Chapter Nine
Growing Light
The spectacle that greeted her reminded her of the first slashing, bodies everywhere and in every position, like ragdolls. Her heart felt dead until she found the only slashing victim and studied the wounds. The other bodies were either knifed or shot. Some of the dead wore patched, cast-off clothing, reminding her of the tunnel folk, but these people were unfamiliar to her. This had been a pitched battle between fairly equal armies.
On examining the gashes, she noticed that they had a different appearance than the wounds caused by Vincent’s hands. They tapered off to the left indicating a right-handed person and Vincent was left-handed. Her heart eased a little as she confirmed that it was not him. "Joe, look at this. I think a different person killed this man, not the one that we are looking for."
Obligingly, he bent down and looked at the wounds. "What makes you think so?"
"I think this person is right-handed. See how the gashes taper off to the left."
"Oh, great," he groaned as he stood up. "Now we have two slashers. Kind of backs up your theory of a gang of killers, doesn’t it?"
"Yeah, it does." Or it’s some of Paracelsus’ followers, she thought.
Greg Hughes sauntered up. "Hell-ova-note, getting a body out of bed at this time of night for this kind of scum. Should be home snuggled up next to Myra, not here," he groused pleasantly.
"I hear you," Joe agreed, grinning. "Even if I don’t have a Myra, it would sure be nice to be home in a warm, snug bed."
"Hi, Cathy, find anything?" Greg hunkered down beside her and examined the body.
"Greg." She smiled at him. He was on of her favorite people. A friendly, open faced man with a warmth about him that had not been lost after almost twenty years on the force, dealing with the dregs of society. An abused child, a beaten wife, an old man who had been bilked out of his life savings could still bring a tear to his eye. She turned to him and asked, "This whole scene has a different feel about it, don’t you think? And I think there was more than one killer this time."
He stood up; it was hard on his knees, staying in that position too long. "Yeah, I think so too. Maybe, three or four. It looks like a young war happened here."
"Yeah." Steadying herself with a hand on his arm, she rose to stand next to him, and then brushing the dirt from her knees, she said, "Joe, I’m going back to the office. There’s nothing more I can do here."
"I’ll go with you. Let us know what you find out, Greg."
"Ok, will do." He wandered over to look over the shoulder of an investigator kneeling beside another body.
Before she left something made her look up into the broken, vacant windows of the building across the alley. Vincent was standing in one of the top windows slowly shaking his head. "No, it is not I," was the message. She breathed a sigh of unutterable relief. He would not lie to her, even now.
"What is it, Cathy?"
"Nothing, Joe. It’s just so sad."
"Yeah, even these guys have wives and children."
*
Vincent left the scene of the massacre angrier than he had ever been. This act would be laid at his feet. Suddenly, he found that to be extremely distasteful. He was changing. She was changing him. Was the other one trying to take over? Whenever he looked at the crystal pendant, he could hear her voice and another that sounded like his. He didn’t want to go back into the darkness; not now when he had experienced the light of her love. He fought to stay in control, walking a tight line between being what she wanted and what Paracelsus wanted. No longer did he think of him as Father.
*
"Is this case beginning to get to you?" Joe asked as they settled into the back seat of the cab he had flagged down.
She squirmed in her seat, trying to find a comfortable spot between the lumps of the back seat. "The case? No. I’m having some personal problems. Remember the man whose son is missing?"
"Yeah," he nodded.
"Well, we found him, but he’s very ill."
"I’m sorry, Radcliffe. He means a lot to you, Huh?"
"Yes, He’s everything to me." She stared, unseeing, at the passing scene.
"Do you want some time off? I can arrange it."
She looked back at him with tears in her eyes. "Thanks, Joe, but I think I’m better off having something to do, to keep me occupied. I see him as often as I can."
"Ok, Radcliffe, if I can help in any way, let me know."
"I will. You’re a good friend, Joe," she said, squeezing his hand.
When they entered the office, she found a small bouquet of flowers sitting on her desk with a note for her tucked in between the stems.
"Secret admirer, Chandler?" Joe asked playfully.
"Wouldn’t you like to know?" she replied archly.
As Joe returned to his office, she read the note. Father asked her to come Below tonight. She wondered what he had found out.
*
He was sitting in his favorite chair, doing his favorite thing: reading. She didn’t disturb him for a few minutes, just watched him totally absorbed in his book. She noted the new lines of worry around his eyes, the deepened creases in his forehead, and the slight downturn of his mouth. Vincent’s absence affected Father as much as it did her. He loved Vincent fiercely, and she knew he felt faintly guilty about not being able to protect him. Her heart reached out to him, wishing to comfort him.
"Father," she said gently.
He looked up at her and a smile lit his face, "Ah Catherine, you’re here."
She ran down the small stairs to enfold him in her arms. "How are you?" she asked, concern in her voice and on her face.
"I’m fine. And you?"
"I’m ok; I guess. What did you want to see me about?"
Wearily he smiled, "Aside from wanting to see you, I have news of Paracelsus."
"Good or bad?" She settled beside him in a chair she had moved from the conference table.
"I’m not sure. After we found his world, we set up observation posts and increased the number of guards. Our observers are reporting an increase in activity as if they’re preparing for a raid. I fear it is to be a raid on us. I don’t know what to do. I have always been a pacifist, but I can’t let John attack this world."
"Is there anything I can do, Father? I’ll get weapons if you want them."
"No! No," he said more gently, "guns are extremely dangerous in the close confines of the tunnels. We will make our own weapons." In a calmer voice, he continued, "If we go down, we will go down fighting, I can assure you."
"If only Vincent were here, there would be no attack."
"Yes, John is afraid of him. That’s why he is constantly trying to kill or change him. He must feel very certain of Vincent, or he wouldn’t try to attack us."
"Either that or he’s afraid Vincent is coming back to himself and must act before that happens." Then she told him about her meeting with Vincent last night and what he had said to her.
"I hope you’re right," the old man sighed. "Let’s hope Vincent is regaining his memory."
*
"No! I will not kill her," Vincent declared through clenched teeth, his face barely six inches away from Paracelsus’. Leaning over the table that stood between them with both hands resting flat on the table top, his arms quivered from the tension of restraining himself.
"And why not?" Paracelsus asked, his voice soft and deadly. His eyes flashed with suspicion.
Vincent straightened and began to pace, releasing some of the tension. "It’s too easy. They’ve all been too easy. I want some challenge, someone that will test me. Send someone else to kill her." He was trying to convince the man who watched him with glittering, cold eyes.
"That is the only reason?"
"The only reason."
"All right. There is a man named Gabriel, well guarded, smart, ruthless, and cunning. He will test your mettle. He will be our next target."
Vincent relaxed as he felt that he had fooled the man. Suddenly, Paracelsus made a chopping motion with his hand, and Vincent was borne to the ground by a heavy metal net.
"What are you doing?" he roared as a horde of Paracelsus’ followers entangled him tightly in the net.
"You didn’t really think you could fool me, did you? I’ve been suspicious of you for days," the man gloated. "Put him in the cage and chain him tightly. I have plans for him when we have our next social evening."