Chapter 3

As they neared the home tunnels, they could see Father approaching. "Thank goodness you’re all right," he sighed with relief, "we might never have looked down there were it not for Mouse suggesting that maybe you were too tired to come up with a novel route and just took the most familiar of late."

"I said that?" Mouse asked, surprised.

"Well, in Mouse-ese, yes," Father replied in an amused tone, "The point is we understood the sentiment behind the not-so-eloquent verbiage."

Catherine and Vincent smiled lightly as others laughed. Father could see how tired they both were and that Catherine was in pain. "Well, young lady, come with me and we’ll take care of that arm. Vincent, I suppose you’ll want to accompany us," Father looked up with mock consternation and was surprised when he heard Vincent’s reply.

"No, Father. I should probably bathe. Catherine is in good hands and is, no doubt, tired of my presence by now."

"Vincent," Catherine started, but he was already down the tunnel and quickly out of sight.

"What’s gotten into him?" Father asked, glancing quickly between Vincent and Catherine, "Must be tired, I suppose."

"Yes," Catherine replied sadly, "tired." But she knew something was terribly wrong with him and she wasn’t sure what she could do to fix it.

Silently, she followed Father to the hospital chamber.

Vincent made his way to the bathing chamber he shared with Father. Knowing he would not be disturbed there, he stripped off his muddy clothes and sank into the warm soothing waters. His back and shoulder hurt terribly, and he assumed that it was because he had been standing in one place for far too long and holding Catherine for twelve hours. He tried to ignore the pain and just sit and soak. The mental anguish he was feeling was far greater. For the first time since their rescue, he could think about what he had done. A horrible sinking feeling overwhelmed him as he realized what he had told Catherine. He really did not believe they would survive. He thought he had nothing to lose. Now he had lost everything. At the same time his body began to relax and he remembered that he had not slept in more than thirty-six hours, he realized why Catherine had started the entire conversation. She was trying to keep him awake. He groaned loudly at the thought of all he had revealed. Of course she accepted his fantasies. She didn’t care what he said as long as they stayed on that ledge. What was he thinking when he imagined that she would dive over the edge with him? Was he insane? She was beautiful, an angel, but how did he ever get it into his head that he was worth dying for? How could he ever face her again?

Just then he remembered the bond. He had cut off the bond! Although he knew Catherine had become more in tune with the bond over the last few months, he also knew there was no way she could have been feeling his feelings while he was revealing those fantasies to her. He had closed the bond! Elation! Salvation! Maybe.

All he would have to do is make sure she was aware that he was doing the same thing she was doing—trying to stay awake. There was no need for her to know he really had all those warped fantasies. What good would that do? It would just unnecessarily ruin their friendship. He had learned to be content with her friendship for the past three years. He would learn to be content with it again . . . somehow. Despite his now heightened desires, he would remain content. He must! He must!

The mental exercises were the key. Shutting himself off from the bond had been his saving grace in this instance and he congratulated himself for his forethought. He must continue them as he had in his youth. This would steady him and give him the power to resist his more primal urges as well as any leanings she might have due to her piqued curiosity. His confidence grew and he settled his mind for another round of exercises to focus and tame him. After an hour, he was waterlogged but much calmed and ready to see Catherine.

Catherine was sitting in the hospital chamber waiting for Father to release her and wondering whether or not Vincent would come back. Having gone through the painful ordeal of shoulder "reduction", as Father called it, without anesthesia, she was surprised Vincent hadn’t shown up with a concerned look on his face. By the time it was over, Father, Mary, and Jaime were sweating, and Catherine was crying.

"That was a more difficult one," Father panted, "probably because of the delay in being able to treat it. I’m so sorry we don’t have any anesthesia right now, my dear. I’m surprised Vincent isn’t here." Looking around, Father seemed puzzled and then shook his head as William came in with one of the teenagers who worked in the kitchen with him.

"Cut himself pretty bad, Father," William said unnecessarily, as the boy stood there bleeding.

"Well, come on over here and we’ll fix it up."

Catherine was left alone to cry and wonder about Vincent and she sat there for some time before Father returned and told her to go with Mary to a guest chamber. Catherine nodded and whispered a thank you before leaving dejected and exhausted.

A few minutes later, Vincent entered the hospital chamber looking for Catherine.

"She’s not here," Father said, looking surprised, "can’t you discern her location?"

"Oh . . . uh," Vincent struggled for words, "I’m terribly tired, I haven’t been much in tune with the bond tonight."

"Well that’s obvious," Father returned with a small snort, "considering the amount of pain she was in when we reduced the arm, I was surprised you weren’t breathing down my neck or pacing outside the room."

Vincent was horrified by his own selfish behavior. "She was in pain?" How could he have missed it? The pain he was experiencing earlier must have been hers. He was suddenly struck with how selfish he truly had been, thinking only about his own feelings and not at all concerned about hers. He had to go to her.

Approaching the guest chamber, Vincent was again struck with a feeling of dread. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He knew what he had to do. "Catherine?"

"Vincent?" her voice sounded as if she was crying. "Come in, Vincent. Come in."

He walked into the chamber. One look at her face and he knew she was either upset, in pain, or, most likely, both. She looked so small and helpless, her arm wrapped tightly to her chest, her green eyes moist with tears. He went to her quickly. "I’m so sorry I didn’t come. I felt your pain, but didn’t recognize it as yours. How stupid of me! I must be over tired." He avoided touching her, but sat on the chair next to her bed.

"Of course," Catherine sniffed and smiled, "you’ve been awake twelve hours longer than I have and I’m exhausted beyond belief."

"Still, I should have known you would be in pain, but I completely forgot we had run out of anesthesia in the hospital chamber. Are you still in much pain? I can go to Peter and get something for you."

"It does hurt a great deal. But, I have some pain medication left over from my operation in my apartment. I’ll take that tomorrow."

"I’ll get it tonight."

"No, Vincent," Catherine grabbed at him as he rose and she winced at the pain her movement caused.

"Catherine, I must. Either that or both of us will be in pain tomorrow." He smiled lightly at that suggestion knowing it was only half true.

"You’re already exhausted. I’d worry about you climbing up there. Anyway, it’s not yet dark."

He thought about that and knew he was too weary to argue. "I could send one of the children. Kipper perhaps. Would your building manager mind?"

"Not if he had a note from me." With that Vincent provided Catherine with a piece of paper and then dispatched Kipper, with a carefully crafted story, to retrieve the prescription.

That done, the couple fell into silence for a few moments. Catherine was the first to speak. "Vincent, about what we talked about in the cavern," she started.

"Oh, yes," Vincent perked up, having his plan in place, "your strategy worked very well."

"My . . .str . . . strategy?"

"Well, yes, your strategy to keep us awake. A most amusing topic. I must admit, you woke me up."

"Amusing?"

"Well, perhaps amusing isn’t the right word," Vincent searched for an appropriate substitute while Catherine looked on in confusion. "Diverting . . . distracting . . . ," he looked at her with a doubtful smile, "en . . . ter . . . taining?"

"Entertaining," this time it was not a question. "You were entertained," she said flatly.

"Well, your purpose was to keep me awake . . . and yourself . . . as well, correct?"

"Yes, that’s right," she answered quietly, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

"And you succeeded admirably. We were rescued, we’re safe, albeit in pain," his face fell in a mock pout like he would give a young child, "and everything will soon be back to normal." Vincent smiled then to show her he was optimistic about her recovery. He was finding reading faces and making his own readable was a tiring, difficult, and sometimes mysterious task.

Catherine said no more in response. There was no more to say. She looked up to see the ridiculous smile on Vincent’s face and it unnerved her. She searched the bond for some indication of what he could possibly be doing, but there was nothing there. It was as if he had been replaced with a clone. After a few minutes she said in a voice almost imperceptible, "Vincent, I think I’ll sleep now. Perhaps you could put out the candles before you go."

Vincent recognized he was being dismissed and wondered why for a moment. She normally would fight saying goodbye to him, but tonight she was more than usually tired. Of course, she’d been through a lot. How could she be otherwise? He looked at her and saw on her face an emotion he could not identify although it seemed very familiar. Perhaps with sleep he would be able to give it a name. He said a brief goodnight and was quickly gone. Outside, he leaned against the wall with his hand against his heart, releasing the breath he’d been holding since he’d entered the guest chamber. He’d done it! All would be well again. He hoped. But an uneasy feeling was creeping over him that something was terribly wrong with his plan.

Catherine struggled to lie down comfortably, too numb to cry about what had just happened. Vincent had found her fantasies "entertaining" and "amusing". Oh God! What had she done? How could she have misled herself into thinking he wanted her. All this time had he wanted to be her friend? Just her friend? Now had she even messed that up? He could feel everything she was feeling. He knew she meant all of it. Was he giving her a way out with this convoluted "strategy" idea? It sounded so stiff and unnatural for him. She had to take his offering of escape, but how humiliating to have announced these feelings to someone who refused to reciprocate. No wonder he was ready to run away the minute they were safely back in the home chambers. How could she ever face him again? Her confusion mounted as her pain increased. She had felt love from him at one time. Had it worn off?

Kipper came by with the prescription and she looked at the almost full bottle of strong pain medication. For the first time in her life, she wished she’d never have to wake up. She took two pills—a double dose—knowing it would put her out for a long fifteen hours and set the rest aside for later. If she remembered correctly, there were twenty-seven pills left. With that thought, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Vincent woke disturbed by the emotion he had seen on Catherine’s face the previous night. Unable to reconcile Catherine with this emotion, he could not pinpoint what it was she had been feeling. This observation and guessing game was much more difficult than he thought it would be. Hesitant to open the bond, he might just have to think a while longer. Father had told Catherine she should stay below for a few days.

It was Sunday morning and the tunnels were quiet. Breakfast was later than usual on Sundays and so Vincent was still lying in bed. He got up and ambled to Father’s library to look for a book he had often seen, the subject of which had never really interested him. It was an old psychology book called "Passion and Hysteria in the Female Patient" which dealt with strong emotions thought to have led women to insanity. Though Father had called the work "scathingly erroneous," he kept the book, not only for the historical perspective on women in medical journals, but also because it contained approximately one hundred photographs of facial expressions that accurately portrayed the emotions they were listed under. Father had said there were several stage actresses he recognized and about twenty-five other women in the book who had apparently been asked to portray those emotions for the photographs. He found it very useful for the tunnel children, some of whom had had little human contact before coming to the tunnels and so did not have skill at reading the emotions on the faces of others or understanding when someone was angry, sad, or even happy. Vincent, who had no need to read faces to know how people were feeling, had nevertheless found the book fascinating for the faces themselves, spending many hours looking at the pictures for a possible likeness. Now he wished he’d studied the emotions as well as the faces. He looked through the book carefully at all the familiar faces but could not find the expression he sought. His frustration grew at what he considered an impractical use of time.

Maybe he could just open the bond slightly and check on Catherine’s emotional state. He concentrated on her location and opened the bond slightly. Nothing. He opened it further. Nothing. He stood up, puzzled. He opened it as far as he could. Nothing. There was no presence whatsoever. Vincent roared and ran for the guest chamber.

Father heard the roar and came out to see what was happening. "Vincent, what in the world . . ."

"Catherine," was all Vincent said, but it was enough. Father rushed to the guest chamber behind Vincent. When he arrived, Vincent was already kneeling beside Catherine’s bed ascertaining whether she had a pulse and was breathing.

"She’s alive," Vincent sighed, "but unconscious."

"Bring her to the hospital chamber so I can look her over."

Vincent paced outside the hospital chamber waiting for signs of consciousness from Catherine. When she was coming around, he breathed a sigh of relief. He went in to see her as she woke up disoriented by her surroundings.

"How do you feel?"

Catherine was confused at first but then it all came back to her in rushing waves of humiliation. She quickly clamped down on the bond and looked at Vincent with a hostility that confused him. "I’m fine. Why am I here?"

"You were unconscious," Vincent, too, was confused as to why she would shut off her end of the bond. Perhaps she was being overwhelmed by his emotional state. He also shut the bond back down so as not to make it worse. The hostility he had felt and saw was a mystery to him.

"I was not unconscious, I was sleeping. The pills I took last night are strong."

"Catherine, this medication" Vincent began, holding up the bottle Father had taken from the guest chamber, "calls for only one pill per dose. How many pills did you take?"

"Are you a doctor now, Vincent?" The way she said his name made him shudder with something akin to terror. He feared their friendship really had come to an end in that cavern despite his efforts to save it. This had nothing to do with pills.

"Ah, there you are my dear," Father walked in holding a tray of food. "I fear we overreacted to your deep sleep and carried you to the hospital chamber."

"She took too many pills, Father," Vincent insisted while Catherine glowered at him.

"Nonsense," Father replied, "Catherine knows what she’s doing."

Father held up his hand at Vincent’s further statements of protest and said, "Why don’t you get yourself some breakfast, son?"

"Are you going to dispense the medication from now on?" asked Vincent insistently.

"I don’t think that’ll be necessary," replied Father as he looked softly at Catherine, "go on, Vincent. I need to talk to my patient for a minute."

As Vincent left in frustration, Father turned back to Catherine, "I trust you’ll be careful with these," handing back the pills, Father looked concerned, "Can you tell me what’s wrong?"

Catherine looked at her hand on her lap over the pill bottle. "I was in a lot of pain last night," she muttered, "I wasn’t sure one would do the trick."

"Well, if the trick was to scare the heart out of Vincent," Father smiled, "it worked quite well." But otherwise, I think one of these will take away almost every kind of pain."

"Not every kind," Catherine quietly answered.

Father looked at her for a moment and then used the age old line that worked so well with tunnel inhabitant and helper alike, "Tell me."

Catherine sighed, "I wonder that Vincent was scared at all over this. What does he really stand to lose but his . . . his . . . pal?" The word came out like it was a dirty one.

"Pa . . . pal?" Father looked shocked, "That boy loves you more that life itself Catherine. How can you doubt that? God knows I’ve tried to interfere, but even I know a lost cause when I see it. What would make you think you two are no more than friends?"

"He told me," Catherine replied sadly, shrugging her good shoulder helplessly and then quietly added, "last night." She sighed and suddenly looked very tired.

Father had no idea what to reply to this so he simply said, "You two have been through a lot, Catherine. You will get through this." The look she gave him frightened him a little. It was a look he’d seen many times before, but never on Catherine’s face. It did not mesh with her personality. Something had to be done. Father knew he had interfered many times since his son had met Catherine, but he had recently come to the realization that nothing can stop a tidal wave, and this couple was indeed a tidal wave—a force of nature that would not be contained by anyone or anything. Now it seemed the tidal wave was trying to contain itself. That could only lead to disaster for the tidal wave and everyone around it. He made his way to Vincent’s chamber.

"Vincent?" Father called, "May I come in?"

"Please, Father, come in."

"Vincent, we need to talk. What seems to be the problem with you and Catherine? She’s under the impression that you two are . . . pals."

"Pals?"

"Well, that was her word for it."

"I suppose you could say that. We’re very good friends Father. We always will be. Her friendship means a great deal to me."

"But, Vincent," Father looked aghast, "you are in love with her. You are more than friends."

"No, Father. We’re not. Perhaps, at one time, we thought . . . I . . . thought we could be . . . more, but . . ."

"But, what Vincent? How can you just shut those feeling off?"

"I must! This life, the life of an ordinary man, is not meant for me. You have made that clear many times over the years. It is impossible."

"I have, but I thought, with Catherine . . ." Father didn’t know how to finish, "I thought perhaps she would, could . . . be . . . the impossible. She certainly was willing to try."

Vincent looked confused at that statement. Clearing his head with a shake, he dismissed it. "Those days are over. Our friendship will remain."

"I don’t know what to say, Vincent. I feel as though you’ve experienced a loss, but you seem to be taking it in stride. I just hope this decision of yours doesn’t hurt you in the end."

"It is not my decision, Father. It is . . .what is."

Father spread his hands to the sky, not understanding any of this. He was confused and something about it made him nervous. But he knew he would have to live with it. "I’ll see you at dinner then?"

"Yes, of course. I’ll be there."

Catherine was not at dinner. But that was to be expected since she was still in pain and on heavy medication. Vincent decided he would take her a tray. After all, that’s what friends do. This friendship thing seemed such a foreign concept to him even though, by all intents and purposes, they’d never actually moved out of the realm of friendship. But, for some reason, the dream of more, now gone, made this different, harder to maintain. At least it was harder right now. Vincent imagined it would get easier after some practice. They did start out as friends. They could just do what they did back then. Then again, he was fooling himself if he thought he ever considered her just a friend. This was definitely new territory he was on, although, for her, it shouldn’t be hard to navigate. Nothing had changed for her. He had performed his mental routine before heading to Catherine’s chamber and his control was well in place.

"May I come in, Catherine?"

Catherine sighed, feeling trapped, by his friendliness. "Yes, come in."

"I’ve brought you some dinner. William is expecting a miraculous recovery after you’ve tried his new stew recipe." Vincent looked at her and smiled playfully, but his face fell when he could see she was not amused. The emotion he had seen earlier was there again and he couldn’t put his finger on it. It was so very familiar. He was at a loss to understand why he could not identify it.

She sighed again and looked uninterested. "I’m not really hungry Vincent. I was just going to sleep. You can put out the candles on your way out can’t you?"

Vincent looked disappointed and suddenly Catherine felt guilty. He was just trying to be nice. After all, they were friends. He, no doubt, had enjoyed her company on a number of occasions. She can’t think of a time she might have annoyed him. Then she thought back on all the times that she’d been embarrassingly clingy and wanted to throw up. Well, he bore it well. But she was sure he did enjoy her company. He would not have come to her balcony if he didn’t. He certainly didn’t have to.

She sighed and sat up more. "Maybe I can eat a little," she said, smiling slightly. "Do you have plans to read to the children tonight?"

"Yes," Vincent immediately brightened. This was a good sign. "We’re reading the last chapter of Treasure Island to the older ones, but first Horton Hatches the Egg"

"Oh I like that story!" Catherine mused, "Horton’s a wonderful example of a good foster parent. The motherless children here must enjoy hearing the story." She brightened up when she thought of her mother reading it to her as a child.

"I always hated it," Vincent replied without thinking. "Maysie didn’t seem to care who she was hurting, she abandons her own child and in the end, the child just moves on to someone else without really looking back. It doesn’t happen that way in real life. But, yes, the children seem to enjoy it. They’re the ones that picked it." Vincent shrugged as if he couldn’t understand them, "We could bring the children in here if you’re up to it. Are you going to eat that?"

Catherine looked at Vincent dumbfounded. It was as if he had revealed more about himself to her in those few sentences than he had revealed in the cavern where they were trapped. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. And then he reached over and took a carrot from her plate. She blinked as if she were seeing things. Finally she heard him repeat the question about the reading location.

"Uh, oh . . . no, no, I’ll go to the library. I’m feeling up to a stroll. It’s just my arm."

"If you’re sure," Vincent looked doubtful.

"I’m sure. I’ll dress and come right away. No need to wait."

"I don’t mind," he said as he chewed her purloined carrot.

"Don’t be silly Vincent. You have other things to do than wait outside my door; other friends to visit?"

She was smiling, but only with her lips. Her eyes didn’t smile. She was being polite. She wanted him gone. He could see it clearly and that expression was back. What is that?

"Fine, then I’ll see you in the library."

"Okay."

In an instant, he was gone, and Catherine was left to wonder why he was suddenly so comfortable around her. Catherine was relieved he’d left so quickly. Her jaw hurt from smiling. She used to smile for hours around Vincent without hurting herself. Now even a few minutes was too much. Was he mocking her? "Oh my God! He is!" she thought. "He thinks I’m a complete fool." Catherine put her head in her one good hand and groaned. "Don’t be stupid Chandler. There’s something wrong with him. I’ve got to get out of here before I go insane." Catherine sat and thought for a while. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to fix this. She had probably been right when she thought that her overwhelming passion would drive him away. They’d gone right back to square one. She knew whatever it was that was happening between her and Vincent, she was too close to it here in the tunnels. So while Vincent read to the children of the tunnels and wondered why Catherine was taking so long, Catherine packed her bag and made her way to her sub-basement, carefully avoiding the sentries so that she would not interrupt the reading of Horton and Treasure Island.

 

Chapter 4

When the children were safely put to bed, Vincent went to the guest chamber to check on Catherine. He wondered if she had felt worse after his departure. He listened outside her chamber to ascertain whether or not she was sleeping but heard nothing at all. He listened more closely then finally called out to her. There was nothing. A frightening dread passed over him as he remembered the pills Father had so casually handed back to her. Had she mistakenly taken too many again? He began hyperventilating. Terrified of what he would discover inside, he found himself unable to move from the spot where he was standing. His breath came in gasps and he started to feel as if he was floating.

"She’s gone." The voice made him jump. It was Daniel approaching him from the corridor where his sentry post was hidden.

Suddenly his head started swimming. "She can’t be," he said just before he hit the rock hard ground. Then all went black.

***

Catherine was comfortably ensconced in her apartment when she suddenly had the horrible feeling that she was being strangled. She had actually been choked before by a suspect recently and this was so similar it brought back all those frightening feelings. This was so real. Why . . .?

"Vincent! Something is terribly wrong with Vincent." She gasped for air while hurriedly getting dressed again and running to the sub-basement. The elevator was out-of-order and every landing found her resting and trying to gather enough strength to get her to the next, and beyond that, to Vincent. Suddenly, her airways were clear and she could run without gasping. But it was as if blackness had descended around her and she knew he had passed out. Relief and anguish flooded through her at the same time and she started to cry from the heavy mix of emotions combined with all she’d been through that day. Her vision clouded with tears and slowed her progress on the stairs. She knew there must be something wrong for him to have been acting that way all day. He was sick, or was losing himself (Oh god!). Whatever it was, they would work through it together. Why had she left? Was she now putting conditions on their love? Give me this or I won’t stick around? It is exactly what he’d feared she would do. Finally having arrived at the sub-basement, Catherine hastily pulled the boxes back in place and descended the ladder. Running to the home tunnels, she was desperate to be there when he woke up.

***

Vincent woke with a start, wondering what had happened to make him so dizzy. And then he remembered and began sobbing.

"Shh. It’s all right. Everything’s all right. You’re safe." The achingly familiar voice stopped him and through his tears he saw her form.

"Catherine?"

"I’m right here."

"Wh . . . where were you?"

"I’m sorry Vincent. I went above without telling anyone. I should have left word for you."

"Why?"

Father was listening and was instantly transported to another time. The same question came from a juvenile voice. "Why?" Why had Lisa left? Vincent was asking Catherine the same thing.

"I don’t know, Vincent. I was overwrought. Anyway, the reason no longer exists. I’m fine and you’re fine, right? You’re okay now?"

"Yes, I . . . think. Yes." Vincent sat up to prove his words true but he was dizzy and had to hold his head.

"You were hyperventilating," Father broke in, "when Daniel found you. He was coming to tell you that he’d seen Catherine return above but before he could finish you were on the ground. Can you remember what happened?"

"I . . . believe . . . I . . . panicked," Vincent replied weakly. "When I could not hear Catherine in her room I thought she might have taken more of those pills."

Catherine and Father looked at each other quizzically.

"But surely you could sense her presence elsewhere, Vincent? You generally know, at least approximately, where Catherine is located."

"I’ve been having . . . some trouble with that lately."

Catherine and Father again exchanged glances, this time worried ones. They both remembered well Vincent’s temporary loss of the bond after his terrible ordeal of sickness. Catherine had seen him through it but she was almost a stranger to him for a while after that. It was frightening. Then, slowly, the bond returned and even deepened, Catherine now being able to access many of Vincent’s emotions as well. Suddenly Catherine realized that she had not been feeling that steady drumbeat she had become so accustomed to in the past few months. When she reached out to access the bond, there was nothing there.

"Oh, God!" she whispered, "It’s happening again."

Vincent shook his head and Catherine realized she had spoken out loud. "It’s not what you think," he said. "I’ve been training my mind, doing some rigorous mental exercises to focus myself and to block out unwanted thoughts."

"What, like the exercises you did after . . . um, when you were younger?" Father asked.

"Yes, exactly."

"But, your empathic powers were not affected by those exercises. If anything they were heightened."

"My empathic powers are not being affected, except where it touches on Catherine. I expect my focus will clear up eventually and I will be able to sense her as I sense everyone else, as my mental discipline grows. It’s been a long time since I’ve used these techniques."

Catherine was taken aback by hearing herself referred to as an "unwanted thought." It was clear now, he wanted to have a relationship with her like he had with "everyone else." Her heart sank as she realized she was still holding on to her dreams that this too would pass, or that there was a reasonable explanation for it. There was—he didn’t want her. She grasped the crystal he’d given her—an unconscious action meant to bring her comfort. Now it only saddened her further to know the man who had given her this didn’t really exist, except in her dreams.

At least, if he’d been having this trouble picking up on her emotions, she may have a way to save some shred of dignity. "Vincent, how long have you been doing these exercises?"

"Just since we were in the cavern, actually. While you were asleep," he admitted hesitantly, not wanting her to guess the reason for his new devotion to this discipline, "I used the time to focus myself and practice the techniques." Vincent was uncomfortable bringing up the cavern. He still wondered what she thought of him and what she believed to be the truth of that time they spent there. He watched her reaction closely, trying to gage here emotions. On her face he saw a gamut of emotions.

Catherine realized that it was before they had revealed all of those fantasies to each other that Vincent had shut down his connection with her. Elation! Salvation! Maybe. Her dignity was in place. At least she knew now why he had misunderstood her intent. He wasn’t giving her a way out. He was guessing! Looking at him now as he stared intently at her like a deaf person trying to catch every word, she could see he was completely lost in this new world of guessing her emotions. He didn’t have a clue and yet, he was so easily readable right now. His expression almost made her laugh if she wasn’t so incredibly disappointed by the reason behind it—he was trying hard to distance himself from her.

Father scoffed, "So you were alone with Catherine and you used the time to shut down your feelings and . . . focus." Shaking his head, he marveled that he was finally the only one in the room that knew the real truth. But his only reply was to scoff some more and say, "Youth is wasted on the wrong people."

Vincent watched Catherine’s face run through excitement, elation, amusement, and sadness before returning to that unnamable emotion he’d seen several times lately. What was she thinking? Knowing what she was feeling wasn’t even helping. What could possibly be running through her mind? He was making himself dizzy watching her and laid down again with a groan. Her concern was obvious and he was gratified.

Catherine was saddened by this turn of events but was determined to be pragmatic. If he wanted only friendship, she could do that. She had to be near him but she didn’t have to touch him so much, cling to him so eagerly, and seek him out so often. His other friends were not nearly so much of a bother. She would be much less of a pain-in-the-neck from now on and, in turn, he would not distance himself even farther from her. She had to show him she was independent, self-sufficient, not in love. "Oh, God. How am I ever going to do that?" she thought. But, rallying, she looked at him again. Her heart ached to know she would never be what she, since childhood, had dreamed she’d be—a wife and mother, his wife and the mother of his children, but, she could do it. To keep his friendship, a friendship that would keep her breathing, she could do it. She must. She must.

She cleared her throat of the tears that threatened. "Are you feeling better?"

Vincent thought she looked on the verge of tears and chalked it up to worry for him because he’d passed out. He was quick to reassure her. "I’m feeling much better, thank you for coming to be with me. It means a great deal to me that you would come back Below, but you don’t have to."

"Oh, don’t be silly," she choked on the words but felt she had to say them, "we’re friends, aren’t we?"

Father, in the corner of the hospital chamber, rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Of course," Vincent brightened, "we are. I hope you’ll stay. Father did say you should stay for a few days. And you were planning on spending at least some of your vacation time with us, weren’t you?"

"Yes. I haven’t had much of a vacation yet. I promised Mary I’d help her with a quilt, and I was hoping to spend some time with Eric, and Jaime also wanted to show me something new she was working on, as did Mouse. Yes. I’d better stay longer." Catherine sighed in relief at all the things she could do down here besides pine over Vincent. After all, she really did have a big family here. "This could work. It has to," she thought.

Vincent was disappointed that she hadn’t mentioned any activities that included him but perhaps she was interested in avoiding him after his foolish display of fainting outside her empty chamber. He looked at her to see if he could pick up a sign of her feelings but all he saw was that unnamable emotion again. He must find out what that is!

"Well," Catherine started with a gesture toward the exit, "I’m going to go see Mary now if you’re sure you’re okay."

"I’ll be fine, Catherine. Thank you."

Catherine went out and Father turned around to give Vincent an expectant look.

"What is it, Father?

"I hadn’t realized that my son used his good judgment with such frugality."

"In what way do I lack good judgment?"

"Vincent, if this weren’t such a tragic circumstance in her eyes, the way you are acting would be laughable. That girl loves you."

"I am aware that she loves me, Father." Vincent’s voice held barely controlled anger. "She loves me as a friend, and always will."

Father threw up his hands in exasperation. "Vincent, even I have given up interfering . . ."

"GOOD!" Vincent interrupted, "Then you won’t mind continuing that policy now."

Father sighed and walked toward the exit. He had no idea what else to do. Just before leaving he turned, "Oh by the way, if you’ll recall, you gave up those regular mental exercises for a very good reason. Your nightmares, do you remember?"

"They were not nightmares."

"They certainly seemed nightmarish. Work it out Vincent. This is not good for you, either of you." With that Father left the chamber.

Vincent thought long and hard about what Father had said. Could he be right? What was she doing then? Was she playing a game? If only he could figure out what that emotion was he might be able to understand what she really felt. Vincent sat up straight. "That’s it!" He said out loud to no one in particular. He must find that face in the book, then he would know. Her expression was the key to everything. He was sure about that. After dinner, he would return to the library and study that book more closely.

Catherine entered the dining chamber with Mary and headed for a table on the farthest end of the room away from Vincent. But Mary would not have it. She’d been having dinner at Jacob’s table for years and was not about to stop now because Catherine and Vincent were on the outs. She also felt that it was the perfect opportunity for them to talk without the pressure of being alone.

"Over here, Catherine," Mary urged, signaling toward Father’s table where Vincent already sat.

Catherine sighed and gave up her idea of sitting far away. She determined to use the time to practice being friendly without being clingy. After greeting Father and Vincent she sat down and asked, "How are the lower tunnels holding up?"

"Very well," Vincent replied, brightly, "the men came back today and said that if it doesn’t rain for a few more days, we can probably do without the watches until it rains again."

"That is good news." Catherine felt like she was being too stiff and formal, but she didn’t know how else to act. She felt as though she was speaking to a stranger.

"And how has your work been going Above, Catherine?" Vincent asked casually.

Catherine looked at him for a moment, wondering if perhaps this was all a cruel joke. No, it wasn’t. No one could be this cruel. "Uh, it’s fine, Vincent," she started, not knowing how to continue. "You know how it is. There’s always another heinous crime to solve."

The look on Vincent’s face as she said that made her do a double take. She’d never seen him attempt to look sympathetic. He had been sympathetic and looked sympathetic before, but this was an exaggerated expression that made him cartoonish. He was imitating behavior that he was not familiar enough with.

"That must be difficult for you."

There was a disgusted sound from Father as he stood up. "Well, I’m going to get out of here before my stomach turns against me. Mary, will you join me for tea and some adult conversation in my chambers."

Mary looked confused but stood up and joined him.

Catherine stood up after that and Vincent was surprised. "Catherine, you’ve hardly touched your food."

"I’m sorry, Vincent. Somehow, I’m just not in the mood for conversation or food. I should probably just go to bed before I . . ." She turned and left without finishing her sentence.

He got up and put his cloak on to return to the library. After a few hours Father found him there hunched over the book examining the faces as he used to when he was a child. He just sighed, picked up a book for the children, and walked out. Vincent stayed in the library for several more hours but was unsuccessful in identifying the face. He was exhausted and he still needed to do his mental routine. Perhaps he would just shorten it tonight. No! He mustn’t be weak. He returned to his own chamber and focused on the exercises he had to do. Before long he was asleep.

Despair, deep sorrow, helpless longing. Vincent could feel all these deeply. He was in a dark tunnel he didn’t recognize. He looked around and then realized he was in extreme pain. Looking down at the source, he saw a huge glass cylinder sticking into his chest. He roared, but no sound came out. He tried to move toward the pipes. He was dying, he could feel it. Suddenly he was moving, but not under his own power. He was floating through now familiar tunnels. He was heading for the abyss and he couldn’t stop his progress. He tried to call out but there was no sound. Blood was pouring from his chest. The abyss was calling and he desperately wanted to be there. He was moving faster and faster until he was swept over the edge and down into welcome, comfortable oblivion.

He woke in a cold sweat. It was happening again. It wasn’t a nightmare. He knew what this was because he had experienced it before although he had never tried to explain it to Father. It’s why he gave up the mental exercises he had recently tried to take up again. He would experience the most intense emotions of the tunnel dwellers in his dreams. They were interpreted into images and because they were intense, they were usually the negative emotions, thus giving him what felt like nightmares. Whose feelings were these?

"Come in, Father."

"Vincent, are you all right. I heard you yell."

"I . . . hadn’t realized. I’m fine. Just a . . . nightmare."

"Hmmm." Father looked like he was about to say "I told you so" but he didn’t say it out loud. "Well, I hope you’ll be giving up those mental exercises now. You can’t go on doing this every night like last time you know."

"I can’t give them up, not while Catherine is here."

Father groaned loudly.

"What is that groan for Father?"

"The word ‘muggins’ comes to mind, my dear boy, but I’m not supposed to be interfering."

Vincent growled under his breath. "No you’re not."

"Well, since you are healthy in body if not in mind, I’m going back to my chamber." With that Father turned and limped out into the corridor bumping into Mary on the way out.

"Oh, Jacob, is Vincent all right?"

"Yes, Mary he’s as stubborn as ever."

"Hmm. I wonder where he gets that," she said with a sly smile.

"Mary! Are you saying I’m recalcitrant?"

She smiled mildly as they walked toward the library. "Perhaps just set in your ways. For instance, you’ll head to the library now since it’s after five in the morning and you won’t get back to sleep. How about some tea?"

He stopped to look at her in surprise. All the love and devotion she obviously had for him was still showing in her beautiful eyes after all these years. He wondered, would he have raised such a foolish son if he had not indeed been just as foolish?

He raised his eyes squarely to Mary’s, stood up as straight as he could, and said with loud determination. "No tea, thank you! I am not heading toward the library. It is my intention to go back to bed! I must set an example for my errant son. Mary, would you care to join me?"

***

Vincent woke early. After having the same dream three more times he decided there was no point in going to sleep again. In the dining chamber, William was making fresh bread and although Vincent usually liked the smell, his appetite was absent this morning. He sat quietly examining each of the tunnel resident’s faces for signs of distress as they entered the dining area. He had brought along the book for comparison in case he found one that seemed particularly upset about something. He felt duty bound to find the resident whose feelings he had inadvertently uncovered.

Father walked in slowly with Mary. They were holding hands which seemed very strange to Vincent and he wrinkled his nose at the sight. Several of the tunnel residents turned and watched them but Father and Mary didn’t seem to notice. Mary had a shy smile on her face as they approached Vincent and sat down.

"Father," Vincent started with concern on his face, "is your hip giving you more trouble?"

"No, no. Why do you ask Vincent?"

"Well, Mary doesn’t usually need to hold you up. I thought maybe you had done some damage to it."

"Good heavens boy! She wasn’t holding me up. She was simply holding me."

"For what purpose? Mary, have you injured yourself." Vincent was now becoming alarmed.

"Shut up, Vincent!" Father cut in to Vincent’s utter amazement. "Put that ridiculous book away and stop doing those mental exercises before you drive yourself mad. Catherine’s obviously not the only woman in love you don’t recognize."

Vincent was mystified by those words and opened his mouth to ask when Father rose and cleared his throat for everyone’s attention. "I have a brief announcement. Mary and I are getting married."

With that he sat down looking infinitely satisfied with himself and turned to Vincent, eyebrows raised expectantly, as if to say "Your turn."

There was a din of happy voices all talking at once when Catherine walked in and asked William what was going on.

"Father just announced that he and Mary are getting married. Isn’t that wonderful?"

Catherine’s heart sank. "Yes, wonderful." Even Father was having his happy life.

Just then Vincent looked up to see Catherine leaving the dining chamber. He saw her only for an instant, but he knew, in that instant, it was her feelings he was dreaming. The look on her face was the same as before, but he still could not identify it. He quickly got up and left. He would need to go through the faces again.

A few hours later Father walked into the library where Vincent was completely absorbed, once again, in that untenable psychology book. He looked at him in exasperation. Vincent was hunched over, a combination of concentration and confusion scrunched across his forehead. He hadn’t even noticed Father’s approach when suddenly the book was ripped from his claws and flung across the room. Vincent looked at his Father in astonishment. He’d never seen his father treat a book in such a manner and had often seen children severely scolded for much lesser offenses.

"Father . . ." Vincent began, but Father raised a hand to stop any protest.

"If you want to know what Catherine is feeling, I’ll tell you. It’s hopelessness; caused by your infernal stupidity! That girl loves you! With her last breath she loves you. And if you don’t get that into your head, I’m going to hit you with that idiotic book. Vincent, go to her. Stop this atrocious cutting off of the bond. Open it up and be honest with her. How much worse can that possibly be than what you are putting yourselves through now? Stop doing what is detrimental to your health. Start doing what is wholesome and right for both of you and make love to that girl or, so help me, since you’re acting like such a child, I’ll find someone who’s big enough to give you a good spanking!"

He looked at his father in complete and utter disbelief. Was this the same man who had told him that these things were not for him? Hadn’t this man said that the life of an ordinary man could never be his?

"What if she’s toying with me? What if she turns out to be like Margaret?"

Father sighed, regretting the very idea of putting those thoughts in Vincent’s mind. He sat down with a sigh and looked across the desk at his son. "Vincent, Margaret wasn’t toying with me. She was just a frightened girl and I was too bitter to forgive her. Does the look on Catherine’s face tell you that she is having fun?"

He thought about that look. It was familiar. Was it hopelessness as Father had said? Oh, God! It was. That’s why it was familiar. It was a feeling he had felt many times before he’d met Catherine. But it’s an emotion he’d never associated with her. She’d never felt it. Until now. Oh, what had he done? He tried to open the bond to find out if she was still feeling that way, but it had been a while since he’d used it and he’d shut it off so tightly he couldn’t seem to fix it now that he was under stress.

He put his head in his hands and groaned at the thought that he’d caused her so much pain. Suddenly his head snapped up. He knew exactly where she was. Catherine was at the abyss.

Vincent flew out of the room as Father shook his head and muttered to himself, "It’s about time."