"So now you're sleeping peaceful
I lie awake and pray
That you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll
See another day
And we will praise it"
Sarah McLachlan, 'Hold On'
From the album: 'Fumbling Towards Ecstasy"
Monday afternoon and hospital number three.Hospitals had never been Catherine's favorite places. Granted, therereally weren't very many people in this world for whom they were.There was always pain, worry, fear, despair, and grief clinging likemist through the hallways. It was seen in the faces of the people whoended up here: the children, felled by chance by gangsters' bullets,the drug addicts, screaming their need as they writhed in the throesof endless nightmares, and the families, hearts like ice as theywaited to be told the fate of their loved ones. And the people whoworked here, dispensing equally news of ultimate hope or drowningsorrow, cloaked in the icy professionalism that preserved theirsanity and provided their only armor against the entirety of theseplaces.
Catherine had put off visiting this particularhospital as long as possible. At the top of the steps before thefront entrance she faltered, unable to continue. The memories thatechoed in its halls were painful and fresh. The darkest times of herlife had transpired within these walls. Her father had died here ashad her mother many years previously. Each step up the concretestairway raised another painful memory. The monotonous click andwhoosh of her father's respirator, both sustaining his life andstealing his humanity with its mechanical, uncaring precision. Hermother, pale and emaciated from the cancerous poison that was slowlydestroying her from within, helpless. Herself, recovering from thesurgery which had repaired the scars on her face, alone in a cold,impersonal room. Surrounded by the fragrance of dying flowers, sherecalled desperately wishing for that calm and reassuring presenceshe thought she would never experience again. The old-fashioned butgenuine care she had received in a primitive rocky chamber Below faroutshone the slick facade of concern presented by any modernfacility.
Unbidden, her mind slipped once again to thepatient now experiencing that loving care. After awakening inVincent's bed on Saturday and realizing she had slept into theafternoon, Catherine had decided to remain below for the weekend.After the events of the previous night, a part of her felt sure thatVincent needed to feel her presence nearby. Even in his unconsciousstate, she believed he still felt her through the bond. She had triedto use that, to send him reassurance that she was unharmed, and tosend her love as well. Although whether he would accept it now wasdoubtful.
Oh, but it had started out so wonderfully - tograsp opportunity and finally express her love physically! Hisresponse had been unexpected. Instead of the fearful or angrywithdrawal her mind had predicted, her heart's deepest hopes hadproven true. After initial stiffening, a habitual and ingraineddenial of any intimate touch from her, he had accepted, no, seizedthe gift she had long waited to bestow. It had felt so right. Therumbling purr of pleasure from him, at once a surprise and yet,somehow, almost expected. The leader had become the follower as,swept up in the overwhelming power of shared feelings and emotionsravaging through them, the world had faded to become only the feel ofhim, the taste of him. Until&
Shaking her head, Catherine stopped herself. Ithappened. No matter how hard she wished for it, the facts wouldremain unchanged. For now, the pieces of her dreams - their dreams -lay shattered. She unconsciously lifted her head with resolve, agesture both familiar and heartening. They would pick up what piecesthey could and go on. She had done a lot of soul searching over thepast weekend. Perhaps, once they had reassembled and repaired whatremained, the dream would live again. It wouldn't be the same. Theshape might be changed. Somepieces would be crushed beyond replacement, leaving empty gaps, andperhaps new pieces would have to be invented. They would find a way.They had to. Without him, there was nothing.
Well, speculation was useless at this point.This was something they must deal with together. Presently, Vincentwas under Father's care, unconscious but physically recovering. Shehad barely left his side until this morning, when she had returned toher apartment to change for work. A part of her, one that she had notbeen aware of until Vincent, now told her they needed to be close.Briefly she recalled the first time she had felt that new awareness,when he and Father had been caught in a cave in. For a moment she hadnot known what the piercing pain in her head had been, the howl offear through her mind, until she had felt the touch of 'otherness'that colored it. Instinctively she had realized its source wasVincent. The longer they were together, though, the stronger herawareness of that voice was becoming. From nothing at the outset oftheir relationship, gradually her sense of him was increasing. Oftennow she could feel a vague echo of his emotions, surely not asstrongly as his perceptions of her through the bond, but definitelypresent. With a sigh, she refocused on the hospital doors before her.Hopefully, this new awareness would be of help when he awakened. Shewould need all the help she could get.
Why was nothing for them ever easy?
Advancing to the glass doors, she nodded inthanks to the young man, probably an intern, who held the door forher. His admiring glance went completely unnoticed, as Catherineshook off her preoccupation. She had a job to do here; it was time tofocus on that.
First thing this morning she had begun with acity map, marking the locations of all the assaults. She had thendrawn a large circle, using a rough central point and encompassed allthe assault sites. Concentration was difficult; it seemed that theDA's office was even more riotous than normal. The various noiseswere a serious distraction given her precarious emotional state ofmind. The strong smell of a leftover onion bagel in a nearby trashcan had almost made her gag. "Concentrate, Chandler! Focus!" she hadmuttered to herself as, shaking her head, she had successfully shutout the cacophony. Within the circle, she noted the locations ofvarious hospitals, and began making calls. There were only threehospitals in the area that had the facilities and staff for organtransplant surgery, and this was the last on the list.
Stepping into the lobby, she proceeded towardsthe front desk. The harried looking woman manning receptionacknowledged her with a glance as she spoke emphatically through hermicrophone headset. "I'm sorry sir, but as I've said, ourConfidentiality Policy prohibits me from giving out that kind ofinformation, may I suggest - Humph." With a touch of a finger, thetired looking woman disconnected the caller. "Hung up on me. Can Ihelp you?"
"Yes, my name is Catherine Chandler." Reachinginto her purse she pulled out her ID and showed it to the woman. "I'mwith the District Attorney's office. I was wondering if you coulddirect me to the head of your Surgical Department, or your OrganTransplant specialist if you have one?"
Eyeing the ID speculatively, the woman replied,"Our Chief of Surgery is Dr. Wilfred Morgan. He's probably in surgeryright now, but if you want to see his Assistant, Sandra Berrigan, I'msure she could set up a meeting for you."
"Sure, that sounds fine," Catherine answeredafter a second's consideration. "Where can I find her office?"
"Take the elevator to the third floor, turnright, it's on the left, Room 305".
"Thanks a lot, Ms&?"
"Demers. Lucy Demers" the woman replied as thephone lines started buzzing again. Glancing down at the blinkinglines, she grimaced.
"Well, I hope your day improves. Thanks for thehelp." With a smile, Catherine turned and headed for the banks ofelevators, slipped into the next available one, and hit the buttonfor the third floor. Glancing at the other occupants, she noted therather cute fellow, about her age. Three years ago she would havegiven him a second look. That had been a different life though, andshe had been a different person.
The ping of the floor indicator preceded thedoors sliding open. Their progress was accompanied by a sharphigh-pitched screeching sound that made her wince. Following thedirections given by the receptionist, she turned right and proceededdown the hallway. The sharp smell of disinfectant seemed to permeateeverything, along with that subliminal smell of sickness common toall hospitals. The nameplate on Room 305 read "SurgicalAdministration." Hesitating at the door, she glanced into the office."Hello?" Catherine called. "Is anyone home?"
"Coming," replied a female voice, from one ofthe four open office doorways leading off from this central area.From the door labeled 'Dr. W. Morgan' a woman's head appeared. "Yes,can I help you?"
"Hi. Lucy Demers at reception directed me here.I'm looking for Sandra Berrigan."
"Well, you've found her," the woman said with abright smile. Backing out of the office bearing a large box, thepetite dark haired woman walked to the only desk in the room anddropped it heavily to its surface. At Catherine's quirked eyebrow atthe box, Sandra rolled her eyes. "Filing. It never ends, it breeds."Dusting off her hands she perched on the desk corner. "What can I dofor you?"
Catherine fished her ID out of her purse forseemingly the twentieth time today, and explained she needed toarrange a meeting to speak with Dr. Morgan, who she understood wasperforming surgery at the present time. Automatically, she noted thewoman's reaction to her occupation and identification. Throughout herexperience in investigation, she had noted that often people gavemuch away in that first second, when 'District Attorney' wasmentioned. This woman, she noted, was an open book. Surprise, givingway to puzzlement, but absolutely nothing incriminating or remotelysuspicious. Discussing the appropriate time for a meeting, the twomanaged to reconcile schedules and settle on Wednesday at threeo'clock. Catherine found herself responding to Sandra's friendlyefficiency with respect and admiration. If Dr. Morgan proved to beany reflection of his assistant, this last interview should berelatively painless.
Stepping out of the office, Catherine noticedthe door to the Ladies' Room just across the hallway and decided itmight be wise to utilize the facilities before braving the rush hourtraffic. One thing about hospitals, at least their bathrooms wereusually clean. After performing the necessary functions, sheautomatically checked her reflection in the mirror as she washed herhands. Wow, Edie hadn't been kidding! This morning, when she hadasked her friend to pull up and print the exact locations of theassaults, Edie had commented that Catherine looked a little under theweather. Actually, to be honest, the more precise wording was, if sheremembered correctly, "Girlfriend, you look like hell." Leaning a bitcloser to the mirror, she examined herself a bit more critically.
'It's amazing what stress can do,' thoughtCatherine with a rueful shake of her head. 'I don't think I've everlet myself go like this before.' Her hair, normally a neatly keptsatin sweep, felt dry and was in serious need of shaping. Nothing agood hot oil treatment and visit to her hairdresser wouldn't fix.Thinking back, she couldn't remember the last time she had indulgedin such a small luxury. Pushing her bangs off her forehead, she notedthe hair stubble around her eyebrows. 'Yechhh. Can I evenremember
Giving her hair a quick sweep through, sheleaned over absently to replace the brush and dig out her lipstick.Placing the top on the counter, she rotated the tube and leanedforward to apply a fresh coat of the soft rose. The loose sleeves ofher coat struck the empty top, sending it to drop with a plastic'clink' to the floor, and roll partially underneath the garbage canbeside the door. "Damn it," she thought as she followed it, and kneltdown to peer under the canister. 'There you are, you little‑"Slipping her fingers into the small space, she tried to capture theoffending top and draw it out. It was just out of reach.
Sitting back on her heels with an unladylikeexpletive, Catherine contemplated the necessity of tossing out apractically brand new lipstick for the want of its stupid top. As sheglared at the trash receptacle, a rather nasal whisper from thehallway caught her ear.
"I toldyou, I need more time than this! First we've got to locate a match,and that's not easy! Then‑"
Another male voice responded to that urgentprotestation. "I don't want to know the intimate details! I wouldn'task if it weren't important. ‑ Look, this client doesn't wantto wait. There's a lot of money on the line here! I'm willing to goabove our usual price if we can expedite this."
"How much above?" The sly question wasunderlined by an unusual crinkling noise.
"Double, maybe triple if it is quickenough."
For a moment the low voices halted as a cheerfulvoice called out a greeting.
The second man responded, low hushed tonesgiving way to louder, friendlier ones. "Yeah sure. It's Monday, isn'tit?" followed by a rueful chuckle. A few seconds later, he continuedat the former low volume. "Look, I need it by the end of the week.OK?"
"I'll try... You meant it? Triple?"
"Triple if in two days. Double by Friday. Do wehave a deal?"
"Yeah, but no guarantees. It's not like going toWal-Mart, you know. But I should be able to accommodate you by Fridayat the latest."
"Good. Until then."
After a few seconds of silence, Catherine slowlystood, lipstick top forgotten. What an interesting conversation.Silently she approached the door. Reaching out to push it open andglance outside, she was just about smacked in the face as the doorflew open before a woman with a young child in tow. Her cry ofconsternation was echoed by Catherine's.
"Sorry 'bout that. Just about knocked you out.You OK?" The woman's face creased in concern as she ushered thelittle girl ahead of her into an empty stall.
"Yes. I'm fine." Opening the door, she shot alook both ways down the hallway. Nothing - at least nothing unusual.A janitor pushing a cleaning cart, several doctors conversing overclipboards, a nurse carrying a basin. The nasal voice was no longerevident. An unusual smell caught Catherine's attention and shesniffed the air carefully. Mint. A faint scent of mint. The janitor'scleaning cart continued to rumble down the hall and the fellowpushing it paused in front of her.
"Damnation. Don't people know this ain't nogarbage dump? Who did this?" she heard him mutter to himself as hebent down to scoop a crumpled bit of cellophane wrapper from theground. "Cain't people pick up after themselves no more?"
With a sudden flash of inspiration, she steppedforward hurriedly and put her hand on the janitor's arm. "Excuse me.Can I have that please?" The man gave her a puzzled look that plainlystated he doubted her sanity. Slowly he opened his hand and sheplucked the yellow wrapper from it. Bringing it to her nose, sheinhaled. Yes ‑ the same caramelly minty scent she had smelledin the air as she came out of the washroom, in the spot where therecent conversation took place. Carefully folding the wrapper, sheabsently recognized the crinkling sound of cellophane as she tuckedit into her pocket.
Catherine gave a disarming smile to thebefuddled janitor. "Thank you," she called quietly as he resumed hisinterrupted progress. Ducking back into the washroom to fetch herpurse, she emerged and strode quickly to the elevator. She was sureshe overheard him mutter faintly, "Ya gotta love this town" as shepassed by.
A few hours later, Catherine stepped down theladder from her basement tunnel entrance, precariously balancing asmall overnight bag. It would be tough, but she would be spending hernights Below for the next little while, at least until Vincentrecovered. 'Other people commute,' she thought with a mental shrug.Granted, this was not a normal commute, but it was necessary, for herif not for him.
After leaving the hospital Catherine had rushedback to the office, just in time to catch Edie before she shut downfor the night. It was amazing what an excellent bribe mediumchocolate was. In Edie's case, it wrought major miracles. Showing herthe candy wrapper, Catherine had asked if it was possible to traceits origin. Catherine herself hadn't recognized it as a popularcandy, but there was a manufacturer's name on the cellophane's edge.After swinging a major lunch deal out of this, Edie had promised toget on it first thing in the morning. Knowing her usual efficiency,Catherine expected results by noon. Satisfied with her day, she hadtidied her desk, returned a few phone calls, and headed for home. Nother apartment. But home.
A stop at the apartment was a must though, inorder to take a quick shower, change clothes, pack a bag, and get ridof that disgusting chin hair! The rest would have to wait. Reachingthe garage, she had proceeded to her car, and slipped behind it tothe storage room entrance. Lately, she had begun parking her car asclose to the tunnel entrance as possible. No one would think itstrange if they saw her walking from the elevator to her car.However, they might notice ifshe didn't. Maybe paranoid but, as the saying went, 'just becauseyour paranoid doesn't mean you're wrong."
Pausing only to rap out her arrival on thepipes, she proceeded directly to Vincent's chamber. As Catherineentered the cozy and welcoming room, she paused in the doorway.Vincent lay curled on his side, facing the door. She couldn't helpsmiling as she looked at him. He looked so adorable when he wasasleep. One side of his face was scrunched into the pillow and hiswonderful hair was in complete disarray, a lock falling over hisnose. Slowly she approached and sank down on the bed beside him. Shesmoothed back the hair from his face and tried to tuck it behind hisear out of the way. Smiling, her hands traced the outline of his leftear. She had seen his ears for the first time when she had cared forhim those four days in her apartment. They had come as a surprisethen. With his other obvious facial differences though, theirappearance should have been expected. They were more rounded than thenormal ear, with no earlobes. A ridge of fur, much like the one onhis nose, ringed the outside. She now realized why he never bound hishair back, even when he was working and it could get in the way. Itwas another attempt to hide his differences. Beneath her strokinghand, Vincent let out a gusty breath and, surprisingly, wriggled hishead on the pillow, almost imperceptibly pushing into her touch.
The footsteps and distinctive tap of a cane thatheralded Father's arrival interrupted Catherine's contemplation ofher beloved. "Hello, Father," she called out softly as the elderlyman rounded the corner and entered the chamber. He was awkwardlyhanging onto his medical bag while striving not to spill a mug of theever-present hot tea. Rising quickly, she divested him of the tea andhe made his way to Vincent's bedside, placing his bag on the smalltable.
"Thank you, my dear," Father acknowledgedabsently as he checked Vincent's vitals. Straightening, he bent overto rummage in the black bag. "So, how was your day Up Top?"
"Not too productive, I'm afraid. But I think Imight have a lead on this latest case. I just hope it pans out.Father, when I arrived, Vincent moved. I thought with the drug, hewouldn't. Are you still keeping him asleep?"
"Moved, did he? Well, that's quite possible.I've altered the dosage and medications a bit, just enough to keephim relaxed and asleep. He has some very limited mobility. It'sbetter this way; he's pretty big to have to turn manually. This wayhe can drink, so we can get fluids and liquid nourishment into him.Perhaps you can help us with that later, he always responds better toyou." Throughout, Father had been preparing a syringe. LiftingVincent's left arm from under the covers, he gave him a shot. "Justmore of the relaxant, don't worry. You're next, so could you roll upyour sleeve, please?"
As Father removed the needle from the now emptysyringe, Catherine caught the oddest smell. A sticky, sour tang. Itseemed to be coming from the used syringe. "Ickkk. What is that stuff Father? It smells horrible." Father looked up ather, puzzled.
"It's a morphine style drug. I wouldn't use itnormally, but it's the only thing he seems able to tolerate to anydegree, and the only thing that works decently. Hughes used it onhim. But it doesn't have any smell." Father raised the syringe to hisnose and sniffed at it in confirmation.
"Yes it does. It's disgusting." Father looked ather strangely.
"Well, maybe it's one of those recessivesmells." At Catherine's familiar inquiring tilt of the head, no doubta mannerism unconsciously copied from his son, he continued. "We'rejust now beginning to understand the role of genetics in humanindividuality. I'm sure that in the next couple decades things willbecome clearer, but some of the initial research has beenfascinating. You know of dominant and recessive genes?"
Catherine nodded her head, remembering back tohigh school biology
"Well, just as some people are born with blueeyes, and some can't curl their tongues, there is a recessive genewhich dictates whether people can smell some substances. There is achemical in male sweat, androstynene or something like that, can'tremember exactly, but some people can smell it strongly and somecan't smell it at all. Perhaps this is another expression of that.Humph. Interesting." Preparing another needle, Father approachedCatherine. "This is just a broad spectrum antibiotic. God knows whatmight have made it into those wounds in the few hours beforetreatment. Let's just nip infection in the bud now, shall we?"
Catherine mutely looked away while Father gentlyswabbed alcohol on her arm. She felt the pressure of the needleagainst her arm.
"This won't hurt as much if you would justrelax. Stop tensing your muscle."
Catherine glanced over into Father's concernedeyes, and made a conscious effort to relax. Finally with a bit of apush the needle slid into her muscle.
"Honestly, Cathy, you're with my son too much,you're getting to be as hard to inject anything into as he is,"Father joked half-seriously. Taking a stern tone, he continued,"There is nothing any of us can do now but just wait this out.Stressing yourself to the point of illness is notgoing to help the situation. So be a good girl, settle in and relax,all right?" At her sheepish nod, he smiled, then glanced ratheruncomfortably at the sleeping form in the bed beside them. "I take ityou're spending the night in here again?"
Catherine followed Father's gaze to Vincent'sslumbering form, covered with warm patchwork quilts. "Yes. Somehow, Ifeel he needs me close now. We need each other close."
With a nod of acknowledgment, Father gathered uphis things and turned to leave. "Well, at least see William beforeyou retire, I'm sure he saved a plate for you from dinner."
"I will. Father, thank you. For everything."
Father turned and limped back to her. Settinghis hands to either side of his head, in a familiar gesture he leanedforward and lightly kissed the crown of her head. "Somehow you'vebecome like a daughter to me. I fear for you both." Embarrassed, helimped quickly from the chamber, leaving Catherine smiling.
With a troubled sigh Catherine slid into the bigbed next to the warm lump that was Vincent. She had done as Fathersuggested and gone to see William. She had even managed to eat themeal he had set aside for her; apparently she had been hungrier thanshe thought. She had also ensured that Vincent drank some of thewater, vitamin and glucose mix Father had provided. He really hadn'tawakened for it; she had just propped up his head, held the liquid,and let the natural swallow reflex take care of the rest. Now, as shefelt the warm and comforting presence that was Vincent, she feltrelaxed for the first time all day. For just a moment, she couldpretend that everything was OK, that she was just turning in after anormal hard day's work. Lost in the fantasy, she drifted quickly offto sleep.
Sometime in the night she surfaced partiallyfrom slumber. In her sleep she had pressed closer to her beloved. Hernose was buried in his chest and his arm had come around her waist topull her close. He had his face resting against the top of her head.Vincent's musky natural scent that she loved so much curled aroundher senses like an extra warm blanket.
Drifting back into the warm pool of sleep, for amoment she thought she heard a soft purring.