing that he had to get out of there before he was unable to, he waded through the snarling mob that had closed in around him. They were ready to rend him limb from limb; the hell with Paracelsus’ game.

“Let him go,” Paracelsus roared. “The game begins when he is out of the cavern.”

Vincent ran out of the cavern, half a dozen men in hot pursuit. He could barely feel that Catherine was asleep, dreaming of him. Paracelsus was right, he would fight, if only to protect her. The struggle would be to keep the darkness under control. And that was the purpose of the game--to force him to lose himself in the darkness.