All the fear has left me now.
I'm not frightened anymore.
It's my heart that pounds beneath my flesh.
It's my mouth that pushes out this breath.
And if I shed a tear I won't cage it...
And if I feel a rage I won't deny it...
Companion to our demons,
They will dance and we will play.
Sarah McLachlan: "Fumbling towards Ecstasy'
From the album "Fumbling towards Ecstasy"
Red. Everything was red, and slow, as if a moviefilm had been tinted and played in slow motion. Glass fell,glittering and refracting crimson rain. The sour smell of fear andthe copper-iron tang of blood filled her nostrils, heavy and thick.Everything was sharper, harsher. Instinctively the muscles of herupper lip tensed, drawing upwards to expose long, gleaming caninesbelow wildly flashing eyes. The rough, ripping sensation in her chestresolved as a roar of challenge, strangely exciting, enervating.
Catherine lunged to the left as soon as her feetmade contact with the cracked cement floor of the basement, avoidingthe bullet that whined over her head to strike fragments from theconcrete wall behind her. Lighting quick reflexes took over asadrenaline screamed across her nerves. Unwinding from a crouch, sheleapt straight for the body closest to her.
A terrified howl began to rise from the man asfor a moment he looked directly into the face of clawed and fangeddeath leaping for him. A second shot went wild, ricocheting with awhine off the wall. Extended steel-sharp claws speared into histhroat, sinking deep. Catherine used the purchase that gave her tocontinue her momentum forward, tearing the vulnerable flesh loose inthe process, muscle, tendons, and arteries giving way like paper.
A twist of her hips ensured she cleared thecollapsing body of her first victim, and agilely she regained herfooting. Senses screamed, and pinpointed without sight the locationand movements of the other threats in the room. A new smell, thefumes of cordite, strengthened while gunshots roared through thebasement. Pivoting, she flinched as a sharp sliver of explodingconcrete from another bullet impact embedded itself into the leftside of her face. A rolling vicious snarl escaped her in response asher eyes snapped to the second man, about three feet away.
The man's eyes were rounded, wide withuncomprehending terror. The creature before him, some unknown beast,bared its fangs and roared at him, like a lion! Fast as a snake, itsright hand snapped out, grabbing his gun hand before he could squeezeoff another shot, and twisting it. A muffled popping sound registeredas the man heard as well as felt his wrist bones dislocate, and harshclaws sank into the ripping flesh at his wrist. The creature wrenchedthe gun from his hands and threw it across the room. An ululatingscream was cut off as the other hand swept across his abdomen,shredding his jacket and shirt like cheap gauze, ripping deep gashesacross his belly. His body slowly folded to the ground, and thecreature dropped his now useless wrist. That inhuman face drew closeras the thing crouched over his body, fangs bared beneath a split lip,which was drawn back in a menacing growl. The last thing he ever sawwas the blood-covered claws sweeping down toward his eyes.
A wild elation filled her, a hot, welling thrustof dark joy at the success of the hunt. Another roar, this one oftriumph, ripped from her chest as she tilted her head back toannounce her victory. A roar that was cut off in full-throat andchanged to a screech of surprise and anger by the bark of a gun andthe shaft of agony that pierced her. The impact rocked her back andshe slid sideways off the body of her victim while turning to locatethis new threat. From the floor above, Catherine's hyper-extendedhearing caught Vincent's frantic roar, a bubbling choked scream, andthe muffled thud of a body falling to the floor.
Joe's hands shook. The barrel of the gun he hadretrieved from where the vicious creature had thrown it waveredslightly. He observed with horror the narrowed eyes and bared fangsof the nightmare apparition that crouched like a vulture over thedead man's body. A stuttering growl of warning rumbled through theroom as it moved to get up, eyes meeting his in a blaze of rage. Ashe stared into the twisted, inhuman face, sudden recognition struck.Sucking in an uneven breath, he leveled the gun, taking aim at theother shoulder.
"Cathy?" It couldn't be. Catherine Chandlercouldn't just slaughter two men with her bare hands, Joe thought inpanic. At least, the old Cathy couldn't. Was more than just her faceand hands changed? "Cathy! Cathy, don't. Please. Don't make me shootyou again." Joe watched as the wrinkled upper lip began to relax, andthe burning enraged look in Catherine's eyes began to fade, to bereplaced by puzzlement and confusion.
With a desperate roar, Vincent rushed throughthe basement entrance, every sense screaming in tandem with the wavesof pain that flowed through the bond. Panicked, Joe switched targets,and shot blindly at the onrushing form.
"Joe, no!"Catherine yelled, the threat to her beloved Vincent completelysnapping her back to herself. "Vincent, stop! Don't hurt him! It'sJoe!"
Vincent halted his advance abruptly. Before him,Joe crouched against the cement wall, a gun trained rather unsteadilyon him. Another wave of pain welled to him from Catherine, a wave ofagony so familiar that for a moment he thought it his own. He knewthis pain too well. Understanding eyes found her and looked on withgrief as she stumbled backwards against the wall for support. Greatheaving gasps wrenched her chest as her eyes, wide with horror,flicked from one mutilated body to another in disbelief. Tears tracedtheir silent way down her cheeks. Trembling arms brought her hands,encrusted with gore, into her line of sight, and she turned themrepeatedly, as though unable to understand what they signified.Abruptly, Catherine turned away from them both and vomitedrepeatedly, retching until there was nothing left.
"Catherine?" Vincent's warm voice was a blanketof comfort, and blindly she turned and clutched his vest, sobbing herhorror, fear and grief. Through the bond he could feel his ownemotions in perfect tandem with hers. Minutes later, the burning painfrom her shoulder reminded them both that not all of the blood camefrom her victims. Vincent started and sat back, carefully locatingthe bullet hole through her sweater and shirt, a slowly spreading rimof crimson surrounding it.
Across the room, Joe had gotten to his feet,although granted rather shakily at best. Two days of deprivationcombined with shock were taking their toll. Still, he did not dropthe gun. "Is she OK?"
"I think it's all right. Father can patch itup." Catherine still shook in violent spasms, as the adrenalineleaked from her system, and her breathing was ragged. Her eyeswidened, as a frightening thought occurred. "I don't think I can ridethe subway!"
Vincent spared a quick glance out the basementwindow. The level of light told him sunrise was minutes away. Takingthe subway home was not a viable option, now. Neither could they stayhere, surely a neighbor would have reported the shots and the policewould arrive at any minute. They must get out of here! But& hewas not at all familiar with this part of the city. Where could theygo?
"The car outside. Can you drive?"
"I think so. I have to. We can't stay here!"
Joe stared at the couple in confusion. Onlymoments ago they had been roaring monsters. Christ, he hadn't evenrecognized Cathy! Now they stood talking in normal voices, actingnormal. Well, as normal as could be expected. And they werescared&
"I'll drive the car. She's right, you've bothgot to get away from here; the police will show up pretty damnedsoon, I'm certain of it. I'm going to need some help, though." Joeswayed precariously and leaned against the wall, eyeing the two withunease. By all rights he should turn them in to the authorities.Hadn't he just watched Cathy murder two people in front of his eyes?But& he owed them his life. If not for their action, both he andSandra would be dead. Sandra! Oh, God! He had to get her to ahospital!
Following Joe's gaze, Vincent realized that afourth person was in the basement; a woman, obviously unconscious,still bleeding through the remnants of her ruined knee. "Joe, yourbelt. Use it as a tourniquet. Hurry." Quickly, Joe removed the beltof his overcoat and knotted it tightly above Sandra's knee, whileVincent untied the ropes binding her to the chair. A muffled moan wasthe woman's only response as Vincent easily lifted her and carriedher up the stairs.
Joe eyed Catherine warily. No matter how hetried, he could not put out of his mind the sight of her face,snarling at him like a rabid beast. He could not suppress his flinchaway from her as she moved to lend him her support to ascend thestairs. A catch in her breath was the only outward sign she hadnoticed his fear as she patiently waited for him to lean on her. Joefelt a surprising sense of guilt at this. "Come on. Let's get out ofhere."
The soapsuds were a rusty brown and had almostdisappeared before Catherine felt that her hands were clean. Not thatthey would ever be totally clean again. Not really. She had shot aperson before, in self-defense. But that didn't even compare to whatshe had done only hours earlier. Her stomach lurched as she recalledthe sensation of flesh tearing beneath her sharp claws. It hadn'teven been difficult, to kill someone like that. Not physically,anyway.
Joe had paled visibly when they'd been forced tostep over Downy's slashed body at the top of the stairs. After apause to telephone for an ambulance, she and Joe had left the house.Outside the chauffeur, and what she presumed was Dr. Brighton, laycrumpled on the grass. Vincent's work. Sandra had been left on thefront step of the house for the ambulance to find. The Mercedes inthe drive had tinted windows, allowing travel in relative obscurity.It had been a silent trip back to the city proper, except fornecessary questions and answers. Joe had been unable to even look ather&
They had driven to a rough area of town and leftthe Mercedes, with the keys in the ignition and the doors unlocked.The place they had agreed upon was near not only a seldom used butserviceable tunnel entrance, but a subway station as well. The oldBelmont Hotel to be exact. Both she and Vincent had watched from theshelter of the abandoned hotel to ensure he reached the subwayentrance safely.
Father had been both relieved and upset whenthey had finally arrived safely home at approximately ten o'clock. Hehad been even more upset when he had to take care of Catherine'sshoulder. Vincent had held her hand as Father dug out the bullet,cleansed, sutured and bandaged the wound. Of course, through it allwas the inevitable lecture.
A nudge against her arm brought her attentionback to the present as Vincent passed her a hand towel. Catherineavoided looking up as she took the worn cloth. A surprise clawbeneath her chin urged her face upwards, and she raised her eyes tomeet Vincent's. Eyes that glowed with sympathy, and withunderstanding - perhaps with too much understanding. Catherine felttears well up again as she experienced a flash of that agonizingheart-sinking feeling of knowing exactly what she was. And, moretelling, what she was not
"Yes. Now you truly understand. All thosetimes&" Vincent looked above her at the statue of Justice.
"All those times, you had to bear this byyourself. It hurts so much. At least I have you, though. How did youever manage this alone?" Catherine's voice constricted as she felthis pain overlying her own.
"By attempting to disprove it. Each time,Catherine, each time, I was forced to confront the reality of who andwhat I was, I pushed it away and tried even harder to reject it.Reject that entire side of myself. Try to be more human. By lockingaway all that I considered to be the province of the beast, foldingit all into an iron box in my mind. A box that would hold everythingsealed away. Until&"
"Until you had to protect again. When you neededthe strength and anger of that part of what we are to defend what youloved. And each time you let it out of that box, the seal was weaker.That's why you were sick."
"Yes. That was a good part of it."
Catherine dropped her head and moved away as theknowledge of the other part of it swept through her, remembered andfeared. Vincent looked away as he felt her realization of hismeaning. Wordlessly, he sent acknowledgement and support through thebond.
Catherine turned and sank down into the wornvelvet chair behind her, resting her head in her hands. "It's thejoy, that's the worst part, isn't it? The fact that, as much as Iknow I should be drowning in guilt, I'm not. It had to be done, andI'd do it again, in a heartbeat. But a part of me, a part of me tookjoy in the fact that I coulddefeat my enemies, that I could defend my friends and myself. How canI live with that?"
"I couldn't. For a long time, that tormented memore than all the rest, the fact that in releasing that inner demon,there was a part of me that reveled in its strength and power, a partthat rejoiced in the fact that I no longer was hiding in shadows,allowing others to protect me. For that brief time, I could be allthat I was, and in it I did find a savage joy. But, Catherine, wemust learn to accept this."
Catherine raised her eyes in horror. "No!"
Slowly Vincent approached and sank to his kneesbefore her chair. Taking her fingers in his own he raised her stilldamp hands, examining them with a contemplative air. "Listen to me.If we don't lock away everything that we are, then that part losesits power. We will never shed our instinct to protect, but perhapsthe rage will no longer rule us in these moments. Perhaps by notcontrolling our instincts so rigidly, we can learn to guide them. Itwill work, I felt it."
"How do you mean? I don't think I've beenlocking anything away, and I was& lost." Through the bond,Catherine felt his reluctant tingle of hope.
"But it was the first time you had everexperienced this, and hopefully, but not likely, the last. Controltakes familiarity, and time. You know what to expect now."
Catherine closed her eyes. Please, not again.She never wanted to experience that again. Through the bond she couldfeel his understanding, and his sympathy. But, he was right. Althoughit may never be needed again, the very precariousness of theirexistence almost guaranteed that, at some point, they would need todefend themselves or their home. Her attention was brought back bythe hopeful tone in Vincent's voice.
"This night, it was only when you were hurt thatI was swept up in the rage. Before that, even though I knew you werein danger, I controlled the loss of myself. I could think, takeprecautions. The chauffeur, the other man outside, instead of killingthem, I knocked them unconscious. Ever since I have begun to acceptthat other side, make it a friend instead of an enemy, I have felt adifferent kind of control. Not that of suppression, but that ofunderstanding. It didn't use me,I used it."
Catherine sighed and slipped her hands from histo cup his face. Her clawed hands slid across the short masculine furon his face, ruffling it delicately. "We are something that has neverbeen. I guess we have to find our own way, both individually andtogether."
Vincent tilted his head to rub against herpalms, closing his eyes in pleasure. She was so warm, so soft. Unableto resist longer, he gathered her against his heart, taking greatcare not to jar her injury. Relaxing at last, she laid her headagainst his shoulder, and closed her eyes to drink in his warmth.
As her breathing slowed, Vincent carefullypicked her up from the chair to tuck her into bed. He smiled as, witha little grunt of contentment, she snuggled down under the warmquilts. He understood. After being hurt, all his body wanted to dowas sleep. She shared his remarkable healing powers now, and so wouldfeel that deep need for rest. Which wasn't exactly what his body wascraving right now, but they had a lifetime to indulge in thatparticular pleasure.
Unwilling to leave her, he curled under thecovers beside her, tucking her head under his chin and drifting intowaking dreams - dreams that no longer lived within the realms offantasy, but had dropped from the unattainable to the level of realpossibility.
"So close no matter how far.
Couldn't be much more from the heart.
Forever trusting who we are.
And nothing else matters.
Never opened myself this way.
Life is ours, we live it our way.
All these words I don't just say.
And nothing else matters.
Trust I seek and I find in you.
Every day for us something new.
Open mind for a different view.
And nothing else matters."
Metallica: 'Nothing Else Matters'
From the album: 'Metallica'
<![if!supportEmptyParas]> <![endif]>
Catherine jumped as another stack of fileslanded on her desk in front of her. Preparations for the Meronskitrial had her so preoccupied that she hadn't even heard Joeapproach.
"Oh, come on, Joe! You've got to be kidding! I'mswamped! The Meronski trial is next week and I still-"
"Whine, whine, whine. Some things never change,hey, Radcliffe? Wouldn't want you to get bored on me and startlooking for a new job, one with more challenge." Joe perched a hip onthe side of her desk casually, and ignored Catherine's exasperatedroll of her eyes to snatch up a rubber band and twiddle it around hisfingers.
Observing this, Catherine felt a warm current ofrelief. It had taken quite a while for Joe to get over the events oflast year. For months he was on edge in her presence. They had hadseveral long talks and she had been very careful around him, verycalm, moving slowly, speaking quietly. Patience was rewarded however,and very gradually they had returned to their former level of comfortwith each other. In fact, last visit Joe had actually flipped arubber band at her, snapping her right in the back as she huntedthrough a filing cabinet. Yes, things were back to normal. At least,some things.
Last month, Dr. Steven Carson had been strippedof his medical license and put behind bars for his part in thetransplant organ black market operation. A few months before, bothDr. Malcolm Brighton, the vet, and his sister, Stephanie Brighton,had suffered the same fate. Stephanie had been the lure for thevictims, a lifetime hobby of amateur theater giving her the necessaryacting ability. She was also an administrator at a large lifeinsurance underwriters firm, and it was her access to medical datathat allowed Dr. Brighton to choose appropriate tissue matches fortheir thefts. All in all, the three had been a very effectiveteam.
"So, how's the computer working out?"
"Better than I thought. I just need to make sureMouse doesn't get access to it. But, after the photocopier incident,I don't think we'll have a problem." The insatiably curious Mouse hadbeen dying to figure out the "picture machine" and had managed tosneak into her office one night to "see the innards." The resultantspill from the toner cartridge had coated him with black ink powder,and it had taken him days to rid himself of the mess completely, letalone clean the office, a job that had been assigned aspunishment.
Catherine tilted her head as she overheardapproaching footsteps coming down the long tunnel to her office.Vincent. She owed this, all of it, to him.
She had felt like such a failure at first. Shehad tried so hard to be content with a normal tunnel life. Never thetype to quilt, bake, or sew, however, she had felt useless in themuch more down to earth and practical tunnel world. The only piece ofsewing she had attempted since Junior High Home Economics class hadbeen the pouch that held Vincent's rose. That had been a labor oflove, and his expression had made all the bandaged fingertipsworthwhile, but needlework was definitely not her forte.
Understanding this, Vincent had encouraged hernot to give up on Joe. Heeding his voice of experience, and takinghis advice, had made mending their relationship possible. Vincenthimself
Vincent had arranged to meet and speak with Joeprivately. He had introduced him to the tunnels, and moreparticularly to one that ran quite close to the basement of the DA'soffice. Many days of work resulted in a new chamber approximatelytwenty feet from the building's foundation; close enough to tap intocables for telephone, fax, and most recently a computer. Also, Mousehad engineered a cleverly hidden entrance to the basement, allowingCatherine after-hours access to the law library and archive files.Joe used it occasionally as well to bring her current documents whennecessary. Together, she and Joe had engineered an off-siteconsultant role, doing research, background legal work, and trialpreparations. Catherine divided her time between the legal work thatshe loved, and more mundane tunnel labors which her new strength andstamina so suited her for. So far, the compromise was workingwell.
Of course, there were days when all thisconvenience was extremely inconvenient. Like this morning.
Ducking slightly, Vincent came through theentrance bearing a basket. He had known Joe was here before the lastturn, more from the bond than anything. Setting the basket on thecorner of the crowded desk, he bent down to give his wife a lightkiss before addressing her visitor. "Good morning."
"Hey, Vincent. Whatever's in there sure smellsgreat. Lunch?"
"Breakfast. Catherine had a bit of a... latestart this morning." Two pairs of eyes met, twinkling at the eroticmemories that were the exact reason for that late start.
"Oh, no! Radcliffe? You slacking offagain
"Gotcha!"
Revenge was sweet.