NOTES: The lyrics below are from "Phantom of the Opera" by Charles Hart, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Richard Stillgoe.
In sleep he sang to me
In dreams he came
That voice which calls to me
And speaks my name . . .
"Diana."
Diana looked up in surprise as Vincent came toward her. He hadn't stayed with Father nearly as long as she'd expected he would. "How is he?"
Father had seemed in good shape, considering what he'd just gone through. Diana shivered; even the thought of being buried alive like that made her skin crawl. She would never forget the peaceful look on poor Gregory's face just before he plunged into the depths of the Abyss. At last he had "made it right."
If Vincent hadn't gotten to Father when he did . . . Diana shivered again.
"We have sent for one of our Helpers who is also a doctor just to be safe, but I'm sure Father will be fine." Vincent smiled slightly. "Jessica is with him now."
Saying goodbye, Diana knew, or at least preparing to. Jessica seemed to truly care for the Tunnel patriarch, but not enough to stay with him and live her life Below. Well, that certainly wasn't an easy decision.
Vincent swung his cloak deftly around his shoulders. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Diana. I'll guide you back up now."
"Vincent, could I - " Diana stopped, feeling strangely shy. She cleared her throat and tried again. "May I see the baby first?"
"Of course," replied Vincent, sounding faintly surprised. "He may be sleeping," he warned as he led the way down one of the side tunnels. Diana nodded her understanding.
"I won't disturb him if he is," she promised. She looked around eagerly as they walked, for she had never visited this part of Vincent's world before. The Tunnels fascinated her, and the brief glimpses she'd been given only fueled her curiosity about this subterranean society.
And, Diana admitted to herself, it isn't only the Tunnels I'm intrigued by. She studied the tall figure striding ahead of her, admiring the powerful grace of his movements. She enjoyed Vincent's company; he was almost the only person with whom she could truly relax, truly be herself. Most people quickly became intimidated by her intuitive powers. Vincent accepted them as a part of who she was, no more and no less than her coppery hair and blue eyes.
They passed several people whose faces Diana recognized from the Naming Ceremony, though she couldn't put names to many of them. Everyone smiled at her but seemed rather surprised to see her this deep in the Tunnels. And one boy, a youth about thirteen with a thin, sensitive face and dark hair, looked actively hostile when he caught sight of her. Diana glanced back after they had passed and saw him standing in the corridor watching them intently.
"Who was that boy?" Diana asked, moving alongside Vincent.
He glanced down at her. "That was Zach. He came to us as a young child, as did many of the children here."
"He seems somewhat . . . hostile," Diana said carefully.
Vincent looked surprised. "Zach is not one of our troubled children; not now. There is no anger in him now. He is a great help with the younger children, has a natural flair for leadership."
He smiled a little. "I remember one time when Mary and Catherine were attempting to organize the younger children to play a game. Zach happened along and in less than a minute had the game going smoothly. He is a fine boy."
Then Vincent's smile faded. "Zach was very distraught when Catherine disappeared. Many times he went Above to search for her, sometimes at night with me, sometimes sneaking away during the day, alone . . . " His voice trailed away. Diana glanced up and saw his face take on the blankness that meant he was deliberately shutting off a painful memory.
Catherine, she mused, thinking of Zach. He resents my presence not because of who I am but because I'm with Vincent, where Catherine should be. The thought was not unpleasing, for some obscure reason Diana preferred not to analyze right now.
Just then Vincent ducked through a craggy opening in the long hallway. Diana followed and for the first time saw Vincent's chamber. She stood in the entrance, looking around the room. A splendid stained-glass window behind his bed caught her immediate attention. While admiring it, Diana became aware of Vincent speaking to a dark-haired teenage girl sitting at a small table, apparently studying the open book on it.
Vincent turned to look at Diana, who crossed over to join them. "Diana, this is Brooke," Vincent said quietly. "Brooke, Diana Bennett."
"I know." Brooke smiled shyly at the older woman. "Diana, we are all so grateful to you for everything you've done for us. You helped Vincent get his son back and you saved Father's life."
"It was Vincent who found Father," Diana demurred. She had never known how to respond to other people's gratitude. To cover her awkwardness she turned to look into the nearby cradle.
"He's awake!" she exclaimed as two bright blue eyes sparkled up at her. She reached down her hand and Jacob grabbed one finger and instantly attempted to put it in his mouth. Diana chuckled softly.
"He has your eyes," she remarked, glancing up at Vincent. The only other time she'd been this close to the baby, Gabriel had kept the room so dark the baby could have been purple with green spots for all she knew. As for seeing Jacob at the Naming Ceremony, she'd caught only a glimpse before he'd been whisked away by a dark-blonde, young woman for a feeding.
"Vincent, if you don't need me anymore I'll go now." Brooke shouldered her bag and made a tentative movement toward the entrance.
Vincent looked up. "Of course, Brooke. I'm sorry to have kept you. Thank you for watching Jacob tonight."
The teenager smiled brightly. "Any time! Actually, I was wondering if you needed someone to stay with him during Janet's concert next week." A sudden thought struck the girl, and she looked at Vincent with a slight frown. "You are going, aren't you?"
"Of course. I am anxious to hear Janet sing; it's been far too long since her last visit. Thank you for your offer, Brooke, but Jamie has already volunteered her services for that night."
Brooke looked crestfallen. "Oh. Well then . . . I guess I'll be going. Goodnight, Vincent, Diana." She bent over the cradle. "Nightie-night, sweetie." Jacob grabbed one of her fingers in his other hand and waved it about, gurgling and kicking with excitement. Brooke bent down and kissed his tiny fingers, then extricated herself with some difficulty from his tight grip, and left.
Diana chuckled. "Looks like there's quite a competition going on to babysit." She knelt on the floor, touched a hesitant finger to the velvety softness of little Jacob's cheek.
Vincent gave a rueful chuckle. "Yes. If Jamie and Mary and Brooke had their way I would never see my son." He looked down at his child, who had released Diana's finger and was now busily attempting to stuff one foot into his mouth. "Every time I look at him, the miracle fills me anew."
Diana smiled warmly down at the infant. "I can understand their feelings. He is beautiful, Vincent." For just a second a wistful expression flitted across her face.
"I've looked into his eyes a thousand times. Why does his power never diminish?" Vincent's eyes remained intent on the child.
"We can never run out of hope for a newborn child," Diana answered simply, even though Vincent had spoken more to himself than to her.
Vincent considered this, then seemed to agree. "Sometimes, in my nightmares, I relive what happened. The loss . . . the violence . . . all the pain. All that I put us both through." Diana looked up to see that he now wore the sad, brooding look she knew meant he was thinking of Catherine. "But then, in an instant, it vanishes . . . carried off by his waking cry."
Diana rose from her kneeling position. "He can make it all right," she offered hopefully.
Vincent shook his head slowly. "Nothing can make all of it right." His eyes were bleak.
Diana felt suddenly cold and rubbed her arms. Vincent unexpectedly shifted his gaze to her face. "Diana. You've done so much for both of us. Why?" He stood quietly, head cocked, waiting for her reply.
It was a simple question; one which should be easy to answer. So why did she feel so confused? She smiled wryly. "It's funny - when it was happening, I never even questioned it." She shrugged helplessly, glancing away. "I don't know, Vincent. You make everything so possible, I couldn't help but want to help you." Diana met his inquiring eyes as steadily as she could.
Vincent returned his gaze to the baby, whose arms and legs waved happily in the air. "Jacob is not my only blessing."
"You're thinking of Catherine," Diana said, probing gently. She had no wish to cause him more pain, but she needed to know the meaning behind his enigmatic words.
"Always."
It was quietly spoken, but the look in Vincent's eyes spoke volumes. Suddenly feeling like an intruder Diana began to look away, only to be arrested by his next words.
"And I'm thinking of you." Vincent glanced again at her and she was momentarily caught in his crystalline gaze.
I've never seen eyes so clear, so brilliant, she thought irrelevantly. Then giving herself a mental shake she roused to speak, though somewhat breathlessly, wondering as she did so at her very unusual lack of reserve. Some outside force seemed to be pulling the words from her.
"Sometimes I wonder how all this can be happening . . . and whether I even belong here or not." Vincent's gaze became inquiring.
"You - your world - is . . . " Diana struggled for a moment, then the words poured out of her in a flood. "I don't know where I'm going anymore. I don't know where I'll be tomorrow."
Why, Vincent wondered, did those words sound so familiar? Then the room seemed to darken and time flowed backward. With a little chill he saw before him not Diana and his child but Catherine, standing on her terrace, and in his mind he heard her voice clearly:
"It's all still so new. Sometimes I wonder how all those little pieces will ever fit together again."
He blinked and Diana was there again, her wide blue eyes intent on his face. "What?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
Vincent gave his head a little shake. "Nothing, just . . . Catherine
once said something like that." He looked at her somberly. "Tomorrow
will come, Diana," he said, still shaken by the clarity and vividness of
his vision. "We can only live each day as it comes
to us, with all of its pains and joys - and gifts."
Diana nodded silently, then drew a deep breath. "Could I hold him?" she asked. She watched as Vincent gently scooped the baby up in his large hands, then held out her arms. Vincent placed Jacob in them and Diana held the baby awkwardly, but securely, next to her body.
It had been years since she'd held a baby, not since her sister's child had been little. Diana had forgotten what it was like to cradle an infant in her arms; forgotten the powdery talcum scent, the soft, cuddly, solid warmth of a baby; forgotten too the rush of maternal feeling that now flooded through her. She felt a soft, silly grin on her lips and looked up at Vincent in sudden joy. His eyes were fixed on his son, and Diana realized that, at least for the moment, Vincent had totally forgotten her presence. Her smile faded.
Still cuddling Jacob, Diana turned away, deciding she might as well take advantage of this opportunity to study Vincent's chamber more closely. The furniture, for example.
Yes, the furniture would be a good place to start. Each piece was well-crafted, solid and sturdy yet beautiful to the eye. Like Vincent, came her instinctive thought. All at once her eye was caught by the large painting hanging on the wall at the foot of the bed. Now that she had seen it, Diana wondered how on earth she'd missed it before. It drew the eye magnetically.
It was a portrait, done in oils; a portrait of Vincent and Catherine. Diana came closer, stopped a few feet away. Vincent came up and took the baby from her. He placed Jacob in his crib, then rejoined her in front of the painting.
"Vincent, this is magnificent," breathed Diana. "Who's the artist?" There was no reply. She looked at Vincent and was surprised to see that he seemed almost . . . uneasy.
"Vincent?" she prompted. "Did someone from the Tunnels paint it?"
"No," Vincent said at last, slowly. "It was painted by an artist from Above, someone Catherine . . . met. His name was Kristopher."
Diana turned back to the portrait, and studied it intently. She was almost mesmerized by its powerful, smoldering sensuality. Catherine stood in the foreground, Vincent behind her with his right arm across her shoulders, holding her gently yet possessively against him. His left arm crossed in front of her, lightly clasping her hand. Catherine was caressing Vincent's right hand where it lay on her bare shoulder; she leaned back with obvious trust, with her head resting against his chest. Vincent's head was lowered, his cheek just touching Catherine's hair in tender caress.
Diana felt breathless. Catherine's crimson velvet gown left her shoulders bare, flowing in rich sensuous folds over her legs. Vincent's gaze was intense, his posture possessive as well as protective. His black cloak swept with bold lines to the floor.
The portrait spoke eloquently to Diana. Tenderness and passion and deep love were manifest in every vibrant brush stroke - in the gentle touch of flesh against flesh, in the angle of their bodies, yearning toward each other.
"It's beautiful," she whispered, entranced.
"Yes," came Vincent's husky reply. Glancing over at him, Diana saw his eyes intent on Catherine's face, and the unguarded longing and pain she read in them made her heart contract.
"Sometimes," he continued, "I sense her presence so strongly . . . but when I look for her . . . " His low whisper died away.
Diana placed a hesitant hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Vincent. I didn't mean to cause you pain."
"You haven't." Vincent tore his gaze away from the portrait. "That pain is with me always." He bent down and gathered up his cloak from the bed, where he thrown it down earlier. "Are you ready?"
Diana nodded without speaking, not at all disconcerted by his brusqueness. She knew it came from his need to distance himself from her sympathy - sympathy that only served as a bitter reminder of his loss. Waiting while Vincent collected Jacob, she took one last long, pensive look at the stunning portrait, then followed father and son out into the corridor.
Their journey back was conducted in almost complete silence. Along the way Diana came to a decision about a matter that she'd been considering for several days.
When they reached the exit to the Park she turned to her escort. "Vincent, would it be possible for you, or someone, to meet me here later tonight? I have something for you you but it's too heavy for me to carry this far."
Vincent regarded her quizzically. "I think I can come, perhaps around midnight? If that's not too late."
"Midnight will be fine. Then I'll see you later." With one last smile Diana walked out into the Park.