Hours pass, days pass, time stands still
Light gets dark and darkness fills
My secret heart forbidden...
Sarah McLachlan: 'Ice'
From the album: 'Fumbling Towards Ecstasy'
Catherine blinked slowly as an insistent noisesought to gain her attention. Muzzily, she glanced around at hersurroundings, seeking the source of the annoyance that had awakenedher. She was in her bedroom, seated on the chair in front of hervanity. Strange. 'How could I fall asleep here?' she thought withconfusion, as determinedly she began to shrug off the envelopingweight of slumber. The insistent beeping came from the telephonereceiver, which was lying on the floor at her feet. Automatically,she bent down to retrieve it. It was only when she caught a glimpseof herself in the mirror that she froze, and the phone once againfell with a soft thump.
It was not her face that stared back at her.Correction. It still recognizably displayed her own features, yetaltered, the proportions changed. Catherine leaned forward and tracedslightly trembling fingertips over her nose and cheekbones. Thecontinuing muted beep from the phone at her feet was eclipsed byanother repetitive sound, this one coming from the door of herapartment. Peter. That would be Peter. She had used the phone to callhim, and had sat here waiting, unable to processes what she sawreflected back to her.
The knocking at the door grew louder, andCatherine heard Peter's voice call her name. Stirred to movement, sheslowly got up, feeling another draining wash of fatigue as she didso. A glance downward reminded her to fetch and put on her bathrobebefore answering the door. She shuffled through the living room,unfastened the chain and turned the deadbolt. Then she stepped back,away from the door to look out toward her balcony.
Slowly the doorknob turned and the door easedinward slightly. "Cathy?" Peter spoke as the door swung wider. "Areyou here? Cathy?"
Catherine cleared her throat, and spoke. Even toher own ears, the voice that issued from her sounded different.Softer. Raspier. "Come in Peter". A sigh of relief sounded frombehind her, as she heard her friend enter and close the door behindhim.
"So, what's wrong? I came as quick as I could.You don't sound the best, have you come down with the 'flu?"
Catherine knew what was coming. She had observedit many times before, although from an admittedly differentperspective. Gathering her courage, she turned to face the man whohad known her all her life.
Peter's medical bag fell with a muffled thump tothe carpet.
"Oh my God".
"When did this start to happen?" Peter askedsoftly. He had made his way over to one of the small couches and satdown. Yesterday, he would have considered Vincent to be the strangestmedical anomaly he had ever come across in his career. Well, thatcertainty had just been blown out of the water.
Catherine sat across from him, on the oppositecouch. At his quiet question, she raised her head, once againdisplaying the shocking alterations that had led to her call. Evenher eyes seemed different. Oh, they were the same soft green-graythey had always been, but the surrounding changes gave them a moreexotic cast.
Eyebrows, elongated and tilted. Her nose hadflattened somehow. The area where it ended between her eyes wasraised, the indentation almost gone. There was the beginning of adusting of fur along the top of her nose, lighter in color incomparison to her hair. Hair that seemed shaggier, fuller, wilder.Her cheekbones were more prominent. The resemblance to Vincent'sdifferences was crowned by the deepened vertical indentation underher nose, almost enough to be a true cleft lip.
"I'm not sure. Things have been strange lately."As Catherine spoke, Peter thought he glimpsed a slight elongation toher canine teeth. Even her voice had altered. It was still hers, butwith a soft underlying rasp. Again, much like Vincent's.
Rising, Peter picked up his medical bag, movedover to the figure curled against the arm of the opposite couch, andsank down beside her. Slowly, he reached over to grasp the hand thatwas clutched in the folds of her robe, and drew it toward him. For amoment he contemplated the changes that were obvious here as well.The back of her hand held the same light dusting of pseudo-fur as wasvisible on her nose. The nails, usually well-filed ovals, werethicker, longer, more curved. Claws. Or the beginnings of them. Peterpassed his thumb over them, drawing a slight hiss of surprise anddiscomfort from her. "Did that hurt?"
"Not exactly. They feel swollen, kind of thick.Like when your feet are waking up after being asleep. Like when youwarm up after being really cold. Something like that. Peter, pleasetell me. I think... I'm becoming like Vincent? How can this behappening?"
"How about I just do a quick exam first. Maybeit can tell us something other than what is obvious to the eye." AtCatherine's nod of acquiescence, Peter reached into his medical bagfor some basic supplies. He felt her pulse, double-checking his counton the other wrist. Using his stethoscope, he listened to Catherine'schest and asked her several times to take deep breaths. Using an oldfashioned wooden tongue depressor he peered down her throat, askingher to vocalize. The blood pressure cuff came next. He palpated herhands, face and feet, going over each changed feature carefully withhis fingertips. Finally, he attached a needle to an empty syringe."I'd like to get a blood sample, all right?" At her nod, he applied atourniquet, found a vein and, after some difficulty, drew two vialsfull. "Why don't you tell me about those strange things you mentionedbefore."
Catherine drew a deep breath. Where did shestart? Where did
Peter nodded slowly. He had discussed thephenomenon with Jacob several times during their late night chessgames and technical conversations.
"I've never been able to feel him in the sameway he does me. Sometimes I came close, like when he and Father werecaught in the cave-in. Somehow I heardhis fear and need for help. But it's never been as strong in me as inVincent, not even close. Although it did grow. When I first met him,I couldn't feel him at all, but the longer we knew each other, themore I could sense. After the catacombs, though, my sense of him gotso much stronger. I could actually feel the connection, and hisfeelings, more each day, even when he was asleep." Catherine fellsilent as she tested that silent connection. Vincent was... sleeping.Content for now.
"Was that the only change?" Peter proddeddelicately.
"No... no. After Vincent left Friday night Icame home, I had some supper, and went to bed. I felt so drained andtired. I slept until Sunday morning. I'd say that was strange. Afterbeing up for only six or seven hours, I went to sleep again, anddidn't wake up until I called you. And I'm eating so much. It's likeI'm starving. Like now. I have
More slowly, Peter followed. Entering thekitchen, he found Catherine taking out eggs, juice, and bread fromthe refrigerator. Grabbing a frying pan from a cupboard, she set itquickly on the stove and put a spoonful of butter in it. Pouring somejuice, she downed the entire glass. Toast went into the toaster, onlyto be removed before it popped up, spread with jam, and practicallyinhaled. Peter leaned against the doorjamb and observed thoughtfullyas Catherine began to put away food in a manner and volume that wouldchallenge a lumberjack. Cracking four eggs into the hot buttered pan,she immediately put in four more once the first set was done.Astonished, Peter continued to watch as Catherine polished off adozen eggs, the last few raw. Blushing, Catherine looked away,muttering about the fact they took too long to cook. Eventually thefeeding frenzy slowed and finally stopped.
"I see what you mean about the eating problem,"Peter said lightly, trying to ease Catherine's obviousembarrassment.
"It's like I can't stop, like I have no control.You know what the scariest thing is?" Catherine asked quietly. "It'sthat I'm not upset about this. The whole thing. The changes, thesleeping, the eating. It's like someone pushed the mute button on myemotions. Intellectually, I knowI should be panicking. But I can't seem to get upset. It's like I'min some kind of fog. Peter, please, help me. What is causing this?Can it be stopped or reversed?"
Taking her hand, Peter led Catherine back intothe living room and sat on the couch, settling her beside him. Henoted the framed picture of Charles Chandler, which sat on the sidetable. 'How would you
"Like Vincent's." Catherine turned to look Peterin the eye.
Slowly, reluctantly, Peter nodded his head."Yes. Like Vincent's. Most of the changes you are exhibiting are, asfar as we know, normal for him. The dense musculature, the slowerheartbeat, everything. However, so far these alterations you areexperiencing have not become as pronounced."
"Not so far anyway... Peter, this isn'tstopping, is it?" Catherine glanced down to gaze at her hands.Reluctantly she examined the short stubble of fur on the back of herleft hand, and pushed the tips of her fingers against the hard,curving claw-like nails.
"In all honesty, Cathy, I just don't know. Idon't have any hard-and-fast answers for you. This has never happenedbefore. Let me take the blood sample to the lab and check it out. Ialso want to do some reading. But I think you would agree with mewhen I say that you shouldn't leave this apartment, or have anyvisitors, until we figure out what's going on. Right?"
Catherine nodded. "Right." Before she could stopit, a yawn of weariness caught her. Intense fatigue hit her like abrick and she could feel her eyelids drooping.
"Cathy? Cathy!" Her name brought her toattention as Peter reached forward to take her hand and help her up."I think you need to go back to bed now. I'm going to write you amedical leave of three weeks, and I'll take it to your office. Ithink it's Joe Maxwell who should get it, right?" At Catherine'sbleary-eyed nod, he continued. "I'll do that now, and be back tocheck on you in a few hours. Will you be all right?"
"I think so... I'm just so tired." Catherinebarely avoided stumbling as she leaned on Peter. Before she knew itshe was back in bed, and in a coma-like sleep practically before herhead hit the pillow.
For a few minutes Peter stood at her bedside.Thoughtfully, he reached down to stroke her hair back. As his fingersslid into the honey brown mass, he noted the beginnings of a lighterbut thick undercoat beneath the long strands. Somewhat reluctantly,he acknowledged to himself that his hypothesis was more than likelycorrect.
Before leaving, Peter picked up the set of keysfrom beside Catherine's purse. Quietly, he let himself out, andlocked the door behind him.
Several hours later, the grind of a key in thelock heralded Peter's return. The paper sack of groceries in his armswas quickly stowed in the kitchen, and he entered the bedroom tocheck on Catherine.
Even though he had only been absent for a fewhours, the continuing changes in her were noticeable. Her nose seemedflatter and the cleft in her lip more pronounced. Lifting the coversto check her feet, he saw that the thick callous-like formations onthe balls and heel had darkened and thickened further, while hertoenails had become even more claw-like. After ensuring she wasresting comfortably, Peter returned to the kitchen to tidy up and putaway the extra groceries he had purchased, including three-dozeneggs. He had a feeling they would be needed.
It occurred to Peter that the three-week medicalleave of absence he had arranged for Cathy might perhaps become apermanent thing. If these changes continued, it was highly doubtfulshe could ever return to her job. Joe had quite understood aboutCatherine's need for sick time. Peter had just about fallen oversideways when Joe turned to face him and he had first seen the fourparallel scratches on his neck, marks that were eerily familiar.Delicately, Peter had probed to see if he had noticed any strangebehavior from Catherine, but Joe had clammed right up. When askeddirectly about the scratches, Joe had insisted they happened in afall against concrete. Possible, but highly unlikely, in Peter'sopinion.
He filled a large glass with water and returnedto Catherine's side. Sitting down beside her on the bed, he liftedher up and helped her to drink. After a barely intelligible andgroggy mutter of thanks, she was immediately back asleep.
Resigned to his own company, Peter pulled achair close to the bedside and retrieved the medical texts he hadbrought from his quick stop home. A change of clothes and some otherpersonal necessities lay in a small overnight bag stashed by thefoldout couch. He had sandwiched that stop between the visit to theDA's office and dropping off at the lab the blood samples he hadtaken from Catherine.
With a sigh, Peter settled in and opened thefirst text. This one had a chapter on spontaneous mutation inamphibians, if he recalled correctly...
May 26, 1989
It's the strangest thing, to feel so freewhen nothing except myself has really changed. All the outsidelimitations are still there. I can still never go Above in daylight.But inside myself, the world seems somehow altered. Sounds seemclearer. Movement is an experience in appreciation, and of joy in itsown possibilities.
It has been difficult to stop listening tothe rules. Ingrained habits of a lifetime are hard to break and Ifind myself backsliding at times. One thing I amdiscovering, though, is that the more I relax the rules, the easierit is not
Never have Rilke's words seemed so clear tome. Many years ago I read his exhortations to "love the questionsthemselves, and someday you will grow into the answers." Perhaps I amgrowing into some of my ownanswers.
For, if there is one thing I have learned, itis that there isno Dark One. I feared the so-called beast so strongly that I gave ita face and a name in order to separate it from my concept of self.That side was suppressed so long and so unyieldingly that its veryalienness lent it life of its own. In releasing that hold on mynature only in times when there was no choice but to fight, to kill,I assumed that was all it was capable of. Fearing it even more, Iwould work harder at suppressing it. This became a self-fulfillingprophecy. For suppression leads to rebellion - eventually, somethinghas to give.
After long rumination, I feel that perhapsthis was the root of my recent illness. The hallucinations of thedark beast were only my internal visualization of the struggle forexpression of that feared and hated inhuman side of my nature.
Perhaps the question was
How this will affect my family and loved onesI know not. I have told several others that to truly love someone youmust love who they are, and not who you want them to be. It is notwithout rueful humor that I realize I must now 'put my money where mymouth is'. Those who love me will accept this, and those that donot... will have to, as Catherine says, deal with it. I think, inmany cases, it will not be easy.
Vincent raised his head, his journal temporarilyset aside. Catherine. The bond had been so silent in the last severaldays. Only once or twice had he felt emotion from her, and only whileshe was asleep, dreaming. He had been puzzled by this lack ofcommunication until he realized that she was probably, in deferenceto his request for solitude, repressing her emotions as she hadduring her kidnapping by Paracelsus. So like his Catherine, to givewillingly whatever she thought he needed. He missed her presence, butreluctantly acknowledged that, with her new sensitivity to his
The one thing I am sure of is that Catherine's love will not waver. Our bondassures it. As to the other matter, that of our being together...that I have yet to understand fully. But that side of myself which isbecoming my ally rather than my enemy, tells me in its wordless waythat something is changing. There is a confidence there that I cannotunderstand, but which gives me hope that all will be well.
Vincent replaced his journal in his leatherbackpack and got up to stretch. Muscles trembled pleasantly, and themane along his spine stiffened then relaxed. Wandering over to theriver for a drink, he gazed at his reflection yet again. The facethat stared back at him was no longer ugly to his eyes, only unique.One eyebrow seemed to wriggle impishly, and looking closer Vincentspied a minnow, just below the surface. Impulsively Vincent flashedforward to catch it. Hands moved blindingly fast as they cut throughthe water, and when they were raised the little minnow swam betweenhis cupped palms, wriggling frantically. With a chuckle, Vincentcarefully lowered his hands to the water, allowing the frightenedfish to dart away.
A faint squeak caught his attention, and hiseyes unerringly focused in on movement from above. Across the river,about two thirds of the way up the cavern wall, was a ledge, and itwas from there the sounds came. For a second, Vincent glanced down athis feet. His remarkable healing abilities had ensured the blistersthat had covered the bottoms were all but gone. Flexing, he slid outhis foot claws, and pondered the ledge again.
In an explosion of movement, Vincent was acrossthe river in two splashing leaps. The third carried him six feet upthe side of the cavern wall. It was with an intense spike ofsatisfaction that he felt his rock-hard claws, both hand and foot,extend and dig into the stone, finding the slightest crevices forpurchase. With a nimbleness and surety he had not experienced sincechildhood, he swiftly climbed upwards and reached the ledge.
Mice scattered, terrified, in every direction,and in seconds were gone. Looking down at the river and his camp,Vincent felt a surge of accomplishment and pleasure at his strengthand agility. A deep rumbling roar filled the cavern with sound. Justbecause he could. And because it felt good.
Peter leaned down to brush the bangs away fromCatherine's face. The changes had progressed. It had been almosttwenty-four hours since his first glimpse of her. If the, for lack ofbetter word, mutation continued, he estimated it should run itscourse within two days at most.
The strange behavior had also continued.Catherine remained in an almost coma-like state, awaking only forbouts of frenzied eating. She craved meat, dairy products, andespecially eggs, and had gone through the three dozen he hadpurchased in short order. Peter was sure that the volume of proteinand calcium consumption was fueling the musculo-skeletal changes. Inany case, supplements could certainly not hurt. Loading a syringewith a multi-vitamin and iron complex, Peter caught the suddenmovement to his left.
Catherine had leapt out of bed and stood,trembling. Her eyes held a wildness he had only ever seen in oneother being. Ignoring his sharp inquiry, before he could stop her,she leapt to the French doors, threw them open, and practically flewout to the balcony. A flash of panic rushed through Peter. She hadnot been exactly conscious of her surroundings the last few times shehad partially awakened. Rounding the corner of the bed to follow her,he was frozen from the sound that came from beyond those doors. Itwas a roar: one with definite feminine overtones, but unmistakably alion-like roar.
Reaching the doors, he was barely in time tocatch her as she slumped downwards. Half carrying her limp form, heguided her back into the room and to bed.
"Cathy, you just about scared the life out ofme! What on earth possessed you to do that?" Peter asked, theremnants of fear making his words sharper than he intended.
Drifting back to sleep, Catherine softlymurmured her response. "Because it felt good."