CHAPTER TEN

NOTES: Lyrics below are from "Through The Eyes Of Love" by Marvin Hamlisch and Carol Bayer Sager, as sung by Melissa Manchester.

Please, don't let this feeling end
It might not come again
And I want to remember
How it feels to touch you,
How I feel so much
Since I found you

Looking through the eyes of love . . .

Vincent sat on the rocky ledge that overlooked the falls, hoping the beauty of the tranquil scene before him would soothe his troubled mind. He was short on sleep, had been ever since the night of Janet's concert. The lack of sleep in itself wasn't that important; his body didn't seem to require the long hours of rest that other people needed. It was the reason for his sleeplessness that worried him.

For the past week his nights had been broken by vivid and troubling dreams about Catherine. This of course was nothing new. Vincent could hardly remember a night in recent months when he had not awakened from dreams of his lost love, some tender and sweet, some bitter beyond words, bringing scalding tears in their wake.

No, what was different about these current dreams was their content and their repetition. Though differing in small details, in essentials they were unvarying. In each dream he was wandering through misty, unidentifiable terrain, searching for Catherine. He could hear her voice calling to him, but couldn't determine the direction from which it came. Sometimes in his desperate quest he would spy her distant figure and run toward her, only to see her vanish into the mist before he could touch her. Sometimes he would follow her voice through a darkness so intense even his keen eyes couldn't penetrate the gloom, turning now to the right, now to the left, endlessly in pursuit . . . until he awoke, drenched in sweat, entangled in the bedclothes, hearing the echoes of his voice gasping her name.

"Vincent?" Father had come upon him, unnoticed, so engrossed was Vincent in his thoughts. Vincent turned, looked up as Father lowered himself awkwardly down beside him onto the ledge.

"Father," he acknowledged. He met the worried gray eyes with a sober gaze.

Father's concerned frown intensified as he studied his son's face. "Vincent, you look exhausted. You're still unable to sleep?" When Vincent shook his head, he added, "The dreams?" It was more statement than inquiry.

Vincent sighed, gazed unseeing over the water. "Yes - the dreams."

Father sat a moment in silence, pondering. He was too familiar with Vincent's often uncanny abilities to dismiss his dreams out of hand as meaningless nightmares. Yet certainly in this instance they could not be the prophetic visions his son occasionally experienced.

No, he believed that these dreams were indicative of Vincent's deep guilt over his inability to rescue Catherine. Father had hoped that once the child was rescued and safely Below, Vincent would continue the healing process begun in Diana Bennett's loft; that he would finally begin to emerge from the crushing weight of his grief and self-condemnation.

But although Vincent tenderly and lovingly cared for his child and performed his usual duties for their world, Father was achingly aware that he was far from healed. At times he despaired of ever seeing his son whole again. For there was an emptiness in Vincent now, as though some essential part of him had died with Catherine. Only when he was with little Jacob was even a part of that void filled.

Catherine's death had affected their world more thoroughly than Father would have believed. Until she was gone the Tunnel community had not realized how deeply Catherine had entered their lives, how thoroughly she was a part of them, even though she lived Above. Father closed his eyes briefly, remembering with pain the Winterfest gathering this year.

For the first time ever, Vincent had not been a part of the celebration. He had quietly declared himself unable to face the memories the festivities would evoke, and after a few gentle urgings Father had desisted from further effort, saddened to the heart by the desolation in his son's eyes.

The gathering had been subdued, lacking its usual joyous, festive atmosphere. In spite of his best efforts, Father hadn't been able to put much conviction into his traditional speech, and the flickering candlelight had revealed the gleam of tears on many a face as his voice faltered and broke. In the end he had been unable to continue, and they had concluded with a moment of silence, hands clasped in a circle of love and sorrow.

Vincent's voice cut across his musings. "Father's there is something I haven't told you about these dreams." He shifted around to face Father, bringing one knee up and resting his arm on it. "At first I thought I was imagining it, or that it was a part of the dream carrying over into my waking. But it's happened several times now and I know it's neither of these things."

He paused and the serious look on his face deepened. His gaze turned inward, remembering. "I've been hearing Catherine's voice, Father - when I waken from the dreams. Her voice, calling to me, asking 'Where are you?' "

Father listened in silence, his concern growing with every word. Dear Lord, this was worse than he'd thought! Vincent was actually hallucinating!

Vincent had to smile at his dismayed look. Leaning forward, he placed his hand over Father's. "Don't concern yourself so, Father. I don't know why this is happening, but it is real. I'm not hallucinating, nor am I imagining it. I am hearing Catherine." His calm blue eyes met Father's with a steady, reassuring look.

"Vincent," Father faltered, casting around for words. "I don't know what to say. Are you sure this isn't just another way you've found to torture yourself for not being able to prevent Catherine's death? You're very good at that, you know."

Vincent released his hand and sat back, once more gazing out over the waters. Before he could reply they were interrupted by Geoffrey bursting into the area. He handed Vincent a message.

"Thank you, Geoffrey." Vincent took the paper and dismissed the boy with a nod and a smile before unfolding it. He scanned it quickly and rose to his feet. Brushing the dust and grit off his pants and cloak, he reached down a hand to help Father up. "It's from Diana," he told him. "She wants me to meet her tonight at the Park entrance at 8:00. She says it's urgent."

Father's brow furrowed with exasperation and worry. "What now?" he grumbled.

Vincent gave him a brief hug. "I must go, if I am to be there by 8:00. Father, we'll finish our talk later." Turning, he walked away, his black cloak flaring out behind him.

As he strode through the dim light of the tunnels, Vincent thought back on his conversation with Father. Everything he had told Father was true. He had heard Catherine's voice on more than one occasion upon waking for him disturbed slumber.

But he had not told Father all the truth.

This last time had not been the same as the others. Upon waking, Catherine's voice had whispered throughout his chamber as before, but this time the words were changed. Before, her voice had only echoed the words she'd spoken in his dreams, a simple calling of his name: "Vincent, where are you?"

But last night . . . last night had been profoundly different. Even his dream images had been sharper, clearer - much more alive.

(He had moved slowly through thick clouds of damp, white fog that billowed and roiled about him. He spied Catherine's indistinct figure a short distance off, but this time he made no effort to run to her. Instead he maintained his slow, measured pace, watching, waiting for her image to dissolve into the mist as had happened before. This time she stayed.)

(Stopping in front of her, he'd been assaulted by a sudden, confused barrage of emotions. Love/joy/grief/fear. All had battered at him as he gazed into Catherine's face. He stepped forward hesitantly, reaching a trembling hand toward her.)

("Catherine?" His voice was almost inaudible, forcing its way past a throat closed tight with emotion.)

(Catherine smiled at him, her green eyes radiant, and breathed his name. She stepped forward and his arms closed slowly about her until he held her close, delicately, still afraid to believe she was actually there, in his arms. He dropped his head and pressed his lips to her hair, inhaling its familiar fragrance. He felt Catherine heave a deep sigh of contentment and burrow into his chest, her slender arms tightening around his waist.)

(Suddenly such intense joy blazed through him that he could scarcely breathe. CATHERINE! Tightening his arms about her slim body, he'd pulled her closer to him, murmuring her name, glorying in her warmth and the solid feel of her slender frame beneath his hands. Fervently they embraced, straining to hold one another more and more tightly, pressing together with desperate hunger.)

(He'd lowered his head, and she lifted her face to his. Her soft, full mouth was sweeter than honey and more intoxicating than any wine. Their kiss was timeless, an eternity of her lips moving against his, the soft touch of her tongue sending explosions of fire through his veins, until Vincent felt his legs trembling beneath him. He could feel her heart racing, and his. Breathless they pulled apart to gaze at each another.)

("Vincent," she'd breathed, and unfastened his cloak, pushing it off his shoulders. With a soft rustle it fell whispering to the ground. Her darkened eyes never leaving his, Catherine then unlaced his vest and shirt and opened them wide, baring his torso to the waist. Slowly she slid her hands up his chest, stroking, caressing his fur, the touch of her fingers like tendrils of flame on his skin. He threw back his head, trembling, as her touch wound its sensuous way upward 'til she reached the sensitive skin of his neck.)

(Twining her fingers in his mane she pulled his head down and fastened her mouth on his. His heart pounded furiously and his blood was a molten river of desire, inflamed by the exquisite fire of Catherine's hands and lips. Groaning, he sank to the ground, carrying her with him, his urgency almost overpowering him. Obstructing articles of clothing were frantically discarded in their overwhelming need, and then they were joining, bodies and souls melding together in one blinding, ecstatic rush.)

(Vincent raised his head, gasping Catherine's name, feeling her hands clutching at the strong muscles of his back. His entire body tensed with the force of his release. He heard Catherine's simultaneous cry and the hot waves of her pleasure rose to flow against him, surrounding him, becoming one with his own joy. No longer could they distinguish between them; they were one heart, one body - one soul.)

(Then they were sitting clasped in each other's arms, leaning against a shadowy structure he couldn't identify. Vincent looked down at Catherine lovingly. He'd stroked her glossy hair, much longer now than he had ever seen it before, loving the softness of it beneath his fingertips.)

("Catherine, how can this be?" He'd touched her lips, ran his finger along their sensuous outline. His eyes met hers, and fear slashed him, sharp and sudden as a knife. "Is this a dream? When I awake, will you be lost to me again?")

(Catherine had looked at him tenderly. "Vincent, don't you remember? You could never lose me; we could never lose each other. I have been with you all along. But now the time comes when I will not be able to stay, unless you help. Vincent, help me to be with you again. Help us.)

(He stared at her, his eyes widening with fear as he realized her form was thinning in his arms, melting away into the mist. "How, Catherine? How can I help you?" Leaping to his feet he had turned desperately in every direction. But only silence met his anguished cries.)

He had awakened then, in what had become his usual tangle of nightclothes and covers, with the echo of his shout still reverberating in his ears. He'd lain there until his loud panting slowly subsided, feeling his aching need for her, the black despair growing in the pit of his stomach. Rolling over, he'd clutched his pillow with desperate hands, buried his face in its depths, and wept hot, bitter tears.

//Vincent.//

Gradually his sobs had quieted. He'd turned onto his side and stared into the darkness of his chamber, which wasn't particularly dark to him. He could easily distinguish the outlines of Jacob's crib a few feet away, and wondered that the baby hadn't been wakened by his cries. Perhaps he hadn't really shouted after all, only in his dream.

//Vincent.//

He sat up abruptly, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and listened with all his might, wide-eyed and tense.

//Ask Joe.//

He heard it again. Catherine's voice. He knew he was awake, not dreaming. What was she saying? Joe?

//Talk to Joe.//

"Catherine?" he'd whispered longingly, his voice raw from weeping. "Why do you want me to see Joe? What should I ask him?"

//Talk to Joe. Please . . . I love you . . .//

Then she was gone. He sat very still. Or was she? What was that slight presence whispering around the edges of his consciousness? He could feel a pull, a contact with - what? It was similar to the bond he shared with Jacob, but yet . . . not the same. At once deeper and more tenuous, it caused a restlessness deep within him, an urge to do - something, go - somewhere. Slowly lying back in his bed, he'd pondered until daylight.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lay a whisper on my pillow
Leave the winter on the ground
I wake up lonely and stare at silence
In the bedroom and all around. . .
(from "Pretty Woman", sung by Roxette)

Diana stood outside the gate that protected the entrance to the Tunnels. The night was bitter and she wrapped her arms around her, hugging the warmth of her long coat to her body. Gripped by nerves she paced up and down the enclosure, one moment wishing Vincent would just arrive already so she could get this over with, the next hoping he would be unable to make it, postponing the moment.

"Diana?"

She gasped, whirling around. To her astonishment Vincent was there, opening the gate. She'd been so caught up in her thoughts and her attack of nerves that the sound of the great iron door opening had failed to penetrate her abstraction. Diana gulped and waited for her heart to resume a more normal cadence.

"Vincent! You frightened me. I - I didn't hear the door . . ." Her voice trailed off as she looked at him, and she bit at her lower lip. Turning, Diana walked across to the other side of the enclosure and leaned against the concrete wall, facing Vincent. Her fair skin looked even paler than usual as the flush of her startlement receded. Her eyes were wide and troubled. She took in a slow, deep breath and released it carefully. Vincent watched Diana with growing perplexity and concern. During the months of their association he had realized that, inside, Diana was an extremely sensitive, caring person, that the cool, calm demeanor she presented to the world was at once her protection and defense against its often brutal realities. To see her in such a state . . . something must be very wrong.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Coming up beside her Vincent touched her shoulder. "Diana, you're trembling! Come Below with me. I'll fix you some tea then you can tell me what troubles you." He urged her toward the entrance, but stopped when she shook her head.

"Not now," she said, shakily. "Vincent, I have something to tell you and I don't quite know how to do it, - or - or where to begin." She inhaled deeply and released it slowly. When she spoke again her voice was steadier.

"Vincent, I saw Joe Maxwell today, at his request. He asked me to arrange a meeting with you. I never told you but Joe knows that I know who you are - he guessed that some time ago. In the past I've always denied it, but this time - this time I . . . didn't."

Vincent cocked his head, regarding her. A chill traveled down his spine at the memory of Catherine's words the night before. "Why does Joe Maxwell wish to see me?" he asked slowly.

"He wants your help. Vincent, he told me something." Diana swallowed hard and forced her eyes to meet Vincent's clear gaze. Her voice failed her at her first attempt to speak, and she had to clear her throat and try again.

"Vincent . . . Catherine's alive." There, it was said! Oh God, the relief! "She's in a nursing home, Vincent, has been all this time. She's in a coma." She stared at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

Vincent stood stock-still, feeling as though he'd been turned to stone. The shock was immense. His eyes grew blank, glassy as marbles; his breathing almost stopped. Alarmed, Diana touched his arm. It was rigid, the muscles rock-hard.

"Vincent." Gently she shook him. No response. "Vincent!" She shook harder.

A gasp escaped Vincent's lips. His muscles began to relax; slowly his gaze turned outward again and his eyes focused on Diana. She caught her breath at the joyous light glowing in their azure depths. In one glorious moment the shadows that had filled him were dispelled. Only now, seeing the new warmth and life in Vincent's eyes, did Diana fully comprehend just how large and how a vital a part of him had been missing all these long months, buried with Catherine. She swallowed the ache rising in her throat. Not now. She would deal with this later; she would have to.

"She's alive. That is what the dreams meant. Catherine was trying to let me know she's alive."

Diana could make no sense of this but that wasn't important now. What was important was that Vincent be made aware of the grimmer realities of the situation.

"Vincent, listen to me." She was in control again, her voice calm, quietly compelling. It instantly drew Vincent's attention. "Catherine is in a coma; she's been in a coma for months. There's no way of telling when - or even if - she will ever come out of it. Joe only told me about her because he's desperate. He's afraid for Cathy, afraid that Gabriel's associates will find out that she's not dead and will find her. He knows Cathy loves you and hopes that she might respond to your presence."

"Where is she?" Vincent quietly asked.

Diana shook her head. "I don't know. Joe very carefully didn't give me that information. I told you, he wants to meet with you. Cathy's location is the leverage he's using to buy your cooperation."

Vincent nodded, unperturbed. "I will meet with him; Catherine wants me to. Can you arrange it for tonight? Midnight, at the carousel?" He met Diana's puzzled stare with a faint smile. "There is more to this than I have time to tell you right now. Please, do your best to arrange for tonight. I promise that I will explain everything later. In fact, if you have no objection, I would like you to be present at the meeting."

"Just try to keep me away," Diana muttered. She stared after Vincent as he retreated to the Tunnel entrance and activated the mechanism to close the great iron door. He acted so oddly tonight, not showing any misgivings over this forced meeting with Joe. What did he mean, 'Catherine wants me to'? To what? Meet with Joe? Why would he think that?

And his reaction to being told Cathy is still alive. Well, it was obviously a shock, but I wouldn't have believed he would could recover from it that quickly. And what were those references to Catherine and dreams? Dreams? Diana grew thoughtful as she recalled Vincent's visions at the time of his son's illness. Deep in thought she exited through the drainage culvert into the Park.

* * * * * * * *

"What did you say?" Eyes huge with shock, Father groped behind him for his chair, falling heavily onto the padded seat. He stared at Vincent as though fearing for his sanity.

"Catherine is alive, Father. Diana found out today from Joe Maxwell. She is in a nursing home under police protection."

"But . . . how . . . why . . ." Father floundered. "A nursing home, you say? Why a nursing home?"

"Because Catherine is in a coma," Vincent replied. He knelt by the chair. "Father, Joe Maxwell has asked to see me. Diana is arranging a meeting with him tonight - at the carousel at midnight."

Father's eyes sharpened. "Why, Vincent? Why are you agreeing to see this man?"

"Because only he can tell me where Catherine is; Diana does not have that information." Vincent pause and rose to his feet, regarding Father levelly. "And because Catherine asked me to. Somehow her spirit has been reaching out to me in my dreams this past week. Last night she asked me to talk to Joe. I couldn't understand it then - but now . . ."

He raised his chin slightly. "I must see him, Father."

To his surprise Father nodded agreement. "Of course you must, Vincent. Or rather, we must. I am going with you." He held up a hand in warning as Vincent started to speak. "Don't bother to argue. I'm going."

Vincent eyed him in silence as Father struggled out of his chair and moved to get his Topside clothing from the wardrobe. He shrugged resignedly. "Then please hurry."