To Hope Anew

Chapter Twenty

It was hard for her to breathe. She fought to fill her lungs, butit seemed as though the air she needed was halted in her throat,unable to find its way any further within her body. A profounddarkness surrounded her, cold, and lifeless.

At length, how long? she felt a . . . presence . . . pull awayfrom her, reluctantly, actually pull from within her, to disappearinto the featureless blackness, leaving a deep sadness in its wake.Then, she began to breathe again, felt the air rush into her lungstoo quickly for her to absorb it. She gasped, shuddered, then foundthe rhythm she needed to handle the exchange of respiration.

But she wasn't certain if she knew where she was.

The darkness gave up a shade of its depth, then another andanother, until there was almost the recognizable glow of lightpushing through to her, welcome, warm light. It held her cradledwithin its comfort, seeping into her very pores with life andshelter, supporting and strengthening her still confused soul . . .Love.

Her vision began to clear, too. The perception of light gave wayto actual sight, and she began to pick out things with concrete form-- the subdued colors of a wall, a small, cluttered bookshelf thatneeded dusting, a framed crayon drawing bright with wonder. She knewnow where she was -- in her bedroom.

A hand enveloped hers. She felt it, pressing against hers withgentle but distinctly possessive power. A hand unlike any other,beautiful in its tenderness. Blue eyes looking down at her filledwith profound relief, and . . . love. Her soul would cling to thetruth in those eyes and finally find its home.

She tested her voice. It was a hoarse whisper. "Vincent?" Thequestion pulled radiance from that unbelievably mythic face.

"Oh . . . Diana." His words were so awash in relief and gratefulacknowledgement that she couldn't quite be certain of the reason forit. Had he been fearful for her? Why? Then she felt her hand beingpulled up away from the broad strength of his chest, being encircledby long, slender, fur-backed fingers that clasped and intertwinedwith hers. A moment later her hand was pressed up to his mouth, hiswarm breath comforting on it, his cleft lips brushing the sweetest ofkisses within it.

The feeling of it trailed light to the deepest part of hersoul.

Diana wasn't certain of what had happened, but she blessed thecircumstances nonetheless. Whatever had transpired had given her thegift of Vincent's unburdened humanity at last.

She needed to touch him, make certain he was real, make certainthe feeling of heated tenderness that was alive between them wasreal, too. She shifted her weight to reach her hand from his gentlepossession up to the tear that had slipped down his cheek. Her bodyfelt suddenly wracked with unremembered pain and her movement was cutshort.

Powerful arms drew her instead closer to him, nestled her againsthim lest she be visited again by pain. She was stunned to realize shewas lying in his embrace across his lap, wrapped, for some reason, inthe comforter of her bed. And, she gathered now that they were on thefloor of her room, backed up against her bed.

"What is it, Vincent? What's happened?" Her words immediatelybelonged to the seasoned investigator. A look of concern mixed withthe relief on his face.

"You don't remember anything?"

Diana tried to send her thoughts back to the instant before shebecame aware of her surroundings, but only -- blackness -- met herefforts. She knew there were experiences just beyond her reach in thedark there, for some unexplanable reason, but she couldn't seem totouch to them.

Instead, she settled to the present moment, and the unexpectedwonder of its apparent circumstances: For some reason, Vincent hadcome to her, to her home. They were inside her loft where he hadn'tdared enter for over two years, and she was in his arms.

The wonder, though, was removed by a sudden ache that hit her whenshe glanced back up to his face, holding her confused gaze with suchtenderness. She reached her fingers again hesitantly over to hisright cheek and her heart stumbled at what she touched:

dried blood, flaking off his flesh into her hand. He was hurt.Three parallel scratches crossed over his face, from beneath the eyenearly to his jaw.

Diana pulled herself up into a sitting position, past the painedweariness of her own body, to look at him more closely. She drew herright hand out from under the blanket with the intent of reaching upto him with it as well -- and then she caught sight of the gauzebandage around that hand. It stopped her short in her movements.

"What the hell happened to us?"

The sudden fire in her words, and her lapse in vocabulary,reassured Vincent once and for all that it was indeed Diana back inhis arms, the Diana that would not rest until she had deciphered thetruth of her situation, no matter how fervantly he believed now thathe needed to keep it from her.

"I felt tonight that you were . . . struggling . . . withsomething . . . painful. I came up to be certain you were . . .safe."

"Struggling?" She sought to find more of an explanation from himbut found nothing in his face that could satisfy her. "I remember . .. what do I remember?" She was talking more to herself than to him atthe moment as she attempted to sort through the convoluted trail ofher recent memory.

"I came home from work. We'd put DeSalvo away, at last. Joe askedme to gather my files on the case to hand over."

"You sent word you wished to come Below for a rest." Vincent'scontinuation of her train of thought was a momentary comfort for her.At least he was able to touch to her experiences as well, fornow.

"Yes. I wanted to set it all behind me. It had . . . hurt . . . sobadly for so long, being in that case. I wanted to give myself achance to breathe free again, regain my bearings andperspective."

Her words sent tides of emotion through Vincent. How long had itbeen that he'd felt his home, his wondrous world, was nothing morethan a prison, a tomb, for him? He'd lost his sense of grateful awefor the refuge and solace that was his home, considering it onlywithin the limits it had forced onto his relationship with Catherine.It was the dark place of shadows that could never be her home, theonly place he could roam with abbreviated freedom. But Diana had justdescribed it as the place where she could breathe free again, restoreherself with welcome.

"I remember gathering all of my evidence together. I was done withit. I didn't want anything else to do with it. Yet, when I looked atthe photos of those kids . . . they were just kids . . . in love. Itshouldn't have gotten them killed. My heart . . . I felt it . . .

breaking . . . for them, all over again. I couldn't get past it.And then . . . and then . . . "

Diana could not seem to put her memories together any further. Shesank back into Vincent's embrace, spent and weary with her efforts.Why couldn't she remember anything else? The case had consumed herfor so long. How could she simply -- lose --

her reactions to it now? All her work, all her personal anguish tofind justice for the innocent -- it had brought her to -- where?

Then, the reality broke through to her in a frightening current ofrecognition. Feelings, experiences, hopes, terrors, that had neverbeen hers, had actually taken hold of her heart and soul. It struckher like a blow, hard and indiscriminantly, realizing what hadactually taken place in the quiet confines of her loft. She could seeherself collapsing onto the chair at her desk, felt the shudder ofabject horror sweep through her as if it had been her own.

"Oh . . . God!" she breathed, with real fear, seeking to buryherself deep within the sheltering warmth of his embrace for support."Oh, God, Vincent." She was trembling now, violently.

He couldn't bear to let her walk through the nightmare again.Vincent pulled her close to him, kissed her hair, drew his hand overher shuddering shoulders. His voice was thick with emotion. "You aresafe now, Diana. It's over. Don't torture yourself any longer."

But the truth had to come out. She would not rest until she wasable to follow it, no matter how frightening it could become. "I . .. lost myself . . . didn't I?" He didn't need to speak any words ofconfirmation. She knew she'd understood it all by the sudden flash ofremembered pain that rushed across his face.

"I lost myself inside Connie. I was there, in that girl's mind, inher . . . soul. The night she was murdered."

The tears were sobbing ones again, filled with disbelief and fear.Vincent wanted to protect her, would have given his life to protecther, from the pain. Yet, she needed to hear the truth, or she'd spendher soul to find it out.

"I tried to draw you out, Diana, but you couldn't seem to findme." The quiet confession pulled at her heart with its love.

"My God, Vincent . . . I wasn't just there. I was her. I saw andfelt . . . everything . . . she did. One moment she was safe andsheltered in his arms, in Ritchie's arms, hoping, dreaming . . .loving. The next moment there was . . . blood . . . everywhere . . .all over me . . . his blood. He was loving me . . . her . . . and hewas . . . dying."

Vincent's spirit recoiled at that shared memory, both in reliefand anguish, as he comprehended the depths of Diana's confusedterror. Yes, she had been experiencing the images that had coursedthrough him too, earlier that night, images of -- murder -- profaningthe tenderness of love. But the experiences had held the soul ofConnie DeSalvo, not herself. The sweetness and the horror that Dianahad felt had been the dead girl's experiences, not her own.

Yet, she'd projected herself somehow so completely within thegirl, taken on her pain so completely as her own, that Vincent hadsensed the images as Diana's own fears, her own vision of the hellthat he himself could possibly have visited upon her.

He reached out and held Diana's tear-stained face between both hishands, attempting to quell her rising panic, knowing acutely what itwas to endure a loss of self, knowing the fear of never finding theway back to his soul. He couldn't let her believe herself damned.

"Diana, you are safe. It is . . . over. Come Below with me now.You can rest. Father will make certain that you are well. It is . . .done."

His quietly pleading words would not penetrate the agonyenveloping her, though. "I was lost in her, Vincent, completely lost.And I knew I was. I knew those moments were not really mine to live,that it wasn't my own life I was seeing, but I couldn't find my wayout. And then, he was there, her father. His . . . hands . . . were .. . on me . . . her."

A cold revulsion hit Diana in the pit of her stomach withoutwarning. She could feel DeSalvo cornering her earlier today in hisoffice, she could feel his body push up hard against hers, leaningthe threat of his power against her. And if he hadn't been bound, sheknew with abhorrent certainty, she would have recognized the feelingof his hands coursing the reality of his infernal jealousy over hervulnerable flesh. Her words became only a cracked whisper. "She . . .I . . . was trying to get away, fighting for my life . . ."

In an instant, the truth hit her with honest shame. Diana reachedup to Vincent's face once again with a trembling hand, with pain andremorse in her eyes. "I was fighting -- you! Oh, Vincent, I'm sorry.God, I've finally gone insane, completely insane. Please, God, don'tlet me get lost in the dark again. Please."

The frightened prayer was only breathed into the woolen fabric ofhis doublet. Vincent could stand her turmoil no longer. She wasabandoning every shred of hope and courage to the very real terror oflosing herself in madness, seeing the gift of her empathic insightand compassion as only the evidence of a mind losing its grip onreality.

He would not let her give up her hold on herself now. He would notlet her battle her demons alone.

"Listen to me, Diana!" Vincent's words were more abrupt and fiercethan he'd ever used with her. She pulled a fraction away from herpanic at their sheer force. He continued then with a quiet agony thatstilled her heart with its compelling care. "You are safe now. Whathappened to you will not happen again. You were overwhelmed by theanguish of the girl you sought to help. That is all. You found yourway back to me. That is the only thing that matters now."

Those last words suddenly echoed in her mind. She had heard thembefore, in the darkness: "Come back to me. Find your way back to me."He had penetrated the nightmare she'd been plunged into and hadhelped pull her free, with those words, and with the ones that hadfollowed, the ones she'd never believed he could find the courage toutter to her.

Diana lay completely still in his arms for a long instant, gazingdeeply at the face of the man she loved, finding the truth she neededin the depths of his beautiful eyes. They were pained now, tingedwith aching compassion that took her breath away. A very real senseof urgency had swept over him, leaving him breathing hard anderratically.

The truth was there, touching her heart with a poignant humilitythat would never let him accept what she knew as fact: that he'dsuffered as much as she through the ordeal she'd just endured and hadyet found the courage to pull her free from hell with the reality of-- love -- spoken, acknowledged, unfeared.

"I love you," she had heard him utter from the depths of his needfor her. It had drawn her from beyond oblivion. She had felt theanguished honesty of the words caress her with a fledgeling hope thatheld out to her a lifeline even in the midst of his own guilty,burdened pain.

"You helped me find my way back." Her words now were a quietstatement of the truth, colored with tender, grateful awe. "You cameinto that darkness and helped me find my way."

"I would have followed you to the gates of hell and back,Diana."

The nearly whispered explanation caught at her soul. The azureeyes embraced hers with uncertain spirit. He could manage to hold hershamelessly tender gaze for only a moment before he let the goldenfall of his hair hide his face from her, but Diana was able to letthe reality of his admission cascade over her nonetheless.

Vincent wasn't certain if his breathing would ever steady itselfagain, if his heart would ever stop its pounding. All he was certainof was the fact that she'd heard his words to her. All of them. Thatshe believed them. And that he meant every one of them.

Heaven or hell . . . The only reason he'd been given a choice inhis life for the past three years was because she had been there toquietly, patiently, and not so patiently, steady his heart, shore uphis hope, love him without question, limit, or ambiguity.

She'd been nothing less than a tender angel of mercy, bending fardown from heaven to offer him a drop of water and quench hishell-fired thirst. She'd leaned far out over the edge of courage andcompassion, indeed, she'd reached right down to the pit of Satan'sblackness itself to bring him a glimmer of solace and repose when allhe'd known was grief, fear, and loneliness.

Never even caring about the risks to herself.

Not ever being afraid of falling into the depths of his desolationin the process.

But her radiant soul had lost its precarious footing, and she hadtumbled into her own pain and fire, because of her maddeningcommitment to her work for justice, surely, but so much so because ofthe fragile state of her heart and her spirit, caused for so long bythe incessant turmoil between them.

Diana's hopeful heart had been threatened with the despairsurrounding them both, was still threatened. Her tender essence wasin danger now of being consumed by the flames of everlasting obliviononly because she had no anchor to hold her spirit fast, could counton no sustaining strength of hope to restore her tested soul.

He would not let her succumb to such a fate, deciding then andthere, trusting only to the -- rightness -- of holding her in hisarms, enfolding her in his love.

If they were never to find refuge beyond the scorched blackness ofthe nightmares pursuing them both, at least they could face themtogether in each other's shelter. Vincent refused to relinquish hisrole as protector, now not so much a burden as a gift, one with whichhe could truly keep her safe. He would carry Diana's heart within thereality of his love, cherishing her trust and belief in him, even ifthey were to find themselves the last two souls in the universe leftto agonize through life .

And he would damn himself to the blessed welcome in her eyes,because he knew no other way to keep her safe.

With the most profound act of self-preservation he could bringhimself to offer her, Vincent drew his arms more closely around theslender shoulders of the fallen angel before him, urging her near,condemning her to a life in his love, a sentence he knew she wouldbless as a gift from heaven itself. He slipped trembling hands oversoftly yielding flesh in reality and not in a conjured nightmare oftenderness, a wave of frighteningly true consciousness coursingthrough his unsteady heart.

He brushed his thumb lightly across warm lips that were alreadyparted, waiting only to be allowed to take every breath with his,drawing life from him. This would be the only truth between them,strong enough to shelter their battered souls, resurrect them to anew haven of possibility . . . Love . . . born of pain, freed fromguilt, glowing with the radiant tenderness of human hearts sharedbeyond any limits of fear. He would let himself believe this truth,the one she'd never wavered from.

And he would let her hold the reality of his own truth . . . in akiss tinged with eternity. .

hesitant at first . . . searching . . . for welcome. Then, blazingin startling, long-denied sensuality shared, a communion of bodiesand souls offering promise, and yet, at the same time, asking for thetender hope of acceptance.

That acknowledgement was not long in coming to him.

Diana let her body melt against his, stunned by the honesty of hisreaching tenderness. Sweet Mother Mary, had her own descent into helltruly brought her to the brightest elevations of heaven? Thesensations touching her were beyond her most forcefully deniedanticipation. It was as if she had suddenly become -- magnetized --at the touch of his lips, feeling drawn, compelled to be drawn, tohim, in him, helpless, but in all actuality, only doing what neededto be done -- making herself a part of him as she always knew shewas.

There was no uncertainty, no confusion, no nightmare of deceptionor threat. Hands, long-fingered and possessive, Vincent's hands,unbelievably trailed loving passion over skin so receptive shecouldn't understand how she'd been able to keep herself whole so longwithout it. Their bodies knew each other, recognized each other,accepted each other's long-burdened want with intoxicatingfreedom.

Vincent felt the torrent of Diana's emotions wash against him,surge about him, through his link with her spirit, a flood ofyearning, strengthening, guiltless need. He never expected the powerof it. He never expected his own helplessness within it.

An instantaneous shading of fear came over him, as he felt himselfdrowning, with welcome, in the heated responses of her body to his.Defenses of a lifetime, reinforced, unbreechable, were swept away ina heartbeat, leaving him open and vulnerable, to more than just theheady passion of two shackled souls finally freed to search forfulfillment between them.

There was no way they could survive it, he knew, in agony.

Vincent forced himself to give up his hold on Diana's desire,pulled himself back from the bewitching feel of her soft skin, thehypnotic pulse at her throat, the silk of her hair in his hands atlast. He felt her heart cling to him, desperately, even as heunwillingly wrenched his from her reach. He watched eyes filled withgrateful, ecstatic abandon darken with disbelief and the reality ofwhat was happening that shouldn't be: He would deny her yet. Denythem, yet.

Because he had felt the iron will of his control snap.

It had only taken a shared, ragged breath, the moist sweetness oflips and the honest heat of a caressing tongue, the softness oftender flesh that molded itself perfectly to his own. Thoseforbidden, denied, terrifyingly beautiful sensations had ignitedwithin him the firestorm of awareness: Diana was willing, aching, togive herself over to him totally in that instant, body and soul,taking up his condemnation as the blessed gift she always believed itwas.

Could the black truth within him be far behind?

Breathless, and trembling, with the effort to quell his consumingneed for her, Vincent rested his forehead on Diana's wearily. Hecould see the tears welling up into her eyes, tears he had caused, hehad drawn from her shattered hopes.

But, he would even break her heart to walk her safely through thishell, tonight.

His hell.

"We had better get you Below." His voice was only an unsteadythread.

He watched her stop breathing for an instant, watched her souldrop out of her being and extinguish its light from out of herbetrayed emerald eyes. He didn't even stop her as she pulled herselfout of his now exhausted embrace, pulled herself onto her own feetand back into a reality she'd sooner die denying than surrenderto.

It was then that she noticed she'd been clad only in her whitecotton sleep shirt beneath the blanket in his arms. It made nodifference to her now. If she'd been shrouded in the voluminousweight of his heavy cloak, she could have been covered with no moredefiant and rejected dignity than she claimed at that moment,barelegged, before him.

The desperate disbelief in her eyes crucified him.

Turning on her heel, Diana went through the bathroom entry way,slamming the door in her wake.

Vincent could only throw his head back against the bed and closehis eyes against the pain.