Chapter Two

She walked to the lower east end - where the thoroughfares leading to Brooklyn, Queens and Long Island all stretched away from the City. She settled in for the night under a roadway, a series of stone and steel columns holding up an expressway. She wrapped a blanket, one pilfered from a shelter, around her, and lent against the huge concrete underpinning of the highway. She closed her eyes, meandering into sleep.

Sometimes she had terrible dreams: dreams about being held down, about being watched, dreams about someone taking something very precious away from her. But sometimes she had wonderful ones. The best one was of her lying in a comfortable bed - her eyes closed - she could hear a gentle metallic tapping sound. There was an arm around her, a very muscular one. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest where she rested her head. She always held unto this dream as long as she could when she awakened. But not tonight. She was roused by an automobile pulling in under the overpass, she could hear the cut of the engine, she heard men exiting the vehicle.

She turned and saw two men dragging another man out of the auto. She stayed where she was, quiet, deep in the shadows. If she moved she might attract their attention. She didn’t think they would be able to see her if she remained still.

The men were obviously gang members, the victim too, they were all wearing colors and sporting tattoos. But the victim, a black man, was from another gang. His hands were pinioned behind him. They threw him to the ground, then made him kneel. One of the men, the shorter one with two earrings in one ear, returned to the car and removed from the trunk - of all things - a large bag of charcoal and a can of lighter fluid. He returned to the shadow of the underpass and began to make a campfire. Catherine looked on in increasing confoundment and alarm. What were they doing?

They were speaking alternately in Spanish and in English. Catherine knew some Spanish, but it was hard to follow the line of dialogue. The fire was burning high now, Catherine shrank against the pillar, hoping it wouldn’t throw light in her direction. The second man, the taller one, had his hair in a short ponytail at the back of his head. He moved toward the fire, placing a long knife in it. Catherine’s stomach was telling her what it was that was going on. She wanted to bolt. But she stayed where she was - watching in horror. They taunted the shackled man, laughed at him, spit on him. Then the man with the pony tail removed the knife from the fire and approached the helpless victim.

Catherine didn’t think. - she just reacted. She leapt up, throwing off the blanket. She grabbed up an old piece of wood she saw lying near by and took a run at the man holding the knife. He was warned by the other, he cursed, turned on her, and yelled something she didn’t catch. She landed a blow with the board, but he managed to fend the worst of it off; it hit his upraised arm. The man with the earrings was on her now and she turned on him and kneed him. But the other man, Ponytail, grabbed her from behind and forced her toward the fire, shoving her into it. She put out her hands to protect her face and body; both hands landed in the heart of the embers. She screamed out in pain. Ponytail was behind her trying to force the rest of her into the flames. She twisted out of his grasp, wrapping her burning hands around the coals and turning she threw two fistfuls into his face. He screamed and dropped to his knees. The other man, the one with the earrings, came at her. She staggered to her feet and attempted to run. At the same time they both heard a car engine, someone else was pulling in just beyond the pillars. Earrings turned, panicked. His friend was moaning for help; his eyes had been burned. Earrings went to Pony tail, unsure of what to do next, looking in the direction of the car they could hear but could not see.

"Kill them, kill them." Pony tail screamed.

The earringed man bent down and retrieved a handgun from under the pant leg of his jeans. He pointed it at Catherine’s retreating figure. She heard a bullet pass her ear. Then she felt the heat of another one tearing across the side of her head. She pitched forward and hit the ground hard, her body rolling over until she landed facing the gang members. She could feel blood already spilling out and over her forehead. Earrings had turned from Catherine and shot the bound man at point blank range. He hit him in the neck. Catherine closed her eyes. Earrings helped Ponytail to his feet.

"What about the bitch?" ponytail moaned.

"I got her in the head." Earrings replied.

"Hurry!" Earrings told the other man, still glancing back in the direction of the engine motor.

He led him to their car, practically shoving Ponytail into in, and then floored it as they fled the area. Catherine watched the vehicle peel away. She had trouble rising but she did. She went to the man lying on the ground, blood pouring from his neck just below his ear. His doo-rag had fallen to the ground and she took it and tried to bandage the wound. It was very difficult to do given the condition of her hands. He looked at her with dying eyes, tried to tell her something but he could only rasp out gurgling sounds. She leaned over him and said a few silent words as he expired.

She sat back, realizing that she herself had sustained a head injury. And the other car, the one they heard pull in. What happened to it? She rose, unsteady on her feet. She turned to go. She couldn’t stay here. The police would come - or other gang members. She needed to get away, at least as far as the long weeds edging the lot. She managed part of the way, and then she fell.

She could hear the blare of the police radio. Someone was talking nearby.

"What did they see?" Clifford asked. He was a plainclothes detective, the older of two men.

"Nothing, really." answered Mike, the younger one. "They pulled in here for a little privacy. All they saw was a late model, light colored sports car pull out of here doing 90. They came to investigate and found these two."

Clifford approached the young couple talking to the uniformed officers. "What made you come over here?" he asked them.

"I don’t know Dude, they looked like they were hauling outta here in a major hurry, we were just curious."

"Would you mind not calling me Dude?" Clifford told the boy. He could smell the marijuana drifting off of their clothing.

"Look, we wasn’t looking for any trouble." the girl interrupted, "And we could’ve just left. But we figured, you know."

"No, I don’t know." Clifford would have liked to have added that what he did know was that she should’ve been home in bed hugging a teddy bear.

The little tramp! Nobody out at this hour but pimps, creeps, druggies, and other assorted weirdos. She didn’t look more than fifteen or sixteen years old. For the millionth time in his career he wondered where these kids’ parents were. The boy didn’t look much older. What in God’s name were they doing out at 3:00 in the morning - smelling of reefer - giving and getting hummers in the back seat of an unregistered, uninsured, uninspected motor vehicle.

"Get a 32B from these...kids." He told one of the uniforms.

He wasn’t going to take their statements. These morons couldn’t put a coherent sentence together if they had a gun held to their heads. And that’s what he would like to do. One of these days he would like to pull out his service revolver and slowly put the muzzle up against one of their empty, disrespectful, stoner heads. Give them something to think about besides their filthy music and their next high.

"And get an E.T.A. on Crime Scene." He added.

Stupid ass rookies walking all over evidence. Not that he cared. He knew he should have banged in sick this weekend. He could be upstate right now, at his hunting cabin, sitting in a blind, with a shot gun in his lap and both hands wrapped around a good bottle of whisky, enjoying nature.

"What do you think? Homeless?"

"Looks like."

"Hope she saw something."

"Must have. Why else would she have taken a bullet?"

"She didn’t. It’s just a flesh wound, it didn’t lodge." Clifford leaned down and could see that Mike was right.

"Yeah, it doesn’t look too bad. Bled a bit. But it’s not deep. Come on Honey, wake up!" Clifford shook her.

Her head was killing her, but that was nothing compared to the pain in her hands. What could she do? If she could just answer their questions maybe they would let her go. No, they wouldn’t. They knew she was homeless. They would want to bring her in. She wondered if the restaurant owner had filed a report against her. She wondered if they could connect her to the mental ward she had fled. She wasn’t going back. And how could she help them? She couldn’t speak. What to do?

She opened her eyes. The two detectives were bending over her. She looked beyond them to where uniformed officers were congregating around the slain man’s body. Another group of officers was a little further off, talking to the two teenagers.

"There you go ma’am. Can you sit up?" Mike asked her.

Catherine pulled herself up to a sitting position reluctantly, trying to fight her rising panic. "What happened here?" Clifford asked.

Catherine shook her head and motioned to her throat to indicate that she could not speak.

"How are you feeling? Is your head OK?" Mike enquired, Catherine nodded.

"Oh, come on, you must have seen something. They took a pot shot at you." Clifford persisted.

Catherine put her hand to her mouth and shook her head.

"Are you mute?" Mike asked her. Catherine nodded. "Do you speak in sign language?

We can get an interpreter." Catherine again shook her head.

"Ah, she’s faking it. She just doesn’t want to answer." Clifford said. Catherine kept shaking her head. She couldn’t let this go South.

"Can you write?" Mike wanted to know, reaching into his pocket for a pad and pen. Catherine was forced to indicate in the negative.

"Bull shit. She’s putting us on." Clifford fumed. "On your feet, Honey, let’s go. We’ll see if you can answer better at the Station House." Catherine’s injured hands were covered by her long sleeves. He reached out and roughly pulled at her hand. She screamed in pain, backing away, trying to loose his hold on her.

"Hey, calm down." he yelled at her.

But she couldn’t calm down, he was squeezing her injured hand. And what was worse she could feel her control slipping away from her. She couldn’t let them take her. They would put her in jail, or worse, back in the psychiatric ward.

"Come on Cliff, let her go. She’s scared." Mike told him. But Clifford wasn’t listening.

"Come on, up on your feet."

Catherine was gasping with pain, trying to comply, to get up. But her legs were shaking. She managed to pull her hand out of his grasp. She turned and looked toward the safety of the high grass. She was panicking, her heart rate and breathing were racing out of control.

"Here, just calm down ma’am. Cliff, let me talk to her. She’s been shot today."

"How are you gonna talk to her? She can’t talk, can’t write, can’t even use sign language. Just how the hell do you think you are going to talk to her?" he paused, looked over at the ambulance pulling in. "Good. Here’s the bus."

Mike tried to reassure her "Ma’am we have a medic coming. He’ll look at the laceration on your head. Then we’ll find a way to talk. Just take it easy."

Catherine’s eyes traveled to the ambulance pulling up. Was he placating her? Did he think she was crazy? She was getting ahead of herself. Maybe a hospital would be better. She looked down at her sleeves...if she showed them her burnt hands.

"Ey, Gus, over here. We have a mental aided." Clifford yelled to the ambulance driver.

A mental aided? No! They were putting her back in the psychiatric ward. Catherine pushed herself backward suddenly and violently. She leapt up and made a run for it. Clifford was on her in a minute. She shoved him aside, tried to keep going. He pulled her back, pushed her to the ground. Catherine lost it completely. She tried to fight him off, twisting, kicking. He was joined by his partner who was trying to talk her down. But Clifford pulled out his pepper spray and gave it to her full in the face. She gave up then, coughing and retching, gasping for breath. The ambulance personnel brought over a stretcher and strapped her down to it. One of the medics told the other to get the burn kit for her hands.

"Her hands?" Mike questioned, looking down at her.

"Look what she did to me!" Clifford complained, "What do you got for a bite Gus?"

Mike noticed the burns for the first time. "Oh my God, look at her hands." He told his

partner, looking at him in disgust. "No wonder she screamed when you tried to make her get up."

"She bit me." Clifford snapped - totally unconcerned.

"You are such an asshole." was the only response Mike could think of.

 

The next few days were round after round of her fighting them off, of them strapping her down, pushing needles into her veins. Why not fight? She had nothing left to lose. No hope. She wouldn’t be able to fool them a second time. She was back in the same facility. She recognized the attendants, the stained walls, the unending background noise.

Several times men had come and gone, trying to talk to her about what happened under the bridge. She just turned her head to the wall. Her hands hurt. She wondered how her life has come to this. She closed her eyes. At least she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of tears.

They came to attend to her hands. She would lie there quietly, willing away the pain. They would finish, wrap her hands again; leave her.

No, there was someone still there. She felt a person standing nearby.

A nurse passed. A female voice asked "Why is this woman chained to the bed?"

"As a precaution." The nurse answered. "She’s violent."

"Is she?" A woman stepped into Catherine’s line of vision. "Are you? Are you violent?" She asked. She attempted to smooth back Catherine’s hair, it lay in strands over her face. Catherine pulled back - startled.

"OK" the woman told her, holding up her hands. "It’s OK. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to."

‘Now that would be a first’ Catherine thought. The woman stayed a while longer. Then she told someone. "She was not supposed to be sedated today. You had specific orders on that. I’ve been trying to get to talk to her for days now. I’m coming back here tomorrow -and she’d better be lucid."

‘Don’t count on it’ Catherine told herself. Then she let herself drift off.

But the morning came and they did not drug her. She lay quietly in bed and tried to hold unto the dream. She had the good one again. She could feel his breath on her hair. She could hear the distant metallic chimes. She had wrapped her own arms around his arm as he held her.

The nurse came in to clean and debride her hands. It was much worse now without any sedative. She instinctively drew her hands back, crying out in pain. The nurse was on the alert for any trouble. She wasn’t going to take any nonsense. Catherine had gotten them all into a lot of trouble when she had escaped nearly eight weeks before. The administration had come down hard on everyone. You’d think they had let Charles Manson escape. And here the doctors had been kind enough to let Catherine stay. Usually homeless patients were released much sooner. The City wasn’t fond of paying for the upkeep of mental patients. But her lack of communication skills had the doctors worried that she would not be able to care for herself on the outside. Some gratitude!

She roughly pulled Catherine’s hand back toward her; attending to the wounds with no sign of gentleness. Catherine attempted to pull away again. It was agony. The woman threw her hand back at her. She was not going to put up with this. She left but was back a short time later with a hypodermic. But hadn’t that woman said Catherine was not to be sedated? Or had she dreamed her? Catherine tried to draw herself backward but was prevented by the restraints. She tried a different tack then - offering her hands in a gesture of conciliation. The nurse was having none of it. She called the attendant, a large male responded and came around the bed to hold her down.

"What the hell is going on here?" A voice asked. "Don’t even think of giving her that injection."

The nurse stopped; looked around at the woman. "Her burns have to be attended to and she is uncooperative." The nurse turned her back on her. "I don’t have to explain to you."

"No, you don’t. You can explain it to your Union representative after you get fired today. Because I promise you if you put that in her arm you are out of a job."

This had some effect. The woman resumed speaking.

"I am going to make a phone call. I am going to tell my Lieutenant to call your supervisor. If when I get back you have laid one hand on this woman you will not only be out of a job but you will be under arrest for assault. You and your goon too." She said indicating the attendant. "Are we clear?"

The woman turned and strode away muttering curses under her breath that any seventh grade boy would be proud of. ‘Don’t leave’ Catherine wanted to say. Then she wondered why. ‘Because she’s on my side.’ Catherine answered herself. ‘Only because she wants something’ Catherine reminded herself. Even so.

But several minutes later she was back and pushing a wheel chair. The supervisor was with her - followed by a different male attendant. They didn’t look happy. They started to remove the shackles confining Catherine to the bed. She lay still and stared at the woman who was staring back at her with equal intensity.

"Those too." She told them, indicating the constraints binding Catherine’s wrists to each other. The attendant hesitated, then removed them. Catherine sat up slowly, pulling her legs over the side of the bed.

‘Hasn’t anyone told you that I’m mute?’ Catherine wanted to ask her. ‘No dumb, that’s what they used to call it. I’m dumb. Little better than an animal. "No use to talk to me".’

"There, that’s better. Now we can talk." The woman said. "Can you manage by yourself." She indicated the wheel chair. "I can help you." She moved to assist Catherine but stopped when she saw her agitation. Catherine was a little unsteady but she managed to transfer herself from the bed to the wheel chair.

"I want her put in a private room." The woman told the supervisor.

I can’t authorize that." the supervisor responded.

"I’m not asking you to. I’m just telling you she is to be put in a private room. I don’t care who you have to ask - call the Mayer if you want to."

The supervisor stomped away, now it was her muttering curses. The attendant stayed.

The woman seated herself on Catherine’s bed, introducing herself as an NYPD detective. She was studying Catherine with something like curiosity.

"I feel like I’ve met you some where before." She smiled at her.

‘Been frequenting any park benches lately?’ Catherine wanted to ask her.

"Do you know why I’m here?" The detective wanted to know. Catherine nodded in the affirmative.

"The men you saw. They were gang members, weren’t they?"

Catherine took a breath. Why should she answer? The woman was only being kind so she could get what she needed from her. But Catherine understood that. What those men did, they should be punished. She looked into the woman’s large eyes, contemplating. Funny, Catherine usually never looked anyone in the face. She always kept her head down. But she was desperate, and this woman was her only hope.

"I know you tried to save that man, the one they shot." The detective said. How could she know that? The woman saw the question in Catherine’s eyes.

"When I investigate a crime scene I don’t just look at foot prints and tire tracks. I try and retrace what happened - who did what. You tried to fight those men off, and you tied the victim’s scarf around his neck to try and stop the bleeding."

‘She’s good.’ Catherine thought, and nodded.

"Do you sign?" The woman asked her. Catherine indicated no. "Can you write then?"

Catherine shook her head. "Well, we’ll figure out another way."

The supervisor returned with the information that they had in fact found a private room for Catherine. The detective came around behind her and wheeled her out and down the hall.

There was a table with two chairs in the center of the room as well as the bed and a night stand. The woman wheeled Catherine to the table and sat down opposite her. They established a system for yes and no answers. One tap on the table for yes, two for no. The detective questioned her, Catherine answering as best she could. She found she was actually pretty good at pantomime. She re-enacted the crime, the woman following beautifully, asking all the right questions. But Catherine soon grew drowsy. The drugs were not entirely out of her system. And the early afternoon sun was coming in through the window, there was a fly buzzing there, trying to get out. Catherine nodded off.

When Catherine awakened she found that the woman had dozed off too. Putting in sixteen hour days on this case, Catherine suspected. She looked around the room for an object. She could hit her over the head; take her clothing - escape. It was a fleeting thought. This woman was the only person who had treated her like a human being. And anyway; they would spot the ruse immediately. That fiery hair of hers must attract attention. They would notice if Catherine tried to slip by in her stead.

As she contemplated this, the detective woke up, smiled at Catherine. She looked at her watch.

"Sorry. Guess I’m more tired than I realized. I’ve been putting in a lot of long days. Now I gotta report to my boss; and to the district attorney’s office. This is a big case.

The men we suspect aren’t your run of the mill gang members. These men are different. They are more organized, and a lot more dangerous. They’re holding up banks, staging home invasions, organizing drug pipelines. We believe they killed two undercover police officers. Their bodies were found - burned, they were tortured before they died. It was horrible. And whoever did it was sending us a message.

I believe they were going to do same thing to the man you saw murdered. That man, he was a rival gang member - a captain. These men want to rule the whole City."

Catherine looked down, shuddering, remembering it. The detective continued.

"They were going to torture him and then throw his body back on his own turf, in his own neighborhood. You didn’t save him, but you did save him from a hideous death."

The woman almost took her hand - then remembered.

"You risked your own life." She got up from the table, pulled on her jacket. "I’ll be back in the morning."

The detective started to go, she took a few steps and then stopped, turned back to her.

"Do you remember my name?" She asked Catherine.

Catherine smiled. She moved her hands in a way to indicate that she was holding something large. Then she looked off into the imaginary distance. She slowly pulled back one arm, she had the tips of her fingers pressed together, then she opened them in a quick motion. She squinted off to see where her invisible arrow had landed. Then she turned back to the woman - who was laughing.

"That’s right. That’s me. Diana, the huntress."

 

Diana looked in at the nurse’s station on her way out. "No restraints and no drugs by order of the New York City Police Department."

 

Diana’s first stop was her Lieutenant’s office. She reported what she had learned and then was off to impart the same information to Joe. She met him in his office.

"Good news I hope." Joe shut the door behind them.

"I think so." Diana started at the beginning, telling Joe everything she had learned from Catherine.

"The first subject, the one with the ponytail - tried to force our witness into the fire, that’s how she burned her hands. But she managed to throw some of the coals into his face. She says she burned his eyes."

" How did you find all this out? I thought she couldn’t talk."

"She can’t. But she is a very intelligent woman Joe. We kind of made up our own sign language. Anyway, we need to check local hospitals, emergency rooms, see if anyone came in on that date with singed pupils."

"It’s something to go on. Anything else?" Diana continued with the descriptions she had managed to coax out of Catherine. They were fairly detailed, considering.

"You’re unbelievable Diana. I don’t think anyone else could have gotten all this information from a woman who the hospital and the other detectives said was impossible to communicate with."

"Well, I’m glad I got to her before that hospital could damage her any further." Diana spread Catherine’s medical file out in front of Joe.

"This woman just can’t catch a break. This is the second time she has been hospitalized this year. There’s no record of her before that.

Anyway, you wouldn’t believe the drug cocktails they have been shooting her up with. The last time they had her incarcerated they shot her up with all these narcotics until she was catatonic. Then do you know what they did? They gave her shock treatments to bring her out of the state they had induced her into."

"I didn’t think they used shock treatments anymore."

"Neither did I. Anyway, the place is a real mess Joe. I’d like to see her out of there."

"I don’t know about that Diana. Given who we’re dealing with she is probably better off where she is. If these are the same men who killed Ramirez and Machuca..."

"They are Joe, I’m sure of it."

"Then we have some very desperate and violent men on our hands. They’ll be facing the death penalty. And their gang is huge, and getting bigger every day. I don’t have to tell you. They are constantly recruiting in their neighborhoods, sucking in as many kids as they can. No Diana, she’s safe where she is."

"I’m not so sure about that." Diana disagreed.

Joe sat back, contemplating a minute. "Would you mind if I change the subject Diana?"

"What’s on your mind?"

"I spent the morning in Probate Court."

"Oh, Joe, this again?"

"Yeah, this again. Look. I have the two affidavits from Gabriel’s flunkeys. But it would be great to have one from you too."

"What for, if you have the two others?"

"Because I think you know more than they do."

"I told you, I don’t know what happened to Jacob..." Diana stopped, bit her lip. Stupid!

"Jacob?" Joe leant forward in his chair. "Gabriel named him Julian. Why did you call Catherine’s son Jacob?" He paused, "Let me guess, that old guy who waylaid me in the cab. His name was Jacob. Don’t tell me that’s a coincidence."

Diana had gotten up from her chair, but she came back again, sitting down and looking into Joe’s eyes.

"I won’t. I’m not going to insult your intelligence. You know I hate keeping things from you. But I haven’t got a choice in this. It’s just too complicated."

Joe asked her softly, "Can you just tell me if he’s all right?"

Diana cringed. "He’s fine Joe. Just fine. He’s right where Catherine would want him to be - being raised by the people who loved her. Please don’t worry about him."

"I can’t help it. And I don’t understand why you won’t help me make sure of his inheritance."

"He doesn’t need the money. He has what he needs. I promise you he’ll never want for anything."

"Why do you think you have the right to decide that? Diana, I’m going to hold up Catherine’s estate until he’s eighteen years old if I have to. That way he can claim his own rights."

"He can never claim them."

"Why the hell not?"

Diana hesitated, then plunged ahead. "They’ll need a blood test to prove his identity. And he’ll never be able to take one."

"Why not? Julian, I mean Jacob, is Catherine’s child."

"He is."

"And Vincent is the father?"

Quietly. "Yes."

"Is it Vincent who objects to the inheritance? What, is he a socialist or a communist or something?"

Diana couldn’t help laughing. "No Joe. Well, maybe a little. But that’s not the problem. Vincent would never make that kind of decision for Jacob."

"Then..."

"I can’t tell you. I would if I could."

"I can’t accept that as an answer, Diana."

"You’re going to have to. Joe, you’re a real by the book guy - aren’t you? I mean, you believe in following a strict interpretation of the law?"

"I suppose."

"Well, I’m not like that. I believe that the law should be tempered with justice. And sometimes, sometimes what’s just and what’s legal are two different things."

Joe already knew this about Diana. There had been rumors; it was said among some of the police officers that Gabriel had been killed by Catherine Chandler’s gun. The only person who had access to Catherine’s personal possessions was Diana. It had also been rumored that the detectives working the case "forgot" to enter the ballistics report into the computer; and that the hard copy had been shoved into the back of the file with other routine paper work that would never be looked at again. Diana was well liked among her fellow officers. She was a straight shooter, they liked her for that. She had guts. They liked that too. No one was looking to hang a fellow officer, especially one as well liked as Diana.

"What are you trying to tell me?’ Joe asked her.

"You know what I’m saying."

Joe looked serious. "Marino’s murder was never solved. The two men in Gabriel’s house, the ones that were disemboweled? We never could figure that one out either. The men in the lab fire. There were others."

Softly "Yes."

"And that’s why you’ll never tell me where Jacob and his father are?"

"Do you really want to know? Do you really want to be put in that position?"

"I guess I see your point. But is Jacob really safe there? With a man who is capable of that? Are you sure?"

"Yes Joe, I’m sure. Jacob is in the safest, soundest place on earth. That is something I can tell you."

 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Diana had said no more restraints, no more drugs. But the night crew came in and noticed her lack of imprisonment. They ordered that she be put back into the cuffs. When she protested they gave her an injection.

When Catherine came around again the first thing she saw was a blur of red, Catherine smiled to herself, the detective was back. Diana waited for Catherine to come to full consciousness. She got up then gathering her things, picking up a bag she had beside her.

"I bought you some regular clothing. And it’s a good thing too; because we’re getting the hell out of here. Do you think you can walk?"

Catherine thought she could do a two minute mile if it meant getting out of this accursed place. She nodded - forcing herself out of the bed. Diana removed the restraints binding her hands.

"I’ll go get a wheel chair. If you need help getting dressed..."

Catherine rattled her head in the negative. Diana walked out of the room and Catherine did manage to pull on the jeans and sweat shirt Diana has bought for her. They were a little loose, but to Catherine they felt fine. She sat on the bed and waited for Diana’s return.

Diana came back pushing a wheelchair and being followed by the supervisor and her henchman.

"I don’t have any orders for her release." The supervisor fumed.

"That’s too bad -because I do - and mine trump yours." Diana bluffed.

"I can’t let you..."

Diana stopped, turned to the woman and opened her jacket, showing the supervisor the weapon she was wearing on her hip.

"Were leaving." She said simply.

The supervisor and the attendant exited in angry frustration.

"Be quick." Diana whispered to her. Catherine looked up at her in surprise as she settled into the wheelchair. Diana lowered her voice even further.

"I lied. I don’t have permission to take you out of here - but I say we go anyway."

Catherine vigorously nodded in the affirmative. Diana stormed past the nurse’s station - all outraged confidence - as the supervisor pushed buttons on her phone in an effort to ascertain whether Diana actually had permission to abduct her patient.

Diana pushed her into the elevator. Down and out! Once again Catherine was free. A fugitive again, it’s true, but free; and this time she had an ally.

Diana was unsure of Catherine walking on her own but Catherine’s adrenalin was pumping. They made it down the block in no time, but Diana noticed that Catherine shied away from the other pedestrians on the sidewalk. She hugged the buildings as she walked, looking suspiciously at the passers by. Diana hailed a cab.

They exited the cab about a block from Diana’s apartment. She stopped by a news stand on the corner and began speaking with an older man there. He nodded at her.

"Give me a couple of hours, I’ll bring the answer round to your apartment."

Diana thanked him, looking back at Catherine who was huddled against a building, shoulders hunched, eyes down. What in the world had happened to this woman? She led Catherine into her apartment, her brain working overtime; she needed a safe place.

Catherine looked around happily. She liked the apartment right away: the comfortable looking white couches, the shelves full of books. Then she saw the roses, the white and red roses. Catherine moved toward them, like a moth being drawn to a flame. They were beautiful, and for some reason, fascinating.

Diana moved to her side, squatting down beside her as Catherine knelt and touched the plant. "Do you like flowers?" She asked.

Catherine nodded. She certainly liked these flowers.

"I’ll give you one" Diana told her, reaching for a pair of pruning shears. "You can put it in your hair. Red or white?"

Catherine pulled back, shaking her head. Diana looked down at the roses, then back at

Catherine. "You don’t want me to cut them, do you? You want them to be left intact?"

Catherine nodded her head in assent. Diana looked at her for a bit. "I think I’ll call you Rose. You need a name. Is that one all right?" Catherine grinned. "It’s settled then. Rose it is."

Diana stood up and walked over to the kitchen. "I’m starved. How about you? You look like you could use a meal. Turkey sandwich OK?"

Catherine took a seat opposite her. Diana began pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator.

She plunked down a tomato on the counter and began slicing. The phone rang. Diana looked at it.

"That’s either my Lieutenant or Joe Maxwell, the acting D.A., either way I think I’ll let them wait a bit." She paused, but the phone was persistent. She cursed softly, picking it up.

"Hi Lu." She pulled some lettuce off the head and washed it in the sink as she talked.

"No, she’s not here." Diana winced as she lied to her boss, turning to Catherine and shrugging her shoulders.

"I found someplace for her - with some friends of mine." She went on, then she listened impatiently. "Yeah, well, your safe houses aren’t always safe - are they? Do you think I would take a chance if I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know Ramirez, but you know I went through the academy with Jesus. This case means as much to me as it does to you."

Diana sparred with her Lieutenant a while longer. He was obviously being insistent. But she was equally adamant. "No one else could get her to talk Lu. You would be nowhere without me. She’s staying where I put her. Just schedule a deposition. We’ll be there." Diana finally hung up.

"I had to lie. I didn’t want them descending on us and taking you away from me. Not that my lieutenant’s a bad guy. He’s great - usually. But this case has everyone on edge. The undercovers, one was a young guy, but really on the ball the way people who knew him tell it. The other was older, had a family. And when a cop gets killed, a lot of other cops feel responsible - their whole support team does, and well, everyone. Even Joe Maxwell has been a pain lately. And he’s a sweetheart most of the time. I mean, he’s the kind of person that always has your back."

Catherine noticed the tone in her voice when Diana talked about Joe. She’s sweet on him, she decided. But then Diana started to tell Catherine her concerns for having her stay at her apartment.

"You see, I’ll be out most of the time. This case is very important, Rose. I like calling you that. It really suits you. Anyway, I can’t leave any stone unturned. I really need to concentrate on this investigation. And there is this place that I know of. It’s a very unusual place. The people there, well, they’re all kind of special."

‘Like you?’ Catherine wondered.

"Now, I don’t know if they can find room for you there." Diana went on. "I would have to ask first."

Catherine was hurt. She would have preferred to stay with Diana. But she couldn’t complain. As far as she was concerned this woman had saved her life. She would do whatever she asked of her. Diana looked up at her, seeing what she was feeling.

"It’s not that I don’t want you to stay here with me. I wouldn’t mind that at all. Really. But we have to think of your safety first. I have been relentlessly pursuing leads in their neighborhoods, the gang members I mean, they know who I am. I’ve tried to be very careful about letting anyone follow me home..."

Diana finished making the sandwiches and handed one to Catherine. "Milk, juice? Juice it is. But just one slip up...anyway, you will love this place, I know it. I just feel like you belong there."

It was true. There was something peculiar about this woman, peculiar and familiar. Something kept itching at the back of Diana’s brain, but she couldn’t get a handle on it. She really did feel as if Rose would be an asset to the underground world. But she was letting her enthusiasm carry her away. She hadn’t even presented her case to them yet.

"I’ll need to speak to Vincent first, we’ll see from there." She took a bite of her sandwich, watching Catherine’s face. "Vincent?"

How to explain? "He’s...Vincent is my connection to the place I was telling you about. I...those roses over there...they belonged to a woman named Catherine. It is a very sad story...she and Vincent and their child..." Diana was groping for words, then she realized she did not want to tell her witness the whole sad history of Catherine and Vincent. It was too much to start out with. "Well, Catherine is no longer with us. She died about six months ago. But Vincent lives within this community of people that all take care of each other. They live in this unique place - away from the rest of the City. And Vincent -he won’t want to turn away anyone who needs his help. I know him. But still, he will need the approval of the others -so I won’t know right away."

Did Catherine think that Diana had talked about Joe with some evidence of affection? Maybe. But there was something else entirely when she spoke of Vincent. Something in her voice, in the way her cheeks glowed. It was Vincent Diana had feelings for, that was obvious.

Diana’s intercom sounded, she hurried to answer it, recognizing the voice, she buzzed the person up. It was the man from the news stand, he stayed in the elevator.

"Vincent will meet you at the west side entrance." he informed her.

"Now?" Diana asked.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

He pressed the down button. Diana turned toward Catherine.

"I’ll try not to be gone long. Make yourself at home. Take a shower if you’d like. Help yourself in the kitchen."

Diana was talking as she climbed on a chair and reached for a box on the top of the bookcase. She removed a gun from it.

"Do you think you would know how to use this?"

Catherine accepted the gun, her own gun. She looked at it, weighed it in her hand. She shrugged.

Diana gave her a quick lesson.

"Just in case" she told her. "Don’t answer the phone" she started to say, they both laughed. "And don’t let anyone up." She looked at Catherine. "You’ll be all right?"

Catherine rolled her eyes, gave her a look to say that Diana was being a worried mother hen.

"Good. I’ll be back soon."

 

Diana left her with a sense of trepidation, and not just for Catherine. She dreaded seeing Vincent; she had not seen him, in fact, for weeks. Not since she had tried to convince him to make love to her.

She hadn’t planned it. She was visiting him in his room, he had just come back from working below. Mary had Jacob; it was just them. He had pulled off the top layer of his clothing. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt. She had never seen so much of him before. She was sitting on his bed. She dropped something and he bent to retrieve it. She wasn’t thinking. She put her arms around his neck. He turned to her surprised; she kissed his mouth. He didn’t return her kiss, but he didn’t take her arms from around his neck. Instead he knelt down beside her, started to tell her something. She interrupted him. She told him about the way he made her feel, told him how much she wanted him. He gently removed her arms then, placed her hands in her lap. He sat down beside her on the bed, not touching her. He told her he was sorry. He began to explain to her why he couldn’t - wouldn’t. Diana was too humiliated to listen. She stood up, told him she had to leave. He tried to stop her, but she was adamant. She hadn’t been back since.

The next night Vincent had left a note for her on her rooftop. He wrote that he would always consider her a friend. The letter said she would always be welcome below. Diana never answered it.