To Hope Anew

Chapter 19

Jacob's snow angel lay comfortably several dozen feet away fromthe tunnel entrance at the park. He stood proudly admiring hisefforts in the deepening darkness of the early winter evening. "Is itright, Father?" came the expectant little voice awaiting a criticalobservation.

Vincent surveyed the little imprint on the fresh snowfall withcareful scrutiny. Jacob had not lifted both arms equally as he hadswept them over the surface of the snow. Thus, one "wing" of hisangel had a bit of a tipped-over look to it, not quite completelyunfurled. It was the perfect image of a 27-month old angel.

"It is lovely, Jacob," Vincent pronounced, then proceeded to sweephis little boy up off the ground in a grand gesture of freedom,letting the child come to close proximity of a banked collection ofsnow in a brush-sheltered corner. He slipped Jacob through the pileof snow to the sound of delighted giggles. But not without cost tohimself.

The little boy squirmed rather easily out of his father's hold andbegan tossing double handfuls of snow over the golden-haired headbending down to him. Before long, snow, and laughter, happily liftedaround father and child, until each began to feel the effects of thecold moisture on bare faces and tingling fingertips.

Winter was God's blessing to Vincent.

The nights came early and stayed long. Everyone was heavilylayered in clothing that nearly concealed their forms. And for once,the comfort and warmth of the days could be more easily found withinthe confines of the rock chambers and tunnels than out and about inthe city.

"Time to come in, son. You'll be cold before long." A small bundleof mis-matched woolens and boots a size too large reluctantly came tothe tunnel entrance after his father.

"May we come tomorrow?" asked the slightly muffled voice.

Vincent knelt down to his child and knocked some lingeringwhiteness off the back of his coat. "I'm certain the rest of thechildren will want to come out again tomorrow after lessons. You mayjoin them."

Jacob took his father's hand easily. The older boys and girls hadalways been generous enough to include him in their play as well asthey could, along with Katy and Luke who were older than him but notyet in school. Samantha always made certain she took him along forsome sunshine whenever she could. But that wasn't what the little boyhad actually requested of his father.

"Will you come with me again?" That was the important part of thequestion. Vincent smiled from his heart at God's other blessing tohim. The little boy would see to it that life would remain dear tohim always.

"I have some work to help Cullen with tomorrow after school, but Ibelieve we can leave the evening for some snowy fun again. That is,if it doesn't melt by then."

Little arms came easily around Vincent's neck, and the rosy glowof cold cheeks warmed his spirit completely. He drew the child upinto his arms and carried him into the tunnel.

"Thank you, Father. I love the snow!"

"So do I," came the easy reply. "But, do you know what I love todo after a snowy frolic?"

Limpid blue eyes brightened mischeviously. "Have some hotchocolate!" Jacob answered with a laugh.

"Let's see if we can make some before those little fingers ofyours get too cold."

The distance back through the tunnels to the kitchen seemedunusually short. Vincent felt an ease within him that he had notexperienced in a long time. It was strange. He'd felt almost . . .compelled . . . to bring Jacob out into the snow this evening, eventhough the hour was still somewhat early. The simple freedom ofplaying with his child thus had been a deep and so gratefullyaccepted expression of his present state of heart.

Diana was going to join them in the morning.

She'd sent word that she'd completed her work on the harrowingcase that had consumed her for the past two months and was in need ofwhat she called, "down time."

What a contradiction in terms! Having Diana near would be anythingbut a "down" time, Vincent admitted to himself. It would lift him,lift his heart.

He was so relieved that Diana was at last freed of her involvementwith the murder case she'd spoken to him briefly about on one or twooccasions. Over the course of their relationship, he'd at timesquestioned her motivation for immersing herself into her work ascompletely as she did. He feared for her, not so much because of anyphysical peril she was placing herself in, as Catherine had so oftenfound herself in her work, but because of the emotional toll herdevotion to her calling was exacting from her, the mental toll.

She was more fragile than she'd let anyone guess.

Vincent had caught sight of it in her eyes more than once, in thethings she refused to share with him as much as in the details shedid. Her compassion linked itself so completely to the victims shesought to serve, to the point of feeling herself -- responsible-- fortheir vindication, their last hope for justice in a world too quickto discard human life and pain.

Time and again, he'd found himself thinking that her commitment tothat vindication was overriding her own desperate search for peace.She could hardly reach for her own needs in life when there was somuch anguish she could do little to set to right.

It grieved Vincent desperately that the resolute, hopeful spiritthat had gently taken hold of his own in his darkest moments must beplunged into so much pain day in and day out. Her brilliant mindcould so easily help create wonder, promise, a better tomorrow forthose around her. Her generous, deeply trusting heart could love andnurture.

She needed frolics in the snow more than she needed evidence of ateeming city's hellish underpinnings. So did he.

"Perhaps Diana would like to join us tomorrow evening." Vincent'sunvoiced hope carried over into his comment to the little boy in hisarms.

"Does she love snow, too, Father?"

It was a simple enough question, but in his unexpectedintrospection of the moment, Vincent found himself uncertain of theanswer. He'd known Diana for over two years now; they'd shared terrorand heartache, guilt and tenderness on levels that would have beenstaggering to the most courageous of hearts. Yet, he actually knewvery little of the small details that made up her personality, hercharacter, little things that even casual friends would get to knowabout one another: What her favorite color was; did she really prefertea to coffee, or was she just being polite when she came Below; waswinter actually a time she enjoyed, or did she simply endure it likeso many New Yorkers?

"I believe Diana loves snow also, Jacob."

The warm milk having chased away any chill lingering from thefrosty adventure, Jacob settled into his favorite place -- under thethick covers on his father's large bed. Even though he feltcomfortable and safe in his crib, he still loved being close enoughto his father's strong body to reach out to him and touch him, feelhim near, whenever he needed to. Vincent had been on the search for asmall bed for the child, now that he was older than two, but with theexpanding population of youngsters in the Underworld, all the extrabeds were in use in the children's dormitories. Jacob would simplyhave to wait.

Once, the little boy thought it would be exciting to sleep withthe other children in the dorm. The thought of companionship withJeffrey and Zack and the other big boys was enticing, but then thesensitive child realized that those boys were together because theydidn't have parents to live with in a family chamber.

Jacob realized how lucky, how blessed, he truly was. He and Lukeand Katy had parents, or, at least, a parent, to be especially nearto them. And even though everyone in the community was a familymember to everyone else, there was something so truly special abouthaving a father or mother to love you as their own child.

Vincent tucked the blankets behind Jacob so he would not becomechilled from the stone wall the bed was pushed up against. Hecherished this time with his little boy, feeling him cuddle close,sharing a story with him, helping him slip peacefully into thecomfort of untroubled sleep. At times, he even felt himself driftingaway to the Hundred Acre Wood with Jacob and Christopher Robin.

But, tonight, Vincent found it suddenly difficult to concentrateon the story. He read the words from the pages of the well-worn book,but they didn't seem to find their way truly into his concentrationor heart. Something else was already there, and enlarging its hold onhim.

Feelings, emotions, sensations, began to swirl around hisspirit.

Though he continued to read the story to his child, Vincent seemedto have totally lost touch with the meanings of those words, andinstead had been urged to attach his consciousness to the phantom . .. essence . . . that had seemed to invade his own.

Tenderness, warmth, the breath of a touch.

It was Diana within him, suddenly. He could see her so clearlynow, see them. The image leapt into his mind with a will of its own-- trees, the night sky, Diana beside him --

no, beneath him, lying beneath him. The air around them was briskand cool. He felt the rough texture of a blanket pull across hisneck, beneath his hair. But, Diana was not cold. He was shielding herfrom the night air with his body, slipping heated hands without fearover opalescent skin showing through an unbuttoned blouse, aninviting intimacy calling to him from emerald eyes filled withyearning tenderness . . .

. . . "What is it, Father?" Jacob's small voice pulled him back tothe reality of the moment -- his chamber, his child, a storybookbeing shared. A little hand reached for his cheek. "You stoppedreading."

Vincent shook his head, trying to lift himself free of his mind'simages. Where had they come from? They must have been Diana'sexperience, chanelling itself to him with overwhelming force, heconcluded in unsteady decision. Part of him denied that such anintimate bonding between them even existed, but so much more of himknew the truth.

It wasn't the first time he had met up with Diana's spirit withinhim. Vincent had always somehow been linked to the young policewoman's soul, on one level or another, since they'd first set eyes onone another. Even before that. But, their link was not like anythinghe and Catherine had experienced, the comforting, affirming, sharedresponses of their hearts to one another.

The link Vincent seemed to share now with Diana was almost like a-- safety valve -- a release for her spirit to unburden itself to hiswhen she felt overwhelmed. He wasn't even certain she was aware ofit. She seemed to give no indication that she knew it existed, thattheir hearts had become bonded even though they'd fought the growingattachment between them on every conscious level they could.

But, Vincent blessed heaven for her seeming lack of knowledge,realizing at once that had Diana been aware that her tested soul hadbeen reaching out to him on an unconsicous plane, she would haveimmediately drawn back from him, wanting never to burden him with herstruggles.

Those struggles had been fierce lately, in many different aspectsof her life, he'd come to see. She was formidible, strong, relentlessin her honesty, never once holding back from anything life threw ather. Outwardly.

Inwardly, though, when her spirit reached that point of endurancepast which lay only pain and disillusionment and tears, somethingthat occured with unsettling frequency of late, he discovered, heressence channeled itself away from the threat -- and to him,unbelievably to him. She had done so much for him, risked so much forhim, and he'd never been able to even remotely repay her for it.Until he realized that she was willing to let him shelter her soulfrom total oblivion.

So, he had found her emotions, her fears, her unattainable hopes,resting hesitantly within his own heart, until she discovered anewsome untapped reservoir of strength that gave her the courage tobring them back into her own experience.

While those emotions, those truthful realities of her soul, werewith him, Vincent treasured them for the trust they carried, thevulnerable, poignant need she'd never confess to him aloud. When itwas time to let those truths return to their source, he grieved fortheir loss, knowing he could never bring himself to openly accept theawesome responsibility of sheltering her heart within his own as sheached for him to do.

Tonight's sensations, though, were powerfully different,unexplanably so. Vincent knew the images in his mind, the emotions inhis heart, were not his alone, beguiling as they seemed. Still, theywere not completely Diana's, either. He was certain of it. Sheappeared to be as . . . confused . . . about the images as he, andnow even growing ever more . . . frightened.

Jacob was confused and frightened as well. The little boy couldscarcely understand the turmoil in his father's face, let alone hisheart. Vincent pulled himself forcefully back into the solid realityof his chamber and wrapped his arms around his son.

"I'm sorry, Jacob. I must have been more tired than I thought.I've lost track of the story. Can we continue tomorrow night?"

The small hand on his cheek was suddenly so reassuring. "Yes,Father. I'm sleepy now."

Vincent moved over to his son's crib and pulled back the covers.Then he gathered Jacob gently in his arms, to settle him in his ownbed carefully. The little Velveteen Rabbit was still a welcome friendduring the night: The small fellow was also satisfactorily tucked in.As he had done every night since Jacob's rescue, Vincent set thechild within the protection of Providence's tender mercy. "Goodnight, my little one. Heaven's angels watch over thee till themorning light."

The sweet sound of a little voice offering his litany of "Godblesses" managed to ease Vincent's anxiety a fraction. He climbedback under the covers of his bed and blew out all but the nightcandle left lit in front of the stained glass window of hischamber.

But, sleep would not come.

Diana's spirit was opened to him as never before, and he struggledto make sense of the images, the sensations, cascading over himbecause of it. Vincent attempted fervantly to understand if she wasbeing threatened or was in need of help, but the vision of tenderlovemaking in the park still held his heart.

What had triggered it within her tonight? He had felt a flood ofsensual longing within him more than once in the past few weeks thathe knew for certain had originated inside Diana's restless heart. Itastonished him that he was not startled in the least by such apresence within her, nor by the fact that he was coming to cherishthose experiences she was unconsciously willing to share with him inaching wonder, and painful denial.

Tonight's connection with her spirit, though, was powerful andintensely real, his own body acutely attuned to the sensations oftenderness shared without guilt or limitations. He knew the feelingof her fair skin beneath his fingertips, heard her pulse racing tohis own, tasted warm lips that caressed with sweet hunger. Then,unbelievably, a sense of fear and foreboding permeated his verysoul.

Desperately, Vincent sought to understand the intruding emotionsshaking him to his very core. Diana's tender hopes had always beenlayered, he knew, within feelings of guilt-burdened expectation, yes,but the implied -- threat -- that seemed to hover over the visions inhis mind and heart also seemed too real to be simply dismissed awayas her usual state of spirit within their stormy relationship.

Vincent wondered in confusing anxiety if there wasn't anothercatalyst igniting those feelings within him and Diana, the persistentpresence of -- darkness -- was so strongly projected to histhoughts.

Besieged by the turmoil within him, Vincent found himself drainedand exhausted, for no apparent physical reason, suddenly battered inbody as much as he was in spirit. When he felt his reserves ofstrength completely vanish from within him, he was thrown violentlyinto the sensations surrounding him again, actually feeling bodilyassaulted by an unseen force intent on doing him harm.

Sitting bolt upright on his bed, Vincent peered into the darkenedchamber, not exactly certain of what he would see. Jacob was fastasleep. All was stillness.

Then he felt an unnamed, unseen, terror, grip him with superhumanforce. It slammed against him, inside him, tearing the breath fromhis lungs.

At first, he was certain the force was his own darkness,assaulting him when he had felt most at peace with his life. Theearlier images still surrounded him, though, within the chamber, andhe knew he was back in Diana's experience and not in some purgatorybattling for his humanity once again.

Yet, was that the reality in truth?

He could see Diana, at that very instant, trembling, a look ofsheer agonized terror on her face, her mouth open as if she wouldscream, but unable to do so. Her heart was pounding as though itwould explode from the pain inside her. And she was covered in blood,splashed onto her face, smeared against the pale skin of her chest,the blouse she was wearing soaked with it.

Vincent clutched at his own chest, frantic to reconcile the twosets of images that had invaded his mind. At first there had beentenderness, welcome communion, her body beneath his, silky flesh softbeneath his hands as he never dreamed he could feel.

Then there was pain, violence, blood, and an unseen dread,shrouding Diana, consuming her.

Throwing himself onto his pillow, Vincent pounded the bed with hisfists in comprehending agony that was stifled only in fear ofterrifying his child who lay sleeping a few feet away. He understoodthe images now, oh God, why must he understand them? Diana had beendreaming of their consumated love, he realized in shameful horror, anunvoiced dream she'd been cherishing deep inside her soul for weeks,months, he knew.

Its tender hunger, its honest need, had more than once stolen itsguilt-riddled way into his own heart, a dream he could no sooneraccept than he could bring himself to deny, uplifting, yetoverpowering in its unknown depths. A siren song that coursed throughhis body as willingly as it coursed through his spirit.

But, that dream, Diana's sweet desire, had been violated,profaned, by . . . by what? By his dark soul? By the inhuman essencehe had thought finally vanquished?

God forgive him! No, God never could. He never could forgivehimself, for, somehow, he had let horror and bestiality devour thegentlest, most trusting of human hearts in its need foracknowledgement.

Diana had had a vision of what lay in store for them, of thereality of what loving him, body and soul, really meant. It was theonly explanation for the images, the emotions, coursing through himnow with fearful abandon.

He was breathing heavily, his forehead beaded with perspiration,his hands shaking, hands he'd seen too often covered in blood. Why?Why did it have to come to this? They'd so carefully set aside theirpowerful physical need for one another the last few months. He'dbelieved they'd almost succeeded in erasing its dangerousintoxication from their yearning love. But now, tonight, the momentit had resurfaced in Diana's heart forcefully enough for him tobecome aware of it, that sensual longing had been visited by bloodyhell. Why?

He had no answer, only an imperative need to get to Diana, seekher out, find out for certain what the visions meant to her. He knewhe risked further terrorizing her if, in fact, her phantom experienceof violence had been caused by his own dark depths revealed to her.She may very well recoil from him in total, desperately accuraterejection, but he knew he had to see her, see for himself, what sortof state she was in and why.

Throwing an anxious glance towards Jacob's crib, he saw that thechild was now restless in his sleep, having undoubtedly touched tothe anguish in his father's spirit even in his slumber. Forcinghimself to steady his breathing, Vincent got up and set a gentlinghand onto the little boy's forehead, trying to will that hand fromtrembling to offering his son a touch of silent assurance. That samehand that could have turned tenderness to terror.

After a moment, Jacob rolled over onto his side, clutching hislittle bunny to him. His father softly pulled the covers up over thesmall shoulders and waited for a long moment to be certain he hadwithdrawn his anxiety from the child's consciousness. When the gentlebreathing settled back into a quiet cadence, Vincent came back to hisown bed.

Awkwardly he dressed once again, the force of will that had calmedhis spirit for his child's protection now deserting him back totremors of anxious pain. He took hold of his cloak and swept it overhis shoulders as he left the room for Mary's chamber, intent onasking her to watch over Jacob in his absence. Much as he hated todisturb her, and frighten her at the late hour, he knew that hergentle spirit would very much understand his yearning need to seekout Diana better than his own father would.

Vincent needed to face whatever desolation he had caused Diana,certain that their relationship had reached a point of reckoningneither one would have expected nor believed they could survive thisnight.

The cold night air seemed to temporarily relieve his desperateturmoil. The reality of the cold, the snow crunching beneath hisheavy boots, brought him back to some semblance of balance, of whatactually existed at the moment around him. But, every step he tookbrought him closer to a nightmare that even reason and realityrebelled against acceptance. There had to be some other explanationto the frightening experiences chanelled to him this night, he prayedwith a pleading heart.

Diana's note had sounded so relieved and . . . hopeful. She wasprepared to settle her tested spirit within his world once again,even if it would be only for a few short days. They could havetouched to promise and possibility between them somehow; he felt thelonging reaching out to him in that note, as distinctly as he knewhis own aching need for her.

For her, for Diana, for all of her . . . heart, mind, spirit, soul. . . and body. He loved all of her. He needed all of her. He wouldhave found the courage to tell her somehow.

Until the reality of that need had seemingly murdered all hopewithin her tonight, with its deadly images.

Vincent was as fearful of reaching Diana's loft as he had been ofremaining in his own chamber drowning in the shameful pain that hispresence within her had wrought. He needed to find the truth out, andyet was terrified that he would.

Coming over the parapet of Diana's rooftop, Vincent was startledby a square of glowing light brightening a corner of the snow-coveredsurface. The door leading down into her loft was thrown wide open.Immediately, Vincent gazed anxiously round about him for signs ofDiana's presence, or anyone else's, for that matter. He saw none.

Making his way across the distance from the edge wall to the door,Vincent began to feel the icy fingers of fear reach up his back.Looking carefully through the skylight windows that had been leftbare of their usual drawn curtains, he saw that the light on Diana'sdesk was on, its brightness reaching across the room.

Papers and folders were scattered about on the desk. A coffee cuplay on its side at the edge of the table: The possible signs of astruggle?

Stepping into the doorway, Vincent intended to enter theapartment, but he stopped short when he picked out tracks in thesnow. The elevator shaft of the building jutted out alongside thedoorway and kept any light filtering up from the apartment to thesmall area immediately in front of the entryway. The rest of therooftop was in relative darkness, except nearest the clestorywindows. Still, he could make out the tracks now.

Coming to his knees in the snow that had accumulated on therooftop to about two or three inches, Vincent saw the clear imprintof footsteps beginning up out of the apartment at the entryway andcrossing the roof into the darkness right up against the wall. Thesteps headed only in one direction, away from the door and towardsthe far side of the building. And they were barefoot.

Pulling up closely against the brick wall, Vincent slowly followedthe prints in the snow, his eyes accustomed to the dark. The trailcompletely circled around the perimeter of the parapet and ended upagainst the steepled rooftop of the next building.

Vincent stopped his own movements abruptly when that rooftop cameinto view. He had caught sight of -- something -- up against the farwall, pressed into the corner where the two buildings met, on thesnow.

It took a moment before he was able to discern what he was lookingat, and when he did, his blood ran as cold as the snow beneath hisfeet.

"My God!" The exclamation pulled free of his heart with pain,searing, grief-laden pain. The shadowed form lying on the snow was --Diana.

In an instant, Vincent was beside her, down on his knees again.She was pulled into a fetal position on her right side. Her long,coltish legs were bare to the thigh in the cold, the rest of her bodybarely covered by a worn terrycloth bathrobe that was totally soaked,and indeed, nearly frozen to her pale skin.

Vincent swept wet hair from off her face that fairly crackled withthe motion. He sought a pulse at her throat, even as he felt his ownfalter. It was there, faint and erratic, but there. His own heart didstop when he looked more closely at her face in the dim light: Hereyes were fixed wide open, and seemed totally unseeing.

Without a second thought, Vincent drew his cloak from off hisshoulders and draped it over the frail body, wrapping her completelywithin the garment. Bending to her, he gathered her to his chest,coming back up to his feet. She seemed to weigh next to nothing.

For a moment, Vincent stood holding her, uncertain as to whetherhe should bring her into her own apartment or attempt to carry herBelow for Father's help. He judged that she probably needed to betreated for exposure to the cold first, and quickly, so he headedtowards the entryway to her apartment, praying that her state was notanything beyond his immediate capabilities to address.

Once within the loft, Vincent carried Diana into her bedroom. Thecovers had already been pulled back on the bed. It looked as thoughshe had been in bed but had not remained there. A copy of a Christmasgift catalog was half buried in the covers.

Gently, he set his burden down onto the bed, calling softly toher. There was no response, not even a glimmer of acknowledgement inher green eyes. A cold ache gripped him in the pit of his stomach,but Vincent forced it from his mind. He needed a level head to helpher at the moment.

He rememberd her robe had been nearly stiff with frozen wetnessaround her, up on the roof. He had to get her dry and warm. A suddenmemory of her pain-ravaged body in the flood Below came to his mind.She'd been so vulnerable to the cold ever since.

Carefully he pulled his cloak partially free from her slightweight. Though the garment was heavy and would have warmed her well,her own wet robe was still wrapped around her slender form. He had nochoice but to remove it if he was to warm her at all.

Letting his cloak rest beneath her, Vincent began to free Dianafrom her own garment. Unknotting the frozen belt of the terry robewas not easy, though. His fingers began to tingle from the coldwetness immediately. God knew how long she'd been subjected to itagainst her bare skin.

All the while he attempted to free her, Vincent continued to callout to her, but there was no indication Diana could even hearhim.

Finally, having managed to untie the frozen robe, Vincent had tostop a moment to gather himself. He was startled to realize that thebath garment was the only thing she had on. And that there were bloodstains dripped across the front of it.

Aching panic held Vincent until he realized the blood appeared tobe coming only from her right hand, which was clenched into a tightfist and bleeding profusely.

"Diana, you're hurt," he observed aloud to her, hoping to drawsome respose. There was none, not even when he took her hand intohis. Something metalic slapped against his arm as he did so -- achain, a necklace chain.

Vincent drew his cloak back over her, now concerned as well forher apparent injury. She didn't need the further shock of blood lossto her body. "Let me see what you have, Diana, please. You arebleeding. Whatever you are holding has wounded your hand."

Only the far-off stare of her eyes met his. Slowly, Vincent pulledon her fisted hand, attempting to get her to loosen her grip onwhatever she held so fiercely. He couldn't seem to do it. That small,slender hand was suddenly as strong as a vice. And the bloodcontinued to drip into his own hand.

The warmth of the room had begun thawing out the robe somewhat ashe had attempted to examine Diana's injured hand. She had begun toshiver, evidence of the cold she had endured making itself known.Thus, Vincent was still faced with the prospect of removing thesource of the cold from her vulnerable form, despite her handinjury.

"You need to get dry and warm. I only want to help you. I won'thurt you, Diana. Do you understand me?" he spoke softly to her whenhe released her hand. There was no sign that Diana was even aware ofwhere she was or who she was with. Vincent wasn't even certain shecould see him.

Forcing himself to look past the possible reasons for hercatatonic state, Vincent directed his efforts into trying to warm andcomfort her. It wasn't enough for her simply to be sheltered by hiscloak with the wet robe still clinging to her. With trembling handsbeneath his cloak, he carefully drew her own wet garment from aroundher body and dropped it to the floor. Then he returned his attentionto her hand.

Searching about momentarily to get his bearings in the room,Vincent caught sight of the vanity in the bathroom visible throughthe partially opened door. He came to his feet quickly off the bedand entered the bathroom, looking for some first aid supplies.

A haphazard pile of Diana's clothing lay in the center of thefloor. It seemed oddly out of place. She was a very organized person,her apartment neat and well-maintained. A sudden anguish gripped him:The apparent struggle in the outer room, the disheveled state of thebathroom, the unmade bed, her unseeing state and obvious flight fromthe apartment. Then the thought, dreaded, and heart-numbing -- anassault?

Vincent quelled the images coming into his mind even before theywere completely formed. He needed to help her physical state at themoment and keep his mind from the agonies materializing within it.They would be of no help to her. Looking back through the storageareas of the medicine cabinet and vanity, he came upon awell-equipped first aid kit in a drawer with gauzes and adhesive, andthe other necessary supplies he was looking for. Grabbing a dry towelas well, Vincent returned to the bed.

He took her hand up again from beneath his cloak. "Diana, will youlet me see what you have?" The hand remained closed tight, stilldripping blood into his. A whispered prayer gave Vincent guidance ashe responded to the aching need to reach her that had welled upwithin his heart.

Gently, tenderly, he brought the wounded fist to his mouth and hekissed the clenched fingers softly, one by one, finally resting abreath of a caress onto the underside of her hand. The searinglypainful taste of her blood on his lips was heart-shattering. Yet,some whisper of recognition struggled to pull free of her benumbedstate: The hand opened hesitantly, a fraction.

That was when a golden cross dropped onto the covers of thebed.

Its imprint, Vincent noted with sudden shock, was imbedded in herpalm.

Slowly, speaking reassuringly of what he was doing, Vincent tendedto her wounded hand, cleansing where the edges of the cross hadpierced fragile flesh and drawn blood. He quickly wrapped the wound,tears misting his eyes.

Even though she had let her hand be wrapped like an obedientlittle child, there still was no indication that Diana knew what washappening to her. Vincent took in a shaky breath, before his tearscould fall. He tried to let Father's training hold him to thephysical needs of her condition, but his heart was too full of thepain of seeing her as she was. He reached his hand over her still wethair and down to her cheek. It was like ice, as was her arm. Not evenhis cloak seemed to be warming her enough.

Trying to assess her needs in his mounting frustration anduncertainty, Vincent pulled his gaze from her vulnerable form. Hecaught sight of an oversized cotton shirt resting across the back ofthe stuffed chair to one side of her bed. Guessing that the interiorlining of his cloak had become wet as well from her thawing robe, herealized she'd stand a better chance of getting warmed up if she wasin her own clothes under the thick comforter of the bed. He drew theshirt from the chair to within his reach on the covers.

"You are still so cold. Let me help you, Diana," he pleadedquietly, feeling his soul tear in two at the thought of what heneeded to do.

A throbbing pain encircled his heart as he drew her slender bodyup against his, leaning her against his chest. Setting a gentle kissonto her hair, without even thinking of its implications, Vincentpulled his heavy cloak down off her shoulders and from around herbody, swallowing the lump that came up into his throat as he foughtthe aching tenderness that filled his heart with his actions.

. . . It should have been another moment between them. He couldn'thelp but feel it. For an instant it was . . . when she'd beenstranded Below after the flood and he had so tenderly cared forher.

. . . It should have been a prelude to the yearning completionthey both harbored guiltfully, needfully, within their hearts, acherished act of trusting and profound love between two souls deniedtheir peace for an eternity.

Instead, Vincent felt he was violating a ghost . . .

Only the very real prospect of Diana's possible physical sufferinggave him the strength to continue his ministrations to her now.

Lightly, Vincent pulled the towel he had brought out of thebathroom over her still wet back and shoulders, along her scarredlegs. He fixed his eyes on the wall across from the bed, defensively,as he did so. There was a framed picture there -- a sheet of plainwhite writing paper covered with multicolored squiggles ofcrayon.

It was a "picture" Jacob had drawn for her at some point in timeover the course of the last six months. Diana had framed it and putit up on her bedroom wall.

The tears began to stream down Vincent's cheeks at the discovery,mercifully, blurring his vision in the process. With a tremblinghand, he gently slipped the towel across the front of the preciousbody in his arms, along Diana's throat and down over her breasts andabdomen. She didn't even resist his touch, her wide-eyed starecrucifying him.

Why heaven had seen fit to torment him with the task of rescuingher fragile body thus, he could not even begin to remotely fathom. Heonly prayed the agony would soon end.

It did. He managed to pull the cotton shirt onto her arms and upover her shoulders, fastening the front buttons one-handed. Freedfrom the damp cloak at last, Vincent gently settled Diana back downonto a dry section of her bed, retrieving his garment, and pullingthe comforter well up around her. Still, the emerald eyes did notshow any sign of awareness and only his pounding heart knew whatpain, guilt, and need had coursed through it in the last fiveminutes.

Vincent remained seated at the edge of the bed then, suddenlytotally engrossed with the small medical kit in his hands. His mindraced for instruction, for logical action to meet this sounreasonable situation. Except for the wounded hand, Diana seemedrelatively whole, if he could get her past the effects of being outin the snow unprotected. But her mental state: He feared it wouldeven be beyond Father's abilities to treat.

An unexpected gust of cold air reminded him that the door to herrooftop had remained open. Vincent came slowly off the bed and turnedto face Diana. His words were gentle and soft, but he knew she didn'thear them. "I'm only going to shut the rooftop door. I will come backand stay with you in a moment. Don't be afraid."

On the stairway up to the roof, Vincent found himself shaking withengulfing emotion, robbing him of the usual dependability of hisstrength. He literally had to pull his body up the steps to reach andclose the door, his legs felt so unsteady.

The full weight of Diana's present condition hung itself aroundhim like a millstone that would drown him in despair once again. Anyflicker of hope, any flame of welcomed, soul-sharing tenderness, diedout in him with the light extinguished from her green eyes.

After he'd secured the rooftop door, Vincent leaned against thestairway wall to gather his strength against the pain. Slowly hereturned to the kitchen of the apartment.

It hit him suddenly that he hadn't been inside Diana's home sinceshe had brought him there after Catherine's death.

They'd shared her rooftop dozens of times in the ensuing two andone half years, but he had never come within the warm confines of herloft again. Even on winter nights when they'd been together, Dianahad let herself become chilled to the bone, understanding somehowthat he couldn't find it within himself to break the relativetranquility of her home again.

Perhaps if he would have let the barely disguised expectation inher eyes convince him otherwise, she might not have come to thismoment in her life. He'd left her, time and again, knowing how she'dached to have him acknowledge her heart, the power of hervulnerability frightening him in its intensity.

A moment of promise shared: Could it have saved her, given her thestrength to keep believing, shored up her shaky hold on herspirit?

Vincent prayed heaven as he stepped slowly back into her bedroom.He never was one to bargain with Providence. The depth and honesty ofhis soul had given him the courage to accept all that had beenallotted him in life. Even the most agonizing pain, the mostheart-wrenching loss.

He knew that he had managed to embrace it all lately so muchbecause of the patient and fearless love Diana held for him, loveborn of desolation, fear and guilt. Now, he prayed heaven that hecould reach that love, touch it within her somehow, and guide herback from whatever nightmare she found herself plunged into. Let himcarry the burden for her. He'd find the strength. A bare whisper of asoul had borne him up till now.

He'd help her find her way out of hell, or he'd join herthere.

Providence seemed eager to test his vow from the very instant hemade it: When he came back into the bedroom, Diana was not to beseen. The bed covers had been flung back and his cloak lay on thefloor at his feet. A cold panic took hold of him, as, for an instant,he feared she'd fled the apartment, but he was certain he hadn'theard the elevator.

Coming around the bed, Vincent thought of the bathroom, instead.The door was still open as he had left it when he'd found the medicalsupplies. But gathered in a tight and terrified posture, Diana sat inthe doorway, backed up against the door frame, her arms around herbent knees, hugging them tightly.

Vincent had seen the position before -- in the frightened childrenthat had been brought Below for refuge -- on guard, ready for flight,but, at the same time, devastated by fear and weariness. The eyesthat had looked upon him with such loving mercy were no longerunseeing, but they showed no recognition, either.

Slowly, he eased himself down to a crouched position, bringing hisconsiderable height to a less threatening limit. Though his voicecaught in his throat, Vincent managed a gentle whisper and called toher. "Diana, don't be afraid. It's Vincent. I won't hurt you. I'dnever hurt you."

The green eyes darted from his face to the small room behind her.Something instinctive told her she'd be cornered there if she movedfrom her present spot. She only drew her legs up tighter under hershirt and hugged them. Vincent could see the scars from her injuriesin the flood. It suddenly seemed light-years since then, and anyconnection to her was fast leaving him behind also.

He wasn't ready to lose her.

"Why don't you come back up to the bed, Diana? You must still beso cold. I'll pull the covers around you and keep you safe so you mayrest. Please."

Something about the sound of his voice filtered into her confusedmind and Diana began to cry, great, silent tears running down herpale cheeks one after another. Vincent could not bear to see her.She'd only let tears fall when she was totally overwhelmed. He achednow for her pain, for the evidence of her fear.

Yet, Vincent had no sense of her within him any longer. It was asif their link to one another had never existed -- or that he was nowonly reaching out to a total stranger and not the angel of hope hisheart had bonded itself to so willingly.

Risking her alarm, Vincent moved a few inches closer to her,keeping himself crouched low, on her level. She looked around theroom fearfully, searching for a way out, like a trapped animal. Hecould see her breathing quicken, her chest rising and falling inanxious respiration. But through some mercy, she let him lock hisheart-searching eyes onto hers without struggle. The faintest glimpseof pleading met his gaze.

Another few inches closer, and Vincent slowly stretched out hishand towards her.

She backed away visibly, attempting to fuse her slender body tothe door frame on which she rested. Still, she kept her eyes incommunion with his. Was there a tiny glimmer of trust there?

"Diana, let me help you. Come back to me . . . please . . . findyour way back to me."

His words were as pained as the truth that reached out from him toher. "I . . . love . . . you."

She let his hand come to within a breath of her cheek, nevertaking her eyes off his face now suffused with deep emotion. When hefinally rested his shaking hand onto her skin, she closed her eyes,holding to the feeling with some unconscious recognition. Thework-roughened palm was warm, tender, and somehow, at last, familiar,beloved. When he cupped his hand at her cheek and wiped the tearsaway with his thumb, she turned her face to his palm, leaning into itgratefully.

A tremor of relieved tenderness ran through him at the contact andher spirit suddenly materialized within him again in connection.Vincent blessed heaven for the step she had taken back from the edge.Without even thinking, he slipped his hands from her face into herhair, letting his fingers run through the luxurious amber lockspossesively. An instant of insane freedom took hold of his heart, andhe was ready to draw her into his arms, hold her to him gratefully .. . guiltlessly. Instead, he heard her gasp in renewed, startledfright.

The eyes she turned to him then were no longer pleading withgentle want, but desperate with anguished . . . terror. He had seenthat look before, the fearful panic that had once fought its way outof tenderness to tear his soul in two. A scream of spiritual paintearing from her lungs was every bit echoed within his own heart.When Diana suddenly dove at him with every sapped ounce of herstrength, he was left unexpectedly reeling in confusion and pain.

Denial was shrill from her voice, "No, no, no," yet the soundswere more from a terrified child than a usually poised and collectedyoung woman. A blow following her lurching movement against him hitVincent full force against his chest, the small hands at that instantof his confusion capable of pushing him off balance and sending himbackwards hard against the bed. His head hit the metal side rail hardenough to momentarily stun him.

It was the instant that she had needed.

Like a fury released from the hell she'd stumbled into, Dianathrew herself bodily onto Vincent's semi-prone form. He was up on oneelbow, attempting to clear his head from the effects of the firstblow when he felt a pure agony unleash itself against him. The slightbody he had sought to bring close in acknowledging shelter was nowbattling him with fists and knees and feet, raining punishmentwithout stopping. All the while, the pain-cracked voice cried out,"No, no, no."

Fearful of hurting her, Vincent did little to protect himself fromher blows, attempting only to reach Diana with the sound of his voicecalling her name again and again. There was no end to her battling,though. Her left hand finally landed a powerful hit open-fisted justbelow his eye. In an instant he felt her fingernails digging down hischeek and across his jaw.

Despite the startling pain, he caught hold of her then. Pinningher close to his body with one arm, he rolled her over and beneathhim, catching both her hands and raising them up above her head withhis other arm.

The blows momentarily subsided, and Vincent was stricken withguilt at the sight of Diana's flushed face draining suddenly ofcolor. She'd turned her head away from him with a cry, and herealized how intimately imprisoned by his body she now was. He easedaway from her slightly, his heart aching at the thought that shebelieved him capable of doing her harm.

Feeling his weight drawing away from her, Diana struck out againin renewed vehemence, using her still free legs to kick and twist herway out of his strong hold on her.

Desperate to reach past her terrified fury, Vincent kept callingto her. "Diana, stop! I don't want to hurt you." Finally he was ableto pin her down again, holding her flailing legs down with his knee,capturing her completely underneath him.

Her battling ceased, and for one instant they stared into eachother's eyes in mutual recognition, their breathing coming hard andragged, from their confrontation, surely, as well as from thestunning thought that formed within both their minds: Their intimatepositions should have been a loving possession between them. Instead,drops of his blood stained her shirt where they had fallen from hischeek.

The fragile moment mercifully came to an end, but it was replacedby one equally as heart-breaking: The tears overflowed from Diana'stender eyes again, her gaze became confused, and she cried out in ahoarse, cracked voice, "Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Don'thurt me . . . Daddy. . . please stop."

Vincent pulled himself up slowly from off Diana's weary body,shivering with the realization of what he had just heard. Even whenhe released her arms and legs, she didn't make a move to begin herassailing confrontation with him again. She simply lay on the floor,wracked by sobs and tears . . . pleading for mercy.

In quiet terror himself, Vincent understood what was happening atlast, and that comprehension exhibited to him a reality as horribleas what he had imagined back in his chamber earlier that night.

Reaching out to Diana, slowly, gently, he gathered her up into hisarms, clasping her to his chest. She did not resist his hold thistime, and he leaned with her against the side of the bed, rocking hersoftly in her pain.

"It's all right . . . Connie. You're safe. I'll keep you safe,child."

The tears falling now were his, too, mingling with those of amurdered teenager.

The name he had remembered from one of the few times Diana hadactually found the strength to speak to him about the horrificinvestigation she'd been obsessed with for months. He remembered,too, that the young girl she had described with such compassionatekinship had been killed in the park with her young sweetheart, asthey lay in each other's arms, one brisk fall night.

With anguishing tenderness, Vincent soothed the crying girl in hisarms with soft words of reassurance she had never in truth heard froma hellishly vindictive father. Diana was nowhere to be found in theroom. Only Connie DeSalvo clung to him with a force born of terror,until she at last fell deeply asleep in his arms.

More than an hour passed. Vincent had spent most of it staring atthe beloved young woman he held who was no longer Diana -- andpraying. He kept watch over her breathing, making certain she wasstill alive, for she seemed so profoundly asleep he feared he'd losther completely.

Reaching up behind him, he managed to pull the comforter off thebed and around her body for warmth, at least. Perhaps that smallcomfort might reach her and soothe her, whoever she now was -- amurdered girl's soul in the fragile body of the woman he loved.

Vincent sought forgiveness in his prayers, too, at thatrealization.

It had taken a catastrophe of desperation to bring him to admithow much he loved Diana, truly loved her, to admit how welcome herprofound love for him was. He'd had two and one half years ofopportunities to bless her with the acknowledgement, but he'd onlybeen able to confess it now when he was in danger of losing her tosome anguishing oblivion of the soul.

She'd been a gift he'd refused, the very reason he was stillliving and breathing and capable of holding body, mind, and soultogether these days, and he had shut himself off from her, cloakinghimself in his fear, denying the wonder that she'd offered him intotal, selfless, loving trust.

Looking down at the body he held like a child in need ofsheltering as the moments ticked by, Vincent found his heart openingto her at the same instant that it was being shattered again ingrief. He sought out all the little things he knew added up to thesum total of the indecipherable enigma that was Diana, thedevastating truth blanketing his very soul: He might never see herlook at him in loving recognition again.

Her heart had always been completely in her face, in her eyes.She'd never been able to keep anything she felt totally from himbecause it was always there in the green depths that were so totallyhonest they took his breath away.

Vincent looked down at her now with a loving, acknowledging,tenderness he'd never given himself permission to free before, seeingDiana through the eyes of a beloved, fearless to cherish what he'dbelieved could never be his. Silently he chastised himself with heavyguilt: He could only free that love when he was in danger of losingher.

With that love he tried to hold fast to the totality of his wonderfor her before the Fates would shatter his heart again, taking aloved one from his side and casting him again into the infinitedarkness he so feared.

He held her in his arms and every breath of his love caressed her,rested tenderly on every minute fraction of what he loved about her,how she spoke, what she thought, even how she looked: Diana's hairhad dried, for the most part, at last, hanging heavy, and enticing,he confessed, over his arm, wispy tendrils of curls framing aroundher translucent porcelain face. Vincent had never seen suchcontradictory beauty in his life -- it was fire and ice all at once-- and it lit an awesome wonder within him that she'd ever lookedinto his own cursed visage with love.

There was nothing fabricated about her, nothing that was less thanhonest, nothing pretentious, not in her appearance, nor in hermanner, nor in her heart. What she seemed was truly what she was.Everything about her simply added up to who she was.

Even that bewitching hair of hers, Vincent thought suddenly, as hesoftly, courageously, blessed it with a kiss. More than once she haddecried her burden of red hair with long-suffering acceptance, butknowing her now as he did, he could not have imagined her with anyother color hair, treasuring the spirit that was as fiery as herlocks.

A spirit that had fought him for his soul as often as it hadcomforted him; confronted and argued with him as often as it haddared him to believe he was worth her struggle of heart.

He could not imagine not listening to her grapple with the wordsshe needed to say, either, in those battles for his hope.

Though she was brilliant and articulate, Diana sometimes stumbledover her words when she spoke to him because of the simple fact thatthere were too many facets of her thoughts that she needed to offerhim to properly project her feelings with. She would begin a sentenceand then pause in anxious contemplation; then she would begin againfrom a different point or thought as the essence of what she wastrying to say would become more clear to her.

The process drew Vincent to her with a powerful gratitude, for heunderstood that the reality of her struggle was that she was totallyincapable of coloring or masking her feelings. She needed exactly theright words to describe her thoughts because she never wanted them tobe less than honest.

But, he'd been less than honest with her, the truth evolving outof his painful contemplation of her gifts to him, gifts of thespirit, gifts of the soul, gifts of the humanity of her love.

Vincent told himself he'd had his reasons for denying her thetruth of his heart . . . his

desperate grief for Catherine's loss . . . his loyalty to hermemory . . . his need to protect those he loved.

The reality was nothing more, and nothing less, than fear . . .the fear to need anyone ever again, the fear of touching a heart thatwas fearless and willing to dream . . . the fear of knowing he wantedto stop being afraid.

Cradling Diana now with such agonizing, possesive tenderness,Vincent accepted the truth -- that the more unencumbered Diana'sfeelings had become for him over the last few months, the more he hadshrouded his own with denial, with shadows, defending his familiarpain against her reaching love that would have taken hold of his souland justifiably shaken it to its core.

In that ceaseless hour in which he cradled what remained of Dianato him, Vincent made his confession to Providence as well as himself:He ached with the love he carried for her. He ached with the need tohave her near, rest his tested soul beside hers for all of his days,loving her as she deserved to be loved. He ached with the devastatingknowledge that he might never be able to tell her, show her, acceptfrom her what she'd never denied was in her own heart for him.

Gently, Vincent took hold of her hand with his, drawing it up fromunder the blanket to press it closely to his heart. He held it there,willing it to shelter, knowing she'd done nothing less than that forhim all these past days -- held his heart, lifted it fromgrief-strangled oblivion to the warmth of her own nourishinglove.

Now, though, there seemed no strength left within that hand, thattouch, that love, for it to hold its place on its own. Diana's lifecircumstances in the world away from him had very little to do withthat distressing fact, he knew.

Just as he knew what he had to do to reach her now, draw her backfrom the cold darkness that had quite possibly cost her her soul:Vincent slipped his own hand over hers, supporting it over hisheart.

Damning himself for ever refusing its tender communion.

He didn't need to be condemned to hellfire for his punishment tobegin, Vincent conceeded. He was already burning from the knowledgehe'd turned Diana's own gentle, hopeful commitment to him intoash.