Living the Promise: Chapter Six

Vincent could feel Diana leaning heavily against him. The walk hadbeen too much for her, he knew. Her leg had been particularly tryingthe past few days, and she should have simply remained in bed.

Still, his concern for his wife's and child's state of health didnot completely eclipse the sense of wonder and gratitude he carriedin his heart for the quicksilver enigma that was his beloved Diana.He knew nothing would have kept her from coming here tonight, alongwith Jacob, not even him, as he read it in her heart -- She wasquietly determined to make her own final peace with Catherine'smemory this night, something he realized she had yet to considercomplete.

The final peace she sought, what she needed to give bodilyevidence to, was not on her own behalf, he knew. Vincent could feelit within her, how she poignantly, fervantly was in need ofjustifying, at last, their present reality as a loving family, to along-murdered woman. She wanted to be certain a final remnant ofguilt would not come back to haunt those she loved.

That it was still there within her fiery spirit, that quiet, tinyseed of uncertainty, did not surprise him, nor did the fact thatshe'd need to deal with it on this particular night of all nights,for the anniversary of Catherine's death had been as painful for her,over the past three years, as it had been searing for him, if forvery different reasons.

The first year had found him in desolate grief, her own ability toease him from anguish heartbreakingly questionable.

The second year's circumstances had found her plunged deeplywithin her own torments, as she'd buried herself in herspirit-sapping investigations that were tearing more and more of herown essence and hope away from her. He'd nearly lost her to her pain.

Tonight, the third year's reality, at last, could find them bothat peace, united in the powerful tenderness of their love that couldfinally enable them to set it all to the past. He and Diana, Jacoband their unborn child, could be simply, now, a family, cherishing alost loved one, and able to move on to the next day's promise withsure and untroubled hope.

Sweeping the folds of his cloak about her shoulders as they slowlyfollowed in Jacob's path, Vincent could not help but bless heaven forthe courageous generosity the red-haired angel carried as her lovefor him.

He'd understood instantly how far she'd be willing to give ofherself, to sustain him, the moment he'd set eyes on her etherealface, sleeping in a chair in her bedroom when she'd been nursing himback to health, those three long years ago. She'd brought ashattered, beyond human stranger to her home, near death, that couldhave easily murdered her in his fever- and grief-drivendeliriums.

Yet, despite her justifiable fear and disbelief, she never lefthis side, knowing, somehow, that his rage was pain and loss only,overshadowing a heart she could trust. During the ensuing months,she'd held herself open to turmoil and danger time and again, evenrisking herself to Gabriel, the very satanic spawn that had shatteredhis world. All to help a desperate and driven father find a stolenchild.

In the end, it was her courage, too, that sent Gabriel to his justcondemnation, though Vincent accepted with anguish that she'd had tosacrifice her own conscience to protect his:

She'd held him back from exacting a just vengeance by acting outthe sentence herself. What pain, what spirit-emperiling grief had sheforced herself to embrace simply to help him live fully and freelyagain?

As he felt how fragile and vulnerable Diana seemed now, as hesteadied her steps and felt her heart begin to pound within his,Vincent relived his own burden of guilt, where she was concerned: Shehad set herself among his own terrors and demons as well, his ownanguish of heart -- to bring him back to his hope, offer him thepromise of peace.

The tender awareness that his body always held for hers when shewas near, only accentuated Vincent's chosen introspection of themoment. Even on their wedding night, he recalled with awe now, she'dbeen prepared to diminish herself for him.

She'd been willing to let him believe it was Catherine in his armsthat night. . . she'd been willing to have him touch to all the lostmoments between himself and Catherine . . .

if that had proven to be the only remedy to heal his shatteredheart. She would have become for him whomever he needed thatnight.

But, he had needed her, only her, not Catherine's ghostresurrected in his embrace. He still needed her, would forever needher, till his dying breath, in ways that he and Catherine never evendared imagine. Yet, Vincent had been stunned to believe it: She'dbeen shocked at the truth that touched her in those breathlesslybeautiful moments between them. She could believe it at last . . .that he could want her . . . love her, for herself . . . and not asCatherine's surrogate, in Catherine's place within his heart.

Diana had been astounded to realize the blessedly heated passionand desire in his eyes was truly hers, the tender shelter of a touchshe could no longer live without, that he could no longer livewithout offering her. It was hers by right, by giftedacknowledgement, by shared wonder in the truth of hearts and soulsentwined as they should be.

Still, knowing the truth at last, and coming to terms with it,were two very different things for her, Vincent comprehended withquiet compassion. Despite her strength of conviction, her relievedand grateful promise, her willingness to hold to the rightness oftheir love, he knew she still carried that grain of guilt within hersoul: The guilt of the survivor, of the one who comes after.

That is why he accepted how important it had been for her toaccompany him and Jacob tonight. She needed to tell Catherine, tospeak it aloud to herself and to him, in as close to Catherine'spresence as was now mortally possible -- that they were a family,she, the children, and himself; that they cherished Catherine's placein their hearts, would always cherish it, but that they had the rightto their own dreams as well.

She had a right to stand beside him, now. She had the right tolove him, bear his child.

A poignantly trembling anxiety lifted itself from Diana's heart tohis own as they neared Catherine's grave. Vincent set a gentle kissto her hair, willing her back to her convictions. So strong . . . yetso fragile . . . God, how he loved her!

Then Jacob smiled up to her, those beloved azure eyes of hiscaressing with unbounded love as well. "You aren't too tired, Mama,are you?" he asked with sweet concern. Her heart flooded with peaceat the words.

Vincent thanked heaven anew for the blessing that was Jacob, hischild. Catherine's child, surely, always. But, so very much theirchild, his and Diana's. She had the right to feel it. He had theright to let her. Reaching down to the little boy, Vincent gatheredhim gratefully into his arms.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" They were the first words Joe foundbreath to form, and when he did, he was suddenly apprehensive thathe'd said them loud enough to be heard by the figures before him.Thankfully, his request for heavenly protection, whether he believedin it or not, was carried by the wind away from the scene he waswitnessing being played out with such mesmerizing, heart-stoppingfascination, in his sight.

He'd called instinctively upon heaven's intervention because thesudden appearance of a specter from the nether world itselfthreatened to cost him control of all his own faculties: As if fromthe very fabric of the night, a figure had materialized beforeCatherine's grave that Joe couldn't believe he was actuallyseeing.

Vincent.

It could have been no one else.

Joe's investigative mindset was overwhelmed by the arresting sightof that so long mysterious figure that had haunted the majority ofhis consciousness for too many years. He struggled to keep his holdon the moment, forcing himself to take in as much detail of thephantom embodied before him as his brain could handle. It wasn'tmuch, which was exactly the scope of his own tenous grip on what heconsidered his sanity.

The only word that managed to form itself around what he wasseeing was, "power," a forceful reality, forbiddingly forceful, thatalmost stopped his heart.

The figure was that, powerful, and then some, towering easily oversix feet tall, with an apparently compelling build: broad shouldersthat were hung by a long, draping black cloak. The hood of that cloakwas pulled up over the form's head, shielding anything Joe might havebeen able to see of his face. It gave him an even more unearthlysilhouette in the pale evening moonlight. Errant tresses of long,unexpectedly golden, hair were pulled from under the hood by thebreeze that had suddenly picked up into a wind. They seemed, somehow,to totally contradict the -- blackness -- of the figure.

Unbelievably, Jacob rested his own head easily against theshrouded form with unmistakable trust.

Regaining some control over his senses at last, Joe could becertain of at least one detail he'd been able to note -- He had seenthat cloak before, the dark garment that shrouded the compellingfigure before him. He would swear to it.

Cathy had been wrapped within it that terrifying night when thestalker that had menaced her for days had actually snatched her fromher own apartment and nearly drowned her in the trunk of his car,which he'd left to flood in a park lagoon.

She'd been so reluctant to ask for help all through the ordeal,something that threw on the alarms within Joe's head that all was notas it appeared in the situation he was being asked to simply acceptas one other nut case forcing himself onto a vulnerable woman. It hadfrightened him, thinking of Cathy as a madman's obsessive target. Ithad angered him, that she refused his urgings for help and caution.Now he understood why. The stalker had been unwittingly targetingVincent as much as Catherine herself.

Joe'd almost lost her, that night. It had been a miracle that heand Greg Hughes had been able to trace the suspect's vehicle down, amiracle that Cathy had somehow emerged found, frightened, drenched,but alive. In the rescue unit, a paramedic had offered her coffee totry and warm her up. Joe had seen her wrapped in a strange garment ofwool and leather, thrown about her shoulders, hardly a regular-issueblanket on an ambulance.

He'd thought for an instant that the cloak, for that was what thegarment proved to be when he'd walked Catherine back to his car, wassome sort of theatrical prop, a costume some passerby with dramaconnections had offered her for protection from the wet and cold,medieval almost in its fashioning.

"What's this?" he'd asked her, the relief in his heart that shewas safe holding onto to the fact that he would yet be able to existwith her own gentle, generous heart within reach of his life.

"Something someone gave me to keep me warm," had been her simplereply, and he'd thought nothing else of it whatever. But, the wayCathy had kept that garment -- possessively -- about her, he suddenlyrealized now, spoke volumes on her own state of heart at thattime.

She'd supposedly had no recollection of getting out of the carwhere she'd nearly drowned. The trunk hood was torn off the vehicle,she'd been found safe on the shore of the lagoon by rescuers. Thestalker was dead. Case closed.

Hardly.

The body was found slashed, just as so many other examples of therefuse of the world had been, who'd come into threatening proximityof Catherine Chandler during the previous two years.

Looking up at the figure before him now, so gently holding a childin his arms, Joe could finally understand, with all its unspeakableimplications, what Diana had meant when she'd described Cathy'smysterious connection to the shadowy, terrifying phantom that wasVincent. "He brought her home because he loved her. He was herprotector, Joe."

As he now was Diana's?

The question placed itself within his mind at that instantbecause, beyond the dark-cloaked presence standing in front ofCatherine's grave, in reality all but obscured from sight in anenveloping embrace, stood Diana, apparently sheltered, supported bythe arresting, forbidding figure that had taken such stunned hold onJoe's attention.

He hadn't seen his former colleague until she'd evidently shiftedher position somewhat -- closer to Vincent, leaning against himactually, resting against him. She'd raised a gentle hand to Jacob inhis father's arms, then set her own head down onto her husband'schest, her amber hair lifting gently in the breeze.

Joe couldn't remember ever seeing Diana's hair loose across hershoulders like that. The thought formed itself in his awareness, forsome unexpected reason. Her fiery tresses had always been braided ortied somehow, relinquished to a businesslike order that did nothingwhatever to diminish the truly romantic, old-fashioned beauty of herface. Even in his office, pouring over blood-curdling police photoswith steel-tempered control of her every emotion, she'd still seemedso truly . . . lovely . . . so fragile and . . . otherworldly . . .that he'd often thought of her as some primeval embodiment ofpersonified nature, lost in a mad world that could devour her in aninstant.

And now, that indescribable, ethereal soul, was resting heramber-crowned head gratefully, with total trust, onto the spectoralvision beside her, gracing him with her incredibly exquisitepresence. Joe couldn't believe his eyes, couldn't bring himself tojustify the sight that came to him: She was letting herself bewillingly sheltered by a dark and avenging angel.

Who was her husband . . . her lover . . . her protector now,too.

The words suddenly bombarded Joe's thoughts, colliding with hisown past conjured images of the forbidding mystery that had beenVincent within his mind during the last six years of his life, stillremained a heart-numbing mystery. There was too much in his mind thatswept with alarming confusion straight to his heart -- slashedbodies, trails of blood, broken chains and a steel cage --Catherine's voice -- "There's someone I care about, someone I love .. . You have a heart like his."

Diana's own words -- "I love him, Joe . . . And he loves me . . .Everything else in my life pales in comparison."

This was the shadowy protector then, standing mere yards away fromhim, Joe thought.

Cathy's savior. John Moreno's executioner. Diana's husband, thefather of her child.

That last image was the one that remained long enough to push allthe other terrors out of Joe's mind, because he had fully caughtsight of the former police officer in the pale moonlight, and herpresence held him now as nothing else could, the reality that shewas, that she and Jacob . . . and Vincent . . . now were . . .together, their presence together.

And that of the child she carried within her.

Joe could see her now -- Diana was obviously pregnant -- heavilyso, her dark trench coat doing nothing at all to hide her swollenfigure beneath a long gown. A sudden realization of the . . .tenderness? . . . that had to have passed between his formerco-worker and the embodied shadow beside her clutched at Joe's heart.How could it possibly have been so?

She was a beautiful, fragile, astonishingly gifted young womaneven he could have easily fallen in love with himself, had he notbeen so devastated by Catherine's loss all during their experiencesof one another. Vincent was, was . . .

. . . The words wouldn't form in his mind, at least not the oneshe thought he'd need to use at the moment: inhuman, bestial,murderous, cursed.

No, the words that leapt into Joe's thoughts, at the sight of thetwo of them, were far removed from that vein of description. Hecouldn't believe it, questioned his grip on reality because of it,but the words that came to him were . . . beloved . . . sheltering .. . sustaining . . . devoted.

Loving.

Diana not only rested against the improbable figure of herhusband, she leaned into him easily, letting him support her. Hisleft arm held Jacob surely up to his shoulder, but his right wasdrawn around her waist, under her own arm, holding her close, thehand settling on her womb, and the child.

Their child. Their children. Each other. Held in a protectiveembrace within sight of Catherine's grave. Should he have beenoutraged, consumed by white hot anger at the sheer -- audacity -- ofthat sight? Would Catherine have been?

No.

Because Joe was only witnessing what he instinctively knew as acompelling portrait of . . . love. Tested, pained, agonized, butsurviving. To thrive in certain hope.

A scene that had been meant for his eyes, too: Joe knew it now,understood it. But, could he accept it for its gifting guidance tohis own hope? He didn't dare believe it.

Diana held her eyes closed for several moments, letting her mindcarry her into the familiar, comforting prayers of childhood, prayingfor the courage she'd need. How was she going to be able to say whatshe knew her heart willed her to? With Vincent standing beside her?Were there even words for her to use that made any sense, that werecapable of defining what she carried at this moment within herheart?

Catherine -- Could she possibly sort out the feelings swirlingthrough her spirit where Catherine was concerned, on this night ofall night? She'd believed she'd be capable of doing this -- settingher soul at peace with that of the woman buried there at last. ButDiana found that her own needs, her own hopes, would not be kept frommelding with those she believed Catherine herself must have carriedwithin her heart.

Diana had intended to issue a declaration of her standing in thematter at hand, defending herself and her present reality of lifewith challenging conviction. Instead, she found that she could onlyvoice reassurances -- to both the dead woman and her own suddenlybeleaguered heart.

She'd survived every emotional experience connected with CatherineChandler in the past three years: sympathy, kinship, loss, anger,envy, guilt, and even fear. Tonight she would settle simply ongrateful friendship, for it held out to both of them theopportunities to touch each other's hearts with the truth and withtrusting hope. Even if Catherine was dead.

Without preamble, Diana let her heart speak.

"Cathy, I just wanted to tell you here tonight that we are allright, we're doing all right."

A gentle pressure of the powerful arm about her told Diana she wasnot alone in her decision. She gave herself permission to turn andhold Vincent's features with guiltless, loving possession beforecontinuing on.

"I'm doing my best to watch over Jacob, help him grow. I'm doingall I can for him."

The tender, touching humility in those words caught even thelittle boy's heart, instantly. "Mama's teaching me to read my bedtimestories. I like Dr. Seuss. His words are so funny to say!"

Jacob's excited example to his angel mother of his earthlymother's wondrous care did more to strengthen Diana's spirit thananything she could have ever sought to hold on to. It put a gentle,earth-bound reality to the moment, too, that totally disarmed thepotentially painful consequences of having to defend one's loveagainst an angel's. Vincent felt a lump come into his throat.

Diana smiled -- at last, suddenly unafraid to justify herself,actually not needing to. She simply was stating fact, unequivocaltruth, her eternal gift to the world, the truth of her love, for herhusband, and her child. Her children.

Gently she took Jacob's hand in hers and kissed it softly,grateful for the generosity acknowledging her and what she wasbringing to his small, beloved existence. "Yes, we've shared Dr.Seuss and monsters under the bed, skinned knees, bedtimes that arealways too early, and questions that have no logical answers."

Taking heart from her husband's silent approval of her words, ofthe concrete realities that were now her gifts to offer, Diana lether thoughts continue aloud. "Sometimes those questions only remainquestions until we find the courage to accept the answers in front ofus.

"I believe that I've found my answers: I'm doing my best to loveJacob as he deserves. I'm doing my best to love Vincent as hedeserves . . . with all the hope and shelter and promise I can givethem both. And I'm not afraid to say it tonight here in front of you--

The love, the care, the hope that has come back to me from them isa gift I deserve, one I can accept and know it is mine to hold.

"Thank you, Cathy, for making that possible. For giving us thefreedom to move on."

Joe hadn't even been able to hold the sight before him as Diana'ssoft-spoken defense reached him on the breeze. He'd leaned backagainst the tree, rested his head against it and closed his eyes,listening to a friend he cared deeply about having to confess herlove for her newly-formed family to another woman. A woman he himselfhad held dear but never sought to claim.

Somehow it didn't come as a surprise that Diana would seem to needto speak to Cathy thus tonight. The DA fully believed it was possiblefor his former colleague to place herslf into Catherine's very souland read the need for reassurance there, find the strength andconviction of spirit to reassure a woman who'd been dead three yearsabout those she'd left behind. To accept the challenge of living . .. and loving . . . beyond loss.

Diana had sought to do just that for him tonight, with herprovidential letter, too. God! had she known he would need to comehere to face Cathy as well? Had she made certain she would bestanding before him as the example of promise once again taken upthat he could follow to his own peace this night?

But, if he accepted that path to completion, he'd have to settlehis own heart to the realities and truths she was offering him . . .that they'd all been tested, agonized, pained beyond endurance . . .all of them. Whether their survival would be a blessing or aneverlasting curse, Diana seemed to imply, would be up to his owndecision of heart.

After a long moment of silence wherein every one of the soulspresent in the breeze-kissed night delved into their own memories andneeds, Joe heard a deep, slightly hoarse toned voice urge a littlechild on with gentle support. "Why don't you recite your poem forMother now, Jacob? You must be very anxious to."

The encouraging male voice, surprisingly velvet-timbored, madeJoe's heart stop within his thoughts. He hadn't expected to hear sucha voice . . . a father's voice. Then Jacob's confident, sweet words,expounding upon the wonder of the wind. "No one can tell me, nobodyknows, where the wind comes from, where the wind goes . . . "

Oh Cathy, Joe whispered quietly within his heart, you must be soproud to hear him. The gentle tones of rhyme slipped around him onthe breeze. And, you must be so grateful that they've kept you a partof his life. It couldn't have been an easy thing.

Recognition of every haunted look he'd ever seen in Diana's eyeslit in Joe's memory. She loved that little boy, with every fiber of amother's heart. That had been more than evident to him, even when shewas still living in the city, within the confines of her own world.And yet, more than once, he'd caught an unexpected chill in Diana'semerald eyes, as though she'd suddenly remembered how the little boyhad come to be hers.

What had she been forced to endure, having that blessed child loveher in return?

Indeed, what had she been forced to survive by loving that child'sfather as well, the guilty pain she must have despaired of evermoving past?

Knowing how vulnerable Diana truly was, behind her facade ofsteely, street-wise toughness, Joe had to marvel at her couragetonight, as she gently claimed her right to hope. As she quietlyurged, challenged, Catherine to believe, that her shadowy companionhad a right, too: The right to a life blessed within her ownlove.

It was something any human being would reach out for and embrace,to share an existence with someone in love. Even that dark, silent,protector? Even he, himself?

Joe looked at the two figures standing in quiet support of eachother. Did they deserve to be seen simply as a tested husband andwife attempting to make peace with their past?

Did he deserve, himself, to begin his own search for peace,tonight, at last?

Vincent's voice pulled the concealed observer from his unsteadythoughts. "That was very good, Jacob." The sound of those quietlysupportive words drew Joe from his shelter, in time to see that thetowering figure had come down to the ground where the child stood,had stooped down to him on his level, with an embrace. Something anyparent would have shared for a son's proud accomplishment.

"You know, Jacob, I'm rather tired. Do you think you could help meover to that bench down there?" It was Diana now, softly encouragingthe child. "I'd better rest a bit before we head back home."

Vincent slowly straightened to his full height, apparently holdingher in a long, quiet gaze, then kissed her gently on the forehead."Thank you, my love." The tender gratitude, in both gesture and wordsonly above a whisper, still reached Joe's awareness, and his heartraced with conflicting emotion at its revelation.

"Here, Mama, take my hand. I'll help you over there." Looking backover her shoulder at her husband with sweet care, Diana let thelittle boy lead her away from the granite marker.

Vincent, and Joe, watched for a minute or two until the woman andchild were safely settled onto a concrete bench placed beneath aclump birch some 30 feet beyond Catherine's grave. The little boy satin the grass and leaves at his mother's feet, peering with easyfascination up into the beautiful sky, obviously eager to takeadvantage of the night's excursion now for his own wonder. Joewouldn't have been at all surprised if Diana was describing the starthe little boy was pointing to as the gateway to his dead mother'sheavenly home.

He would have continued thus, in peaceful contemplation of such anincongruous activity: star-gazing in a churchyard between a devotedmother and child, but Joe found his attention insistently re-drawn toCatherine's grave where Vincent had remained.

Shifting uneasily in his hiding place, Joe's impulses were tornbetween leaving a long-grieving man to his soul-unburdening in peace,and observing a beyond-human image in wrapt attention for signs themortality that figure sought to embrace was only an aberration of thetruth.

This was Vincent, after all, the DA told himself now, themysterious avenger who could kill as easily as he could protect; thefrightful being destined to an existence in the darkest reaches ofthe city; a creature of the night. Without Diana and Jacob besidehim, the cloaked figure standing before a gravestone seemed, indeed,a threatening figment from a nightmare.

Yet, that nightmare reached out both his hands to the granitemarker before him, and rested heavily on it for a long moment, beforehe slipped one hand slowly, gently, across the polished surface ofthe stone.

A caress.

A lover's hand, touching to a lost, cherished heart.

Joe wasn't certain he'd been prepared to see that -- a tendernessstill carried within the soul, for a beloved, departed love. Thesuddenly confounded DA was held to the image before him withpowerful, unexpected . . . sympathy . . . kinship . . . feelingsastonishingly freeing themselves from within his colliding emotions.Then, the soft words in a quiet, throaty voice that was as arrestingas it was heartbreaking in its . . . gentleness.

"She is a remarkable woman, Catherine."

The DA's soul stumbled -- at the evidence in that voice of stillcherished tenderness for a murdered woman, as well as awe-tingedwonder for an amber-haired firebrand that had claimed his heart.

Several breathless moments passed in silence, and Joe expected,prayed, actually, that any further words Vincent carried within hisheart for Catherine this night would be meant for her ears alone,spoken to her only within that heart. The DA didn't believe himselfcapable of holding the reality of such words to himself, should theybe actually spoken within his hearing, what a man could possibly findthe . . . courage . . . to say to his murdered love about the newhopes that he was seeking to embrace at last.

But, the silence was finally broken again, the soft voice carryingwithin its arresting tones, that pang of gentle awe and thankfulastonishment that was unmistakable. Vincent, it would appear, was notgoing to need to defend his heart tonight, either. Like Diana, heseemed to have decided to simply voice the truths he'd found thecourage to hold and believe, beyond the pain.

"That I am capable of standing here tonight before you with myspirit and soul still my own is due totally to Diana's hand. She'sdone more than attempt to love us, Catherine, Jacob and myself. She'ssheltered us in her love, wrapped us in it."

An undeniable sigh punctuated the words reaching Joe in thebreeze-swept dark. He tried to steady his own pounding heart,unwilling, for an instant, to miss a breath of what the dark figurebefore him might be willing to share with him, knowing exactly whatit was that Vincent sought to describe in seemingly inadequate terms-- the scope of Diana's love.

"She's brought a mother's tenderness into Jacob's everyday life,as she was able to let you understand: stories read, questionsanswered, shoelaces patiently tied, hurts kissed away. And dreams,Catherine, she's brought Jacob dreams, helped him begin to touch themand accept them as true possibilities.

"I see so much of you in him now. His openness, his confidence.His eagerness to embrace life. These are your legacy to him, a giftfrom your spirit to his that he will be able to carry all his days.And yet, at the same time, I find so much of Diana in Jacob as well,her own gifts born of love learned and shared: A willingness tobelieve and strive and challenge, a commitment to the compellingpower of truth, loving truth, offered without fear or reservation.The magical sight of empowered hope."

Letting his gaze move from the silent stone before him, Vincenttook in the beloved forms of his wife and child in the distance. Hisfamily. The reality of his own hope accepted and cherished. Hesettled his awareness from them back to the leaves that lifted abouthis feet, taking hold of what was in his heart a moment beforefinding himself able to actually describe it.

"I've felt as a child myself in her devoted care, my very soulbound up by her loving generosity as sweetly as any skinned knee orbruised expectation. She is a fragile ribbon of light that somehowmade its way into the dim stone caverns of my heart, with the powerto warm my spirit as easily as a bright summer's day. A day you and Icould never share. Yet, that gentle radiance, that quiet nurturing,finds its wellspring from a fierce, certain determination of hope,selfless, utterly without fear. She's read my heart when I myselfhave been too uncertain of its truth."

You sound as if you know this guy. Joe heard his comment to Dianaearly into her investigations of Catherine's death, echoing withinhis awareness. She'd been spinning some barely coherent fairy tale oflove, protection, connection and roses in her loft one evening, andJoe hadn't been sure her profoundly intuitive powers had not finallyovertaken every shred of logic in her mind, to carry her past allreasonable observation. It was all beyond belief, crazy, what she'dbeen proposing as truth. They'd been trying to follow a sordid,ruthless 20th century murder, and she'd been describing some mysticlegend out of a high school literature book.

Still, the gentle certainty, the tender awe and compelling. . .understanding . . . in Diana's words, in her eyes, as she respondedto him, had made Joe's heart clamor. Sometimes I feel as though I do,she'd said.

She'd been drawn to the mystery that was Vincent even then, herealized. Diana had been in love with him even then, with a power ofconviction that went beyond logic or sense, beyond even her ownsecurity. That was the love she'd been able to offer theonce-devastated soul that stood before Catherine now, confessing hisreturn to wholeness.

At this point in time, had there ever been any doubt in either ofthe men's minds that Diana would have been capable of setting intomotion such a transforming, healing process, out of the depths ofdespair?

Joe watched in aching silence as the tall, dark figure he wasobserving in secret slowly came down to his knees on the ground, andlet his attention drift to the bouquet of flowers in the stonevase.

Love's passion, and purity. Side by side. They'd remainedindividual facets of an astonishing, transcendent devotion throughoutVincent's entire relationship with Catherine, beautiful beyond words.Haunting beyond hope. Always, distinctly, separate. Slipping hisfingers over the delicate petals of the flowers, he then came to restback on his heels, setting his hands down onto his thighs. For amoment, he reared his head back, looking up into the stars and nightsky, feeling a tenderly familiar, hesitant touch, in the breeze.

The hood of the dark cloak fell back from his head with thatmotion, and Joe barely stifled a gasp at what was revealed, testinghis own tentative hope for the moment.

Even though darkness and several dozen feet separated the two men,the DA made out enough of his subject's facial features, now, torealize why that mysterious figure had been cursed to an existence ofshadows on the fringes of the city's life: Chisled, prominentcheekbones, upswept brows, a muzzle more than a mouth, a dense flowof long, golden hair. They were all far from . . . far beyond . . .typical . . . human . . . characteristics.

Still, Joe was astounded to feel that he'd found himself not somuch in the presence of something, someone . . . inhuman . . . asactually . . . beyond human, a spell-binding presence of powerfulfascination. And that power and arresting essence went far pastmerely the physical details of the man before him. The DA suddenlyknew himself to be within the compelling presence of a soul thatwould be capable of love beyond boundaries, beyond limits, beyondeven life and death.

The love that Catherine had secretly cherished.

The love that Diana had found the courage to embrace.

"For so long, Catherine, I battled my loss alone, found myselfburied, drowned within it. You were my life, my world, my dream --still you'd been stolen from my arms by the madness of a world Icould no longer protect you from. I lost you, Catherine, to thatmadness, and I came close to losing myself to it as well.

"By some miracle I'll never comprehend, Diana made her way to myheart, though, fought her way to it, past unendurable turmoil, somuch of it that I, myself, thrust in her path. She offered me, withsuch astonishing courage, a truth I found unbearable to accept. Thattruth was this -- That what you and I had shared, our love, ourbonded hearts, might have been as complete a fate as we could haveever hoped to existence between us.

"I raged against heaven at the thought of that, Catherine, for thedreams, the destiny that I believed you and I had been robbed of. Inreality, because of my pain, my grief in losing you, I had completelyrejected the possibility that what we were given by God as our sharedexistence might have been the only complete blessing we were meant tohave.

"We could have hoped for no more."

The words had become almost a whisper. That Joe could even hearthem was a miracle of itself, convincing him that there were moreforces at work in this night than he could dream of with acceptance.One of those forces was now an undeniable understanding of whatVincent was attempting to set to words, taken from Joe's ownpain.

He, himself, had only now come to realize it too: That perhaps hisexperience of Cathy, her place in his life, had been all it was meantto be, complete and perfect in its own right. Not, simply, a seriesof lost moments and missed opportunities at romantic love, but atotally right and completely caring experience governed by heavenitself, even amidst all its imponderables and unpredictabilities.

"Catherine, you came into my life, one of darkness, and aloneness,and you helped me look to light and dreams and the sweet possibilityof love. How could I ever begin to thank you for that? Ours was anexistence of . . . acceptance . . . perfect in its every moment. Howcould I ever believe it less than the complete miracle it was? Yet, Ican understand it now, without the rage of loss and grief: Heaven hadnot intended for our miracle to reach past that acceptance, thatfirst, fragile expectation we dared to touch."

The true scope of the saving grace that had been a stubborn,daring, amber-haired angel in his life came to rest once again inVincent's heart. He knew it as a simple truth now: Even if he'd neverlost Catherine's sweet presence in his heart, they'd never have foundtheir way to the tender wonder that was his life now. Neither of themhad ever really believed it was theirs to grasp. It had remained onlya beautiful dream.

It had taken another soul, acting in total and selfless trust, togive him the gift of his long-shackled, long-feared humanity, and allthat it had blessed him with.

"Diana took hold of my destiny, though, for me, when I no longerhad the strength to believe. She accepted a love that couldfearlessly move beyond mere possibility and dreams and hopes, toactual, living reality. She held to that total, loving reality with afierce, remarkable courage, and reached it out to me, daring me totouch my hand to it, wrap my heart within it, believe withoutwavering that it could be mine, be ours."

The sound of Vincent's voice had become full of anticipatedwonder. Joe could understand why. He'd been held by Diana's powerfulconvictions of truth himself.

"I have touched that fate, Catherine, held it close, and now Ifind myself enriched with the very truth of love. It nourishes everyfiber of my being, steadies each of my steps in the day, shelters mein the dark night with a tenderness shared I would have been mad toeven contemplate within my reach before she offered it, fearlessly,to me, with total trust.

"That love now blesses Jacob, helps him thrive. And it hasembodied itself as a new life for us to cherish as its sweetestfruit, its ultimate gift."

Coming slowly to his feet, Vincent once again let his gaze rest onDiana in the pale moonlight, sitting on the bench beneath the birchtree. Jacob had climbed up beside her and was carefully resting hishead onto her lap, onto her enlarged figure. She was brushing thehalo of curls circling his head with a loving hand.

"Catherine, I've been blessed."

With a measured step, Vincent rounded the granite marker, lettinga hand linger a moment longer over the stone as he swept past it andonwards towards his wife and child. When he joined Diana and Jacob,he placed an unburdened caress on the bright-spirited woman'sshoulder, no different than the one that he had left with Catherine,except, perhaps, that this time the tenderness was reciprocal. Dianaheld her own hand over his for an acknowledging heartbeat, withouthesitation.

"Father, is that bright star a planet, do you think?" Jacob'sthoughtful words drew his father down beside him on the bench as thechild lifted his head from his mother's sweetly comforting body.Vincent gathered the little boy up into his arms, bringing him upeven to his shoulder without effort, helping his son get closer tothe wonder of the stars from a better vantage point.

"Which one do you mean, Jacob?"

"Over there, beyond the Little Dipper."

When Joe finally quelled the pounding of his heart, his own gazelocked onto the hope-lifting sight of a father and child star-gazingin the night. It suddenly didn't seem to matter that they were in thegloom of a churchyard. It didn't matter that the parent could havematerialized from the dark fabric of nightmares. There was onlytender, loving care encircling all three souls within his sight.Somehow, Joe couldn't even be surprised by it any longer.

After several moment of celestial observations, Vincent set hischild down to the ground before him with a pat on the strong,straight little back. "We had better get home. It is a long way to goand Mama is tired." Then, turning to his wife with tender concern, heasked, "Will you let me carry you now, Diana?"

"Yes, my love," was the inevitable reply. "I'll welcome that."

Reaching back onto his cloak, Vincent lifted the hood up over hishead again. The hidden DA felt a tightening around his heart at thatdefensive action. The fact that he lived in a world where suchprofound truth and hope was forced to the murky shadows of night wasunexpectedly almost too much to bear, too sad a reality. Wherever itwas that the dark figure now prepared to return to had to be aninfinitely more blessed place.

Bending down to Diana, Vincent gathered her up to him insheltering arms. She rested her head against his chest in familiarcomfort as he kissed her burnished hair.

Joe knew that his colleague was safe in a treasured existence oflove. She'd found her peace.

Before gaining the tree line behind them, Vincent turned and heldCatherine's grave in his sight, for one more unexpected moment, Dianain his arms. Joe swallowed hard. Even though he was still completelysheltered by the large ash tree he immediately pulled himself behind,a reflexive action only, as he knew for certain that he couldn't havebeen seen, a sudden -- presence -- took hold of his heart, withoutwarning.

It was strong, protective. Unafraid. Yet, somehow, also reaching .. . seeking. Joe couldn't even begin guessing what it was or how itcould be possible that he could feel it so distinctly within him. Heonly knew it did not come from his own state of heart at themoment.

For a confusing instant he was almost afraid, but incapable ofunderstanding what it was he should fear -- that his observingpresence had been detected, or that it had not.

Then, seemingly of their own will, the words formed in his mindwith powerful clarity: "Be at peace, Joe. Catherine would have wishedit so. It is time, for all of us."

The DA couldn't help himself. He was so startled by the wordsthere in his mind, almost as though they'd been spoken softly to himdirectly by that arresting voice, that he impulsively came fully outand around from his shelter into the windblown moonlight, expectingto actually find Vincent standing at mere arm's length besidehim.

He was not.

What Joe did see, though, was the retreating figure of ablack-shrouded presence, carefully, lovingly, carrying a young womanin his arms who was large with child. Beside him, holding onto thefolds of his long, dark cloak, was a little boy, doing his best tomatch his stride to his father's, that had been deliberately slowedto an easy pace. Joe raised a shaking hand through his dark hair andclosed his eyes, taking in a deep, steadying breath. When he lookedup again, Vincent, Diana and Jacob were gone, vanished into theautumn night.

Five minutes elapsed before the DA trusted that his legs would notbuckle beneath him should he move. It took him a few more momentsbefore he actually believed he'd been witness to the empowering sceneof love embraced that had played itself out before him in a moonlitchurchyard. He cast a final look in the direction of the dark granitemarker that had drawn him with such insistent power this night, nowgraced by red and white roses.

"Cathy, I'll do my best to take tonight to heart. Thanks fortrying to set me straight."

As he turned to leave, the warm breeze that blew across hisshoulders lingered a moment, in a familiar, supportive embrace.

He could almost feel Catherine's arms around him.