YOU HAVEN'T LOOKED

"A file folder with these articles will be located here in theclassroom at all times, so you can come in and review them wheneveryou have a moment. I expect everyone to have them read and have yourpapers done by the end of the month. Any additional research, asalways, earns you extra credit. After the papers are in, we'll stagea debate on the subject. A word of warning: Vincent, Father and Kaninhave agreed to be judges, so you know you had better be sharp! Classdismissed."

Catherine's Civics class filed slowly out of the chamber. Sheoverheard arguments already raging over the controversial topic shehad raised today: the death penalty. In introducing the subject, shehad quoted from a variety of experts -- pro and con -- and hadpresented what she hoped were compelling case studies. She had endedthe class by posing a variety of questions -- and no answers. Thequestions had provoked and even outraged the class -- which wasexactly her intent.

Her class was a popular one with her students because it didn'tdeal only with the cut and dried facts about the legal, legislativeand judicial systems of the city, state and country in which theylived. She knew that many of them would choose to spend time Above --a few even would live there permanently -- and she wanted them to beinvolved citizens. So she infused her lessons with intriguing anddifficult problems, often ones for which the world Above had not yetfound the answers -- such as the one with which she had just engagedtheir interest.

By challenging her students to investigate, to become aware andinterested, to think about options and possibilities beyond theirsafe corner of the world, she hoped to fire their intellects andexpand their horizons. They rose to the challenges she set, and herclasses more often than not were lively sessions, filled withargument and counter-argument, passionate defenses and equallypassionate rebuttals. It gave Catherine a great deal of satisfactionto know that she could inspire such intense interest in a subject aspotentially deadly dull as this one, but she knew it was theatmosphere Below which contributed to that interest as much as herskills as a teacher -- where learning is valued and encouraged, theteacher's job is already half-done.

A shadow fell across the table as she was pulling her worksheetstogether. Looking up, she saw her son, papers and books tucked underhis arm. Strive as she and all the others who taught Below did tomaintain an objective demeanor in classrooms dominated by childrenwith whom they had close personal relationships, inevitably therewere favorites -- and her son, a voracious and intense student, washers.

"Mom, when will you be back in our chambers?" Geoffreyself-consciously pulled an antique pocket watch from his vest pocketto check the time.

The watch was a beautiful piece, one which had been in her familyfor generations. Her Dad had been the last to use it, and after hedied she had put it away for safekeeping. When her son turned 13 twoweeks ago, she had presented it to him, a legacy of her family whichshe knew meant the world to him. Since then, he had used any excuseto pull it out, proudly producing it and flipping the lid open,honored that she considered him grown up enough to own something soprecious. Catherine smiled indulgently at him. He tried to be soadult sometimes!

"I'm taking over Father's Lit class in half an hour, but I shouldbe home after that, at least until lunchtime. Then..." she grimaceddramatically, "...it's laundry duty for me."

He snapped the watch closed with ease -- Smooth! she thought. Iwonder how many times he's practiced that move since he got it? --and remarked, "I've got a few minutes before I have to get to my nextclass." Leaning over the table, he filched the folder of articlesfrom beside her. "So...might as well get this over with. I heard theteacher for this class is a real bear about getting homework in ontime!" He evaded her swat, knowing she wouldn't have landed a realsmack to his posterior even if he had not been so quick, and sat downto peruse the folder's contents. Deep into his reading, he hardlynoticed when his Mom left the chamber.

_ _ _

Catherine entered the family common chamber carrying an unwieldystack of books and papers. Catching a glimpse of her son's head, sherealized he was sitting on the floor in front of the loveseat. Sheasked, "Are you feeling OK, Geoffrey? I ran into Rebecca and she toldme you didn't show up for your art class." Catherine had been a bitconcerned about his absence from a scheduled class, but she knew thathe did sometimes get caught up in his studies and forget everythingelse. She'd left him absorbed in the death penalty articles for hisCivics paper, after all.

Now she saw his face as he looked up at her query. Alarmed by thewide, stricken brown eyes that gazed back at her from an unnaturallypale face, she hastily plopped the untidy pile of class material ontoher roll-top desk and hurried to his side.

"Geoffrey?" She sat on the arm of the loveseat and bent to takeher son's face into her hands. "What is it?"

Mutely, with a none-too-steady hand, he gave her a newspaperclipping.

Catherine was puzzled. The clipping looked like one of thearticles she'd gathered for her Civics class. Swiftly skimming thetext, her puzzlement deepened. It concerned a convicted murderernamed Ray Strickland who was facing imminent execution for the brutalslaying of a young couple in Central Park almost exactly nine yearsago. There was nothing to distinguish this story from the dozenothers she had placed in the folder for her class to read.

A quick glance at her son's anguished face convinced her she wasmissing something, however. So, starting at the top, she read thearticle again, slowly. The murdered couple, Jeff and Betsy Clinton,had almost literally just gotten off the bus from West Virginia whenthey were accosted in the park, robbed of their few possessions, andshot repeatedly at point blank range.

The brutality of the murders was one reason Strickland had beengiven the death penalty. A jogger who had happened upon the scene sawStrickland taking careful aim and shooting his pistol again and againat the fleeing couple -- "Like it was target practice," the witnesshad said. He had been laughing and taunting them as he did so. Then,once they had both fallen, mortally wounded and unable to resist, hehad stood over them, reloaded and then again emptied the gun,riddling their inert forms with bullets. The witness also thought shehad seen a small child running from the attack, but after searchingextensively and finding no child in the vicinity, the policeconcluded she must have been mistaken.

Strickland had been using the system for years to avoid theinevitable; having become something of a jailhouse lawyer, he hadpeppered the courts with arcane pleadings and appeals. Now, allappeals finally being exhausted, execution was set for a date severalweeks in the future.

Still getting no clue from the article, she looked again at herson and, shrugging, admitted, "I don't understand."

Geoffrey tried to speak, but couldn't. Catherine noticed his thinshoulders begin to quiver, and bent to hold him as an unrelentingshuddering coursed through his lithe frame. Deep sobs tore from histhroat. Finally, he managed to form two words and push them past thetightness in his vocal chords. "My...parents."

_ _ _

Later that afternoon, after Catherine had watched over anemotionally exhausted Geoffrey until he drifted into a troubledsleep, Vincent told her what he could of the boy's past.

"No one ever knew the whole story behind Geoffrey's entry into ourworld, Catherine," he began. "One evening Winslow, returning from ascavenging mission Above, came upon an almost catatonic child huddleddeep inside the drainage tunnel close to the main Central Parkentrance. He wrapped the boy in his jacket, then went out again,looking for any anxious adults in the park who were searching for alost child. He looked for a long time, but never found anyone.Finally he gave up and brought the boy Below to Father, who treatedhim for exposure as well as superficial cuts and bruises -- evidenceof several days spent outdoors, alone. Gentle questioning elicitednothing from the child. He seemed to be in shock."

Catherine's tears were falling freely as her Bondmate related thetragic tale. She thought of that little one -- her beautiful boy --frightened and alone, hungry and cold. She ached to take thatlong-ago child in her arms and comfort him. But her mind flew aheadto fill in the gaps between the article and Vincent's story, and shewas not surprised when her surmises closely matched reality.

"Gradually, patiently, Father and Mary healed the fractured mindof the child, but he could tell them nothing beyond one little scrapof information: his first name." Wryly, Vincent smiled. "He owes thespelling of his name to Father -- it was the English in him comingout." Then he sobered as he remarked, "Now we know that he was namedafter his...his real father."

Catherine squeezed his hand and contradicted him. "You are hisreal father, Vincent. He was blessed with two."

Tilting his head in graceful acknowledgment, he went on. "Helperswere asked to investigate missing children reports, hoping to matchhis name and description in order to arrange for a reunion with hisparents. But after several months of fruitless checking, Fatherreluctantly concluded that the young boy had been deliberatelyabandoned."

"And when Geoffrey grew old enough to ask about hisparents...?"

Vincent sighed heavily. "You must understand, Catherine -- wetruly believed he had been abandoned. It seemed a kind and harmlesslie to tell him he was an orphan. To a child that young, how could wehave explained the inexplicable -- that his parents did not...wanthim?"

Vincent's voice had grown husky, and Catherine knew he wasthinking of the discovery of another foundling almost forty years ago-- of himself...an abandoned babe, considered by most to bedeformed...thrown away...unwanted -- and the devastation of bearingthat burden throughout his life. She could understand why Vincentwould press Father and the others to resort to a prevarication ratherthan bring torment to a child he thought had deliberately been leftalone in the world for strangers to find.

Gently, she probed, "And all these years...he believed this?"

He took a moment to bring his thoughts back to the present, thennodded. "Yes. In a sense, he was an orphan -- whether by fact orcircumstance, he had no natural parent available to claim him. Hehas...." Vincent hesitated, correcting himself. "He had no memory ofthem, and we knew of no way to alter that situation."

The light began to dawn, and she prompted, already guessing theanswer, "So in determining his age...his birthday...?"

"Father and Mary concluded that the child was approximately fouryears old on the day he was found...and we have since celebrated thatday as his birthday."

Shaking her head, she remarked in a wondering voice, "It's strangethat I never even thought to ask you about how he came to beBelow."

Vincent stroked her cheek with one elegant claw-tipped finger,delicately tracing the tracks of the tears she had shed for theirson. "Not so strange, Catherine. So many of those Below have darksecrets...or have endured devastating adversities, tragicmisfortunes. Yet no one dwells on the past. In a way, our individualpasts do not exist for us. Our history starts with our arrival inthis world. At least, that's the way many choose to think. And wefocus on the now...and on a better future."

She nodded, accepting his philosophical explanation, but concludedgrimly, "Yet now Geoffrey is facing -- both rediscovering andconfronting -- his past, Vincent. And he will need our help to copewith it."

_ _ _

"Why didn't you ever tell me? I can understand why you didn't sayanything when I was a little kid, but I'm practically grown now!"Geoffrey's anger was not directed specifically at his Dad, but hisDad was the one he was looking at now, and to the frustrated boy herepresented all those Below who had lied to him over the years.

Vincent looked him calmly in the eye, accepting the anger,absorbing it. "You're right. We should have told you of ourassumptions before now, Geoffrey. We only tried to spare youthe...pain of believing that your parents didn't...love you...or wantyou. But would it have made any difference? What we assumed -- yourabandonment -- was incorrect. You truly were orphaned and...." Hisvoice trailed away. His argument was making no impression on hisdistressed son.

His freckled face clouded by emotional storms, the youngsterinsisted, "I deserved to know the truth!"

Unflinching before the accusation in his son's eyes, Vincentreplied soberly, "Even though the 'truth' -- as we knew it -- waswrong...I take responsibility for the lie, Geoffrey. I am the one whoconvinced the Council to keep our assumptions from you, to tell youthat you were orphaned. I apologize for not coming to you when youbecame old enough to understand and telling you what we suspected ofyour past."

Geoffrey stared hard at his Dad, wanting to remain furious, torail some more about what he felt was an injustice, evidence of lackof trust and a failure to recognize him as a man instead of a child.But all he saw was the honest regret and compassion in the olderman's deep-set eyes. The words he had fully intended to hurl in hisDad's face seemed ridiculous now. He could read the understanding inthose unfailingly loving blue eyes. Suddenly, the tension left theboy's slight body, and he sagged, laying his head against the back ofthe loveseat. "It...doesn't matter. No one really knew what happenedbut me...and I didn't remember any of it until I saw thatarticle...."

"The memories returned as you read it?" Vincent was anxious tolearn more about the recovery of such traumatic memories -- about thesurfacing of long-buried images which not even the love of theirentire community had managed to uncover in the years he'd livedBelow.

Geoffrey considered the question. "Not so much right then. First,I thought I recognized the names of...of the...victims. Then, as Istared at the picture of...that...man, I recognized him. Then theactual memories came back to me...of that day...and of...before."

His eyes grew clouded as recollection superimposed itself over thescene in their cozy chamber. "I remember running through a fieldfilled with rows of plants...there was a little black and whitedog...a creaky porch swing. My Mom reading to me...." He stopped and,embarrassed, said, "My...other Mom."

Vincent nodded his head, his lips quirked in a sympathetic smile."I understand. Go on."

Before he did, a sudden thought struck him, and he remarked, "Youknow, I think I've dreamed of these things before...but I thoughtthey were just stuff my subconscious made up."

The idea intrigued Vincent. "Perhaps because you were so veryyoung, those memories did not make much sense to your rational mind.So they drifted, coming out in dreams, or even in ways you probablyaren't consciously aware of -- an inexplicable sense of comfort whenyou eat certain foods, for instance, or scents which evoke somethingyou can't quite put your finger on."

The boy shrugged. "That could be. It's so weird. What really getsme is the fact that I couldn't recall anything about mylife...before...until I read the article." Frowning, he returned tohis memories, focusing fiercely. "I remember a horriblesmell...smoke...fire...and Mom crying. I felt scared...I knew she wasscared." He shook his head as if attempting to force someparticularly elusive thought into place. "Things are still confused.I kinda remember falling asleep in my Dad's lap...getting on and offa bus. I do have a clear memory of having a hot dog for lunch andanother for dinner, which I thought was really neat." He smiledsoftly at the recollection.

Geoffrey's face screwed up in concentration. "Words...I rememberwords -- something about losing the farm, starting a new life in abig city with lots of opportunities. Dad repeated that a lot. Thenthere was the park...and I was swinging between my...parents' handswhile we walked. My Mom was laughing...and I was so happy.Then...then...."

He shuddered, and Vincent hugged him close, saying nothing, justletting Geoffrey get it out any way he could. "This big ugly man cameup...the gun...all I could see was this huge black gun. It wentoff...once...with the loudest sound I'd ever heard...like thunder.Everything happened so fast after that...shouting, running...I heardmore loud noises behind us...my Mom yelled at me to keep running andI did. Once...just once...I stopped...turned around...saw my Dadholding her...they were on the ground...and that man was pointing thegun...just shooting...shooting.... And I ran again, so fast...until Icouldn't run anymore...."

They both were silent for a moment, thinking of the article'sdescription of the bodies, shot multiple times. "I don't rememberanything else after that...not for...a really long time."

Vincent gently stroked his son's hair, alternately kissing thecrisp dark curls and hugging the boy closer. Geoffrey burrowed intohis Dad's warmth, memory and reality colliding in his mind, as hefought to keep from crying. He wanted to be strong, to show his Dadthat he was grown up enough not to get emotional over things that hadhappened years ago...in another lifetime, really. He tried to holdthe tears inside. He tried desperately. But his Dad's murmured wordsof love and understanding broke through his fragile defenses untilthey collapsed, as he did. Then all he could do was try to muffle thetears and the sound of his crying by pressing his face harder againsthis Dad's thick corduroy vest.

_ _ _

Several days passed, and Catherine was worried about thedespondency that had seized her son after his wrenchingrecollections. Uncharacteristically, he had refused all offers ofcomfort from her -- from the person to whom he had turned so often inrecent years, since even before the adoption ceremony had formallybound their lives and futures. She heard scraps of mutedconversations between her Bondmate and her son, but she was notinvited to join in them. Once, she overheard Vincent beg Geoffrey toexplain...something, she didn't know what...to her, and Geoffrey'smurmured objection had followed her down the tunnel passageway as shewalked past his chamber door.

In the evenings, alone in their bed, Vincent would gently tell herthat their son had asked him not to repeat their conversations toanyone else, a promise he could not break -- not even for her. Sheunderstood the value of such a trust and did not press him fordetails he could not in good conscience provide...but her heart wasbreaking from being left on the outside, out of her son'sconfidences.

_ _ _

"Mom...can I talk to you a minute?"

Geoffrey had approached her so silently that she was startled atthe sound of his voice close to her ear. She jumped, her headsnapping up sharply from the papers she was grading. Instantlyrecovering, she smiled and nodded as she closed the folder and placedher pen upon it. Turning in her chair, she looked up into the anxiousface of her beloved child. "What is it, Geoffrey?"

Dropping his eyes, he blushed furiously as he began with anapology. "I shouldn't have...well...left you out of things...thesepast few days. Dad told me how much I was probably hurting youby...by not sharing what I was thinking...feeling...."

As he trailed off, she captured one of his fidgeting hands andlaid it against her cheek. "Sweetheart, it's OK. There's no need toapologize for needing your Dad's comfort instead of mine. Truly,honey, I understand." She smiled tenderly, encouragingly. Even if hermaternal pride had suffered a blow because he had not instinctivelychosen her to confide in, such petty feelings were supremelyunimportant. She would not burden him with them or make him feelguilty about them. "I know how easy it is to talk to him and whatgood advice he gives. Seeking his counsel is a wise choice. I do it alot myself!"

He nodded, relieved. She wasn't angry with him then. There werethings...deep things...he didn't feel quite comfortable sharing withher. Things about not knowing who your natural parents were, aboutthe sense of loss that can overwhelm you, about how adrift you cansometimes feel. These things hadn't bothered him much before, butsince he'd read that article and recovered his memories, they hadstarted to prey on his mind. He knew his Dad could relate to thosefeelings, and it had helped enormously to discuss them with him. Yet,especially because they had always been such confidants before now,he'd worried that his Mom would be upset. And after what his Dad hadsaid, he'd become even more concerned. But, as always, she understoodand accepted. As always.

Bolstered by the compassionate reception he had just received, hebroached the subject which had been on his mind when he'd enteredtheir common chamber. In his talks with his Dad, he'd advanced thisproposal and received -- after long and difficult consideration -- akind of reluctant acquiescence. But it was his Mom'sunderstanding...and assistance...he really needed. "I've...I've madea decision. But...I need your help."

Almost absurdly relieved that he had come to her...finally...shevowed, "Whatever you need. Just tell me."

Geoffrey summoned his most somber expression to support hisrequest; she had to understand how serious he was. "I...wantto...meet Ray Strickland. Can you arrange it?"

Stunned, she only stared at him. She couldn't have heard himcorrectly, could she? Eventually, nearly choking over the words, shemanaged to get out, "The...the man who...killed your parents?"

He nodded. "It's important, Mom. Really important...or I wouldn'task."

Catherine's first instinct was to utter a firm "Absolutely not!"-- but she checked herself just as she opened her mouth. A knee-jerkreaction wouldn't dissuade him, might even just make him dig inharder. No, no matter how ill-conceived the idea, he deserved to hearrational, clear reasons for denying this frightening request. Itwould make it that much more difficult for him to persist with it.

"I don't know if that would be possible, Geoffrey. While sometimesvictims' families are allowed access to a prisoner, you aren't knownto the authorities as the child of Strickland's murder victims.Besides, it's extremely unusual for children to visit death rowinmates unless they are related to them."

Despite what she hoped would be convincing arguments, Geoffreypressed on, voice calm, eyes steady, imploring her. "You worked inthat system for years, Mom. You know the ins and outs; you know lotsof people. You could do it. Maybe you could ask Mr. Maxwell's advice?Please...I really need you to help me."

Stymied in her attempt to dissuade him, she focused on anotheraspect of the situation. "Let's assume for argument's sake that Icould arrange a visit. Strickland's pending execution is front pagenews right now. Do you realize your visit could generate a lot ofpublicity -- exactly what neither of us needs? Lots of uncomfortablequestions could be raised, for which we don't have good answers, andsome of which we couldn't answer at all."

She had never seen him so determined, so self-possessed, as whenhe gravely announced, "It's worth the risks, Mom. I have to do this.I'll accept whatever consequences come."

Catherine shook her head firmly. If appeals to logic, safety andpracticality wouldn't work, she would have to turn down his request-- hopefully as dispassionately as possible. "You aren't old enoughto make such a decision, son. I'm responsible for you...and I can'tallow you to jeopardize yourself for the dubious honor of a fewmoments of time with a depraved murderer, even if it were possible toarrange. No. I'm sorry, but no."

She saw when she looked into his eyes that she had underestimatedhis determination. He was unmoved...and very adamant. "If it wereyour parents who had been killed by that man, would you want to facehim?"

She considered the situation rationally. He was handling thisdifficult discussion very maturely and he deserved a reasonedresponse. "Yes, I suppose I would."

His frustration leaked out, causing his voice to crack a bit, ashe replied, "Then why can't you understand my wanting to see him?It's the same thing."

Catherine was suddenly very tired. This situation was sodisturbing, so unresolvable, so sad. Shaking her head regretfully,she answered him. "No, it's not. For one thing, I'm an adult. Foranother, I have an established identity Above. Even if I have chosento live secretly and apart from that life, I have something to fallback on should questions come up.

"But you, Geoffrey -- not only are you a minor, but you have nocover story. As far as the world Above is concerned, you don't evenexist...at least not in ways that are important to them. You haven'tgot a legal guardian who can come forward to claim you, you've neverbeen enrolled in school, you're not even on Child ProtectiveServices' list of missing children -- I know, I've checked. So thatmeans that you probably don't have any relatives left, or someonewould have alerted the authorities that you went missing when yourparents died. And if I tried to get your birth certificatenow...well, you can imagine the firestorm of interest that wouldcause." Despite her attempt to rein in her emotions, she felt herlower lip tremble slightly as she concluded, "You...could be takenaway from me...once the authorities start asking questions we can'tanswer."

Stolid and implacable, her son stood before her. "I respect thatyou're trying to protect me, Mom. But I've thought this out. If theytake me from you...I'll just walk away from wherever I'm sent...comeright home. It's my life, Mom. And like I said, I understand therisks. "

Just as implacably, she replied, "I don't believe you do."

Quailing a bit from what he was about to say, nevertheless heplunged ahead. "You're wrong. Besides, Dad agrees with me."

"What?!" Catherine was astonished. Vincent had said nothing to herabout this. Of course, he was sworn to secrecy, but something likethis.... Her son had never lied to her, so she had to believe him --but she felt slightly betrayed that Vincent had not at least warnedher.

Anxious to explain and wipe the look of incredulity off his Mom'sface, Geoffrey said, "Dad said I should think about what I needed todo to come to terms with everything. He suggested we hold a farewellceremony, like we did when Ellie died. You know, so I could write tomy parents, tell them how I felt, let them know I was OK andhappy."

Catherine didn't see how this granted tacit approval to her son'sdecision to meet his parents' murderer, but she assumed Geoffrey wasleading up to that. Thinking of how much comfort young Eric hadderived from the letter-writing process...and how much better it hadmade her feel...she nodded. "That's an excellent idea."

The youngster before her smiled nervously, glad that his Mom'sstern demeanor had cracked just a bit, hopeful he could enlarge thatcrack so she would help him with what he so much needed to do. "Yeah,it is. And it would be real nice if we did it. But...when I startedto think, like Dad told me to...about coming to terms with things,all I could think about was that...that man. He took my life from me,in a way. He took my parents' lives, but he also took mine -- the oneI would have led...with them. I was real lucky that Winslow found me,and I love everyone Below...especially you and Dad...but...."

Softening towards him, she probed gently. "And you think meetingthis man would put the demons to rest?"

He nodded once. "Yes."

With a sympathetic smile, she shook her head. "It won't, Geoffrey.You may think that because this man is facing his own death, he's hada change of heart and would welcome the chance to make amends -- thathe'll apologize to you and seek your forgiveness. That's always apossibility, I guess. But it's far more likely that he's unrepentantand angry, and seeing a young boy whose parents he killed might bringout that same terrible, unreasoning hatred that caused him tomurder." She paused, unwilling to cause him pain, but hoping that bydoing so now, she might prevent a greater pain later on. In thesoftest of whispers, she continued. "Have you considered that hemight refuse to see you? Or that he might say cruel things to you? Oreven that he might taunt you about those murders? That he might enjoywatching you suffer?"

Undeterred, unflinchingly, Geoffrey said, "I'm ready for whatevercomes, Mom. I'm not a kid anymore. You may think I still am, but I'mnot."

Not wanting to disabuse him of this now, when he was trying sohard -- and in large part succeeding, she had to admit -- to conductan adult conversation, instead she changed course and asked, "Yousaid that your Dad...agreed with you? Did you tell him exactly whatyou had in mind?"

Carefully he recounted the gist of the discussion with his Dad. Hewanted to convey the fact that Vincent, although he had deepconcerns, would abide by his decision. He concluded by saying, "Hesaid that if facing the man would allow me to deal with my parents'murders, he would do what he could to help me."

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion darkening them. She never expectedemotional blackmail from Geoffrey -- he'd always been too honest akid to stoop to it. But in this case...she had to know. "So...nowthat you've secured your Dad's support, you're pitting me againsthim, is that it? Does this become a matter of who loves youmore?"

He shook his head vehemently. He didn't mean it that way at all."No. I'm telling you I'm going to try to see Mr. Strickland, nomatter what you say. I'm glad Dad understands how I feel, but even ifhe didn't...it wouldn't matter. I'd like your help, but I'll try todo it without your help if you won't give it to me."

Ominously, she replied, "You can't. I won't let you."

He sighed heavily. This was going worse than he thought. When he'dmanaged to convince his Dad, he'd thought he'd won over the moreconservative of his parents. Instead, it was his beloved Mom who wasproving so intractable -- the one person in all the world with whomhe nearly always saw eye to eye. It shook him deeply to say what hewas about to, and he was afraid to say it. But he was determined todo this thing. "I asked Dad if you could legally prevent me fromtrying. He said he didn't know, but he also said that my adoptionhere has no legal bearing Above."

Catherine felt the blood rush to her face. She felt as if her sonhad literally slapped her. "Let me get this straight -- I'm your Momwhen it's convenient, but you'll cast me aside when I don't suit you?You're challenging my right...my authority to do what's best for you,is that it? This is to be a battle of wills?"

Resigned to the fact that he had lost her...maybe forever, hestill averred bleakly, "No. I'm only asking for your help, not yourpermission."

She stood and walked to the entryway, turning just before she leftto deliver her judgment. "I'm sorry, Geoffrey, but I won't give youeither one."

_ _ _

Frustrated tears filled her eyes. She had left Geoffrey justmoments before, immediately seeking out her Bondmate where he wasdoing research in the stacks of Father's library and pulling him intoan unused side chamber to discuss the situation with their son.Vincent had quietly confirmed what Geoffrey had told her. Unable tobelieve what he was saying, Catherine blurted, "He's just a child,Vincent!"

Taking her delicate hands in his own large, calloused ones, hesought the words to make her understand what had ultimately causedhim to agree to support the boy's decision, despite his own deeptrepidation. "Yes, in years he is a child. But we both know what athoughtful, mature child he is. And this is something which affectshim deeply...and for which, in a few more weeks, nothing more can bedone. I, too, would rather he wait until he's older to confront thisman, Catherine. But he hasn't got time to grow older. The executionis set and he will lose the opportunity if he doesn't graspit...now."

Catherine's hands squeezed his painfully as she tried to convincehim he was wrong. "I'm aware of the time that's slipping away,Vincent. I'm also aware -- perhaps more than anyone Below -- of whatdamage a person like Strickland could inflict upon an innocent andtrusting boy. I've worked in that system and I've seen things....Well, trust me when I say I know the criminal mind better than you,and certainly better than Geoffrey. But all that aside -- if he'sasked the wrong sorts of questions, if doing this exposes him tomedia or legal scrutiny...things I can't protect him from...."

"Oh, Catherine...." Vincent's eyes closed tightly in agony as hestruggled against the flood of stark terror which coursed throughtheir Bond when she imagined everything that could go wrong if theirson went Above. With an effort, he spoke. "I understand...andshare...all of your concerns. I acknowledge all of the dangers thatexist for him if he should do this. Yet the fact remains that thereis only this small window of opportunity for Geoffrey to confront hispast. We will try to help him deal with whatever happens, but we mustlet him take this step, if at all possible."

Catherine pulled herself together with an effort, dampening heremotional reactions which triggered the painful surges she knewVincent was feeling from her, compounding his own anguish. Shefocused on the first practical issue her mind seized upon in order toforce herself to deal with the situation as rationally ascircumstances permitted. "I doubt if it will be possible, Vincent.We're not talking about a small-time prisoner in a regular jail.We're talking about a serious offender in a high-security lock-downsituation. Under these circumstances, I seriously doubt if I would beallowed to see him, much less our son."

He sensed her struggle -- attempting to be calmly logical whileher mind was screaming for her to hold her child close, to protecthim at all costs, even if she lost him in the process. "Then he willaccept that -- once you have done all you can to try to getpermission for him to go." Pleading a case for which he had noenthusiasm was wearying, but for his son's sake, he had to try."Please, Catherine, believe that I fear for him, just as you do. Butthis is a rare chance -- remote as it is -- for him to face his past,to make some sense out of the senseless loss of his parents. Wouldyou deny him in order to protect him from that for which he does notwant to be protected?"

Once more she spoke the words which, in her mind, negated allargument. "He's just a child!"

Grasping her shoulders firmly, Vincent held her steady and forcedher to face the hard truths. "He's not just any child. He's our son.He's Geoffrey. He's made a rational decision based on soundreasoning. He may lack the maturity to deal with the aftermath, butwe cannot refuse to allow him to face the consequences of thisdecision."

Lifting one hand to her cheek, he traced the outline of the scarwhich she wore proudly, a symbol of survival and the new and betterdream which she had found as a result. "We all face painful ordifficult moments in life. We cannot often choose the timing. He hadno choice in the loss of his parents. He has made a choice now, toconfront their murderer. For good or bad, he has made that choice.There is no other time for him to do this, Catherine."

_ _ _

With her Bondmate by her side, Catherine entered their commonchamber to find Geoffrey standing almost exactly where she'd lefthim, still and pale as a statue. He turned as he heard theirfootsteps, and blanched a bit at their combined presence. Catherinereached for his hands and drew him to the loveseat, urging him tosit, then knelt before him. She felt the slight tremor in his handswhich betrayed his fear of her next words. Intuitively, she knew thatafter all that he had said, and as bravely as he had presented hiscase, he was at heart desperate for his parents' approval.

In the short time she had spent away from her son, she had gaineda different perspective on the agonizing situation which confrontedthem. She now realized, thanks to Vincent, that she had to lookbeyond her immediate concerns to the rare opportunity which existedfor her son. She was convinced it would be a harsh, painfulexperience for him -- one which would leave scars where no one couldsee them. But as much as such pain could devastate, it could alsobring growth. One couldn't count on that growth, but it was thepossibility that something could be salvaged from this recklessaction that made it even slightly bearable. She and the others Belowhad nurtured Geoffrey and taught him -- in the abstract -- to alwaysseek for knowledge, understanding, wisdom. The fact that he wasdemanding that right now was as much their fault -- her fault -- ashis for trying to take on the mantle of adulthood too soon. If therewas blame to go around, she had to accept her share of it and deal asbest she could with the consequences.

Her brow furrowed and her lips set in a thin line of disapproval,she faced him. "I am totally against this, Geoffrey. I feel you aretoo young to understand the ramifications of your actions, and thatyou will come to regret this decision. But you have done somethingwhich has impressed me -- you've persuaded your Dad. If it wereanyone else, I wouldn't be moved to assist you. But...since you havehim in your corner...." She sighed, desperately uneasy about what shewas doing. "Against my better judgment...I will do what I can toarrange things."

Stunned by her capitulation and feeling more than a little guiltythat he was making a choice she was so opposed to, Geoffrey couldonly nod his understanding.

"I'm going Above to talk to my former boss. As you suggested," shefinished wryly. "He knows the system better than anyone, and he hasplenty of contacts both inside and outside the normal channels. I'vegot a lot of fancy explaining to do, and I don't know if I'll besuccessful...but I will try my best. I don't want to get your hopesup," she warned. "But if it can be done, it will be."

Hesitantly, not quite sure of how welcome his touch would be rightnow, the boy reached out to hug her. Catherine immediately pulled himclose and squeezed him hard, burying a hand in the hair at the backof his head to press his face to her shoulder. As he nuzzledgratefully into the comforting warmth of her embrace, she whisperedfiercely into his ear, "I love you so much, Geoffrey. I don't want tosee you hurt. I'm so afraid for you."

Lifting his head, he gazed deeply into his Mother's eyes. "Thankyou. It means more than you know that you'd do this for me. I knowyou're afraid I might not be capable of dealing with this, but I am.Trust me, Mom."

She grimaced as her eyes filled with tears. "I wish I deservedyour thanks. But I think this is the worst mistake of your life. It'snot that I'm afraid -- I know you're not old enough -- mature enough-- to handle this situation."

Gently he disengaged from her, then placed one hand upon hercheek. She pressed her face against it, closing her eyes for amoment, letting the tears flow now. When she opened her eyes, he washolding his other hand out to her. In it she saw the pocket watch."Here. Why don't you hold onto this? Give it back when you believeI'm mature enough to own it." He bit his lip to keep his own tearsfrom surfacing. "When you gave it to me, I thought it meant... Well,I don't think you realized what I thought you were saying by givingit to me."

He rose and walked past his somber Dad out of the chamber, leavinghis Mom, stunned, clutching the watch to her chest, bitter tearswetting its surface.

_ _ _

It wasn't easy. In fact, it was harder than almost anything shehad ever done, and not just because her heart wasn't in it. Hermeeting with Joe had been agonizing, the gaps in her explanationspainfully obvious. His incredulous response was not unexpected, butneither was his ultimate agreement to do what he could. They bothmade phone calls and personal appeals, called in major favors,cajoled, begged, sweated and prayed.

Luckily for Catherine, the question of who Geoffrey was -- beyondthe cursory inquiries regarding his interest in the matter, fairlysmoothly dispensed with under the guise of a school project by anexceptional student under the mentorship of the Assistant DistrictAttorney (Joe lied well, although he hated to) -- didn't come up.And, unexpectedly, media attention was distracted from the executionby the fortuitous if tragic juxtaposition of a political scandalinvolving the governor and a terrorist attack on American tourists inEurope. All of a sudden, no one had time to care about one criminal'sexecution when far better copy could be made of a juicy andsensational exposé and the heartbreak of local families whoserelatives were killed in an exotic locale by shadowy extremists.

_ _ _

Walking through the long entryway leading into the high securityprison, the little group was quiet and grim. They had endured theexpert and thorough inspection for weapons and other contraband whichall visitors went through, and now were on their way to the warden'soffice under armed escort. Catherine hadn't said a word during thelong drive up, and Joe's feeble attempts to make small talk withGeoffrey were gingerly rebuffed, so the tension and strain among thethree was high. Joe found himself wondering for the hundredth timejust who this kid was and why Cathy had gone to the moon to get himthis interview.

After a brief meeting with the warden, the three were taken into asmall room and seated before a reinforced glass wall with telephoneslining a small shelf. Geoffrey perched on a battered grey foldingchair between his Mom and Joe, and he undoubtedly was the calmest ofthem all. He sat with a studied patience that impressed Joe, whohimself was nervous both because of his deception and because hedidn't know the true reason the boy was here.

Joe looked over at Cathy. She was sitting stiffly upright, handsclenched on her lap, white-knuckled and white-lipped. All the colorseemed to have drained from her face, and he was stunned by thetormented look in her eyes as she spared him a brief glance beforeturning her attention back to the closed door they could see on theother side of the glass partition.

After what seemed like an eternity but was probably less than tenminutes, the door was opened by a burly guard, who led in a balding,heavy-set, middle-aged man. The prisoner was shuffling, hunched overdue to the manacles and chains which linked his wrists and his anklesand met at his waist. Another guard, heavily armed, followed theminto the room and closed the door decisively behind himself.

The prisoner was dragged over to a chair opposite Geoffrey on theother side of the glass and shoved onto a chair. A telephone receiverwas lifted by the guard to the prisoner's ear and the guard gesturedto Geoffrey, indicating he should lift the receiver on his side.Catherine and Joe did the same. For this visit, the warden hadinstructed that the four phones should share one line.

The chained man's face was a study in contempt, its lines deeplyetched from years of confinement into a permanent sneer. He staredrapaciously at Catherine for a long moment, then let his eyes slideover to Joe. Nothing there to hold his interest. Finally, he turnedhis stare onto the youngster sitting directly across from him. He hadbeen told nothing except that some school kid wanted an interview.Bored, he had agreed, hoping it might be some nubile young blond butnot too disappointed that it was a boy of such tender years. Hewaited for something to happen. But the three people across from himcould have been statues. Finally, Ray Strickland spoke first. "Whothe hell are you?"

Calmly, almost remotely, Geoffrey responded, "I'm Geoffrey Wells.But my last name used to be Clinton."

Hearing the name, Joe's eyebrows rose in surprise as he made theconnection to the murder victims. His head snapped to the side and helooked over Geoffrey's head at Catherine. She glanced over at him butsaid nothing, only nodded once, then turned back to watch the dramaunfold as it would.

"Yeah? That s'pposed ta mean somethin'?" Strickland growled.

Almost conversationally, Geoffrey responded, "It should. It's thereason you're here. You killed my parents."

The big man shrugged as he snorted, "Oh, yeah?"

"Yes." Geoffrey's eyes hadn't left the man's face since he'd beenbrought into the room opposite him, and now they searched thatterrible visage as if for some clue, some sight of the man'ssoul.

Slightly disconcerted by the boy's keen stare, Strickland snapped,"Whaddaya want from me? An apology? Well, ya ain't gonna get one,kid!"

Eyes still locked to the older man's, Geoffrey shook his head. "Ididn't expect to. I don't want anything from you, really. I justwanted to...see you. To face you. To look into your eyes."

He was disturbed that he hadn't been able to intimidatethis...child. Settling on "attitude" as the only way to break theconfusion this boy's continual stare caused in him, Strickland made ashow of looking Geoffrey over. "C'mon over to this side of the glassand I'll bat my baby browns at ya, if ya want," the man leered. "Youcan be my 'last meal.' "

Joe was coiled to jump to his feet, ready to remonstrate theprisoner for his offensive behavior, but he was startled and stilledby the surprisingly steely grip of Geoffrey's hand on his wrist.Muttering, Joe settled again in his chair.

Catherine's face, already pale, had gone deathly white. She stoleone hand towards her son's and he grasped it gratefully. No words oreven glances were exchanged between them though. This was Geoffrey'smoment, and she was determined to let him play the scene out on hisown, as he had insisted. But it took all her strength to sit quietlywhile the beast before her taunted her child.

Geoffrey seemed to actually consider the disgusting suggestionbefore responding. "No, thank you," he said, alarmingly polite.

Catherine turned to stare at him, astonished. She didn't knowexactly what she had expected from him, but a calm, reasonablereaction in the face of the bold and evil man before them was noteven on her radar screen. She continued to watch him as he finallyrevealed his intentions to the murderer...and to her.

"As I was saying, I wanted to look at you, and to tell you thatyou killed two loving people, the people who gave me life. I wantedyou to know that I will always remember them and honor their memory.And I will go on to live a full and happy life...for them, formyself, for the people who love me now. You took their possessionsand their lives, but you lost everything in return. You haven'treally lived at all, only existed -- in this place, or in places justlike this. I have my whole life ahead of me. And I won't think of youagain. You'll be forgotten by everyone -- in a few weeks, no one willeven remember your name. But my parents will go on, in my mind, in myheart, in my blood. They will live forever."

Strickland began to say something, but Geoffrey had alreadydismissed him from his mind. He replaced the telephone receiver andstood up, facing his Mother. "I'm ready to go now." He turned to Joe,extending his hand to him. "Thank you, Mr. Maxwell, for everythingyou did for me. I can never repay you but I'll always be grateful. Ifthere's ever anything I can do for you, just name it."

Surprised, both Catherine and Joe set their telephone receiversdown too, cutting off whatever vicious invective Strickland wasspewing. When the guard saw that the visitors were no longerlistening, he pulled the telephone from Strickland's ear and set itback in its cradle, then hauled the prisoner up out of the chair andshoved him toward the door leading back to his cell in solitaryconfinement on death row.

Geoffrey knocked on the door to alert the guard they were ready toleave, the two stunned adults trailing in his wake.

_ _ _

The ride home had been as silent as the drive up, but this timethe tension was replaced by quiet introspection. Each was absorbedwith his or her own thoughts.

As he drove, Joe's mind raced -- he wanted desperately to find outwhere Cathy had found the murder victims' son. He knew from reviewingthe file about the witness's statement concerning the child runningfrom the scene, and his curiosity was overwhelming. But he also knewthat now was not the time to ask. And knowing Cathy as he did, hestrongly suspected there never would be a right time to ask.

Catherine was staring at her son, scrutinizing him for signs of abreak in his calm facade. She was waiting with resigned patience forhis true reaction, but he surprised her by remaining unruffled andseemingly unfazed by the experience of coming face to face with theunrepentant murderer of his parents.

Geoffrey's demeanor was not feigned. He truly felt composed,almost serene. The biggest struggle for him had been to convince hisparents about his decision to meet Ray Strickland. He had spent somuch energy and thought on that process that he hadn't spared muchtime considering what he'd actually do when the time came and hefaced him. But once he saw the man, he had known what he needed tosay, had been surprised himself that he could say it all withoutstammering, without letting the man get the upper hand in theconversation.

In truth, despite his initial fears about the physical aspects ofthe meeting -- would he actually be close enough to see into hiseyes? would there be too many witnesses for him to say what he wantedto say? -- he had very little trepidation about the confrontation. Heknew Strickland to be powerless, to be unable to hurt him except ifhe allowed Strickland's words to do so. And the man's words were thelast thing that could hurt him now, not after what Strickland haddone to his parents. Because Strickland meant nothing to him. Hedidn't have the ability to inflict pain because Geoffrey didn'trespect him or care about him.

The only words which had caused him pain in the past week werethose uttered by his Mom. She, who he loved the most in all theworld, had the greatest capacity to hurt him with her words. Heneeded her love and approval so much -- what she thought about himmattered so deeply to him. He understood that it was her love for himthat made her want to protect him. But that didn't make it any easierto accept that she doubted his maturity. The fact that she felt hewasn't capable of handling this meeting had torn him up, almost madehim doubt his resolve. Defying her had been the hardest thing he'dever done. And as much as she'd hurt him, he knew he'd hurt her aswell. He hoped she'd be able to forgive him...one day.

_ _ _

As soon as they'd returned to the Home Tunnels, Geoffrey haddisappeared into his chamber. Catherine hadn't tried to speak to himthen. Knowing they were waiting anxiously, she'd gone first toVincent and Father and delivered a terse report. They had understoodthe terrible strain on her and hadn't demanded more details.Grateful, she had left almost immediately. There was something sheneeded to do, and now that she had assuaged her Bondmate's fears, shedidn't want to wait one more minute than was necessary. She made abrief stop at their common chamber to get something from her desk,then went to find her son.

"Geoffrey, may I come in?"

Not surprised that she wanted to talk now, he replied, "Sure."Since they'd returned below, he'd been trying to brace himself forher recriminations. He was sure she felt justified -- Strickland haddone exactly what she'd said. She'd known all along he would beantagonistic, scary, even mean and insinuating. Well, she'd done whathe asked her to -- she'd arranged for the meeting -- so now he'd lether do and say whatever would make her feel better.

Catherine came to sit on the bed beside her son's recumbent form.He had his arm thrown over his eyes, so she couldn't tell hisemotional state. Unsure how to begin, she asked, "How are youdoing?"

He was surprised at the tenderness in her voice, having expected asterner tone. He sat up at the question, sitting cross-legged on thebed. Catherine was relieved to see he hadn't been crying. "I'm OK,Mom. Really. I thought I'd be...I don't know...I thought, aftereverything, maybe it would...get to me. But I'm really OK. Ifeel...relief, I guess, more than anything."

She scrutinized him carefully, her concern for him evident in theset of her face. "You aren't just putting on a brave front for me,are you? Because you know you don't have to do that."

He gave a small shake of his head. "I know. And no, I'm not. Ithink...I'm probably feeling better than you." He chanced a smile andwas relieved when she returned it.

"Well, I'll admit it was excruciating to sit there in silencewhile that meeting took place." Her voice changed then, becomingcharged with an emotional resonance that made it richer and deeperthan normal. "It's not every day a mother gets the chance to watchher son...become a man." Catherine reached into the pocket of hersuit jacket and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper. "Ibelieve this is yours."

He took it from her, his hands trembling slightly, knowing whatwas in it by the weight even before he'd unwrapped it. Her Father'spocket watch. His watch. Looking up into her face, almost breathlessfrom the significance of her gesture, he whispered, "Are yousure?"

She nodded solemnly, then leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I'mabsolutely sure. You proved something to me today that I shouldn'thave asked you to prove. I should have trusted you -- believed inyou. I was wrong, and I hope you'll forgive me...because I know I...Ihurt you by doubting you."

When she would have pulled back after the kiss, he clutched herarm, keeping her close. Mother and son gazed into each other's eyesfor a long moment, both reading more there than could be expressed inwords. Finally he responded, "This makes up for it."

They embraced, each grateful beyond measure for the inexpressible,indefinable connection which transcended blood and cemented theirlove. Catherine reluctantly broke their hug, but only moved back farenough to capture her son's face in her hands. "I'm so proud of you,Geoffrey. I love you...so much." Her eyes grew clouded, unsure."And...there's something else I need to tell you." At his nod ofencouragement, she continued, "When we were in that room...therewas...a presence. I could feel your Mom and Dad -- their spirits werethere beside me, and they were telling me how proud they were of you,too."

For the first time all day, his eyes filled with tears. "You...youreally think they were?"

"I know they were." She straightened then, breaking the mood. "Ican't wait to get out of these clothes! Give me ten minutes, thencome get me and we'll meet your Dad for dinner, OK?"

"OK." He laughed at her discomfort. She'd worn such clothes everyday for years, but since she'd given up her job Above she'd packedthem away. It seemed so natural to see her in them again -- theelegant suit, the slim heels -- yet obviously they felt as alien toher now as they would be to...Mary...or Rebecca. Thinking of allshe'd given up, all the ways she'd changed to make a life with him,his heart filled with adoration and gratitude for the fierce,protective, compassionate woman who had adopted him. "Mom?"

She turned at the entrance to his chamber. "Yes?"

"I love you...and thanks."

Smiling, she left the chamber. He sat for a moment, fingering thewatch. Then slowly, reverently, he opened it, set it, wound it, andplaced it in his pocket.