Bonding

by Beth Gualda

Clink. Clink. Clink.

"None in all the world to love me, none to count the stars that hung,

Then the moon came out above me...

And I saw that it was young.

I wished upon the moon

For something I never knew...

Clink. Clink.

Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

I wished on the moon for you..."*

Catherine stirred. There it was again. Or had it ever stopped?That tapping. And now, there was music too. An old Billie Holidaytune, faint and scratchy sounding, like the vinyl records her fatherused to play before Catherine bought him a compact disc player twoChristmases ago.

She sighed, listening. There was someone in the room with her. Shewondered if it was the doctor or his son. What did he say his namewas? Vincent? She could feel his presence and hear him moving aboutquietly. He was humming softly, pleasantly.

"Vincent?" she called weakly.

In a moment's passing, he was beside her, leaning over her. Sheknew this despite the fact that she could not see him. She reachedout and tried to touch him, but couldn't and wondered fleetingly ifhe was avoiding her hand. She dropped it with a heavy sigh.

"Ah, you're awake," he stated. "How do you feel? Can I get youanything?"

Catherine tried to moisten her lips with her tongue. She feltfeverish and weak. Her face ached and she felt the tug of numerousstitches whenever she moved her jaw. She shivered involuntarilypartly due to the chills she had and partly at the thought of whatlay beneath her bandages. Memories of her assault surfaced and hertrembling intensified.

"Are you cold, Catherine?" He didn't wait for an answer and beganpulling up the blankets, straightening them and tucking them inaround her.

"A little," she managed. Her eyes stung with unshed tears and shefrowned deeply. Her whole body was stiff. She tried to shift to amore comfortable position but that only caused her more pain. Thenshe felt the light pressure of his hand on her chest, holding herdown.

"Lie still," he told her softly, but in a voice that insisted sheheed.

She sighed, her lower lip trembling. She hadn't yet been able toreconcile the fact that she was in a stranger's home instead of ahospital; or the fact she was forced to rely on this stranger for herevery need.

"My mouth is dry," she began somewhat bitterly. "Can you get mesomething to drink?" She inwardly cursed her bandaged eyes and brokenbody. She hated feeling so dependant and helpless, even thoughVincent had demonstrated repeatedly his will to care for her withundaunted eagerness. His kindness seemed limitless and Catherine felta little ashamed she was not feeling more grateful to him. She wasstill too wary. Too frightened to feel anything but the need to runand hide.

"I brought you some rose hips tea," he told her. "It willhelp."

Nothing will help, she thought despondently, but then wondered ifhe had just told her it was laced with something, some medication orsedative, that would ease her pain.

"That'll be fine," she said flatly.

He moved away from her to fetch the tea and Catherine's heartbegan pounding fitfully inside her. The anxiety she was feelingsuddenly escalated. It was hard for her to surrender her trust in theway her present situation required, but she also felt a desparatelonging to be able to trust somebody. Currently, Vincent was her onlyoption. It would have been easier for her if she understood him. Heseemed honest and caring enough.....but he was also mysterious anddark in a way Catherine couldn't pin down. His presence wascomforting, but also disquieting.

"Don't be troubled......Please," he said in a low, tentativevoice. "There's no need for you to be afraid anymore. No one willhurt you here. I promise." The tone of his deep voice grew inconviction with his assurances.

Catherine relaxed some. She wanted to believe him. He made itsound as if no one would dare harm her as long as he was near. Hewould protect her and care for her to all ends if need be. She beganwondering about her mysterious benefactor. She tried to imagine whatsort of face would appropriately match that heavenly voice of his; ithad the rare quality of being smooth and raspy at the same time.Whenever he spoke, it was always with authority and assertion, but henever seemed to speak much above a whisper. None of the images shehad of him seemed quite right.

The song that had been playing ended and for a moment, Catherinecould only hear that metallic tapping. Then another song began, justas old and full of static as the last one.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

"When I fall in love...

It will be forever...Or I'll never fall...in love..."**

Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

 

"Where's that music coming from?" Catherine asked just out ofcuriosity.

"A jukebox," came a swift reply. "I thought it would give yousomething to listen to." Then he added hopefully: "Do you likeit?"

"It's nice," she answered apathetically.

He sighed and Catherine tried to be a little moreappreciative.

"I like it. I do. I'm just feeling pretty miserable rightnow."

He said nothing, but Catherine heard him pull a chair over to theside of the bed. It creaked under his weight as he sat down and shethought that he must be large in stature. Tall and strong, but notheavy. He moved about too quietly.

Suddenly, she felt his hand slip between her shoulders and thepillows, urging her to lean forward.

"Easy," he breathed, as his hand supported her slight weight, hislong fingers splayed across the span of her back. He placed anotherpillow behind her then, propping her up in a sloping, sittingposition.

He withdrew his hand and she settled back into the pillows with aheavy sigh. She could hear him pouring the tea and the familiarrattle of a china cup and saucer. She raised her hands expectantly,letting him know she would not require his assistance to drinktea.

He sighed again, and Catherine wondered if it was in exasperationor amusement at her subtle declaration for some independance.Adhering to her wishes, he placed the cup in her hands with a gentlewarning. "Be careful. It's hot."

"I like it that way," she said lightly and wrapped her fingerssecurely around the delicate cup and took a small sip. It was sweetand had an immediate soothing effect on her nerves. She could feelthe warmth of it spread through her, enveloping her in a welcomepeace.

Vincent remained silent, watching her from his chair. The musicfrom the jukebox filled in the silence, but Catherine wasdisappointed that he didn't talk to her more. He was very quiet,almost to the point of being shy. Perhaps he was, she thought. Shewas just as much a stranger to him as he was to her. She turned herhead and offered him a small smile, the best she could manage withoutpulling at her sutures.

"You make good tea," she said hoping to encourage a bit ofconversation.

"Thank you," he said, sounding pleased, his voice nothing morethan an expelled breath.

Catherine continued sipping her tea and waited, but he didn'tcontinue.

"Say something," she urged. "Anything."

"Anything?"

She wondered if he was being humorous. If he was, it was the firstglimpse of humor she had gotten out of him. It was hard to tellthough, since she couldn't see his face.

"Talk to me, I mean. Just until I fall asleep again. Tell me aboutyourself," she began, trying a different approach. "Tell me where weare."

"No," he answered gently. Then he added hesitantly, "I can't."

Catherine sighed. "But why? I don't understand. It frightensme."

He took a deep measured breath. "....I know."

Catherine's hands started shaking and she thought she better givehim the cup of tea before she dropped it. He took it and got up fromthe chair.

"Why can't you tell me?" she muttered. She was feeling weak andsuddenly very drowsy. Maybe there was something in the tea, shethought.

"Ssssh, don't worry," Vincent soothed. "Rest now."

His voice was more calming than anything that could have been inthe tea and Catherine settled back into the pillows.

She listened to the song playing now and recognized it as one ofher father's favorites.

"This is a pretty song," she murmured. "You must like oldies."

"Oldies?" He sounded as if he had never heard of the termbefore.

"Yea. Old songs. From the 50's and 60's."

"Oh," he said. "I didn't realize. I suppose everything in thatjukebox is old. My personal preference for music however, lies incompositions much older than these. Brahms, Beethoven, Mozart."

Catherine smiled slowly. "Classical? Really? That's what I listento." She was pleased he was finally talking to her, even if it wasjust about music, but also disappointed that she did not have theenergy to keep the conversation going now.

"I like its complexity," he explained, sounding happy himself tohave found something he could talk to her about. "It's emotion. Itcan be powerful. It can be tender."

"Yes," Catherine sighed. "Beautiful. So beautiful."

Vincent took a deep breath. "Like love."

"Love," she echoed. He must be romantic, she thought before dozingoff.

 ****

 "Vincent?"

"I'm here, Catherine."

She turned her head in the direction of his voice. He must beacross the room from the sound of it. She became vaguely aware thatthe bandages around her head had been changed. They felt fresher,drier. It must have been done while she slept.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

He was walking towards her now. "Quite awhile. But that's good.Your body's healing."

"Oh," she sighed and shifted slightly. "I feel like I've beenstrapped to a board for a week."

"You are badly bruised," he stated tonelessly.

Catherine swallowed hard. She had a sour taste in her mouth. Allthis because of mistaken identity. Someone had screwed up, and nowshe was left to pay the consequences.

As if sensing her darkening mood, Vincent came and sat on the edgeof the bed.

"I know you're scared," he began. "You're confused. And angry.It's only...normal...to feel such things, after what happened toyou."

Catherine couldn't remember ever feeling more terrified in all herlife as when the door to that van slammed shut. She took a deepbreath.

"I suppose I should be grateful. It could have been worse, right?Is that what you were going to say?"

He sighed heavily. "What you went through, was bad enough. Thehelplessness you felt, will leave you more scarred than your wounds.But within you is the ability to heal those scars. Don't let thosefeelings of helplessness drown you. Push yourself back to thesurface. It will be hard at first, but you can do it."

Catherine turned her face away from him. He was right. Shecouldn't let her fear keep her from living her life day to day. Shealso knew she didn't want to ever feel that helpless, should she everbe in that kind of situation again.

"What makes you so wise?" she asked him in a barely audible voice.She was surprised that he actually had heard her and responded.

"Not so wise, as truthful," he told her. "It's much more difficultto put bad experiences and negative feelings behind you. They eclipseeverything that's good and positive in your life so effectively, itseems as though they aren't even there anymore. But they are. Youonly need to look beyond the darkness to see the light."He beganquoting or reading a poem to her. She couldn't tell which.

"To Sorrow,

I bade good morrow,

And thought to leave her away behind;

But cheerly, cheerly,

She loves me dearly;

She is so constant to me, and so kind:

I would deceive her,

And so leave her,

But ah! she is so constant and so kind." ***

Catherine listened and smiled to herself, wondering again at thesort of man Vincent was. She liked him, she decided, and thought whenthis incident was finally behind her, if it ever could be trulybehind her, she would like to be his friend. He was so different fromevery other man she had ever known and she needed someone like him inher life. Someone stable whom she could rely on and draw strengthfrom. Especially now.

"Vincent," she began, reaching out and touching his arm. "You'revery kind." She smiled at him, but he rose slowly, sliding out fromunder her hand. Catherine pulled the blankets up under her chin togive her suddenly empty hand something to do. "Where are yougoing?"

"You need to eat something," he was saying, his voice soundinglike his back was to her. "Do you think you could manage somebroth?"

"I am hungry," Catherine admitted. The last time she had eaten hadbeen at the party and that was just an hors d'oeuvre. That might havebeen days ago. Hot broth sounded good and would help warm her up, shethought. Maybe it was because of her fever but there was an everpresent chill in the air and she couldn't seem to get warm, despitethe heavy quilts she had covering her. The air seemed too damp forthe room to have central heating.

Catherine wondered if there was a fireplace somewhere. She couldjust make out the sound of a crackling fire, just beyond the foot ofthe bed. Then there was the faint smell of smoke and burning oil froma lit oil lamp.

She heard Vincent approaching and tried to sit up some. He helpedher, arranging the pillows behind her to support her back.

"Better?" he inquired. Catherine nodded. She could smell the brotheven before he handed the cup to her. It smelled delicious and shetook a long, savoring drink and licked her lips.

"How do you like it?" Vincent asked. He seated himself in thechair alongside the bed.

"It's wonderful," Catherine told him. It certainly tasted betterthan any of the canned broth she was used to. "Did you make it?"

"No," he admitted. "I can't take credit for that. But I'll passyour compliments on to the one who did." He didn't elaborate on whomthat might be. Catherine guessed it must be the doctor since he wasapparently the only one around besides Vincent. She wondered if ithad medicine in it like the tea.

Almost as if on cue, Catherine heard the rattle of a plastic pillbottle as the correct amount of pills were shook out and then thesnap of the lid being replaced.

"Your medication," Vincent explained. "Hold out your hand."

Catherine did and felt him drop two pills into her palm. Sheswallowed them dutifully with a gulp of broth. "What were those pillsfor?"

"They are an antiboitic," he replied. "To prevent infection."

Catherine smiled weakly. "You know, that was funny, I was justthinking about medication and wondering if there was any in thisbroth like there was in the tea earlier. It was like you read mymind."

"There wasn't any medication in the tea," he informed her,ignoring her comment on mind reading. "I promise."

Catherine frowned. "But I got so sleepy--just after drinkingit."

"You're injured and you have a fever. It's only natural for yourbody to crave sleep."

"I feel like I've slept for a week already."

"You have. More or less," Vincent said softly. "But everyday youget better. You just need time, Catherine. When your fever breaks,you'll feel even stronger. For now, you need to rest."

"Doctor's orders?" she questioned and finished off the last of thebroth in the mug. She held up the empty cup, but Vincent didn't takeit and she wondered if he had left suddenly and listened for someclue.

"Yes," he answered after awhile. He was still in the room, butaway from the bed. He was whispering faintly to someone, butCatherine couldn't understand what they were talking about.

"Vincent?" Catherine said and held up the mug once more.

"Forgive me," he said and Catherine was promptly relieved of themug. "Would you like more?"

"No, I'm fine," she told him and snuggled deeply under theblankets. "Who were you talking to?"

"My father. He wanted to know how you were doing."

"Why doesn't he talk to me?"

Vincent sighed. "He's very busy with other things and he trusts meto look after you and take care of you. If I need him, he's closeby."

"Oh," she said quietly. She passed her hands over the cotton gownshe wore, grateful for its soft thickness. She wondered just who'sgown it was considering there were no women here. Maybe, at one time,there had been.

"Are you married, Vincent?"

He didn't answer at first, then simply said, "No."

"Were you married?"

Again, "No." Then: "Why do you ask?"

"The nightgown I'm wearing. I was wondering about it."

"Ah. It...belongs to a friend of mine," he explained. There was along period of silence before either one spoke again.

"How is it, that someone like you hasn't been down the aisle yet?"Catherine gently teased, hoping to flatter him.

"How is it that someone like you hasn't?" he retorted, evading herquestion. His tone was unreadable, but Catherine knew he didn't soundflattered.

Catherine paused and took a deep breath. "I started to. But thingsjust didn't work out."

Vincent seemed to be considering her admission. "Didn't you lovehim?"

"I thought I did," she said and swallowed uncomfortably. She addedbitterly, "Now I guess I missed my chance."

"Why do you say that?"

Catherine could feel the sting of tears in her eyes suddenly. "Ihave an idea of what happened to me. You saw what they did. Youshouldn't even have to ask that." Catherine knew Tom Gunther wasn'tthe sort of man to be seen with anyone he considered less thanperfect. She already knew that relationship was over now, but thethought of that did not bother her as much as it should have. Sheknew things were strained between them even before all this. Now shewas certain he would send her flowers and get well wishes, and moveon to the next debutante in line for his attention. "No, I don'tstand a chance now." Her voice cracked and she turned her face awayfrom Vincent.

He sighed heavily and sat down beside the bed. "Do you thinkyourself somehow unworthy of being loved because of the way you nowappear in the eyes of others?" Catherine didn't answer. "Has themarring of such fair features also marred the fair person beneaththem?" He waited, then answered for her. "No. I know it hasn't andyou know it in your heart. Any man worthy of such a heart as yours,would easily see the beauty within it."

"Right," Catherine said at last. "Beauty is only skin deep."

"You haven't lost your true beauty, Catherine. They didn't takethat from you. But if you persist in believing they have, then theyhave succeeded in taking your spirit. Which is a much greaterloss."

"Oh Vincent," Catherine whimpered. "How could you possiblyunderstand?"

He leaned forward and placed his hand on her shoulder in acareful, but firm grasp. "I don't read minds Catherine, but I canread hearts and I understand much more, than you realize." He rosesuddenly, brushing by the side of the bed and Catherine knew he hadleft the room.

What was that supposed to mean, Catherine thought angrily andshifted positions in the bed. She didn't want to talk anymore anywayeven though she knew he was only being honest. But he didn't knowher; he didn't know who Cathy Chandler really was. Cathy, the wealthysocial butterfly, would be wallowing in self pity right about now.But Catherine felt ashamed of doing so. She didn't want Vincent tothink she was shallow and superficial. She knew she never wanted tobe seen that way again by anyone.

 ****

She woke with a start, perspiration soaking throught the heavycotton gown she wore. The fear felt in her tormenting dreams lingeredas her mind struggled to break through the thick murky haze of deepsleep. For a moment she forgot where she was until she heard thefaint sound of tapping on metal that seemed to be the musicalaccompaniment of her time spent in this room.

She turned her head, straining to hear anything else. She wonderedhow long she had been sleeping. Her body felt so heavy and stiff, shethought perhaps she had been in the same position the entiretime.

"Vincent?" She waited. "Vincent, are you there?" There was noanswer and she realized she was alone. Was he still angry with her?Wasn't he coming back? She tried to sit up. Where was he? "Vincent,please," she called again weakly.

She began to panic. Why would he just go off and leave her likethis? There was no way she could take care of herself yet. He knewthat. A terrifying thought suddenly occured to her. What if those menwho attacked her had found out about this place? Maybe they haddiscovered she was still alive and came back to finish the job. Whatif something had happened to Vincent? Maybe they already killed him.They could be here, waiting, plotting. She had to get out of here.Before she could stop herself, a scream tore from her with suchintensity her whole body shook with raw emotion.

"Catherine!" Vincent's voice pierced through her screams. He sweptinto the room and was at the side of the bed in an instant.

Catherine felt a surge of relief upon hearing him, but burst intotears, releasing a torrent of emotions she could no longer keepinside her. It was painful to cry, but she couldn't seem to stop forpain's sake. She felt the bed move under Vincent's weight as he saton the edge beside her. She clawed at the bandages covering her face,despising her forced blindness and wanting to be rid of them. It waswith some surprise she felt Vincent's gloved hands encircle hers,lowering them slowly to her lap.

"No Catherine...don't cry. Please don't cry," he soothed. "Whathas frightened you so?" He began to stroke the length of her arm inan effort to calm her with his touch.

"I had a bad dream," Catherine struggled to explain. She foughthard to keep from crying. The pain was becoming unbearable. "Thenwhen I woke up and I was alone..." She shivered, unable to voice herworse fear.

"I know, I'm sorry," he apologized with profound regret. "I wasout and my father was called away. Neither one of us thought youwould wake again so soon. If he would have known, he would have cometo you in my absence."

"Wake so soon? I feel like I've been asleep for days."

"Only hours," he corrected. "But you slept deeply and your feverhas broke. That's a very good sign."

Catherine took a deep pain wracked breath, releasing one lastragged sob, then sniffed loudly. She reached out for him, hoping tofind his hand again and hold on to it for an added measure ofcomfort. When she found it, she was pleased that this time, he didnot pull away, but took her hand in a secure grasp, lacing his longfingers through hers. Catherine adjusted her grip; her fingerscrushing the ply of velvet. He is wearing velvet gloves, she thought.How strange. But how wonderful to be holding his hand finally. Toconnect with him in this small physical way was both comforting anddistracting for her. Her fears had quickly faded because of the meretouch of his hand.

"Catherine," he began, his voice a whispered breath. He wasleaning over her, his face seemed very close to her ear. "Do youtrust me?"

Without having to take a moment to think about it, she nodded.

"Do you believe me?" he went on.

Again, she nodded.

Satisfied, he sat back. "No one will harm you here. There is nocause to fear. You are safe."

Catherine swallowed hard. His ever tender voice was nonethelessfierce with conviction. She sighed.

"I believe you."

Now he sighed, slowly, deeply. "Good." He gently pulled his handfrom her grasp and Catherine reluctantly released him. He stoodup.

"Are you leaving again?"

"No. I'll be right here with you, I promise."

Catherine could hear the rustle of his clothes, the muffled thudof something heavy being placed on a wooden table, and then the soundof liquid being poured into a glass.

"Is she all right?" came an unexpected second voice that Catherinerecognized as the doctor, Vincent's father. She hadn't realized hehad come into the room.

"Yes," Vincent answered. "Her fever has broke."

"Here. Give her two now and two more in four hours."

"Thank you, Father."

Catherine knew she would soon be getting more medicine and withinseconds, Vincent was back at her bedside, lifting her hand andplacing a small glass into it.

"Take these," he instructed. Catherine obediently held out herhand for the pills and swallowed them with the water he had givenher. Then he took the glass and set it on the table.

She listened expectantly and was surprised to hear him yawndeeply. He sat down in the chair by the bed, turning it slightly forsome reason, and sighed wearily. He must be exhausted playingnursemaid to me day and night, she thought. She waited for him totalk to her and when he didn't, she wondered if perhaps he hadresigned himself to sleeping in the chair next to her so she wouldn'tbe afraid.

Finally she told him, "I'm feeling better now. You don't have tostay here if you don't want to."

He shifted, perhaps to face her. "Would you rather I go?"

"No," Catherine was quick to say. "But I don't want you to have tojust sit there..."

"I wasn't. I was reading."

"But I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

He laughed lightly. "I'm not. I'm very comfortable here. This ismy room."

Catherine hadn't even considered that. "This is your room? Yourbed?" She couldn't help feeling like she was suddenly imposing on hishospitality and became uneasy.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"Well, where are you sleeping then?"

He took a deep breath. "Catherine...there's no need for you toworry about me."

Catherine shifted. "Why did you bring me here? Why didn't you takeme to the hospital when you found me?"

"It was easier for me to bring you here, to my father," heanswered truthfully. "I knew he could help you."

"Easier?" Catherine didn't understand. Certainly it would havebeen easier to just call an ambulance and be done with it. Why wouldanyone go to such lengths to take care of her personally? Even ifthere was a doctor in the family. Of course, she said to herself.They did know who she was after all. She was constantly in the socialpages of the paper. Her father's firm was well known. They had helpedher because they expected something monetary in return. A reward orcompensation. Well, it was the least she and her father could do. Butthe idea that this was Vincent's motive for kindness just didn't sitwell with her.

She sighed heavily. "I want you to know, I am very grateful forall you...and your father have done for me. I can assure you, youwill be...compensated for your trouble."

There was a long moment of silence and everything was so still inthe room, Catherine wondered if perhaps Vincent had gotten up andleft. Finally he spoke and she was startled to find he was stillright beside her.

"There's no need for you to feel obligated," he rumbled. His voicedeeper and quieter. "I watch you getting stronger everyday and knowyou are healing under my care. That is compensation enough." Hepaused, then continued softly. "You would have died, had I not foundyou when I did. I have been able to give you back what others havesought to destroy. I was able to help. There is nothing material thatyou or anyone could offer me that could compare with how knowing thatmakes me feel."

Catherine was warmed and touched by his words. "Surely, there issomething I can do for you?" She truly wanted to give him somethingnow.

"Your conversation, your companionship, these past few days," hebegan somewhat falteringly. "Your trust in me has meant more to methan you could know."

Catherine swallowed uncomfortably. His silky voice betrayed anabiding loneliness and she couldn't help but feel a littlecompassionate for him.

"Rest now," he said suddenly, effectively turning the conversationin another direction. "Would you like me to read to you?"

Catherine sighed and nodded slowly. "That would be nice."

There was a brief pause, then he rose, walked a short distance,and came back to the bedside chair and sat down again.

"What would you like me to read to you? You have three titles tochoose from. There's a rather ponderous textbook on socialpsychology, a compilation of poetry of Byron, Keats, and Shelley. AndGreat Expectations."

Catherine smiled slightly. "Whatever you are reading."

"This is what I'm reading, presently," he explained.

"At the same time?" Catherine was intrigued.

"Yes, well, I teach...literature. I read a great deal."

"Really?"

"I could start something else, if you don't find any of thosebooks appealing," he offered.

"It's been a long time since I read Great Expectations. I wouldn'tmind hearing that."

"A good choice," he said with a smile and settled back comfortablyin his chair.

As he began to read, Catherine could feel herself being carriedaway with the sound of his exquisite voice. He read so beautifullyand fluently, it was as though each paragraph had been memorized longago and the words on the page only served as written cues. A deeppeace settled over her that she had not felt in a long time. She knewas she drifted off to sleep her dreams would be of a different kindfrom now on.

****

This time, when Catherine woke, she was immediately aware ofVincent standing next to the bed.

"You need to walk," he announced. "I'll help you."

Catherine smiled to herself. He certainly wasn't the type to beataround the bush. She nodded and struggled to raise herself up on herelbows.

"Where are we going?" she inquired, still a little groggy.

"Just around the room. Nothing too strenuous at first."

Catherine felt his gloved hand slip into hers, his other handmoving behind her shoulders, urging her to sit up.

"Careful..." he advised.

Catherine tightened her grip on his hand and forced aching andprotesting muscles to move. He shifted positions, moving to her rightside. He took her hand and placed it around his waist on his lowerback.

"Take hold of my belt," he went on. "Pull yourself up with it.I'll steady you."

Catherine's heart began beating wildly inside her and she knew itwasn't just from the exhertion. She carefully worked her fingersaround the thick belt and tried not to think too much about where herhand was. He put his left hand between her shoulder blades andgrasped her free hand with his right.

"Whenever you are ready."

Catherine pulled herself up as he advised, using him as leverage.She pulled so hard she was afraid she might topple him over, but heremained solidly rooted to the spot where he stood. All her weightagainst him did not seem to effect him at all.

"Good," he told her and straightened to his full height.

Catherine felt momentarily dizzy and still quite weak, butdetermined to walk now that she was up.

"All right. I'm ready," she said, trying not to rely on him toomuch. She took a bold step forward and sunk towards the floor. Herlegs did not support her. Vincent's secure hold on her was the onlything that kept her from falling completely. She fought to get herlegs back under her and paused, waiting until they stopped shakingbefore stepping out again.

"You can lean on me," he offered. "I can support you. I won't letyou fall."

Hesitantly, Catherine wrapped her arm around his slender waist,shifting her weight into his side. She had been right all along, shemused. He was tall and strong. Just like she had imagined. His bodyfelt like a wall of muscle against her own and the heat emanatingfrom him made her want to draw into him even closer.

"Just take your time," Vincent said, putting Catherine's mind backon the task at hand.

"Okay," she said, resolved. "I can do this."

"I know you can," he responded. He squeezed her hand gently. Shesqueezed back.

Slowly, Catherine shuffled forward, her steps growing more sure asthey progressed around the room.

"Easy," Vincent said slowly, drawing the word out from deep insidehim.

It felt good to be walking, Catherine thought. Once she wasbalanced, she loosened her hold on his waist and tried to rely on himonly to guide her.

"Wait," he said and stopped her abruptly. Catherine thoughtperhaps they had reached the bed again, but she felt him movesideways into her a little and then heard something on the floorsliding away from her. He must have moved it with his leg, because hestill held onto her with his hands.

"What was that?" she asked for curiosity's sake. They startedwalking once more.

"A steamer trunk," he informed casually. "The corner was out toofar. You might have bumped into it on your present course, so I movedit."

"You moved a steamer trunk with your foot?" Catherine saidincredulously. It didn't sound to her as though he had particularlyexherted himself.

He laughed gently. Catherine could feel it more than hear it. Itmade her smile.

It was strangely comforting to be close to him like this. To leanon him and feel his strong arms securely around her, supporting herevery step. She wondered why she felt that way. Why she wasn't moreleary of him. There was still so much about him she did not know,that he would not tell her. So much more to learn, she thought, eventhough little by little, he was opening up to her. Confiding in heras she confided in him. She would just have to wait to see how thisstory ended, because no matter how hard she tried she couldn'timagine an ending. All she knew was because of her time spent herewith him, her life was never going to be the same again.

She took a deep breath and stopped walking. She felt tired, butpleased with her progress in more ways than one.

"Are we still in the same room?"

"Mmm hmm," he responded as if roused from some deep thoughtprocess. "We're half way around it." He paused, then said, "We canrest here, if you feel the need to."

She turned her head. "I am tired. I'm still feeling a littleshaky."

"It's understandable. Don't be disheartened though. You're gettingstronger. I can feel it." He sighed softly. "Before you realize,you'll be ready to go back home."

"Home," she echoed tonelessly. She was surprised she hadn't givenmore thought to 'home' since she had been here. She wondered if herfather even noticed she hadn't been around lately. They rarely eversaw much of each other despite working in the same firm. She thoughtabout Tom. He'd probably assumed she was off sulking somewhere. Shewould most likely be in for a stern lecture about responsibility fromboth of them. She sighed heavily.

"What troubles you so?" Vincent asked quietly, not wanting tointrude.

Catherine swallowed hard. "My life. Or rather my lack of life.There's no point to anything I do. Or who I am. It's completelymeaningless. And motivated by all the wrong reasons."

Vincent took a long measured breath. "What are you going to doabout it?"

"I'm going to change it. I want to be more like you. I want to dothings because they are the right thing to do. Not because thiscorporation has more money to hire out than that one. I want to helppeople out of compassion, not duty. Be strong for them. Encouragethem to better themselves." She paused and inhaled sharply. "When Ithink of all the time and money that was invested into makingCatherine Chandler who she was, I want to be sick. If you really knewwho I was before, you would have probably left me right where youfound me. You would have just stepped over me and thought, 'No greatloss there.' "

Vincent released her suddenly. "Catherine," he seemed to growl hername. "How could you think such things?"

"A lot of people would think them as well, Vincent. It's true.That's the type of person I am. Weak, superficial, andpointless."

"That's not the Catherine I've come to know," he gentlyadmonished. "Look into your heart. Find the woman you really are. Thewoman you can be. You have the conviction. You have the courage. Justfollow your heart. It will lead you to where you are."

Catherine's bottom lip trembled. Tears stung her eyes. She drew ina ragged breath and began to cry. She stepped forward and wrappedboth arms around Vincent, burying her face against his chest. Slowly,tentatively, he folded his arms around her and began rocking hergently, murmuring soothing words in her ear.

"Oh Vincent...I don't know what I would have done these past fewdays without you," she sniffed. "You've been more than a friend.Thank you. Thank you for everything."

She rubbed her hands over his back and felt him tremble slightly.He stepped back from her and took her small hand in his.

"Come. It's not much further. You need to rest."

They finished their walk in silence and Catherine was gratefulwhen they reached the bed. She felt drained. Vincent pulled theblankets over her and carefully seated himself beside her.

"Are you hungry?" he asked after awhile. "I could bring you somesoup. Then, afterwards, I could read to you again, if you wouldlike."

Catherine nodded. She felt his hand rest lightly on her arm.

"Good. I'll be right back." He rose from the bed.

"Vincent?"

"Yes?"

Catherine moistened her lips. "I've never known anyone like you.I've never had anybody believe in me the way you do."

He didn't reply. He simply stood motionless at the side of the bedfor a minute or two, then turned and walked quietly out of theroom.

*Lyrics from "I Wished On the Moon" written by Parker, Rainger

**Lyrics from "When I Fall In Love" written by Young, Heymen

***Excerpt from "Endymion Book IV" written by John Keats