Chapter Six
Tossing and turning Vincent had his blankets in total disarray. One was wrapped mummy like around him, the other entangled his legs. Why couldn’t he sleep? A strange restlessness had him in its thrall. Struggling out of the blankets, he donned his clothes, and throwing his heavy, black cloak over his shoulders, he strode out of his chamber into the night. This restlessness pulled him to the world Above. Whenever he hesitated, an uneasiness settled about his heart, forcing him to resume his journey to the world Above. Following whatever-it-was, he found himself on an apartment balcony. Somehow, he knew he had made this journey before; the climb down from the roof was too familiar. He instinctively knew each toe and handhold. All was dark within, with the exception of a light that was spilling out around a half-closed door. There was just enough light to make out the interior. A large king-sized bed sat against the far wall and in that bed was a small lump that was someone sleeping. Someone made even smaller by the size of the bed. At the foot of the bed was a crib that held a baby. The compulsion that called to him came from that crib. The person in the bed turned over, and he could see that it was Cathy, the helper that had come from California for the memorial service. There was something about her that tugged at his heartstrings.
Unable to resist the strong attraction that emanated from the crib, Vincent did something he had never done before. Quietly, he opened a closed door and entered another’s room. Softly, he padded to the crib and, standing beside it, stared down at the squirming child. He was so absorbed in the child that he didn’t hear Catherine get out of bed.
"My son," came the soft voice at his right shoulder.
With great difficulty, he tore his eyes away from the child and turned his head to see her standing beside him.
His gaze was pulled back to the child. "Pick him up, he wants you to," she urged him quietly.
"How do you know?" He bent and gently took the squirming child into his arms.
"He tells me in ways I can’t explain," she answered, delighted to see Vincent’s son in his arms.
"What is his name?" he asked, as he stared at the child that had captured his heart with the first glimpse.
"David Vincent," was the calm reply.
He glanced at her sharply, then turned back to David, holding him at eye level. David searched his father’s face as he had searched the face of his grandfather and every other man he had ever met. They locked eyes. David started to laugh and babble, wriggling so hard that Vincent almost dropped him back into the crib. As Vincent cradled his son to his chest, he felt the pull become a warmth that surrounded his heart. He could feel the child’s happiness and, looking at Catherine in confusion, he questioned, "My son?"
Unable to speak, she simply nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Our . . . son?" he asked so softly that she almost didn’t hear him.
"Yes," she finally managed.
"How did this happen?" he wondered. Suddenly, a tremor shot through him. No, you don’t want to know; it will hurt too much. But from some forgotten place came a second thought, You need to know.
"Be sure you really want to know before you ask," she told him, touching his arm tenderly. "The telling can cause you great pain."
"Does it concern the three years I have lost?" He was beginning to show signs of distress, his breath quickening.
"Yes, but if it causes you to feel this frightened and disturbed, maybe we should wait."
"No, I must find out how David came to be. What I did, what you did. I can learn this only if I remember."
"All right . . . but let me put David down for the night, then I’ll tell you." She laid the child in his crib and, rubbing his tummy, sang her mother’s lullaby to him until he was fast asleep. Avidly, Vincent watched something he thought he’d ever see: a woman who evidently had meant a great deal to him singing his son to sleep.
He followed her into the living room and settled onto one of the small sofas. Looking around, he thought how this room reflected the beauty and generosity of the woman who lived here. She broke into his thoughts when she said, "I need a cup of tea. How about you?"
"I would like a cup, myself," he responded. He heard her enter the kitchen then the rattle of cups and saucers, followed minutes later by the whistle of the tea kettle, and the sound of pouring water. Then, her steps as she entered the living room. "Hope you don’t mind tea bags. It’s all I have." She set a tray on the coffee table between the two facing couches.
"No, that’s fine." She handed one cup to him, and taking the other, she sat opposite him on the other sofa. "It’s hot, just the way I like it," he commented.
"I know," she said, with a knowing smile. Stilling, she seemed to be marshaling all her energy as she prepared to tell him of their life together. Patiently, uneasily he waited. At last, she lifted her head, and taking a deep breath, she began, "This is very hard for me. It will sound like a fairy tale or worse, but it is . . . the truth. Promise me you won’t interrupt until I finish."
With hooded eyes, he nodded.
Taking the last gulp of tea, she placed her cup on the tray then, clasping her hands together, she leaned forward, elbows on her knees.
"One night, three years ago, I was at a party with my fiancé, Tom, when I decided to go home. I was mistaken for a hooker named Carol and abducted. They beat me, kicked me, and slashed my face. They left me to die in the Park. You found me and took me Below to Father who, incidentally, was furious with you for breaking one of the rules--no strangers. You and Father bandaged my ribs and stitched the wounds on my face. As I lay there healing, we developed a bond, much like the one you have with David. You knew everything I felt and sometimes, it seemed, even my thoughts. I fell in love with you then; although, I didn’t know it until later. I knew you loved me even if you wouldn’t say the words. You thought someday I would meet a man Above and leave you. What I couldn’t get you to understand was that all men pale in significance compared to you. You can be incredibly stubborn, you know." She smiled at him to take the sting out of her words. Faintly, he smiled back at her. The uneasiness he had felt at the beginning of her narrative was increasing exponentially as she continued.
"After I returned to my own world, there were many times that you saved me from death or worse." She told him of Mischa Auer and the building of old people, of Brigit O’Donnell and how he saved both of them. Of the time she fell under a voodoo spell and how he came to her rescue, how he had rescued her from Paracelsus. And how he had brought her back from the arms of death when the Watcher had imprisoned her in a car trunk and pushed the car into a lake.
She told him about Professor Hughes and his cage, how she had helped Mouse by getting equipment from Above for his machine that rescued Father and him after a cave-in, and her offer to marry another to save him and his world.
Then she told him of their first anniversary celebration and showed him the rose she had given him and the crystal pendant he had given her, of her doubts about their relationship and how she had come to realize it was worth everything and then, painfully, of her father’s death, her decision to go Below, and of their talk by the Falls.
She paused and went into the kitchen for more tea for them. When she returned, she asked, "Are you all right?" He nodded, albeit, very hesitantly. "Shall I go on? The hardest part is yet to come. Has anything jogged your memory yet?"
"No, nothing," he replied glumly.
"Let’s stop for a while. Are you hungry? I am. Let me fix something for us? Why don’t you check on David? He has a habit of kicking off his blanket." Maybe taking a break would give him time to calm down before she continued with the rest and most painful part of their story.
He unfolded from the couch and went into the room that held his son. His son. Would he ever get used to that? He was a father. Whatever did he do to deserve that? Evidently, not much but make one woman very unhappy. She had said nothing, yet he knew that the last year and a half had been incredibly difficult for her. He admired her tenacity and strength not knowing that she derived that strength from her love for him. She called from the living room, and after tucking the blanket around his son, he returned. A tray with fruit, cheese and crackers sat on the coffee table. They spoke of inconsequential matters, Above and Below. She told him of David’s birth and what a joy he was. After she gave him the last piece of fruit, she took the tray into the kitchen and on returning sat with her back against the armrest of the sofa with her knees drawn up under her chin. "Shall I continue?" she asked, clasping her arms around her legs.
"Yes, we’ve gone this far."
"Not too upset?" she asked solicitously.
Unable to speak as the fear rose in him, he shook his head.
"What I’m going to tell you now was very hard on both of us and almost destroyed us. But, together, we proved stronger than any adversity we met. It started with Paracelsus trying to drive you mad by using a reporter to harass me, hoping you would kill an innocent man. Then he impersonated Father and drove you into killing him." She stopped when he squeezed his eyes shut and his head fell back against the cushions. "Are you all right?" She reached across the table and touched his arm.
"No," he whispered. "I don’t remember killing anyone."
With a grimace of pain, she told him what she had told Father so long ago, "I know. It was because of me that you killed so many. I carry the burden of guilt for all those men."
In a shocked voice, he exclaimed, "No! Not you."
"Yes . . . me. I accepted this long ago and live with it every day." After a pause to gather her thoughts, she said, "Let me continue. You were so weakened by this assault that the illness that you suffered as a child returned."
"Did I hurt anyone?" he broke in anxiously.
"No, you went to the deepest caverns to make sure you wouldn’t. I went after you to bring you back, but you were completely lost to yourself and your dark side had taken over. You rushed at me with raised hand, but when I shouted your name, you stopped."
Vincent leapt to his feet and stood quivering, facing the fireplace with his hands braced on the mantlepiece. Catherine knew she had to continue, or he would never hear the whole story.
"Even your dark side couldn’t harm me. You fell to the floor. I thought you were unconscious, but you were dead. I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t live without you. I kissed you, I willed you back to me."
Pacing back and forth, Vincent shook his head as if to rid himself of her words, but she rushed on. "If you had died, I would have died. You returned my kiss, and I was so happy that I kissed you again and again. Soon there was a rising passion growing between us. We shed our clothes and we made love . . . wonderful, glorious love."
"No!" Vincent shouted as he fell to his knees, pounding his fists on the floor. "I stopped but he wouldn’t stop. He was the one who took you, not I. David is his child." Covering his face with his hands, he rocked back and forth, weeping convulsively.
Instantly, she was at his side, holding him tightly against her breast. She placed a hand under his chin and raised his tear dimmed eyes to hers. "No, Vincent, it was you. You must learn that you and he are one. He is as much a part of you as my darkness is a part of me." At his look of disbelief, she said, "Oh yes. When you are threatened, my dark side rises too, and I would kill anyone that would harm you. There is a darkness that lives in all of us, and we use that darkness to protect ourselves and our loved ones. Believe me, love, you are no different from any other man, only stronger and more adept. We all have the ability to kill."
He was drowning in her moss green eyes as her words pierced his heart. Then, he fell forward, unconscious. When he opened his eyes, he was floating languidly in a pool of inky blackness, mulling her words over and over again. Was it true? Was what he feared--the darkness--was it in all men, only stronger in him because of what he was? Was it a failing on his part that the Darkness continued to plague him? Catherine had no problem accepting his darkness, maybe it was time for him to accept the other part of him and admit that they were one. Suddenly, he felt another presence. When he looked to the side, he saw the Dark One floating beside him, laughing mockingly.
Light and Dark stared at each other for several long seconds. Finally, the Dark growled, "Why?"
"Why did I lock you away?"
"Yes."
"I was afraid." The Light One admitted.
"Ha! You have been afraid of me ever since you learned of my existence." His other half sneered.
"If you had hurt her . . ."
"Hurt her? Catherine? I could never hurt her. I’m the one who protects her. I love her too. She is my life as well as yours. I would die without her."
"I didn’t know."
"You didn’t ask. You have never asked. You just decided to lock me away, and all it did was make you lose Catherine and our bond. When will you learn that you can’t live without me."
"I have learned," Vincent replied calmly. "Here, give me your hand. I call a truce between you and me."
The Dark One peered intently at him as if to ask, "Do you really mean it?" Noting the acceptance in Vincent’s eyes, he fairly shouted, "Yes, this is as it should be!" And he quickly grasped the offered hand as if afraid it would be pulled back.
Upon contact, there was a bright spark of light that gradually grew to encompass both of them, blotting out the blackness. The light winked out as fast as it had come, and only Vincent was left floating in the inky blackness. The Dark and Light were finally united as they were meant to be.
Unafraid, he drifted for uncounted moments until he felt something tugging him, calling him back. He fought for a while then gave up to the stronger attraction. Catherine was calling to him. Gladly, he swam up to consciousness. On opening his eyes, he found her sitting cross-legged holding his head in her lap, waiting for him. "Hello, my love," he breathed.
Her head snapped up, and she looked into shy, warm, and loving blue eyes. Suddenly, she knew, and a smile that out rivaled the sun in its brightness spread over her face. "Vincent? You remember me!"
Sadly, he replied, "How could I have ever forgotten you?" He took her hand and brought it to his lips.
"Oh god, Vincent, can you ever forgive me for all the pain I have caused you?" Tears welled up in her eyes and overflowed, trailing down her cheeks.
Rising to his knees, he took her into his arms. "There is nothing to forgive. I was ashamed that I could not control him when we made love, and I punished him by locking him away. But by doing that, I lost you because he took all memory of you and our bond with him."
"You must never be ashamed, Vincent. Intimacy is a part of love, and I want to love every part of you, light or dark."
With a knowing laugh, he said, "Don’t worry, my Catherine, you will have many opportunities." He could feel their bond thrumming with life and love. "Can you feel it, Catherine?"
"What? Our bond?"
"Yes."
"I feel it, stronger than ever."
He laughed again as he bent to cover her face and neck with hot, breathless kisses. She looked at his quizzically, then shrugged her shoulders. Her Vincent was back, and as he picked her up and carried her into her bedroom, she knew that all was right in her world once again.
*
For two special people, a day that had begun on an unhappy note of loss and sorrow ended in a restored love and the vision of a happy life. All brought about by an exceptional child and two old and dear friends. Although saddened by the loss of two of their most valuable members, the tunnel community was once again whole and safe.
Fini