NOTES: The lyrics below are from Phantom of the Opera, music and lyrics by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Charles Hart, and Richard Stillgoe.
Down once more to the dungeon
of my black despair!
Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!
Down that path into darkness deep as hell!
Hands clasped, Vincent and Catherine turned and began walking through the woods,
retracing the path Vincent had taken. As they walked Vincent saw that their
surroundings were changing. the trees and bushes gradually disappeared, and
a thick, white mist began rising up around them. The hairs on the back of his
neck prickled as he recognized the locale of his recent dreams. He kept a firm
grip on Catherine's hand; he would not take the chance of losing her in this
realm of nightmares.
All at once they were speeding toward the same bright circle of light he had encountered before. They burst through its brilliance, and Vincent was instantly assaulted by a flood of images and emotions.
(He was with Catherine, beside her, an onlooker . . . yet at the same time he was a part of her, sharing her memories, reliving them with her . . . suffering along with her. He felt her shock of horror as she looked into John Moreno's face and knew him for her betrayer. Bright lights were shining unbearably into her eyes and needles bit into his arm. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit him, and he shared her despair as she was dragged away from the pipes conveying her SOS. More lights and another needle, and then complete disorientation as she was forced into a car, hearing his own roars in the background, trying desperately to come awake, to assist him, but unable to make her body respond.)
(Then came long, endless hours of mental and physical isolation; empty days broken only by regular visits from the silent nurse or equally silent aide to bring her food or take her on the long, silent trek down antiseptic halls for her physical checkup.)
(He saw the long, melancholy face of the doctor, who never spoke except to tell her at the end of the examination that everything seemed fine. He felt her increasing torment at that isolation . . . the times she thought she would go mad if she didn't hear the sound of another human voice . . . shared her despair when she realized that she had started talking to herself to fulfill that desperate need. And through it all, he felt her helpless yearning for *him*, knowing it to be hopeless yet unable to stop dreaming that somehow he would find her, rescue her from this sterile hell.)
(And then the pains started - slowly at first, but gradually increasing in intensity and duration. Her pain was his pain, as was her fear. Knowing that she had been kept alive only so her baby - *his* baby - could be born, she had not known what would happen once the birth was over, and she was afraid, both for herself and for the child. And the contractions were so *strong*. . . Finally she could hide her pain no longer and they came and put her on the birthing chair and strapped down her arms and legs. By then her body was one blinding, searing core of agony, yet somehow through it all she heard when that cold, inhuman voice - Gabriel's voice - told the doctor to cut the child out.)
(More terrified than she had ever been in her life, she screamed out and pushed with all her might, feeling her child struggling to be born . . . the agony of her flesh ripping when his head emerged and then one final burning surge as the rest of him slid wetly into the doctor's waiting hands. Oh, the relief as pain subsided into a mere bearable throbbing!)
(Then suddenly, silently, he was there - Gabriel - holding her baby, Vincent's baby, hiding him from her view, inspecting him with those dead, appraising eyes . . . finally heeding her pleas and permitting the doctor to let her see her son for a few - oh, so few! - precious seconds. Vincent shared in her joy at the sight of the tiny, beautiful face . . . shared also her anguish and despair as the doctor turned away in obedience to Gabriel's curt command, and the nurse carried their child out of the room.)
(And then came the prick of yet another injection, and the doctor's melancholy voice telling her she wouldn't suffer. He felt the horror that filled her as she realized she was dying, and then the soothing drowsiness beckoning to her . . . her last coherent thought of him and his name on her lips as the world darkened around her and she sank into dark, soothing oblivion.)
(Then . . . he sensed something calling out to her, pulling her back from the comforting darkness, felt her struggling to respond to that call. He felt her shock as she sensed *he* was hear, knew her determination to reach him. He struggled with her a she managed to slide off the chair and with unsteady, quivering legs negotiate the long, laborious way through the hall and up the stairs to the rooftop. Through her eyes he saw himself, standing at the far edge, shared her rush of joy and love as she whispered his name and he turned and saw her. He felt her beginning to fall, and then she was caught by him and knew the unbelievable happiness of feeling his arms around her once more.)
(Then came her grief as the drug began its final assault on her body, and she told him about their child. He joined in her fierce battle to stay with him a few moments longer, pouring his strength into her long enough for her to assure him of her love, seeing through her eyes his beloved face grow dim. And then - )
(- then there was only gray blankness before him. He felt Catherine's hand
leading him through that emptiness until he burst through it into bright light.)
Blinking his eyes, Vincent realized he was sitting on Catherine's bed in the nursing home, holding her in his arms. He lowered her back against the pillows, then leaned over and gently kissed her lips. "Catherine."
Her head moved restlessly. Slowly her eyes opened. She stared blankly for a moment before focusing on his face. Her lips moved soundlessly, forming his name; her eyes were luminous. Slowly, with visible effort, Catherine raised one trembling hand to Vincent's face and touched his cheek. Moistening her lips she made another attempt at speech.
"Vincent." It was the merest whisper of sound, but Vincent had never in his life heard anything more beautiful. "Thank you." Exhausted, her arm dropped to her side and she closed her eyes.
Vincent stroked Catherine's hair back from her forehead and laid his cheek against hers, the grateful tears wetting both their faces. His heart was overflowing with thankfulness. But then his sensitive ears picked up the sound of distant feet heading their way, fast. Swiftly Vincent snatched up his cloak. He swung it over his shoulders and pulled the hood up over his head just as the door burst open. With his back to the door Vincent retrieved his gloves from the bed.
"Cathy!?"
* * * * *
Father sat in silence, hands clasped over the head of his cane as he stared
at the faded design of the carpet beneath his feet. He was brooding over the
night's events. Ever since hearing that Catherine was alive, he'd had a feeling
of unreality, as though he were moving through a dream. He prayed fervently
that this dream wouldn't prove to be a nightmare. He sighed, shifting uncomfortably;
his hip was aching abominably tonight.
"Arthritis?"
Father looked up. Dr. Foster stood in front of him, her head tilted inquiringly. She smiled and took the seat beside him. "Er, no. No, it's an old injury," Father replied, returning her smile. It was impossible not to like this bright little sparrow of a woman. Her manner was brisk and down-to-earth yet compassionate; her gray eyes were warm. "It aches a bit when I grow tired, or when it's cold out."
"Yes, it is cold tonight, even for March," the doctor agreed. "My left shoulder always lets me know when it's going to rain. Bursitis," she confided. They chatted for a few minutes, trading symptoms and debating medical treatments and home remedies, comfortably aware of the growing camaraderie between them.
"I understand from Detective Bennett that Vincent is your son?" Dr. Foster finally said.
"Yes," Father answered. "My adopted son, though every bit as dear to me as my own child. In fact," he sighed with a rueful smile, "I have more trouble in my relationship with my own son than I ever had with Vincent. He is perhaps the finest person I have ever been privileged to know. There's no one like him." Speaking from his heart, Father had all but forgotten that he had a listener.
Dr. Foster gazed calmly at him. "Dr. Wells, forgive me, I know it's none of my business but I can't help being curious about the reason for your son's unconventional attire."
Father's spine stiffened. Choosing his words carefully and avoiding the doctor's bright eyes he said, "Vincent has learned that his appearance can be upsetting, even frightening, to other people. For this reason he chooses to conceal his face from strangers."
"Ah," was her only reply, but Father noticed her studying him thoughtfully. Just then they were joined by Joe Maxwell and Diana.
"Mr. Wells - excuse me, Doctor Wells," Joe said without preamble and with a certain amount of dryness, "tell me, do you think there's any chance at all that this harebrained scheme of mine might work?" In spite of the gruff cynicism of his words Joe's brown eyes were begging for reassurance. "It's been so long."
Inside he was thinking, He's been in there with Cathy for hours, what's he doing? The last time I checked the monitor he was still just sitting there holding her. What in the world ever made me think this idiotic idea could work? Maxwell, you need your head examined!
Father regarded him levelly. "As I said earlier, Mr. Maxwell, where my son and Catherine are concerned I truly believe anything is possible. The love they share, their whole relationship, is unlike any I have ever seen. I have every hope that your 'harebrained scheme' will indeed succeed."
Joe inhaled deeply, aware of an inexplicable release of tension. Somehow he accepted and believed this man's words. He talked about the love they share. Here's someone else telling me that Cathy and this - that Cathy and Vincent are deeply in love. Well, I already knew that, at least I knew Cathy was. A 'unique' relationship. That's for sure! Who knows? Maybe that's what will make this crazy idea of mine work.
At that moment a muffled exclamation came from the nurses' station behind him. Joe looked over his shoulder to see Dr. Waugh bent over one of those beeping medical machines - an EEG, he thought dimly.
The doctor was gaping at a readout tape. "I don't believe it!" he gasped. He looked at the expectant group. "She's awake! Her readout is showing a normal, waking brain pattern!"
Joe heard a sharp intake of breath. Glancing beside him he saw Diana sink slowly into a chair. She was staring straight in front of her, impassive as ever. But he spared her only a glance before turning and heading down the hall to Cathy's room. The others followed closely behind. He was vaguely aware that Diana remained seated back in the lobby. Joe burst through the door of Cathy's room just in time to catch a glimpse of long, fire-gold hair before Vincent drew the hood up over his head. He rocked to a stop at the foot of the bed.
"Cathy?!" Incredulously Joe saw her eyes open. The slight movement of her dry lips was only a faint imitation of her old glorious smile - but it was Cathy, alive and fully conscious.
"My God . . . Cathy!" was all he managed to get out before his throat closed with happiness. Joe moved to the other side of her bed, with a grin on his face that felt foolish even to him.
"Hi, Joe." Catherine greeted him faintly, her brief smile touching her lips again. "Long time no see."
Joe bent over her, taking one pale hand in his, noting that the other lay trustingly in Vincent's large, gloved palm. "Welcome back, Radcliffe. We missed you." His eyes were intent on her face and more than a little moist. Someone crowded close behind him. Cathy's eyes moved to look at the jostler.
"Father," she whispered, sounding surprised. "I didn't know you were here too."
Joe frowned. Father? Jacob Wells slid past him, with tears in his eyes.
"Catherine, thank God!" was all he said, but the fervency in his voice and his shining eyes combined to turn the simple words into an eloquent prayer straight from his heart.
"Thank you, Father . . . Joe." Catherine smiled weakly up at the two men. She looked at the door as yet another person entered the room. This was a woman, short and slender, who moved with a tightly controlled grace. Her hair was a flaming mass of copper flowing down her back, and her skin was pale. As her very clear, very direct blue eyes met Catherine's, Catherine felt a shock almost of recognition, though she was quite sure she had never met this woman in her life. She looked a question at her.
"My name is Diana Bennett," the woman replied to her unspoken inquiry. Her voice, like her appearance, was cool and calm. "I'm an investigator with the police; I was in charge of your case." She looked at Vincent. "Vincent, it will be dawn soon."
She missed Catherine's look of surprise at her casual use of Vincent's name but turned back to find the green eyes studying her thoughtfully. Diana returned the look calmly.
"Yes, Vincent, we must go now," Father said gently, almost with apology, knowing that leaving was the last thing his son wanted to do.
Vincent shook his head, still keeping his face hidden from the others. "I am staying with Catherine."
Father drew in a deep breath, but before he could reply Catherine spoke, her words slurring a trifle. "Vincent, that's not . . . necessary. I'm sure I'll . . . spend . . . most of the day . . . sleeping." And indeed, as she spoke Catherine was fighting to keep her eyes open, feeling an overpowering exhaustion and lethargy.
Vincent leaned over her. "Catherine, I cannot bear to be apart from you."
Catherine gazed at him, sliding a shaky hand under his hood to thread its way into his hair. "You need . . . to rest, Vincent. Besides . . . you are always . . . with me, my love." Their voices were low, intimate.
Vincent nodded slowly, his eyes within the shadow of the hood never leaving hers. "Yes. Always." He bent closer and their lips met in a long kiss.
Joe moved back from the bed, shaken by their tender exchange. Diana turned swiftly away and walked to one corner of the room, fighting to keep in control. The deep love and commitment between these two was virtually palpable to someone as sensitive as she, and Diana bleakly acknowledged what she had always known in her heart - that Vincent was, for the rest of his life and throughout eternity, bound to Catherine heart and soul. It was time to face that fact once and for all.
Vincent stood up, still holding Catherine's hand. Dr. Waugh, who until now had been standing in stunned silence along with Dr. Foster, cleared his throat. "Mr., uh, Mr. Wells, will you be returning this evening? If so, I need to leave word with the staff who will be on duty then."
Vincent turned his head slightly toward the doctor, still concealed from his view. "Thank you. Yes, I will return tonight, and tomorrow night, and every night until Catherine is well enough to leave." He turned again toward the bed.
"And then - I have promises to keep."
Catherine felt a glowing warmth suffuse her body as Vincent's luminous eyes held hers in silent reminder of that promise.
.