Chapter Six

Father was glad he did not have a weak heart. He suspected something. But the reality of it nearly knocked him from his feet. He turned from her quickly so she would not see his reaction. He clutched his medical bag in an iron grip. He struggled to regain his composure.

"Is he...he seems to be recovering." Catherine hazarded, rising up and stepping backward so Father could have room to examine Vincent.

"Yes. He does look much better." Father felt for Vincent’s pulse, took his blood pressure. It was Father who was struggling for breath now as he tried to calm himself. "His vitals all are what is normal for him."

"Are you all right sir? You look faint."

"Yes, yes my dear. I’m just so relieved is all. He was so close to death last night, and now, well, now he is so much improved. I can hardly believe it."

Father turned and studied her, realizing that she could now speak, but of course, that was the least of his surprise. "But you are so pale yourself, my dear. Let me have a look at you." Father searched her face, unbelieving. "You’ve been through a lot in the past year, haven’t you?"

She nodded, not really understanding him.

"Would you give me your hands?"

Catherine complied, slowly lifting up both her closed hands. Father took them in his, very gently, he turned them over and opened them.

"You were very badly burned I see. But it is healing nicely. And there are always skin grafts; the damage doesn’t seem to be beyond repair. But of this another time. Your hands are quite chilly. You shouldn’t be kneeling here on the floor. It is far too cold, and you’re not dressed for it."

Catherine looked down and realized that she was still wearing the same dress from the day before, her white summer dress, the entire front stained brown with Vincent’s blood, dried and stiff now.

"I want you to do something for me my dear. Will you?" Catherine nodded.

"I want you to go back to your chamber and get some warmer clothing, then I want you to go to the springs. Choose the hottest one you can stand. You need to warm up. In the meantime I am going to have William send you some breakfast. And I don’t want you to take a few bites. I want you to eat as much of it as you can. You’ve grown much too thin. Then I want you to go to bed and try and get some sleep. You must be exhausted."

Catherine turned her gaze at Vincent, shaking her head. "But..."

Father reassured her. "I’m not asking you to leave him. I just want you to take a break, get warm, get some rest. What good will it do him if he recovers and you’ve grown ill with watching over him? None. I assure you."

Catherine stood there still, undecided.

"He won’t be unattended. I will make sure he is not left alone. And Ca...Rose, let us understand one another. As much as you want to be here with him, that is how much I want you here. If there is any change in his condition, any change at all, I will send for you immediately. I promise you that. I want you to trust me."

Catherine answered, "Yes. All right." She bent over Vincent -brushing his cheek with her knuckles.

"I’ll be close by." she whispered. The words resounded in her own ears, as if she knew them, as if she had heard them before.

She began to remove Vincent’s cloak.

"No, no keep that on." He pulled it back around her, then patted her arm affectionately. "Rose, may I ask you something? After Vincent was shot, did he say anything?"

"Yes. One word. His dead wife’s name."

"You mean...Catherine?"

"Yes. He said the name Catherine." Catherine left him, her head down, wrapped in Vincent’s cloak, she passed Jamie by without being aware of it. She was thinking too hard.

Jamie brought in a tray to Father, but she was still twisting around to look after Catherine.

"Here you are Father. Was that Rose?"

"No. Well, yes I suppose you could say it was." Jamie raised her eyebrows, but she was too worried about Vincent to think about Rose.

"Rebecca says Vincent is improving."

"Yes. Never mind the tea, Jamie. I need to call a Council meeting right away."

"What is it Father? What’s wrong?"

Father can’t help embracing her. "Not a thing Jamie. Everything is as far from wrong as anything could be. We’ve had a miracle."

"He really is going to be well again, isn’t he Father?"

"Yes, oh yes. Beyond anything any one of us had hoped for. And everyone is still in the kitchen?"

"Yes."

"Good...good. Stay here with Vincent now. Keep a close watch. Send a message if there is any change. He might need to have her near him. No. I think he if truly out of danger now. And she did look frightfully pale."

Jamie stared after Father in bewilderment as he bustled out of the room.

 

Father hurried to the kitchen, it was more crowded than he had ever seen it.

"You’ve examined him Father? Is it true? Is he well? When is he going to wake up?"

Questions flew from every direction. Father held up his hand.

"Now now, one question at a time. And yes, his condition has so improved from last night that I can only say it is miraculous." A great sigh of relief passed through the room. "And there is something else, something equally miraculous that I have to tell you," he paused, "although I hardly know how."

"What is it Father?" was asked all around.

"It is about Rose, the woman Diana has been calling Rose. That is not her name."

"She remembers who she is now?" Mary asked.

"No, I’m afraid she does not. And therein lies the problem. She must be told, and soon. Yet I wish I had more information on her mental state before we tell her. I don’t wish to shock her, particularly after the night she’s just had." Father was talking as much to himself as to anyone else.

Olivia looked around the room and then at Father. "Father, what are you talking about? We don’t understand you."

"I think I do." Peter was standing in the entryway. "You’re sure it’s her?"

Father turned to him. "Oh, Yes. It is. I’ve just spoken with her. But she doesn’t know anything."

"I almost told you last night. But I thought I must have imagined it." Peter said.

"For the love of God will you two tell us what you’re talking about." William exclaimed.

Father nodded. "The woman who has been at Vincent’s bedside all night, you all know her. She is one of us."

"She is? Who is she? What’s her name Father?" They all asked at once.

He hesitated, "It is Catherine, Catherine Chandler."

The exclamations that greeted this news echoed through the room. Father again held up his hand.

"Please." They quieted down.

Pascal had been sitting silently by. "But that’s not possible."

"No, no it’s not." Father agreed. "Yet the fact remains that I have just spoken with her, held her hands, seen the look in her eyes when she looked at him." Father closed his own eyes. "She’s changed quite a bit. And she doesn’t know her own name; but her feelings for him have not been altered in the least."

Everyone again raised their voices in questions and comments. Father looked around at them.

"Well, I told her we would provide her with a good breakfast. What do you say William?"

William turned to his stove which had every burner going.

"I say we feed her." William grinned. "I say we all start digging in. Come on folks, we got a lot of food to eat!"

Everyone laughed. Olivia and Lena started removing plates from the cupboard.

"Can I bring it to her?" Asked Samantha and Eric in unison, the other children chiming in with the same request.

"Well, it will be the two of you, since you asked first. But Eric, Samantha, I must caution you. She is not to be told yet. I would like to speak with her first, ascertain the state of her health. She is in a very delicate state right now. I do not want her upset."

"We won’t, we’ll be careful." They promised as William loaded a tray.

"Good." Father lowered his voice as the tunnel dwellers turned to each other to discuss the incredible news. He addressed Mary, Pascal and Peter.

"I don’t relish this task. She might very well have deliberately blocked out the things that have happened to her. But we cannot risk waiting. Her identity cannot be kept from her for any length of time."

"Do we really need to tell her everything?" Mary asked, "I’m sure she will be pleased to have her own name back - Vincent - her son. But the rest..."

"Yes" Peter agreed. "But she is also going to have to be told as much as we know about how she lost those things. She’ll want to know."

"We must tell her the truth, it is the only way." agreed Father.

"Not right away!" Mary remonstrated. "Especially if she doesn’t ask to be told. What Gabriel did to her, it was atrocious. It would be cruel to tell her."

"But that is what happened Mary, she has to be told." Father insisted. "And all her history in fact. She’ll find out anyway, here or above, Diana and Joseph Maxwell will feel compelled to tell her. Better we give her the information here, where we can care for her if it greatly upsets her."

Mary had to concede. Father had a point.

"Why don’t we do both things?" Pascal interjected. "Tell her a very brief and innocuous version of the events. If she is satisfied with that - let her be. If she asks for more details, then give them to her. Let her decide how much of the truth she wants to hear."

They all thought about this for a minute. Finally Peter nodded. "I agree Pascal. It’s just that I don’t really know how to sugarcoat what happened. And I agree with Mary too, we do run the risk of throwing her into an emotional crisis. Also, let’s face it. We don’t know everything that happened. How is she still alive even?"

Father shrugged. "Vincent is not a doctor. He was quite obviously mistaken. But still, we all attended the funeral. You’re right Peter. There are many questions we cannot answer. I think we will take your suggestion Pascal. I don’t want to lie to her, but we will tell her as little as possible, for the time being, anyway. And let her get some rest before we tell her anything. We’ll have a talk with her this evening."

They were all satisfied with this arrangement. They turned and talked with the others, everyone anxious to hear more details of Father’s talk with Catherine.

Diana rang Joe’s doorbell, waiting barely a minute before she impatiently pushed the buzzer again, pacing up and down in front of his door until he opened it

"Diana! Do you know what time it is?"

"No. Joe, something’s happened."

Joe caught the tone of her voice. "What? What’s happened?"

Diana pushed past him into his apartment, started pacing again. "It was my fault Joe. I was careless. I forgot these men aren’t ordinary gang members. I never expected them to be so organized. They followed us Joe. They followed Rose."

"Is she..."

"She’s alive, uninjured. Vincent rescued her. But he might have given his life in doing it. He’s been shot - in the chest."

Joe sat down hard. "I’m sorry Diana. Really I am. What happened to the men who did it?"

"They’re dead."

"I can’t pretend I’m sorry to hear that. Diana, where did this happen?"

"Where they live. And don’t ask where the bodies are because they’re gone, already disposed of - permanently."

"You and Cathy - so many secrets."

"You’ve no idea Joe. I need to go to your office. I need to look at some files."

"Ok. Look, I really am sorry to hear about Vincent. You were right about him protecting her. But I have to ask, if Vincent doesn’t make it, what about Jacob?"

Diana gave him a peculiar look. Softly, "He’ll be taken care of."

Joe drew in a breath. "Do you think you can identify the gunmen?"

"Maybe. But they won’t be any more dead tomorrow than they are already, and right now I need to find out about something else."

"What?"

"Just please, let’s go."

"Do you think I can get dressed first?" Joe indicated that he was wearing nothing but a robe.

"Yeah Joe. That might be a good idea." She said seriously, too distracted to see any humor in the situation.

They hailed a cab, sat side by side in silence all the way to the office. When they arrived Joe offered to put up a pot of coffee.

"Sounds good."

"Do you think you can find what you’re looking for?"

"Yeah. I do." Diana headed for Joe’s office first and picked up a file from off his desk. Then she went back to the file room; it didn’t take her long. She brought both files into the conference room.

Joe entered behind her with the coffee. He took a sip, then grimaced.

"Wow, that’s hot. Cream, no sugar, right?" He handed Diana a cup.

She lay an open file on the table and walked to the window, leaning her head against the glass.

"I need you to sit down Joe."

He stared at her, set his coffee cup on the table. He sat down. "You’re scaring me, Diana."

"I don’t mean to. But what I have to tell you...it is incredible. You need to prepare yourself for hearing something unbelievable."

"This doesn’t sound good."

She turned to him. "But it is Joe. It’s better than good, better than better." She smiled to herself. He stared at her in consternation. "I want you to look at the file in front of you."

"It’s your witnesses’s file."

"Yes. I want you to look at the date of her first confinement."

Joe glanced at the date, then he stared at it. A chill went down his spine. But he refused to make the connection.

"Now I want you to check out the location where she was taken into custody. Look at the intersection Joe. That is less than a mile from the City Morgue."

Joe’s mouth is dry, but he managed to say "So?"

Diana walked over to the table, she opened another file, a thick one. She flipped to a page which had a xeroxed copy of Catherine’s work I.D.. She slid the file across the desk.

Joe looked at the file. He picked up his coffee cup and realized his hand was shaking. He put it back down.

"That’s a picture of my witness Joe. That is the woman I’ve been calling Rose."

"Just because she might look like..."

"No Joe. She doesn’t just look like her. It is her. She has a vertical scar, right here, by her ear."

Joe opened his mouth to speak - closed it again.

"But that’s not how I knew. At least...not this morning. Although I think I’ve known all along. I think the very first day I saw her, lying there tied down and drugged, I knew I would bring her there - to him." Diana wandered back to the window, continued looking out at the approaching day.

"One thing I didn’t know though. When I met him I thought their relationship was singular because of him. Because he was like no one else I thought their bond must generate from him. But I was wrong. I assumed he loved her more than she loved him, that it was his love that was so unusual, so special. But it is her as much as it is him - maybe even more her, because she had to sacrifice so much to love him. And she does love him - more than anything I have ever seen."

Joe was sitting musing over his own thoughts. "What time do you think it is?" He asked.

"I don’t know. It’s starting to get light."

Joe stood up. "I need to make a call - I owe someone an apology."

"Who?"

"Jenny Aaronson. She called me, I don’t know, about a month or so ago. She told me she saw Cathy in the Metropolitan Museum. I just about told her she was crazy." Joe studied Diana "You’re sure now, that it’s her?"

"As sure as you’re Joe Maxwell."

"But how?"

"I’ll have to find out. Interview the ambulance driver, the medical examiner, all the employees at the morgue. There has to be an answer somewhere; a mistake, or a deliberate cover up. I guess I’ll head over there now. But you know what, I don’t know if I even care. Does it matter?" Diana gave up her place at the window, she crossed the room to the door. "Her and Vincent, being together again. That’s all that matters."

Joe took her arm, looked into her eyes. "You know, I guess I was wrong, I could’ve sworn - you and Vincent...".

"Not Vincent. Just me, Joe. And I realized even before this that it doesn’t pay to want something you can never have."

Joe smiled. Was this observation for him too? "I have to see her."

"I know. I’ll work something out. But she won’t leave him while he is in this condition."

"Then I’ll go to them."

"I don’t know. Let me think about it. Make your phone call. I’m going over to the City Morgue."

He was still holding her arm. He kissed her briefly, on the lips, then let her go. She looked at him for a moment, then turned and walked out the door.

 

Catherine did just as Father had asked. She was glad to shed the blood stained clothes - a reminder of the horror of the night. The warm waters of the spring soothed away the night’s kneeling on the hard floor. She found she was actually hungry. When she returned to her little chamber Eric and Samantha had just arrived with the tray. The warm food was comforting, but not as comforting as the warm greeting given to her by the children. They insisted she sit on her bed while they set up the tray for her, put the napkin in her lap, peeled the orange William had given her. She laughed at their eager chivalry. But where was Elizabeth? She wanted to know.

"She was in the kitchen for a while last night" Eric told her, "then she went with Mary to her chamber. She’s probably still there."

And Vincent? Any change? "Oh, everyone says he is much better" Samantha informed her. That was what Catherine wanted to hear.

"I will try and get some sleep now." She told them. Eric and Samantha took the tray away, returning to the kitchen triumphant as the other children and even some adults gathered round them to hear how Catherine was faring.

 

But when she lay down to sleep she was haunted. Her worst nightmares came back to her - and a new one. She was standing on a roof top in a hospital gown. She was falling, Vincent caught her, but then they were lost to each other. She was lying on a bed, he was leaving her - walking out through a set of french doors. He turned, looked at her with tears on his face - then turned away. She tried to call out to him - to call him back to her. But she could not.

She awakened with a jolt, calling out his name. She threw off the bed clothes. She suspected she had not slept long at all, but she could not rest now. She needed to be near him, beside him. Catherine donned Vincent’s cloak and set off for his chamber.

She hurried along the corridors. She was almost there. She passed an intersection and a young man was coming from another direction, she looked up into his face as she passed by him. He stopped short, staggered sideways against the tunnel wall. Catherine recognized him.

"Mouse?’ She said to him. He didn’t answer - but stood staring at her, aghast, white faced.

Vincent! All thoughts of anything else flew from her mind as she sped forward toward Vincent’s chamber. She stopped short at the entrance, almost falling down in relief. He was lying as peacefully asleep as when she left him. She felt the breath coming into her lungs again. Elizabeth and another woman were sitting in attendance on him. The stranger rose from her chair and held out her hand to Catherine.

"Hello my dear, my name is Mary. You didn’t get much sleep, did you?" The woman was looking at her in a way that Catherine could only describe as lovingly.

"I couldn’t." Catherine told her, hesitating, then touching the woman’s fingertips with her own.

"Well, that’s all right child. We’ve tried to make it more comfortable for you here." Elizabeth also held out her hand to Catherine.

"Elizabeth." Catherine choked up a little.

"It’s good to finally hear your voice child." Elizabeth patted the back of her hand.

Catherine could see that the room had been spruced up. A large ottoman just the level of Vincent’s bed had been pushed up beside it. The table had been laid out with tea things, what looked like a Russian Samovar, cups, silverware, some biscuits. The earthenware basin containing a fire had been stoked up and the chamber felt warm and inviting.

What a lot of trouble they had gone through, and seemingly for her. They invited her to sit on the ottoman. She took her place by Vincent’s side and looked at him with wonder. They had drawn back most of the blankets covering him and the IV had been removed from his arm. Only twenty four hours before she had never laid eyes on his strange countenance (or so she thought). But she was used to the sight of him already.

The young man, Mouse appeared in the doorway, breathless. He was gawking at Catherine with a wild look in his eyes.

"Mouse!" Mary admonished sternly. Catherine stared back at him. Mary gestured toward her and shook her head emphatically at him. "Mouse, Father needs to speak with you. You’ve been gone all morning. Go ahead now."

"Went below. Needed to find Narcissa. Ask her for medicine for Vincent."

Mouse pulled out a small dark vial attached to a string. "Narcissa said I wouldn’t need it though."

He loped into the room with what looked to Catherine like a foolish grin on his face.

"See why now. Vincent already has what he needs." Mouse stood over Vincent, grabbed his hand and rubbed his own cheek with the back of it.

"Go ahead now, Mouse. Go to Father." Mary scolded him.

"Ok good. Ok fine." He turned to Catherine. "They think they have to explain to Mouse. But Mouse knows already. Neither one could go without the other. It will have to be together. Not soon though" Mouse choked up. "Not for a long time, not for years and years."

To Catherine’s astonishment the young man bent over her and threw his arms around her, crushing her in a bear hug. He pulled away leaving her with a wet cheek and neck, the consequence of the tears which were running down his face. Catherine was too surprised to react. He smiled sheepishly, looking at the floor, then gazing at her again for a second before turning and running out of the room.

"I always said he was a odd boy." Elizabeth observed, very matter of fact.

Catherine, still stunned, nodded. "Yes."

"He is a good one though" Elizabeth continued. "Always comes through for you when you need something. And well, the world would be a boring place if we were all the same, wouldn’t it?"

Catherine smiled at Elizabeth. "I suppose it would." she agreed.

"Dear, I hope you don’t mind" Mary began, "Father and Peter would like you to meet with us in Father’s chamber later today. You obviously have a great deal of concern for Vincent and we thought...we all agreed that you should know something of his history."

"Yes, I would like that. I do have...questions."

"We’ll try to answer them. And we thought you might like to know something about Jacob’s mother."

"Vincent’s wife." Catherine said.

"No, they were never married. Her name was Catherine."

"Yes. I’ve heard a little about her - bits and pieces. I would like to know more." She paused, "Her son is beautiful."

"He is that. And very like her, except for the eyes of course."

Mary studied Catherine’s eager face. It had changed quite a bit. It was thinner, older looking, lined. But Mary thought her as beautiful as ever. And she knew to Vincent her face would be even more beautiful, because he loved her.

"She grew up in this City," Mary began "her parents were both from very old and very wealthy New York families. She was an only child. Her mother was battling cancer for most of Catherine’s childhood, although Catherine herself was unaware of that. But her mother would be absent for long stretches - hospital stays, searches for alternative treatments. They never told Catherine why, I suppose they felt it would be best if she was shielded from the truth. I think that was why Catherine was always afraid of the dark. Maybe that’s how it felt to her, that she was in the dark. Then her mother died. She had so much, in the way of material possessions I mean, and yet...

"It sounds as if she might have been a lonely child." Catherine observed.

"Yes. That is the feeling I got when she spoke about her life. Her father did the best he could; but he was a busy man. I know something about that world myself." Mary continued.

"Before I came below I worked as a private tutor to families like Catherine’s. And I would try, in whatever way I could, to instill some social values in my students. I would have them read books like "The Grapes of Wrath", or "The Jungle". I would take them around to the soup kitchens, let them see how some people were forced to live. Sometimes it would make an impression, usually it didn’t. These children were raised for privilege and they knew nothing else.

But Catherine. I don’t think Catherine was ever like that. She was very sensitive, had an inborn sympathy I think. Also, I believe the sorrow she experienced in her life made her more empathic than most.

I guess you could say, she wandered, as she grew older. She followed in her father’s footsteps, joined his firm. But she had this fire inside her, she always had that." Mary smiled, "That’s what Peter says about her. He’s known her all her life."

"Peter, that was the doctor who bound Vincent’s wounds by the abyss."

"Yes. Anyway, she was meant for something else - something different. I believe she was melancholy at times, despondent without knowing why, and searching. But the way she was raised, she didn’t know how to find what she needed to make herself into a person that she herself could be proud of. That all changed when she was attacked and left above, up in the park."

"Attacked?"

"Yes, by some men. They mistook her for someone else, sliced her face with a razor."

Catherine’s hand went to her scar. "That’s horrible."

"Yes. It was horrible. But...Vincent found her that night. He brought her below. We cared for her here, and no one did more for her than him. He barely left her side."

"He saved her life."

"Yes. And he helped her to see what she was capable of. After that, Catherine found she could use her education to do more than just help large corporations hold on to all the money they made. She became a investigator for the District Attorney’s office. She helped put a lot of terrible people behind bars."

"Like Diana does?"

"Yes, like Diana, they’re alike in a lot of ways."

"They were good friends?"

Mary stopped, searching Catherine’s face. "No, they never knew each other." Catherine looked puzzled, and Mary realized they were headed for dangerous ground. She had said enough. Let Father and Peter take up the story from there. She leaned forward.

"Vincent looks so much better than he did last night."

Catherine, her attention immediately diverted, turned to him. Softly - "Yes. Do you think he’ll wake up soon?"

"Perhaps, it might be some time though. He’s lost a lot of blood. His body needs a chance to heal itself."

The women were interrupted by the entrance of Olivia and Lena. Lena approached Catherine - barely able to contain herself.

"Hi, I’m Lena. I am so pleased to meet you."

"I feel like I already know you." Catherine smiled at her. Lena looked surprised. Did she

remember? No. Catherine explained how she overheard Rolley and Lena talking when she came to listen to him play.

"I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I’m sorry." Catherine told her.

"Oh, that’s Ok." Lena laughed. "Everybody has seen us like that. I’ve gotten really bad at hiding my feelings, because here you don’t have to. And you can ask Rolley to play for you any time. He likes to perform for people, it makes him feel like he has something to give."

"We just left Eleanor’s chamber. Jacob is asleep. But we thought when he wakes up we might bring him here so he could be near Vincent, and you could hold him for a bit. Would that be Ok?" Olivia asked.

"That would be wonderful." Catherine beamed.

Catherine was amazed and gratified by their ready trust. The women began to drift out of the chamber. They suspected Catherine would like to be alone with him, to speak to him. And what could be better for Vincent than that?

Yet she just sat awhile looking at him. She touched his cheek. She examined his hands. Then her eyes started to wander around his room. She smiled at all the odd treasures he has collected over the years. She rose and inspected some of the items more closely. She wandered to the tea table and poured herself a cup. As Catherine sipped the tea she looked down and noticed the book Vincent had left lying on the table. She set down her teacup, picked up the volume. She opened it where the attached ribbon bookmark held the place. Chapter 59 - the last chapter of "Great Expectations".

Catherine walked back to Vincent’s bedside, took her place beside him. There were only a few pages left.

"Well, if you can’t read to me, I’ll read to you." And so she began to read, faltering at first, but picking up speed and accuracy as she proceeded.

The words shook Catherine. Every sentence resonated with feelings that hit a deep place inside of her.

"After so many years, it is strange that we should thus meet again, Estella, here where our first

meeting was!"

Catherine glanced over at him, making sure of his breathing. She returned to the last pages, the words unsteady before her, but she recited them as if from memory. "I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge..."

a low voice began to recite with her...

"so, the evening mists are rising now," her own voice trailed off "and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me" he continued - his eyes closed, his voice hoarse with emotion, his hand searching for hers. -

"I saw no shadow of another parting from her." His hand found hers, his warm and gentle

fingers closing over her own.

"Vincent!"

He slowly opened his eyes, gazing at her, he reached up and touched her cheek. She placed her hand against his, not even remembering its ugliness.

"I’ve been listening to you all the while - yet I was afraid you might be a delusion, the product of a fever. I didn’t dare open my eyes, for fear you would vanish. "

"I’m here." Catherine reached over to him and lightly moved her fingers over his forehead. "And you are warm but not hot Vincent. You have no fever."

"No?" He took her hand again. "Then you are real." He let go, reaching out for her, grasping her shoulder. "It is all real."

"Vincent. You’re all right. You’re not going to die." she pursued her own thoughts.

"Did you think I could - when I have so much to live for now?" Vincent drew her to him.

Catherine hesitated, but moved into his arms. She could not help herself. She picked up the scent of him, felt the warm closeness of his body. She couldn’t understand his words. They were probably, as he said, a product of his illness. But she could no more resist his embrace then she could tell herself to stop breathing. He would, she thought, come to himself in time, and realize that he did not know her. And she was cautious of saying anything to upset him.

"You’ve been hurt. You were shot." She lightly touched the dressing on his chest.

"I know. I remember. You were in danger, I felt it. I could feel your fear. I didn’t understand it. I couldn’t believe what I was feeling. But there was no time to think. And then, when you pulled me back from the edge, and I saw your face again, your dear face, even then I doubted my own senses. But I heard you, heard your words. And I knew that no matter what my injuries, I could not die, not when I felt your arms around me again."

Again? What was he saying to her? He was delusional. Vincent pulled her closer, she half complied, half held back, irresolute, truly worried now.

"Your wound!" She cried. He has mistaken her for someone else - for her.

"You needn’t worry about it. I cannot even feel it." He told her holding her hand to the dressing

just below his shoulder. Then he moved her hand down below the bandages to his chest.

"But here, here was a wound Father’s sutures couldn’t repair. And I was sure that the pain here would never subside." He pressed her palm against his heart, she could feel its rhythm - steady and strong. "Yet you can feel now that it is healed entirely." He said.

She felt the awkwardness of her position. She could not let him go on like this.

"Catherine." he whispered.

"I’m not Catherine." she told him quietly, attempting to move out of his embrace.

He smiled indulgently, but then remembered what she had been through. He let her go, then gently asked, "What is your name then?"

"It’s Rose."

"Rose. A beautiful name." Vincent responded.

Vincent pulled himself up to a sitting position. Catherine leant forward to help him; he let her - closing his eyes as she touched him. She moved away when he was comfortably situated. He opened his eyes, impulsively grabbing her arm so she couldn’t get too far from him. Catherine hesitated, then pulled further away. She really didn’t have the right to be there, to take advantage of his mistake.

He regarded her quietly for a while.

"Rose is the name Diana gave you. What was it before that?"

"I don’t know." She started to say. But then she halted, staring at him, thinking.

Could she have known him before? Would that be possible? His incomparable blue eyes, his glistening white fangs, his golden mane. She couldn’t have. She would remember him.

But hadn’t she forgotten everything - lost everything. But one thing, what she felt for him, it was a feeling that had been with her seemingly forever. Those recurring dreams, of lying in a bed, with a strong arm around her and the soothing sound of the pipes in the background. The nightmares of earlier, of falling, and having him catch her. The evenings she has spent sitting above this chamber, listening to his voice, and knowing this is where she belonged- in this room - in this bed - in his arms.

"Am I...? She faltered. "Am I Catherine? Am I really?" Half incredulous, half believing. " Am I your Catherine?"

Slowly, every word a declaration. "You are my Catherine." He kissed her forehead, her brow.

"And I love you?" Half a question, half a statement.

"As wonderful and impossible as it is, you love me." He kissed her cheek, the edge of her mouth.

Her voice quavering. "And you love me?"

Barely above a whisper - "I love you."

He kissed her mouth. She gingerly put her arms about his neck, not pressing too close to his

wound. She kissed him back, a long kiss, more tender than passionate, then moved away to look at him, really look at him, his eyes, a sudden realization.

"If I’m your Catherine - Jacob is my son."

"He is."

"He’s beautiful Vincent. His eyes, they’re just like yours."

"Yes, but the rest of his face" he tilted his head, caressed her cheek, "is yours."

Catherine smiled, settled her head on his shoulder, but then irresistibly looked back up at him, he attempted to kiss her again but they were distracted by voices. Catherine moved away from him. He caught her arm again but she smiled and slid over away from him onto the ottoman. Vincent very gently kissed the ruined skin on the palm of her hand and then lightly clasped it in his own.

They looked up to see Lena, Rolley and Pascal entering the chamber with Eleanor behind them, carrying Jacob in her arms. Pascal looked away for a moment, embarrassed to interrupt an intimate moment; but he was too relieved and excited to hold back.

"Vincent! You’re awake. I suppose we have you to thank for that." Pascal came forward, kissing Catherine’s cheek; she didn’t even flinch.

"It is so good to have you back with us. I couldn’t believe it when Father told us. I don’t think you can understand what you mean to all of us." Pascal said.

Eleanor moved forward and placed Jacob in Catherine’s outstretched arms. "And imagine, here we were the other day, had I only known that it was you." She smiled. "It doesn’t matter, we know now." Eleanor stepped back, Pascal put his arm around her.

Catherine looked up at her, shaking her head, laughing and crying at the same time. She could not speak. Words didn’t seem adequate. Jacob leaned over to his father for an expected caress. Vincent held his son’s head, kissed it, then gazed again at Jacob’s mother, still in disbelief.

Lena exclaimed, "I cannot believe it, you’re all together, a family."

Vincent looked up at his friends, there were tears in his eyes too.

"A family." Catherine whispered.

"I guess my news is old news." They all turned to see Diana leaning against the entryway.

"Diana!" Catherine jumped up to greet her.

"Hello there Jacob." Diana laughed as Catherine hugged her, the baby squirming between them. Diana turned to Vincent. He sat forward, putting out both of his hands.

Diana seated herself on the bed beside him, taking his hands.

"What can I ever say to you? How can I ever repay you?" He asked her, looking up at Catherine and Jacob. "Diana, you are truly my guardian angel. You have given me back everything."

"Seeing you like this is my repayment." She squeezed his hands. "Usually there are no any happy endings in my job. The most I can ever hope for is to get some justice for the victim and the family. But this case. Well, not only did I bring the murderer to justice, but I brought the victim back to life. Now how many detectives get to say that?"

Diana stood up, bent forward and kissed Vincent’s brow. She smiled at Catherine.

"Joe Maxwell is very anxious to see you."

"Your boss?"

"No, actually, he is your boss."

Catherine was momentarily surprised. Then she remembered what Mary told her about Catherine, about herself actually. And she remembered the way it felt when Joe thanked her.

"Where is he?"

"Above. Cathy, you never told him about this place. I believe you didn’t think he would understand. And I’m not sure myself if he would. But you mean a lot to him. And he’s been jumping through hoops on Jacob’s behalf, to insure that he would inherit your estate. I think it made him feel less helpless about what happened to you; as if he was still able to be doing something for you."

Catherine sat beside Vincent’s bed, he gently reached for her scarred hand again.

"Diana, what did happen to me?" she asked.

Diana glanced at Vincent, "It’s a long story. The end of which I found out today. I just came from the morgue."

Vincent was leaning forward, interested. "And did you discover anything?"

"Yes. One of the workers who was on that night was there this morning. His name was Hector. He was very upset when he found out why I was there. But I told him I wasn’t looking to hang anyone, and he was honest with me.

Cathy, you had suffered from an overdose of drugs, one that had been administered to you. The night you were brought in they were very busy; everyone was overworked and overtired. At the end of the shift they discovered a chart sitting on a desk. They couldn’t match it up to a body. And only the woman’s first name was listed. She was a homeless person, a drug addict who had also given birth that night. They honestly thought that she was the missing body.

Hector’s co-worker that night - he had made a huge mistake about a year before. He had labeled a body for cremation. It was an error, but it was too late by the time they realized it. The body had already been incinerated. The man’s family was very upset. They were wealthy, well connected. He almost lost his job.

So they were afraid if this was reported...they tossed out the paper work on the homeless woman. They were hoping no one would ever find out. And they probably wouldn’t have. No one ever questioned it until now."

"Then the woman buried under Catherine’s headstone..." Vincent mused.

"I’m assuming so. Joe had already identified you, Cathy. I saw the body myself, they told me it

was you, I had no reason to doubt it."

"What was her name?" Catherine wanted to know.

"Astrid."

"Astrid." Catherine repeated. She turned to Vincent.

"If I had died that night under the bridge, I would have died as she did, unmourned, with no one to even notice if I had disappeared from the face of the earth."

Vincent combed his fingers through her hair. "But you didn’t die Catherine. And you’re safe

now. I don’t intend to ever lose you again." Vincent reassured her.

"Diana, what happened to Astrid’s baby?" Eleanor asked.

Diana turned to her. "I don’t know. In foster care I imagine, I could probably find out."

"Would you?" Catherine asked. "I would like to know if she is being taken of."

"Sure." Diana grinned. "I’ll put it on my list. Do you think you could see Joe sometime in the next couple of days?"

"Maybe." She turned to Vincent. "As long as..."

"You needn’t worry about me." Vincent smiled.

"Oh, and there is another person who wants to see you. Her name is Jenny Aaronson. She was your best friend."

"Jenny? In the Museum...I heard..."

"That was her."

"I should have stopped. I could see that she recognized me. But I was afraid to."

Vincent tightened his grip. The thought of what she had been through in the last year was abhorrent to him.

Somehow the whole community had become aware of Vincent’s revival. His chamber began to fill up. Finally Father himself snaked his way through the crowd.

"This is really too much. We are all very happy to have both Vincent and Catherine back with us. But you can demonstrate that feeling better by giving them some rest...and some air."

Father gazed from one to the other, overcome, finally rallying, he said,

"I was hesitant of informing you of your true identity Catherine. But I see Vincent had no such scruples."

"That’s not so Father. Catherine realized on her own, well, partly on her own, who she really was."

Peter appeared at Father’s side, sitting on Vincent’s bed, he held out his hands to Catherine.

He smiled at her as she took them. "We’ve known each other a long time Cathy. And do you know, the first time I met you, you were stark naked."

Catherine laughed, "You delivered me, didn’t you?"

Peter joined in. "Ahh, always too smart for your own good. And let me welcome you into the world a second time Cathy." He held out his arms and Cathy leant forward into them. Why hadn’t she liked to be touched? It was wonderful.

Father cleared the room. They left reluctantly. The children particularly were overexcited and

swarming.

Mary organized them into small groups. "Let them come in Father. They are so happy." Father grumbled but Jacob seemed thrilled. He had caught the excitement going on around him. Catherine almost had difficulty holding on to him. He seemed unable to decide which lap was preferable, and he crawled from one to the other; now pulling on the buttons of Catherine’s dress, now sucking on his father’s sleeve.

Father insisted that they eat. They dutifully shared a bowl of soup while Jacob got cereal. At last Father had had enough.

"Everyone has been through at least once." Father told them. They must rest now."

He turned to Vincent and Catherine. "I mean that, for both of you. Catherine, you’ve barely had any sleep in the last day and a half - and Vincent, I don’t care how you think you feel. You’ve lost an appalling amount of blood."

They listened, feigning interest in Father’s concerns. He tried to suggest to Catherine that she retire to her own chamber.

"Father, if you send her away, I will get up and follow her." Vincent warned.

There was no arguing with that. Father issued some dire warnings about re -opening Vincent’s sutures and the possibility of infection. Catherine was told she needed sleep. Mary smiled, concerned too, but in a much gentler fashion.

"Why don’t I take Jacob for the night? He’s asleep now anyway. But he’s a handful when he wakes up. And Catherine, I promise you, once you do fall asleep you will out be for hours. Your body will want to make up for lost time. You shouldn’t be awakened."

Catherine reluctantly agreed. She loved the feel of him, the smell of him. But Mary was right. She was feeling overwhelmed. She was touched beyond measure by the number of people who cared about Vincent, the baby, and herself. But after more than a year of isolation, she had found the day difficult. And she had questions she wanted to ask Vincent.

 

Father finally ushered everyone out. He and Mary took a sleeping Jacob and bid them good night. As soon as they are alone Catherine asked.

"Vincent, how did this happen to us?"

Vincent lay his hand on the bed beside him, looking at her. She suddenly felt shy. She put her head down, smiling. But then she joined him in his bed, and lay her head on his shoulder.

Vincent told her their story in as condensed a form as possible. She listened quietly, questioning him from time to time.

"But I never lived below? We lived separate from each other? Why?"

Vincent contemplated this. Shouldn’t it be obvious? But he answered.

"Catherine, you had a job above that was very important to you. You had friends, your own life.

And I, well, you can see that a life with me would be very restrictive. I couldn’t ask you to be with me, to share my fate ."

"I don’t understand. We were together. We had a child."

"Yes. But that was because of extreme circumstances. Before that, and even after, I, Catherine... No sterner chaperone ever stood sentinel over two lovers than I stood over your heart and mine. I denied myself, and you, the full expression of my love for you."

"But why?"

"For a number of reasons. Initially..." Vincent held up his hand, "because of my physical make-up, I was afraid of injuring you."

Catherine was astonished at this. He reached over and stroked her hair.

"I should have known that I could never hurt you." He looked down. "But there were other reasons. I couldn’t tell you," he looked back up at her, "how deeply I loved you. How much your love meant to me. I could not justify to myself binding you to me when I had nothing more to offer you then what was in this chamber."

"In this chamber" Catherine repeated after him. She looked around her, at their son’s cradle, then back up at him.

"You tell me that I have wealth, property, an important job, status and position in the society of the world above. But there is something I can tell you. When you say those things, I feel nothing, those things mean nothing. But when you tell me that I have...what is in this chamber"

She took a breath. "There is nothing that can compare with what is in this chamber, and there is nothing outside of it that I could ever covet. You are here, and our son is here, and our love for each other is here. Maybe you felt you could not express yourself to me, but I don’t feel those constraints. I love you Vincent. What Mouse said was true...I don’t think you could live in a world without me, and I know I couldn’t live in one without you...even if we were apart in it. I love you."

Vincent bent down and kissed her, this time with more than tenderness, more than passion, with all the yearning of the past year, and all the regrets he had felt in losing her.

Then he pulled away from her, breathing deeply. He held her face in both of his hands.

"I didn’t know that I would ever see your face again. But I would have known if you had asked me, if someone had told me, that I was to be given a second chance, I would’ve known that I could never make the same mistake a second time.

I would have known that I would tell you of my love for you, and I would have told you that your love for me was a greater gift than what has ever been given to any other man. Because for you to see me, and love me, as I truly am, despite everything that I am...was a gift that was most generous, and most beautiful, and most rare. It was a more exceptional gift than I ever deserved. So I...." Vincent broke off - looking for the words, he moved his hands from her face.

"You told me once that if it was your fate to love me, then you accepted that gratefully; that I shouldn’t be afraid to want it, to deserve it. I didn’t understand then...

Before, I could not comprehend how you could love me...want me. I could not see beyond this" Vincent touched his own face "or beyond these," he held up his hands.

"Yet your love for me encompasses all that you are: your courage, your compassion, your wisdom, your sensitivity, your understanding. Everything that is unique and beautiful in you - you gave in your love to me. All those qualities in you made it possible for you to see me, love me...for what I am...and now you have shown me, through the reflection of that love, what I am...what I truly am...I am just a man who loves you.

"So how could I not accept your love?" He moved his lips closer to hers. "So I would have known, if you had told me, that I would tell you this," his voice barely above a whisper, "and show you this." He kissed her.

She could feel the acceleration of his heart beat, the breadth of his chest, the breadth of his soul. The tightening of the muscles in his neck, the trembling of his jaw, the heat of his hands through her homespun dress.

"Catherine, I love you."

"Vincent, your stitches."

He desisted for a moment, looking at her, his breathing audible, his chest heaving. But then he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms more tightly about her, kissing her more ardently still. She was at a loss how to stop him, how to stop herself. Kissing her face again and again, he attempted to bring her underneath him. She pulled away from him then, gazing into his eyes.

She smiled, pushed him gently back against the pillows and in a quick motion reversed their position, planting one knee on either side of him, looking down on him now. They were both on the verge of laughter, but then she moved down close to him, her mouth just above his. "Say my name again Vincent, tell me my name." He grew serious.

"Catherine."

She quickly brushed her lips against his. "Say it again."

"Catherine."

She lightly leaned the weight of her entire frame against his. "Again, Vincent."

"Catherine." Now her breathing was hurried as well. She kissed his chin, his neck, his ear, then his mouth again.

"Catherine," he repeated, kissing her back, his hands wound in her long hair. "Catherine, Catherine."

 

Catherine knocked on Joe’s office door, poking her head in. Diana and Joe were standing by the window. They moved apart, a little embarrassed.

"I hope I’m not interrupting?"

Joe walked forward. "Are you kidding? Finally. I was beginning to think you made the little guy up." He opened his arms.

"Well, I had a doctor’s appointment today and I promised you I would bring him to meet you. So, here I am." Smiling, Catherine handed Jacob over to Joe.

He looked him up and down, then turned to Diana, "Makes you think about having one of your own, doesn’t it?"

Diana’s eyes widened. "No."

"Sure it does. And look what I’ve been saving for you, Jake." Joe opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small, dark blue baseball cap with a Yankees logo on it.

"I understand your dad won’t be able to take you to any games. But that’s what you have an Uncle Joe for."

Diana and Catherine both laughed. Catherine sat down. "So how is the plea bargaining going?"

"For Torres, not at all." Joe gloated. "He was found dead in his cell yesterday. They think it was a rival gang member."

"A real shame, isn’t it?" Diana remarked dryly.

" And the other guy is pleading out." Joe continued. "He’s been saying all along Torres was the one who actually killed Ramirez and Machuca. But he’ll never see the light of day. And truthfully, I think whoever got his buddy will be gunning for him next."

"Then it’s over."

"Yeah, It’s over." Joe agreed. "How is the custody thing going with that baby?"

"Good. The lawyer you recommended is great Joe. Who would believe there would be so much red tape for adopting a baby nobody wants."

"There’s a reason for that. Babies born addicted to crack have all sorts of neurological problems later on Cathy. Your friend knows that, doesn’t she?"

"Eleanor knows it. She thinks Astrid, that’s what she’s going to name her, after her mother, that Astrid and she are fated for each other. Believe me, she’s been doing research on the subject. She knows what to expect. And she’ll have plenty of help."

"You look great Cathy. How are your hands?" Diana interposed.

Catherine held up her bandaged hands. "Pretty good. I still have at least one more surgery to go, but this was the last operation I’ll be able to have for a while."

"Why? Aren’t they healing like they’re supposed to?"

"Oh, my hands are fine." She looked down and then back up again. "The surgeon wasn’t the doctor I went to see today." Catherine lay her hand on her stomach.

Diana stared at her for a moment. "Oh, Cathy. Really?"

Catherine moves her head up and down. "Yup."

Joe puzzled for a moment, then finally, "You’re pregnant?"

"I am."

"That was fast." He said, then realizing "Sorry."

Both women laughed at his embarrassment. Joe blushed. "Gee, and I was gonna ask you to come back to work - but I guess that’s out of the question."

"It certainly is. I barely remember my last pregnancy, and Vincent never knew anything about it until after. He doesn’t know about this one yet actually. I didn’t want to tell him until I was sure."

"He’ll be thrilled." Diana told her.

"I think so. And I don’t intend to spend one minute apart from him. I stopped in and told Jenny already. So if you want to see me you’ll have to come by in the mornings and visit Jacob and me in the park because otherwise I’m not leaving the tunnels."

Diana bent down and hugged her. "This is truly wonderful news. I’ll come by later tonight on my way home." She stood up. "Maybe I’ll even bring him with me."

"I don’t know." Joe said sarcastically "Do you think you can trust me?" Diana and Catherine look at each other and then at him.

"I guess we do." Diana grinned at him taking his hand. He gave her his best side ways smile.

Vincent was waiting for her outside the gate. He came forward, noticing the hat Jacob was wearing. Vincent playfully jiggled the cap up and down, smiling into Jacob’s laughing countenance.

"Catherine, what is it?"

Catherine did not speak. She looked up into his face.

"A baby?" he said.

"A baby." She confirmed.

Vincent clasped her in his arms, then pulling away, he tilted his head to one side "And this time..."

"This time we will be together." she added softly.

They stood facing each other, each one’s gaze fixed on the other; in unison they whispered to each other,

"Together."

Vincent lifted Jacob from her arms and propped him on his hip, then he reached out for her hand. She placed her hand in his and he softly closed his fingers around her bandaged ones. They walked through the gate together - Catherine pulling it closed after them. They entered the tunnels - together...and slowly walked back to their chamber - together -forever.

 

Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the rose is blown.

For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.

All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirred
To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, ‘There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone ?
She is weary of dance and play.’
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day ;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose,
‘The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,
For one that will never be thine ?
But mine, but mine,’ so I sware to the rose,
‘For ever and ever, mine.’

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clashed in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,
Our wood, that is dearer than all ;

From the meadow
your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March-wind sighs
He sets the jewel-print of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.

 The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree ;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me ;
The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sighed for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one ;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear ;
She is coming, my life, my fate ;
The red rose cries, ‘She is near, she is near ;’
And the white rose weeps, ‘She is late ;’
The larkspur listens, ‘I hear, I hear ;’
And the lily whispers, ‘I wait.’

She is coming, my own, my sweet,
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed ;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead ;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

                        ~Alfred Tennyson

And they lived happily ever after