"Rising up, the night is done...

Close call there in the shadows.

There's an end to the dark

'Cause there's someone out there

Someone like me..."

Sarah McLachlan: 'Out of the Shadows'

From the album: 'Touch'

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Thursday, May 29

It has been almost a week since I leftCatherine and Father in my chamber and came to this place ofsolitude. A week unlike any I have spent here before. Always beforeit was to analyze, to improve control. Now, the opposite holds true.Understanding myself has been at once easier and more difficult thanI ever imagined. A lifetime of self-disgust and hatred does not giveway easily. Learning to trust, to accept, to let go, it is harderthan one would think. And to let go a dream, with grace, harderstill. The deep, unacknowledged dream of being a normal man I knownow is truly impossible. Admittedly, it hurts. But, as my other sidetold me, not being human is not such a horrible thing. It is all amatter of perspective.

Perspective. Reading that last paragraphback, I must laugh at myself. I sound so calm, so accepting. Intruth, it is not so. I am still struggling with perspective. I feel apart of me always will. This will not be a battle confined to a fewdays in a dark place, but a struggle I know will be waged, withvarying degrees of success, every day of my life.

Through the days I have spent here in thissilent spot, I have begun to know that other side which I alwaysfeared so deeply. I have been like a child which, waking in thenight, fears the monster at the window, but in the revealing light ofmorning learns he feared a shadow. Refusing to face one's fears,burying them in some dark and forgotten spot, only gives them room togrow.

The catacombs, what happened there withCatherine, I still do not understand. One thing Iam sure of, however, is that it will happen again, if we allow it. For,examining that wonderful, terrible memory, I cannot recall feelinganything was wrong. I was so suremy hands would not hurt her, that I was not exerting too muchpressure, that somehow it was just the right amount. A part of meinsists still that this is so. And if I cannot trust my judgment inthis matter, then I cannot place Catherine at risk. I know I wouldnot kill her now, it is not in the beast's... no, rather in mynature, to do so. But ifwe cannot love together without injury to her, then that is anotherdream we must alter. Or forget. Catherine must be made to understand.She will not---

Vincent's pen paused as a delicate tendril ofemotion slid around his heart. Catherine. Her emotions had been sostill in the last days that this sudden reappearance caught hisattention sharply. He closed his eyes and leaned his head backagainst the rocky outcrop, submerging himself in the shimmering poolof joy that spread against him, around him, through him. A delicateperfume of flowers stroked his awareness. Unnoticed, his journal slidfrom his bent knee and fell to the sand.  He had missed feeling her presence close to hisheart more than he had realized. Shining beams of contentment flowedinto his soul, casting out darkness. She was so happy!

A silken net of intense sexual desire droppedonto him, freezing him to immobility. Immersed in her joy, the suddenshift in the nature of her emotions caught him completely off guard,and he was unable to halt his instinctive growl of response.Catherine's desire. For him. To feel his hands holding her fast, hismouth moving on her throat. Vincent drew deep gasping breaths as hisfingers clutched spasmodically on empty air. Helpless, his bodyhardened in primal male reaction. He could almost feel her warm fleshbefore him, against him, her trembling, the heavy beat of her pulseagainst his tongue. "Catherine, nooo," he moaned, his voice anunsteady rumble of arousal. Almost, he heard her breathless pleavibrate against his lips: 'Vincent, please&' Reeling from theonslaught of her dream, he was adrift on the rolling pleasure ofCatherine's desire for him - for him! Vincent was completelyunprepared for another lightning reversal of those emotions.

Terror. Intense anger, and the need todefend!

A red mist swept through Vincent's peripheralvision as a corresponding roar rocked the cavern.  In a flash, he was on his feet, running for thecrevice exit, only to stumble to a stop after a few strides, as theemotional storm took another turn.

Horror. Remorse. Grief. Vincent sank to hisknees, battered by an avalanche of despair. "Catherine," he gasped.Desperately, he struggled to order the emotions coming from outside,to tone them down to a level where he could think, could act. Neverhad he felt her so strongly, nor had such difficulty in separatingher feelings from his own. Gradually, the roiling, black despairbegan to taper off to a point where he could regain his feet. Heshook his head in an attempt to clear it, and swept from his face thetears he could not help but shed in sympathetic reaction.

Still unsteady, he made his way back to hiscampsite, and began to pack. Catherine needed him. Whatever wascausing this emotional roller coaster, he must be there for her, tohelp her however he was able.

It was time to return.

The designer high-heeled pump struck the bedroomwall sharply and fell with a thud to the carpet. That was the last ofthem. Her last hope. That particular pair had always been a triflelarge on her, but she had been unable to resist the flashy blue suedethat had perfectly matched a certain dress. Not that she would everbe able to wear high heels again. "Oh, you know, I just can'twear heels anymore, they're so hard on the... claws," a sarcasticvoice in her head spoke bitterly. Disconsolate, Catherine slumped onthe bed, regarding the pile of discarded footwear on the floor at itsfoot. They were all there. Running shoes, high heels, the great pairof boots she had just bought a few weeks ago for spring. Nothing fit.Her arch was too high, or they were too narrow, or not long enough.Mostly all of the above. And they hurt!

Strange, how the little things can sometimesaffect you more deeply than the major ones. It had been a day ofdiscovery. How drinking soda from a can was difficult when your upperlip wouldn't mold like it used to. How truly noisy New York was, notthat it wasn't before, but now, the level was almost unbearable. Howcould Vincent hear himself think in the cacophony? It must be atestament to his tolerance; shewas almost going insane. Drinking from a teacup was a bit of a skillin itself. Luckily, she had always had decent nails, so getting usedto them being longer than usual hadn't been as bad as it could be.All in all, a day of reluctant firsts.

The warm spring sunshine had felt so good.Knowing that it may be the last time you will ever experiencesomething made you appreciate it fully. The warm rays had lulled herto sleep for several hours. 'Still recovering from... whatever thisis, I guess,' she thought morosely.

Catherine's sensitive ears picked out the soundof someone approaching her apartment. Momentarily, she marveled atthe sharpness of senses that allowed her to know this. The footstepshalted at the door and a light knock sounded. Silently, Catherineglided into the living room, every sense focused on discerning theidentity of the presence behind the door.

"Cathy? Let me in, it's Peter." QuicklyCatherine undid the chains and dead bolt. As soon as Peter hadcleared the entrance, the door was swiftly shut and locksre-engaged.

Peter set down the paper bag he carried onto thehall table and gave Catherine the visual once-over. She looked...fine. A rather strange word to use - in reality, she was nowhere nearfine. "How are you feeling?"

"Not great. It's hard. Things are so different.I'm so different. I don't know how to feel,who I am. I'm mostly numb right now I think. Did you talk to Father?"

"Yes," Peter responded with a grimace.

"From your expression I take it that it wasn'texactly a pleasant conversation?" Catherine lowered her eyes tominutely examine the carpet at her feet, hiding behind a curtain ofhair.

"Not unpleasant, just difficult. How do you tellsomeone about this? It's unbelievable."

"Tell me about it," Catherine whispered with ahitch in her voice as she turned and walked agitatedly toward thebalcony. "I'm so frightened. I've had some time this afternoon toconsider things. I'm going to have to resign from work. What will Ido? I don't know how to be anything else, nor do I want to." Turning abruptly, shestalked back to the fireplace, unconsciously pacing in agitation."I'll probably never see my friends again. What will Vincent think ofme, now? And the others Below?"

Peter quietly observed the new fluid grace hisgoddaughter displayed as she paced. Much like Vincent when he wasupset. Did she realize she was doing it? And why? That the improvedadrenal gland he had mentioned responded to emotional distress,making her need to disperse the fight or flight response withphysical movement? At least, that was his personal theory.

Since infancy, Peter had closely watchedVincent's growth and development. Too respectful of both his rightsand feelings, Peter had never made this fact obvious, but hisscientific and medical mind could not resist the occasionalspeculation. This was an unparalleled opportunity to at least beginto divide possible genetic tendencies from the products of upbringingand personality. Reaching forward to catch her hand as she flowedpast, he halted her progress and led her to sit beside him on acouch. "Cathy, relax. Might be's and what if's won't solve anything.You'll just upset yourself further. Things will work out. You have tobelieve that. Maybe you have to look at this as an opportunity."

"Opportunity? What opportunity? Where? I have to leave my job, my friends, andmy life! And what about Vincent? He's never told me in so many words,but I know he considers himself ugly." Sharply, Catherine indicatedher own features with extended claws. "Tell me, what will he think ofthis? What will anyone thinkof it? Certainly not opportunity!"

Peter shook his head slightly. He had noanswers. "I can't tell you how Vincent, or anyone, will feelor think, I just know how I feel. You're family to me now, just aboutmy only family. When your Dad died, you became my daughter, too. Idon't care what you look like. I care for you,just as much now as I did a week ago. Remember, you're stillCatherine Chandler inside, where it counts." Peter strokedCatherine's back reassuringly. Slowly, he felt her tension begin todissipate. Taking a deep cleansing breath, he focused on the moreimmediate problem. "Now, about getting you Below...."

Through the bond Catherine felt a ripple ofconcern from Vincent, and she firmly damped down her wildlyricocheting emotions.  "I've packed some clothes, andsome necessities. But none of my shoes fit anymore." Memories ofVincent leaving his chamber without boots flitted across herthoughts. "Although, on second thought, I don't think I need footwearanymore. I can wear socks to hide my... to go Below."

"That should be fine. I can arrange to haveanything else you want moved at a later date. But we need to dealwith some unfortunate practical matters right now. Regarding yourfinances, I took the liberty of picking up some forms from my lawyerfor Power of Attorney..."

Vincent's long limbed stride ate up the distanceback to the home tunnels. This trip he was not weak and footsore. Thepast week had done wonders for his feet, and they had indeedtoughened up nicely. It still seemed strange, not to have as companythe echo of hard boot soles. Instead, there was only the occasionalscraping click of claws meeting rock, and the rustle of cloth. Butphysical matters were far from his thoughts on this journey. All hismental attention was focused on trying to sort through Catherine'sfeelings. Whatever was wrong, it was certainly sending her on anemotional roller coaster. The bond seemed so much stronger now, moreanchored. Through it, Vincent was certain he was not the reason forthe upset Catherine was experiencing. At least, not directly.

Vincent stopped for a break, digging out thebottle of water he had filled before setting out. After a long drink,he replaced it in the knapsack, jostling the copy of Watership Down.A faint remnant of Catherine's scent still clung to the pages,eliciting a gusting sigh of trepidation.

He and Catherine needed to talk. Soon. Franklyand openly. Always, subjects such as their future and the realitiesof their relationship had only been referred to in veiled androundabout ways, in euphemism. They danced around each other'sfeelings, each fearing to hurt the other. This must end. Difficultsubjects must be dealt with, and difficult decisions made.

But... what would he say to her? Should he sayto her? Vincent shook his head to dismiss those thoughts. He wouldsay what he must. Shouldering the knapsack, he determinedly resumedhis journey toward home.

Catherine trailed her fingers along themantelpiece. Melancholy gripped her as she stood in the center of theapartment that had been her home for years. It was the first placethat had been hers alone. She remembered her excitement when she hadmoved in. At first the expensive address had been an extravagance, aneeded pick me up after the breakup with Stephen Bass. But theconvenience of living downtown had soon justified the ridiculousmortgage. It had been wonderful being so close to theaters,galleries, and shops. Things she would probably never enjoyagain.

"Ready to go?"

Catherine glanced at the clock. It read almosttwo a.m. The agreed upon time. Nodding to Peter, she bent down topick up the black dress gloves she had fished out from a storage boxin the bedroom. Meant for a funeral, the stretch nylon would coverher hands fully. Resolutely she squared her shoulders and headed forthe closet to retrieve her pullover sweatshirt, the only light jacketshe owned with a hood. 'Chin up, Chandler, you've survivedkidnappings, beatings, near drowning, and voodoo drugs. You can dothis,' Catherine thought with hysterical humor. Too bad she hadn'tkept the wrap she had worn the night she was attacked, the deep hoodwould have been ideal. 'An appropriate choice, wore it when I leftthe tunnels, wear it when I return. How ironic.' But the torn andstained wrap had gone in the trash the moment she returned Above.

"Cathy?" Peter spoke hesitantly. At her blanklook, he picked up the paper package he had brought with him thisafternoon. "I took the liberty of getting this for you." From it,Peter removed and handed her a large wad of folded dark greencloth.

Shaking it out with a touch of curiosity,Catherine caught her breath in shock. It was a cloak - a long,sweeping expanse of rich wool flannel, with a deep hood.

"I knew you would probably need it. It's kind oftheatrical, I know, but I couldn't find anything else that would beappropriate. It's for the cover story." She and Peter had made up astory that she was leaving a costume party, in the unlikely eventthey encountered trouble on the way Below. The cloak would help thatillusion, if necessary.

"I... thank you. It was very thoughtful."Quickly Catherine slung the cloak over her shoulders. The voluminoushood covered her features efficiently.

Peter quietly opened the door and ensured thehallway was clear. Leaving the door ajar, he proceeded to thestairway and opened that door, peering down and listening intently.Finally satisfied, he motioned Catherine to slip from the apartmentto the stairwell.

For a moment, she hesitated. This was it. Shewas leaving. Life as she had known it had really ended. The pathbefore her was unknown, but unavoidable. Mute, she exited, turned,and eased her door closed, bidding a silent farewell.

Tugging the cloak hood forward, Catherine walkedto the stairwell and, with Peter following closely, began todescend.

Jacob Wells rubbed his left hip absently.Spring, with its inevitable dampness, was always hard on the stiffjoint. What was he doing here, waiting at the tunnel threshold ofCatherine's apartment building? Peter must be insane. The story Peter had told thisafternoon was preposterous! Yet, Peter had never been one prone toexaggeration.

Father tensed as a sharp, scraping sound echoedfrom above. The rustle of cloth followed, and a muffled "Careful."Peter's voice. Father relaxed once the identity of the potentialintruder was ascertained.

"Father?"

"Yes, I'm here as I said I would be. Where'sCatherine?"

Peter emerged from the beam of white light,followed slowly by a heavily cloaked figure.

"Oh, Peter, surely this is not necessary. I'vehad time to think about what you've said, and it's impossible! Youcan't believe that – oh, my Dear God." Catherine's slow advancehad brought her into a beam of light that illuminated the face underthe concealing hood. Light that clearly showed angled brows, aflattened nose, and split lip& alien, familiar features. Fatherapproached her and with trembling hands reached out to push back thedark hood.

Momentarily Catherine flinched away, drawing abreath of anguish. The parting of her lips revealed a flash of whitecanine, completing the resemblance to his son.

"My dear girl! I... I don't know what tosay."

Catherine's voice broke as she raised her eyes,meeting the ones that examined her in stunned amazement "Say I canstay here Below. Please. I have nowhere else to go now." The handsthat gripped her hood moved inwards to cradle her head, and drew herforward into a tight, much needed embrace.

"You don't even need to ask, Catherine. Youdon't even need to ask," Father muttered raggedly into her ear, assilent tears tracked their way down into her soft mane. Drawing ashuddering breath, he pushed back to look at that altered face.Carefully, he traced his hand lightly across the muzzle-like splitlip, before thinking of how his actions would affect the woman whobore them. The sight of her tears stopped his exploration. Apologyflickered in his eyes as he lowered his hand to take hers.

"Will you be all right?" At Catherine's silentnod, Peter set down the duffel bag he held, and took a step back."Then I'll head back and lock up the apartment. I'll be by tomorrow.By then I should have some more concrete ideas hammered out foryou."

"I'll take care of her, don't worry." Resettlinghis cane, Father bent to pick up the duffel.

"Wait! Father, I'll take that. I'm... a lotstronger than I look, now." With a lithe economy of movement,Catherine scooped up the bag and straightened.

"Yes. Somehow, I don't doubt that." Reaching forher hand once more, he tucked it into the crook of his arm and turnedto lead the way down. "Come, my dear. Let's go home."

Vincent's stride lengthened as he neared thecentral hub. The turmoil Catherine was feeling had not abated, butcontinued to swell and recede unpredictably. He felt sure it was verylate, perhaps past two in the morning. Her distress must be keepingher from sleeping. He would just drop his pack in his chamber and goAbove, to the balcony.

Intent on his attempt to puzzle out the wild mixof emotion coming through the bond, Vincent missed the sound ofrunning feet approaching rapidly from the other branch of theY-intersection... A blood-curdling reflexive half-roar of startlementrolled out as Vincent narrowly avoided a collision. Instantly theshame flooded him - to be seen, to be heard, like that, and the innerchastisement began. 'Be more careful, choke it down, be calm.'Another softer growl followed the first. 'No! No more!' Still flashing eyes sought out thereckless runner even as his sensitive nose told him of the identityof the culprit. Mouse. Of course.

"Vincent! Almost ran into you! Wanted to.Looking for you. Hoped you'd be back."

"Mouse," Vincent replied, a low rumble stillpresent in his speech. "I need to go and see Catherine now, it willhave to wait for tomorrow." It was not often Vincent was forced toput off his young friend, but in this case it was necessary. He didnot have time to listen to ideas for a new gizmo. As Vincent moved tocontinue, Mouse's words stopped him in his tracks.

"See you aboutCatherine. She's here. Below. Face is funny though. Like you."

Concentrating, Vincent changed the focus of hissense of the bond from what to where. Mouse was right. Catherinewas below. East, in the less populatedsection of the home tunnels, he guessed. Dropping his backpack, heturned his attention fully on the fidgeting young man, grasping himby the shoulders. "What are you talking about, Mouse? Where did yousee her? What do you mean by funny."

"Coming from Up Top. They didn't see Mouse.Found some neat stuff too, look." Mouse began to dig through hisvoluminous pockets, drawing out several metal objects.

"Mouse. Please. Just answer my questions. Whereis she?"

"New section. One that Kanin was working on.Finished carving, put some furniture and stuff in the room yesterday.Think Father was taking her there."

"Thank you, Mouse." In a swirl of black cloak,Vincent set off at a run, leaving his knapsack on the ground. Hecould pick it up later. A sense of foreboding settled into his mind.Why would Catherine be coming below, with Father, this late at night?He barely checked his stride as Mouse's parting words floated afterhim.

"Even more Vincent's Catherine now! You'llsee!"

"Where are we going? I don't think I've everbeen in this area before."

"You probably haven't. This section is new.Kanin has been working on several new chambers. The area where hecarved his and Olivia's apparently has good rock, whatever thatmeans. He decided, with the Council's approval, to start expandingthis area. A few families decided to return Above now that winter isdone. The O'Shaunesseys and the Miseners in particular come to mind,so the necessity for extra chambers has eased somewhat. These are thefurthest from the hub, so we decided to just use them for storage,and set one up as a guest chamber." Surreptitiously he glanced againat Catherine, the incredible alteration of her familiar face drawinghis fascinated gaze like a moth to flame.

"I thought I'd be staying in the same chamber Iused after Dad died."

"Well, if you would rather, of course I'll takeyou there instead. It's available and-"

"No. If it's all right, the new one doessound... better. I think I'd like a bit more privacy, at least forthe next little while."

"Just as I thought. I'm not quite so insensitivea fossil as some think, you know."

Catherine couldn't help but want to smile atFather's obvious attempt to lighten the atmosphere with humor, butthe strange, unfamiliar tug in her face muscles quickly killed thatimpulse. A few more minutes' walk, and an abrupt turn right ledthrough a short ten foot passageway to a medium sized chamber.Lowering the lantern, Father drew a book of matches from his pocketand set to lighting the candles scattered through the room.

Catherine lowered her bag to the floor andexamined her new home. The chamber still had a sense of newness, offreshly hewn rock unmellowed by years of candle smoke and use. Therewas a double bed in the corner, the curled iron head and foot boardslending an aura of old-world charm. The patchwork quilt in a rainbowof colors, which covered the bed, reinforced the illusion. A lacyivory cloth draped over the bedside table did not quite conceal thefact that underneath it was a wooden packing crate. Against the farwall, another huge wooden moving crate doubled as an open clothescloset. A rough handmade table held a large basin and mismatchedpitcher of water, for washing. A rack on the side was hung with wornbut still serviceable towels. A hand braided oval rug softened theslightly uneven rock floor. All in all, a rough but cozy chamber.

"This is lovely. Thank you."

"This can be your chamber, if you wish. You know the routine from a few monthsago, so I won't give you the rundown. Now, regarding breakfasttomorrow... Catherine? Catherine, what is it?"

Catherine's look of blank concentration swiftlyaltered to a look of near terror. In a furtive movement she shrankagainst the far wall, pulling her hood forward. "Vincent. He'scoming. I can feel him, hear him. He's coming here."

"Dear God. He must be told, before he-"

"Before he what, Father?" The soft raspingvoice, breathless from the long run, came from the black-cloakedfigure that abruptly filled the chamber entrance.

"Vincent!" Father exclaimed quickly. "You'vereturned. How are you feeling?" Carefully, Father moved to placehimself in front of Catherine.

Standing at the entrance, Vincent observed hisfather's protective attempt to block Catherine from view. Glidingforward, he replied softly. "I'm fine. My concern is Catherine. I canfeel something is very wrong here."

With surprise, Father observed his son. It wasas if he had shed a layer of awkwardness. His normally gracefulstride had evolved into a sinuous flow of movement; Father had neverseen anything quite like it before. "Vincent, I mustinsist you leave. Catherine is quite-"

"Catherine can speak for herself, Father. Pleasepermit her the courtesy."

Father opened his mouth to refute thatstatement, when Catherine's quavering agreement met his ears.

"He's right. I think... Vincent and I need...some privacy. Now is as good a time as any to... get this overwith."

Father turned to look at the cloaked figure.Catherine sounded shaky but sincere, and since he could not read herexpression with her face hidden in the enveloping hood, he had toaccede to her request. "Very well. If you need anything, there is apipe about fifty yards down the tunnel to the right, just signal."With a worried glance at his son and an unspoken prayer for both hischildren, Father reluctantly limped his way from the chamber.

An awkward silence descended. Vincent took inthe dark green cloak Catherine wore drawn protectively around herwith puzzlement. "Catherine?" Through the bond he could feel freezingcurrents of... fear? Of him? Of course of him! He had mauled her! Theonslaught of bitter truth struck him like a blow.

"No! Not that, Vincent! Never that, I'm notafraid of you. Not& exactly."

Vincent drew a deep, cleansing breath of relief.The tide of bitterness recede as the truth of her words made theirway to his heart. "Then, tell me. Something's wrong, very wrong. Ican feel it. I've felt it since this morning. What distresses you so?I can sense your grief, your rage. If not at me, then what?"

From the folds of the dark hood, Catherine'shead twitched in frantic denial. Now that the time had come, fear wasan even darker cloak. He would hate her...

"No," he softly admonished. "How could I everhate you? It could never be. I knowyou."

"No, Vincent. You don't." Vincent cocked hishead as one piece of the puzzle fell into place. Her voice, it wasdifferent. Not obviously, but undeniably. Softer, rougher.

With a whimper, Catherine sank against the walland slid to the floor.

Cautiously, Vincent approached the form huddledagainst the wall. Crouching down, he reached and gathered her againsthim. For a moment, he felt her stiff resistance. Then, as if the dambroke, she collapsed into his embrace. Rough gasping sobs tore fromher, as the corresponding waves of grief once again impacted on hisheart. In response, he held her tighter as she burrowed her face intohis shoulder. Carefully, he picked her up and made his way to sit onthe edge of the bed. As he moved to set her down, Catherine's handsclutched his vest with surprising strength, preventing his action.Looking down, he saw she wore black gloves. Feeling her unspoken needto just be held, he simply cradled her as she wept. Finally, her gripslackened and she slid from his lap.

Vincent's puzzlement increased as he watched herpace the chamber. His observant gaze noted she wore heavy socks butno shoes, nor were any in evidence in the chamber. As the franticpacing calmed Catherine's nerves and the battering through the bondslowed to a trickle, he began to note other things. She moveddifferently, her strides more fluid. And her scent. It held newbolder overtones that beckoning him to come closer, to breathe itmore deeply. Evocative. Urging him to take her in his arms, toimmerse himself in her. Without his conscious will, he stood andmoved several steps toward her, drawn by the siren call that wrappedhis senses in velvet folds of longing.

At the other end of the room, Catherine stoppedabruptly. She felt his response to her through the bond. For a momentshe held it to her heart, absorbing his desire, knowing she wouldprobably never feel it again. Turning, she faced him at last. "I'mnot the same as I was before. Things have changed. I've changed."

Her voice snapped the hold of the swirlingsensual vortex he was sinking into. Shaking his head, he focused onher words. "I don't understand. Please, tell me, what is thischange?" Cautiously, he advanced to stand before her.

'How do I tell him?' Catherine wonderedfrantically. With a start, she saw his hands come into view, reachingup to touch the overhanging folds of the deep hood.

Vincent clenched the fabric convulsively, inresponse to her roiling grief and terror. But forcing himself to gogently, inexorably he accomplished his task, lowering the folds toher shoulders.

Gathering all of her courage, Catherine liftedher head to meet his eyes.

Vincent felt a spear strike his heart, sinkingdeep. Breath was pain. How could this be? It was a nightmare...

The face that gazed up at him was Catherine's. He could still recognize thedistinctive square jaw line, the beautiful gray green eyes like softmoss. His sense of her through the bond was the same. But the rest...

The tunnels echoed with an unspeakable howl ofagony.