The passion lost, taken, stolen.
The dreams that we had and we shared, shattered,broken.
Sarah McLachlan: 'Mercy'
From the album: 'Solace'
Father paused at the entrance to the familiarchamber. In the soft glow emanating from the stained glass window,Catherine sat on Vincent's bed. Shoulders slumped, her very demeanorbroadcast disillusionment, despair, and regret. The cause of thesefeelings lay unconscious on the bed beside her, partially coveredwith blankets, one bare leg lying uncovered. He had remainedunconscious throughout his transport on a stretcher back to the hometunnels. Usually the injured or sick were taken to the hospitalchamber, but Vincent intensely disliked that simple room. He hadalways, whenever hurt, wanted to remain in his own chamber. It hadoften brought to Father's mind the instinctive reaction of an injuredwild animal who only wanted to hide in its den until healed. Or untilit died. Father flinched away from that mental picture. With thislatest blow, he felt that when Vincent awakened it would be best ifit were here, in his familiar chamber where he felt safe.
Vincent, however, was certainly not the only onewho would be suffering as a result of recent events. Father shudderedat the memory of the last few hours. Hearing Catherine's panickedscreams he had hobbled towards her as quickly as this game hip of hishad allowed, Mouse following on his heels with a torch. The lightfrom it revealed the sight he had been most afraid to see, throughall of Vincent's life. As if once wasn't enough. It was like thereplay of a bad dream, a nightmare. Catherine's jacket and blouse hadbeen torn at the shoulders, a spreading red stain showing through thelayers of cloth. Vincent lay crumpled against a rock wall, still asdeath. Remembering the illness that had surfaced after a similarincident with Lisa years ago, and its recent recurrence, Fatherquailed at the thought of it renewed yet again. This time, it mightvery well mean the death of the man he loved as his own son.
Putting aside the worries of a parent andassuming the professional guise of medicine, he advanced towards thebed and its waiting occupants. Catherine's back had stopped bleedingduring the return journey, clotting over satisfactorily enough thatFather had felt settling Vincent should be first priority. Settingthe various supplies he had just fetched from the hospital chamber onthe bedside chair, he paused. Would that chair ever look right to himagain if anything other than Vincent's large frame filled it? Shakinghis head, he dismissed the idea. Vincent wouldn't die. He wouldn'tallow it. He had already put a few sutures in the self-induced woundon the back of his head, a relatively minor injury. Choosing a largesyringe and attaching the heaviest gauge needle he had, Fatherslipped the point into a bottle held upside down. Steadily extractinga large volume of the clear liquid into the syringe, he recapped itand set the filled syringe on the bedside table.
"As far as I can tell he doesn't have aconcussion, but until he wakes up I won't be able to tell with anysurety," Father said as he once again checked the pulse in the furredwrist lying on the bedcovers. "Regardless, both you and I know thatif he awakens in the same state he was in before, which is highlylikely, he will probably try to hurt himself again. What my son needsright now is rest, uninterrupted complete rest, to allow his body toheal, to physically recover from the ordeal it has been through." Heglanced at Catherine's bent head, "I'm going to keep him sedated forthe next while, maybe as long as a week. We can tube him to feed himand give liquids if necessary. Usually he sleeps on his own, quiteheavily, while healing. Personally I think it's one of the reasons heheals so fast, his body takes over and shuts him down, to regain itsstrength." Looking down, he shook his head sadly. "In this case,though, his mind won't let him. We'll have to force it. Maybe, oncehis body is healed, it will be a bit easier for him to deal with whathappened down there." 'Although I doubt it,' he added mentally, butnot verbally.
"What if he can't, Father?" Catherine lifted herhead for what seemed the first time since Vincent was settled here."He's got to come to terms with this. It will kill him if he doesn't.If only I hadn't been so sure of myself. If I'd left him alone whenhe asked&"
"My dear, if that was the case, then yes, hemight not be here, but then again he might have succeeded in killinghimself down there. 'Might have beens are of no use to us, or to him,now. Remember, hindsight is always twenty-twenty. If any of us erredhere, it was done out of love. Cold comfort, I know, but there itis." Father placed a comforting hand on her bowed head. "Now, there'sthe small matter of your back. I've asked for privacy, althoughCullen and William are within shouting distance if necessary. I knowyou won't leave his side. So let's take a look."
Catherine looked up, noting the concern andcompassion discernable beneath the professional façade.Surfacing through her chaotic emotions, a recollection of everyuncharitable thought she had harbored regarding his interference overthe last two years welled upwards. "You always knew this wouldhappen, didn't you? That's why you were so against Vincent's seeingme, against us being together. I'm sorry Father. I'm so sorry."Catherine's chin trembled with the effort of holding all the hurtinside, at having been proven so wrong, in a way that couldultimately kill their dream, their hopes. Everything.
With a sigh Father looked up, examining thegolden window before him, not that it showed him anything new. "Ididn't know. Not for sure. I& suspected. And hoped I was wrong.You didn't see him that day, with Lisa. I did, and it's somethingI'll never forget. We tend to ignore sometimes with our easyfamiliarity that Vincent is, truly, different. But they're not allphysical, his differences. Sometimes we are reminded of this, inways& Well, enough. It's done and nothing can change it. You needrest and care as well. Do as your told now. Off with the shirt."
Slowly, Catherine unbuttoned her blouse.Attempts at removal, however, revealed several sections of the silk,stained brown with blood, had dried and fused to the wounds. AtFather's request, Mary was summoned to help. The basin of steamingwater she brought was put to immediate use, soaking the spots wherematerial had adhered to Catherine's back. Gradually the fabricsoftened and was peeled off her shoulders, revealing the entire messto the physician's eye.
And what a mess it was. There were eightpunctures about an inch deep, four across the top of each shoulderblade, with a slicing exit wound leading up. In front were two morepunctures just below the collarbones, one on each side. 'His thumbs,'Father thought silently. Mary refreshed the water several times asshe and Father washed away the last of the dried blood.
"Thank you, Mary. I can handle the rest myself.I'm sure Cathy would appreciate it if you could find her something towear?"
"Of course." Dumping the tattered remains ofCatherine's blouse into the basin, Mary smiled in response toCatherine's subdued thanks and quietly left.
Finishing his manual examination, Father reachedfor the antiseptic. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt a little. Downhere we don't have access to the more modern solutions, so we have tomake do with the old fashioned way. Iodine." At Catherine's nod, hebegan to apply the liquid, whose initial cool sensation quicklymetamorphosed into intense burning. Catherine's gasp of pain wasechoed in an equivalent gasp from Vincent, whose eyes openedsuddenly.
Opened, to reveal Catherine, sitting on the sideof the bed, a dark liquid running down her back. "Catherine?" hegasped as he reached forward to touch the damage. Catherine spun toface him, tendrils of iodine spreading down from her collarbones totrace across softly swaying breasts. Dark reddish-brown lines, liketrickles of blood. Blood. Memory rushed in at the sight, feelings ofpleasure, guilt, horror! Catherine's love and joy flowing to him,through him, only to be replaced by pain. Fear. Pain from his hand,fear of him! The sensation, seeming so right, of her softness underhis hands. Pressure he was so sure was sufficiently gentle. And thensuddenly, sickeningly being proven so wrong. The unexpected give ashis claws punctured her soft skin, sinking into flesh. Once again, asbefore, his true nature was revealed to him, to her. This, thisabomination against the woman he loved, was the work of his ownhands. "No. Please. Catherine, please tell me this is a nightmare.That I didn't hurt&" The anguish in Vincent's voice whippedagainst Catherine's guilt.
At Vincent's first movement Father dropped theeyedropper of iodine and reached to the bedside table at his left.Careful not to attract notice, he retrieved the syringe he had setthere and stealthily removed the needle cap. With a swiftness belyinghis age and range of motion, Father took advantage of Vincent'sstunned horror by ramming down the needle as hard as he could intothe thigh he had left uncovered, depressing the plunger instantlyinto the heavy muscle. With a roar Vincent threw himself backwardagainst the headboard, fangs bared. Snarling, his claws raised indefense, a slow melting seemed to begin from his lower extremities upand, blinking with astonishment, he slid as if boneless back onto thebed.
Catherine turned on Father, furious. "What wasthat? Why did you have to do that? You hurt him!"
"Not overly," he replied absently as he liftedVincent's upper lips, checking for proper oxygenation by examiningthe color of his gums. "I think we can at least rule out aconcussion, he seemed to be focusing properly. My dear, I don'tdisagree that that did hurt, but it was necessary." StoppingCatherine's quick blaze of answering anger with a remonstrative look,he continued, "In a few more moments, both you and I know he wouldhave been out of this chamber and on his way down there again, to doGod knows what to himself. Maybe, in his state, something rash."
"But why did you have to hurt him? Hasn't hesuffered enough?" Catherine sank down and reassumed her bedside seat.Reaching forward, she tentatively, tenderly stroked and rearrangedthe tangled mane that had fallen in disarray over Vincent'sfeatures.
"Catherine," Father sighed, "you have tounderstand. As I was saying before, Vincent is physiologicallydifferent from us. His muscle tissue is much denser. So it's a lotharder to inject anything into him. Also, it takes about twice asmuch sedative to put him out as it would any of us, pound for pound."Catherine nodded slowly, remembering Professor Hughes and his dartgun, which had taken three shots to take down Vincent previously.More recently, Peter had struggled to administer a vitamin injectionwhile Vincent was ill in her apartment. Father glanced up at herwhile straightening Vincent's legs, noting her grudging nod ofcomprehension. Moving up, he replaced the rumpled blankets tenderly,tucking the covers gently about his son's neck. "You're thinking ofthat Hughes fellow, aren't you? Well, horrible as that experiencewas, the knowledge I gained from those notes you took away from theredid prove invaluable for this particular situation. 'To everything apurpose unto heaven' I guess." Reaching into his medical bag, hewithdrew a plastic bottle, removed the top, and began to place dropsinto Vincent's open eyes. "Don't worry", he responded to Catherine'squestioning look. "This is just mineral oil. I'll close his eyes, butif for some reason he manages to reopen them, this will help keepthem from drying out." Finishing, he straightened and returned hisattention to Catherine. "Well, my dear, you can't avoid treatmentthat easily, let's get back to it."
Later, returning from the bathing chamber washedand dressed in a tunnel nightgown Mary had found for her, Catherinecontemplated the long walk to the guest chamber. Father was justfinishing cleaning up and putting away his instruments as she arrivedfor a last check on Vincent. "How is he?" she asked quietly.
Peering up over his spectacles, he had torepress a smile. Well, she certainly had wormed her way into hisheart, despite his better judgment, and still remained there in spiteof this recent tragedy. She looked like one of the children, standingthere warming one foot on the other, wearing a tunnel gown which wasfar too long for her diminutive height. Checking Vincent once more,he spoke softly. "There is really nothing I, you, or anybody can dofor him right now. I've given him enough sedative to make him sleepfor twenty-four hours without moving. It's out of my hands, now".
"Father?" the low voice spoke again as hefinished his task and straightened to leave.
"Yes? I'm sorry, is your back still hurting? Ican give you another painkiller ‑" He paused at her smallnegative shake of her head. Gazing steadily at her, he waited. Herdiscomfort with what she wanted to say was obvious.
"No. It's not that... Do you think maybe wouldit be all right if I stayed here tonight? With him? It might help ifhe feels me near, he might sense that I'm OK."
Father considered her request. It was true thatVincent wouldn't be moving for a while, and who was to say whether itwould help or not? It certainly wouldn't hurt. His long experiencewith family medicine, however, told him that this request had more todo with her needs than those of his son. No matter. Compassion bornof years of being both a father and a doctor coached his response. "Iwould never have asked it of you, but I'm sure that it would help himrest easier. Thank you." With a strained smile, she padded across tothe big bed and crawled in, wincing slightly as the stitches pulled.Father approached and tucked the covers up under her chin carefully,much as he had done for his son earlier. Bending, he smoothed herhair back, surreptitiously checking for an elevated temperature,before placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Sleep well, my dear.I'll be by first thing in the morning to check on you both."
Drifting off into an exhausted slumber,Catherine was unaware of the point where she turned to snuggleagainst the warm body beside her, although it must have been painful.And she remained unaware as the bond, in response to their physicalcontact, resumed its too often interrupted work.
The vision of Catherine's blood streaked breastsfaded before Vincent's eyes, enveloped by a gray haze. Hisdisbelieving mind strove to see, to comprehend, as awareness of hissurroundings faded into blackness. By my hand. My hand! Everythingdestroyed. Our dream. Destroyed. Destroyed&
Consciousness returned in a blinding flare oflight, followed by the crash and rumble of thunder. Eyes readjustingto the return of darkness after the flash, Vincent sat up in panic.Memories of a similar time, awakening in the park in full daylight,screamed across his nerves as adrenaline flew throughout his system."The park. I'm in the park again," he muttered as he leapt to hisfeet. Not the same place, though. Last time it was light, in an openmeadow-like area. This time it was night, and he was in a heavilyforested section, not one with which he was at all familiar. Unusual,he had thought he knew every last part of the park thoroughly. Sensesstrained as he attempted to discern his exact location. There was nonoise, no traffic sounds, or any sounds of sleepy birds disturbed byhis sudden movement. Nothing - only the wind blowing in gusts,pushing his cloak against the backs of his legs, flapping it forwardin occasional whip-like cracks, and the rumble of the approachingstorm.
It was no use. He had no idea what area of thepark he had wandered to this time. Vincent gathered his cloak up tostill its wind‑driven gyrations. After some consideration hechose to follow the dictates of the ever-increasing gusts and travelwith the wind until he found a recognizable landmark. Soon theforest, trees evenly spaced in ordered rows, began to degenerate.Gnarled twisted limbs that caught and tugged at his clothing replacedstraight trunks. The neat rows became a chaotic jumble of underbrush.Even seemingly stable ground was deceptive, moss having grown overdead limbs and needing only the weight of a large creature to giveway to unexpected pits. There was a feeling of pressure in the air asthe electrical storm, which lit the night in irregular flashes,continued to advance. Giving up, he turned to retrace his steps andtry to find an easier route. Then a sound shivered like ice over hissenses. A wild, rasping growl. And he remembered.
Catherine. Kissing him, loving the feel of hishands on her, her warm soft lips under his own. A feeling ofincredible rightness. Then, suddenly, blood. Blood running down herblouse to her breasts. Blood running down his hands, a sticky warmthturning cool beneath his claws. Her eyes, wide with remorse andguilt. Guilt! For having thesense to fear him, to fear the beast!
His scream of anguish seemed to have an echo asit reverberated through the night forest. Vincent collapsed to hishands and knees as the echo faded into the blackness. Raising a handto tear out his own throat, an act until now he had not had thecourage to carry out, he paused. Once again, weaving through thedense trees came that wild snarl, the one that he knew too well. Theother. The beast. The one who had snatched away his humanity andtried to kill the one person he loved above all others. HisCatherine. He could feel the muscles around and below his nosecontract, lifting his split upper lip away to reveal dagger-likefangs. An answering vicious snarl erupted from his immediatelyenraged body. He would find this beast. And he would kill thisdestroyer of dreams.
Launching himself from the ground into a fullrun, Vincent sought the source of the wild growl that seemed to echooff the trees. Following the thread of its passage, he closed on themenacing sound, until the forest ended in a rocky clearing. Beforehim lay a cave, black and stark. He could hear the snarls, rising andfading in volume, oozing darkly from the cave mouth.
"Out!" He screamed in a rushing roar. "Come outof that pit, demon, and face me!"
"Are you sure that is what you truly want?" Theslick whisper issued nearby, almost as if beside him, dripping withcontempt. "Can you face me
Vincent's answer was wordless, a challengingroar which was primal, intense, and readily understood.
From out of the darkness the figure slowlyemerged. A flash of lightning, directly above the clearing,illuminated the form of the beast. Its naked body was a dull blacklike the pit from which it came, mane lank and heavy with filth. Themurderous fangs, bared in a snarl, gleamed in white contrast. Thunderrumbled through the air as Vincent met the beast's eyes, icy blue,gleaming hatred.
With a growl echoing the thunder, Vincentsprang, claws extended, fangs bared. Ducking forward under his leap,the dark beast slashed upward, claws rending through cloth, scoringfour sickeningly familiar parallel slice marks into Vincent's thigh.Landing, Vincent glanced down at his leg, the four long woundsseeping blood into his breeches. 'How appropriate' he thought, 'thatI now know the pain it has been inflicted on others through me.'
Spinning on his heel Vincent threw himself backagainst the black devil that had killed his every hope. Striking himfull in the chest, the two, dark and bright, hit the ground, rollingtogether in a blur of vicious snarls. Regaining his feet with an oilytwist, the Dark One aimed a wicked kick with his bare feet, whichcontained razor claws as deadly as those upon its hands. Rollingaway, Vincent gained his footing as well. His legs and thighs showedthe marks from those feet already, many rows of deep slices shreddinghis boot leather. Pausing momentarily, with a roar of hatred, Vincentonce again flung himself toward the slashing razors. In a blindingarray of attacks and parries, the two traded blow for blow, snaps andslashes too swift for the eye to follow. Short respites occurred,while the tiring combatants paced in circles around each other. Anyopening would result in another blurred flurry of knifelike claws.Once, Vincent sank his fangs into the arm of his enemy, only toreceive an equally deep bite into his scalp and be shaken off.
Eventually, the two slowed to a standstill,panting gustily on trembling legs. Vincent shook his head andblinked, a rivulet of red making its way from the cuts in his scalpinto his eyes and open mouth. The thick iron and copper tang of bloodpermeated Vincent's senses, smell and taste. The Dark One's left armlay limp along his side, dripping blood from the deep laceration inits biceps muscle.
"At least tell me why, before you kill us,"rasped the Dark One between ragged breaths.
"What are you ‑ talking about?" Thegrowled rejoinder whistled through bared ivory fangs. "You wanted ‑to kill her!"
"I never wanted that! How can - you think that?Because I'm the one - who kills? Because I'm nothing but - a viciousanimal? What choice - have I ever had - but that?" Vincent againshook his head and blinked, re-focusing on the dark version ofhimself that swayed unsteadily before him.
"You hurt her. You took her gift of love anddestroyed it!" Vincent again lunged forward to slash, but his clawsmet with empty air. Ducking to the side, the Dark One crashed backagainst Vincent, his weight bearing him face down to the ground. Awild snarl of desperation erupted from his chest and he sank hisclaws just into the skin of Vincent's throat.
"Listen to me, you overeducated imbecile." Theraspy rough voice of the dark beast ground out, through glisteningfangs poised an inch away from Vincent's ear. "I tried to stop you. Iscreamed at you, but you have repressed us for so long, you would notheed the warning. I told you this was not the time, that the mate wasnot for us now. As always though, anything violent, or anythingoutside your acceptable behavior rules, I bear the blame for - I ampunished for. Not this time, my brother. I'm sick of it." Clawsflexed slightly on Vincent's throat and small beads of blood formedlike tears beneath each tiny puncture.
Through Vincent's rage, that truth struck home.Pausing a moment in his useless struggle to free himself, Vincent'sthoughts flew back to that wonderful terrible moment, to the voicethat had cried in his mind, the rough, familiar voice that he hadpushed aside. To the words which now came clear and their meaning. "Iremember," he breathed, almost unheard through the heavy boom ofthunder from the ominous sky overhead.
"Oh, nowyou remember. But once again, your blame, your punishment, fell onme. Hoowwww convenient I must be," the dark beast drawled bitterlyinto his ear. "Yes, I kill! How can I do otherwise? I am kept here indarkness and only released when there is danger. Should I stand idlyby then and let the mate die? No, I protect. Her. You. Our territory.I do the work that you cannot face! And for that I am imprisoned,caged! I should just kill us and stop this ridiculous charade! Youwill never change." Vicious claws flexed again, sinking deep, thescarlet beads of blood elongating to downward flowing lines. Vincentawaited that inevitable final tearing pull back and out, which wouldrip open his throat, the action horribly familiar and felt now from anew and terrifying perspective. Abruptly, the painful claws werecleanly, gently withdrawn, accompanied by a low rumble ofresignation.
Vincent felt the weight of the Dark One leavehis back and he painfully pushed himself upright to regard the formwhich crouched warily a few feet away. A flash of lighting and rollof thunder split the sky as above them the storm broke, intermittentdrops of rain quickly evolving into a torrent. Vincent's cloak andclothing swiftly became saturated. The dark one's fur, so like hisown, plastered against his body as it too absorbed and held thedriving rain. Frozen, they regarded each other, apprehension and fearmirrored by two sets of identical blue eyes.
"Tell me why, brother. Why did you start to lockme away? Why do you hate me so?" The dark creature leaned forward, astrange sort of pleading in its eyes. "Why do you feel such terror ofwhat we are? Can't you remember the good? From the younger days?"
Lowering his head, Vincent broke eye contact.Memories long unexamined sprang to mind. Urges and actions, longrepressed. Things that he felt proved to the world, and to him that,despite all his efforts, all his wishes and dreams, at heart he wasan animal. They were from a more innocent time. Mostly from beforehis fifth year. Gazing absently into the cavern before him, theyplayed against that black backdrop in a series. Scaling the forbiddenwalls of Father's chamber (and being punished for it afterwards).Tracking down by scent in a mock hunt the other tunnel children, justbecause it was fun and he could do it (and seeing fear of himbeginning to evolve in their eyes). As the dam so painstakingly builtagainst those recollections crumbled away, more and more fragmentsflooded through, each clamoring for acknowledgement, so many he couldhardly believe he had pushed them all away. The memories scrolledthrough his mental view. Slowly, reluctantly, he plucked forth eachone, turning it in the light of his mind for examination from allangles. Finally, he lifted his head to once again regard the darkdouble of himself, who patiently watched him through the fewraindrops that still clung to the tail end of the passing storm.
"Those times& I did not yet understand mydifferences. I thought everyone could& I -"
"Yes, in youth, in innocence, differences arenot a terrifying thing, they just are. It is only through other'seyes that they became, that I became,something to be locked away, something to fear, something not to betrusted." The dark brother tilted his head in a strangely familiargesture.
"Yet this does not explain Catherine, whathappened. I hurt her! These hands hurt her! The person I would givemy very life to keep from harm!" Vincent cried.
"Brother, perhaps you do not understand becauseyou will
Overhead, the dark gray storm clouds began tobreak up as Vincent wrenched his mind from contemplation ofCatherine's injuries to ponder the that question. Glancing toward up,Vincent gazed absently at his dark double. The wet figure waited forhis reply, endlessly patient and still as any born hunter is. "Is ittoo late then?" Vincent answered softly, question for question, "tolearn?"
Slowly, hesitantly, the mirror visage before himcreased itself into an unfamiliar, hesitant smile. The long despisedvoice rumbled out, gently, "As she always says, 'anything... ispossible.'"
From the storm tossed sky above, a break in theclouds flooded the forest clearing with watery sunshine.
An uneven tread accompanied by the tap of a caneheralded the arrival of Father, who stood once again at the chamberentrance. Catherine slept lying on her side, curled against Vincent.Moving forward, Father checked each for any sign of fever, whichwould herald infection. Muttering in negation, she shrugged away fromhis hand, snuggling closer into his son.
With a sigh, Father regarded the pair. How theywere going to come to terms with yesterday's events was anyone'sguess. Examining Catherine critically, he noted her sound, deep restand thanked heaven for painkillers, and for sleep medication. As hehad informed this woman whom he loved like a daughter, Vincent neededrest. Left unmentioned was the fact that she needed it almost as muchas his son did. Knowing her, however, she would agree with hisdiagnosis and then pretty well ignore it. Pills look so much alike,though, a painkiller so like a sleeping pill. One often took twotablets at once...
It was Saturday now; she could stay until Sundayand not be terribly missed by anyone above.
As Father retreated from the chamber, Catherinestirred, partially awoke and carefully rolled over to her other side,falling back to sleep almost instantly. It did not strike her asstrange at all that, in doing so, she had not once lost physicalcontact with Vincent.