Chapter 5—Falling

"Be careful what you wish for," she thought wryly, "you just might get it." The old warning came back to haunt her as she agonized over what she knew she would have to do now. Standing on the edge of the abyss, she looked down, wondering how she had come to this point.

She reached up to touch the crystal that to her had meant hope. There was no more hope for her. No hope that their dream would one day become a reality. No hope that she would one day have her happy life. When Vincent had pulled her away from death in the icy water of that lake, she had been heading toward peace; toward home. But, she thought he was pulling her to something better. The crystal he had given her reminded her of that hope, but now it burned against her skin, reminding her of all she had lost. She wanted to return to that place where she was heading not so long ago. Her parents were there—her only real family. Standing at the abyss, looking down, she knew she couldn’t. There were still friends who would not understand her disappearance. Someone might investigate. In spite of everything, there was still the security of the tunnel world to consider. Reaching up to take the crystal from around her neck, Catherine knew what she had to do. Despite the difficulty of doing so, she must give up her childish dreams. The symbol that had become a talisman against fading hopes had now become a millstone in her efforts to live a life without Vincent’s love. That symbol must die or she would. Catherine held the crystal by the chain over the bottomless pit, held her breath, and closed her eyes.

Suddenly she was enveloped in strong arms alternately shaking her and squeezing her. She opened her eyes to Vincent saying something.

"What are you doing?" He was whispering over and over. "What are you doing?" Holding her so tightly she couldn’t breathe, he brought them both to their knees and rocked back and forth with her tightly swathed in his arms. She wanted to stay there forever, it felt so good. She wanted to fall asleep there and stay. But she regained her senses quickly and started struggling against him, kicking and pushing him away. The tighter he held on the angrier and more frustrated she’d get until she was crying hysterically and screaming for him to let her go. Memories of Lisa began to surface and he roared in frustration as he let go of her and placed himself between her and the abyss.

When she composed herself somewhat she became angry at his intrusion. "Why did you come here, Vincent?"

"To stop you." It was the first thing that came into his head and, yes, it was a partial answer. But it was the wrong part to start with.

"To stop me from doing what?"

"What . . . you . . . were doing."

"And what, pray tell, do you think I was doing, Vincent?"

Vincent noted that mad was easy to read on her face. He was glad the hopelessness was gone.

"You were . . . trying . . . to . . ." Vincent stopped and looked at her for a moment, "What were you doing?"

"I was attempting to throw something into the abyss."

"Oh," Vincent looked puzzled, but glad that she didn’t seem suicidal. He looked down at her hand and saw the crystal he had given her. She saw the direction of his gaze and attempted to hide it behind her back but it was too late.

"Why would you want to do that?" he asked quietly, dropping his face behind his hair.

Catherine sighed, "You’re right. I shouldn’t have been doing it. What I should’ve done is this." She walked over to him and handed him the crystal. "Thank you for this gift, Vincent. But I think it would be inappropriate for me to keep it since I took it under false pretenses. You see, I believed that one day we would be married, have children, and perhaps I could pass this on to our eldest daughter as a family heirloom. I imagined telling her and all our children the whole story behind our first meeting and our anniversary gifts." Catherine shook her head at her own foolishness. "I had big dreams Vincent, and I thought you did too. But you don’t, do you? You don’t really seem to care for me in that way and it turns out I’ve been dreaming alone."

Vincent gasped as she walked away.

"How can you think that?"

She turned and he could clearly see tears in her eyes. She sighed and walked back to him. "I’m tired, Vincent. I’m tired of guessing, tired of being afraid to touch you for fear you’ll run away, tired of wondering if you’ll ever really love me. I’m so tired of hoping for something that’s never going to happen. If we were steadily making progress toward love, I could see a reason to continue to hope. As it is, we’re not. We’re moving away from it. And I don’t know why. I’ve told you I love you. I don’t know how much plainer I can be. I was as plain as I can be in that cavern, and I know, I know, you were kind enough to give me an out by making up this whole thing about it just being a plan to keep us awake. Well maybe it was for you. But now I know for sure I have nothing left to lose. I’ve already lost it all. So I can say this to you: I meant every word of it; every, single word."

Vincent kneeled at her feet and looked at her. Love is not a subtle argument. "Oh, Catherine. How can you believe for one moment that I didn’t?"

"Because I trust you, Vincent. I trust above everything else that you will tell me the truth. Have you been lying to me?"

"Catherine, I’ve been such a cad! You have been trusting me and I’ve been saying I trust you but I haven’t. I’ve been lying to you, to myself, to everyone. You have told me you love me over and over but I never believed you. How can you love THIS?" Gesturing to his chest and face Vincent still found it impossible to fathom the reality of her love.

Catherine was frustrated and saddened by his redundancy. This question—would it ever stop spinning between them, keeping them apart? "How can you . . . HATE it so much?"

Vincent was about to say something when she held up a hand to stop him. "Until you can answer that question for yourself and know why I love you, we have nothing more to talk about. I need to go. I cannot stay any longer. Please consider what I’ve said. I want you back Vincent. As a friend or as a lover—you decide. But not like this, not in between." She turned and left him there without another word and Vincent was left with the silence of his thoughts. Had he lost her? No. She’d said she wanted him back and he would take her at her word. He needed to do exactly what she’d told him to do.

Catherine entered Father’s library at a run and flew into Mary’s arms sobbing. "I have to go. I can’t stay here."

Father stood up from his desk and asked, "What happened? Where’s Vincent?"

Without looking up from Mary’s shoulder Catherine waved outside the chamber to indicate he was out there somewhere.

"What did he do now?"

"Nothing, Father. I just need to go. I need to get back home." Catherine was winding down now and Father felt such pity for her. He was hoping Vincent and she would be able to work this out quickly but, of course, this was Vincent. Nothing was easy when it came to him.

"Well, my dear. I hope you won’t be a stranger. You know you’re always welcome. And you must come to the wedding. Won’t you?"

"Of course. I wouldn’t miss it. When is it."

"We’re just doing a little thing," Mary said, "Just family. In two weeks."

Catherine started crying again when she heard that she was included in that close group.

Mary looked at Father worriedly but Catherine recovered quickly.

"I’m fine really. I just need more rest. My arm is still bothering me a bit. I’ll probably go to Nancy’s for a while."

"That’s a good idea, child. Just what you need," said Mary. "Come, I’ll help you get your things and walk you out."

***

Vincent and Catherine did not see each other for the next two weeks. It was a week of recovery for Catherine and then a hectic week of catching up on things that had not been done during her vacation. She drifted through it all without much enthusiasm. Joe and Edie watched her, wondering what had happened to her during her vacation. Edie guessed that she broke up with her "special guy" but was afraid to ask. Joe, on the other hand, had no such fear.

"So what’s goin’ on with you Radcliffe?"

"What do you mean, Joe?"

"What do I mean? What do I mean? You’ve been mopin’ around here for four days and you’re asking me what do I mean. I mean, what’s goin’ on?

"Oh, Joe, I’m okay. Just a little out of sorts, that’s all."

Joe looked at her like she was a child who had just been caught in a very obvious lie. "This is me you’re talkin’ to Cathy. Don’t think for a minute you’re foolin’ me."

Catherine sighed. "What is it with men, Joe?

"I don’t know what specifically you mean, Cathy, but any guy who makes you look like this for four days is either a big jerk or the catch of a lifetime. He didn’t dump you did he? I know some guys I could send to break his legs if he dumped you."

That thought made Catherine laugh, "Thanks, Joe. No, he didn’t dump me. I think I dumped him, sort of. I kind of gave him an ultimatum and now I’m worried I won’t get what I want out of it."

"Do you love him, Cathy?"

"Yes." She said it with so much feeling it momentarily made him lose his train of thought. If only . . .

"Does he love you."

She thought about that for a minute. "Yes, he does. I know he does."

"Well then," Joe spread his hands wide and smiled that adorable optimistic smile, "you’ll get it. It might take some time, but you’ll get it."

Catherine smiled at him, a real smile, filled with relief and joy. Getting up to head for lunch she said, "Thanks, Joe. I think you’re right. And when I do, I’m quitting this job."

"Hey wait a minute," Joe said to her retreating figure, "I solve all your problems and this is how you repay me." But he was happy for her, even if she didn’t love him.

***

Vincent spent the two weeks before the wedding in a daze of emotions and thought. He had given up the mental exercises, settling for shutting down the bond on his side as much as possible and hoping that would be enough until he determined what else to do. Slowly, the bond was accessible to him again and he was able to ascertain where Catherine was and approximately how she was feeling during the day. He had certainly messed things up for both of them. She spent the two weeks crying and sobbing with a few breaks of numbness to get to work and then back home to cry and sob more. He felt horribly guilty and selfish. How could he have doubted her? She was right. He had doubted himself. Until he could be confident that he was lovable, no amount of speaking would convince him that she loved him. But he also felt something else, something he couldn’t yet name that was rising up within him. After the wedding, he intended to put a plan in place that would help him identify much of what he had trouble understanding now. This time, though, he would ask for her approval before implementing this plan.

The wedding was a wonderful occasion. The oldest of the tunnel helpers had come, some from as far a Europe, to see what they’d been waiting years to see. There were a few crashers who "just couldn’t stay away" but William was expecting that and had cooked up plenty of extra food for the feast. There were too many guests for the Library or any of the other common chambers as originally thought, so the wedding took place in the great hall. Vincent was kept busy for two days cleaning and fixing everything. Thankfully the spring rains had never become heavy and the great hall, which was often wet in the spring, was dry as it was during Winterfest. A few braziers were brought in to heat the hall and it turned out to be a cozy place for the ceremony.

Father and Mary were both documented Above and so decided that they would like to have the marriage recorded Above as well, although that may never become necessary for anything. So it was an official marriage ceremony, which was not one the tunnel community often had. In fact, several of the ceremonies lately had been of the unofficial kind, being between two residents born in the tunnels whose parents were also long-time residents. These undocumented children and their undocumented marriages worried Father slightly. After all, they never could be sure what would happen to the tunnels and the more official papers someone had, the better off they were if they were ever forced to live Above. Father wanted to set an example for the residents by having his marriage officially recorded, despite the fact that he and Mary would likely never leave the tunnels. Mary had her own reasons. Her first marriage had not been a happy one, although no one ever heard her complain about it. She felt that an official document above would help to blot out the record of the first one and give her a new lease on life. It was true that her life would change very little, but her outlook might be different.

As Mary and Jacob looked at each other while the official words were being pronounced, it was as if the world stood still for them. The heartbeat they heard was theirs combined and they were each filled with a conviction of the rightness of this day, this act.

Vincent looked on as if he was seeing his father for the first time. He was in love. How had he never noticed this before? How had he never seen it in Mary? Mary—the only woman who he had ever considered to be his mother—she would be his father’s wife now. Would that make her his mother? Did she want to be? He looked over at Catherine, eyes moist with unshed tears. They had been to a wedding before, looking across the room at each other. She had been such a beautiful sight, and in her eyes he saw the possibility of standing up with her one day, and saying those same vows. She wanted to marry him! Even then she had wanted it! But he had refused to believe it. Now she would not look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on Father and Mary and she was more beautiful than ever.

Catherine was one of the first to hug the happy couple as the audience to the ceremony broke into a noisy meandering group. "You look so happy," she said to them both.

"You will be too, one of these day, my dear," Father reassured her. "He’s been doing a lot of thinking. And he’s given up those silly mental exercises."

"That’s good to know," Catherine sighed sadly. "I have hope again. At least we’ll get past this and come to some understanding."

"Well, I hope you don’t mind if I set my sites slightly higher dear," Mary said gently. "I had my hopes set on a granddaughter."

"Grandson, my love, grandson, then a granddaughter," whispered Father.

Catherine couldn’t believe Father and Mary had talked about these things. Mary had indeed influenced Father’s ideas toward the dreamier side of life. She burst out laughing at that, and then almost as suddenly dropped her head and began to softly cry.

Mary took her in her arms and said, "There, there, child. It will all come right in the end. Just wait and see."

Catherine nodded her head and started to apologize.

"Don’t be silly," Father reassured her, "You can come and cry on us anytime. You’re family."

She was about to cry again so she hugged them quickly and turned to go out of the great hall.

Vincent had been watching this exchange, wondering what they could possibly be talking about. It tore at his heart to see Catherine start crying, but he thought she would not want his comfort right then. Nevertheless he had to talk to her. When she left Father and Mary, Vincent went up to them to hug them also.

"You must talk to her, son."

"I know, Father, but I fear what I have to say will not make her any happier, for the moment."

"Vincent," began Father but Vincent interrupted him with a gesture.

"It’s not what you think. I’m going away for a while. I need to think, to really think about what I want and what I am."

"Yes, I saw your bags, but, Vincent, what does it matter what you are? And we all know what you want."

"Nevertheless, it is essential that I . . ." Vincent sighed, not sure how to explain, "I need to become the man she loves . . . in my own eyes. Otherwise, I’ll always doubt her love."

"You can’t do that here?"

Vincent sighed again, afraid to reveal the one truth that had become plain to him in the last two weeks. "I believe my problems stem from being . . . here."

"You mean being with me," Father replied, only slightly hurt.

Vincent only spread his palms with a hesitant expression on his face.

"Nevermind, I don’t need to hear details. I lived them. You may be right on that score, but, Vincent, I want you to know I have always loved you. You are the child of my heart."

"I know Father, I love you too."

Vincent hugged and kissed them both and then left to find Catherine. The next conversation, he was expecting to be much more difficult.

He walked out of the great hall to find Catherine sitting on the steps outside. He was struck by how small and fragile she looked. He hated to disappoint her in any way and he knew that he was about to.

She looked up and smiled a little smile. "It was a nice ceremony."

"Yes. They’re very happy. How have you been?"

"I’ve been well. My arm is better."

"It still aches a little."

"Yes," she acknowledged with a small laugh, knowing he could feel it. "I’ve been feeling your presence again. I was glad to hear you’d given up trying to block the bond completely."

"Yes, well, the cost was far more than the gain," Vincent replied dryly, "Catherine, I need to discuss something with you."

She looked at him, trepidation in her eyes. Despite the bond’s return, she had no idea what he was feeling now or what he was going to say.

"I’m leaving," Vincent started, but when he saw her terrified look he realized he’d started badly, "for a while."

"For how long?"

"I don’t really know. I need to do some thinking. I need to think about what you said two weeks ago. I need to be away from here to do it."

"Away from me." It was not a question.

"Away from my father, Catherine, away from my tunnel family who are constantly demanding things of me. And, yes, away from . . . you. But not for the reason you may think. I want you to feel free to come here and be with Father and Mary and the others without having to see me while I’m working through this. I need to know you’re being taken care of, that you’re not alone."

"Will you go far?"

"Far enough to be away from everything and everyone around here that could possibly divert my attention from what I need to do. I need to go away from the pipes."

Catherine nodded her head in understanding. What else could she do? She was the one who told him they had nothing else to talk about until he figured it out. How could she now fault him for listening to her?

"Catherine?" Vincent’s quiet voice brought her back from her reverie, "I promise, when I return, I will have an answer for you. I will not leave you in suspense again. And whatever happens, I will make a decision about us while I’m down there and I won’t come back until I do."

"Then go soon. So you can come back soon." Catherine’s reply stunned him. No pleading, no clinging, she was crying softly, not hysterically. She was accepting this and letting him go. He could feel her fear for him and she was still allowing it without a fight.

He nodded and got up. "I’m packed now. I was planning on leaving tonight."

She looked up at him and nodded, accepting what he said quietly. She stood up to say, what she knew could be goodbye for a very long time.

"Goodbye, Catherine. Be well."

"Goodbye, Vincent. Be safe. I love you."

He turned and was gone. She stood still for a long time in the windy tunnel. The noises of the reception were barely heard in the background, laughing, music, children playing. Finally she turned and went home.

Chapter 6

Vincent didn’t bring a lantern. He had a torch, but didn’t expect it to last. Where he was going he would not need either, he could see in what little light was already available. There were glowing mushrooms along the banks of the nameless river as well as a particular kind of fly larvae that glowed on the ceilings of most of the lower tunnels. Vincent didn’t bring any reading books with him. This, he knew would be a hardship, but his purpose in coming here was not vacation, but to learn about himself and work on his insecurities. He did bring his journal which he planned on writing in regularly.

He didn’t bring blankets because he already had three down there from his last trip a year ago. Had it been that long? They should still be in half-way descent shape. He brought enough food for a week although he knew he would not go back so soon. There was a storage area nearby where several types of canned foods could last him years. He brought a change of clothes although he didn’t expect to wear it any time soon. He didn’t usually wear anything when he was this far below. His nakedness, usually a source of embarrassment to him and his father, was nothing here where no one could see him. His dense covering of fur protected him fairly well from the tunnel chill. Although he had little fat to insulate him and often felt colder than the tunnel’s larger residents, his skin was protected from frostbite by his fur and he really had little need of clothing for that kind of protection.

As he approached the river he dropped his pack and bent down to stick his face in the water. Lapping up water with his tongue, he heard his father’s distant voice, "Vincent, for heaven’s sake, use a glass boy. We don’t drink like that." Vincent growled at the memory and continued to drink.

***

Catherine had spent another busy week shuffling papers aimlessly at the DA’s office when Joe came out of his office to watch her with a critical eye.

"Your heart’s not in it anymore, Radcliffe."

"No, Joe. It hasn’t been for a while now."

"How’s that boyfriend of yours?"

"He’s away. He’s been away for three weeks now. I miss him."

"Three weeks, huh? That’s a while."

"He’s got some thinking to do. He’ll be back." She said it like she wasn’t totally convinced.

"OF COURSE he’ll be back!" Joe boomed, "Who could ever leave you for good, Cathy? You know what you need? A vacation."

"Joe, I just had one."

"Ah, Yeah. Was that the one where you dislocated your arm and came back miserable over this guy?"

"That was it." She rolled her eyes and smiled wanly.

"Okay, so this time, don’t do that." Joe put his arm around her and started moving her toward the door.

"Joe, I can’t leave you now. The Manzetti case, the Roghere brothers, and that serial rapist . . ."

"Cathy, I’ve got everything under control. Go spend some time with those people I know you have, that you never talk about." He waved goodbye just as she had stepped back into the room he’d just pushed her out of. Why was she coming back? He was right. She’d had a lousy vacation and she needed a good one. The trouble was she couldn’t picture a good vacation without Vincent. On the other hand, why not? She missed being Below. She should go. She would go.

***

Vincent sat by the pipes listening to the traffic. It had been three weeks since he’d heard it and he missed it. He was finishing an entry in his journal when he heard the announcement that Catherine was headed below and on her way to Father. He was so glad to hear that she was keeping close to them. He missed her so much it hurt. He missed the feel of her name on his tongue. "Catherine," he said out loud. "Catherine." He rested his head on the rock wall behind him enjoying the echo of her name and the feel of her heartbeat. He opened the bond just to check on her emotional state and found a deep sadness, a feeling of loss, but not hopelessness. She missed him! "Catherine."

***

Father looked up to find Catherine smiling at him from the doorway. It was a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Catherine, my dear, how we’ve missed you here. Come in, come in."

Catherine went over to hug him and asked, "No word?"

"Not yet. But he’s likely below the pipes"

Suddenly Catherine heard him calling her name and whipped around to greet him. But, he wasn’t there. She listened. She heard it again. He wasn’t calling to her. He was . . . what was he doing?

"Catherine, are you all right?"

She gasped as she heard her name again and held up her hand to stop Father’s inquiries. She could feel him now, feel him probing the bond, checking on her. She smiled sadly. He was listening to the sound of her name, not calling, just sounding.

"He’s well, Father. He’s just checking on me."

Father reached over and covered her hand with his. "That’s a good thing my dear. You know a man in love when he loves the very sound of your name. Now, Mary, that’s a name!"

"What about it?" came the soft inquiry from the stairs. Mary was carrying a tray of tea and William’s revered butter nut cookies.

"It’s the subject of many a verse, you know. ‘Mary, Mary, quite contrary, etcetera."

Mary put down the tray and slapped her husband’s arm playfully. "I don’t doubt we’d have a landslide vote in your favor if asked who the contrary one was in this family. Drink your tea."

"Yes, dear." He smiled at her over the teacup he was drinking from.

Catherine laughed. It was a happy laugh without the depression she’d been experiencing of late and she knew she’d been right to come here, even without Vincent. "I was wondering if you had a guest chamber available. I have another week off from work."

"So soon? You’re not sick are you." Father reached over to feel her forehead, instantly turning into the doctor.

"No." Joe, my boss, decided I didn’t enjoy the last one enough and insisted I try again.

"A wise young man," Father nodded. "He would probably make an excellent helper."

"Oh, I hope someday he can be," Catherine replied. I think he would too.

"Well, of course you can stay. We have only one other guest at the moment but she grew up in the tunnels and she’s staying with her mother. Mary, why don’t we put her in the chamber closest to us? How does that sound to you?"

"I’d like that Father. Thank you."

Catherine’s stay was wonderfully relaxing in that it was free from care. However, she’d never worked so hard in her life. In the mornings she worked with Rebecca in the chandlery. She never realized how many candles the tunnel dwellers went through and she decided to be far more careful with the ones in her chamber after that.

Father had asked her to take over Vincent’s classroom duties in the afternoons. There was no one, in his opinion, better qualified and he was already wearing himself out doing double duty with the younger children in the mornings and the older ones in the afternoons. In the evenings she helped out in the kitchen while William had the flu. Everyone was pulling a shift in the kitchen and it amazed her how many people it took to replace their one corpulent cook. By Friday he was up and around again, but she insisted on helping him with some of the heavy work so that he didn’t lapse back into sickness. With the rest of the tunnel dwellers begging him to do as he was told, William reluctantly agreed on the condition that Catherine would eat more. He was interested in putting some more "meat on her bones." She had little trouble complying since all the hard work was making her ravenously hungry, and she thrilled William by making sure he noticed whenever she was on her way to a third helping of anything.

By Friday evening, she was feeling full and happy, and thoroughly tired. But it was a good tired. She was enjoying the activities of the tunnel and was not looking forward to leaving on Monday. Suddenly, it came to her, why should she leave? Vincent wasn’t here. Maybe she could stay. She began formulating a plan in her mind. She would have to talk with Father.

***

Vincent walked back to the pipe he had been visiting once each week for the last month. It seemed odd to him that every time he was there Catherine seemed to be below. And now she was using the pipes more often. Summoning children, sending mouse on errands, contacting Peter. What was she doing there so often? Well, there was nothing to be done about it. He could not put off contacting them any longer. He had to at least let them know he was all right. It was about nine in the morning so everyone should be up and around. He was usually at this pipe in the afternoons, but today, he wanted to go and get this over with. He tapped his name and a brief message and waited. After a moment he received a reply. A few more taps back and forth and a goodbye tap and that was all. He’d asked about Catherine’s health. She was well. Father didn’t venture any more information as to why she was in the tunnels so often. He had opened the bond several times in the last month and had discovered that she knew he was doing it. Did she consider it an invasion? No. She appreciated the contact. Why was he so hesitant to open it permanently? Because she would be stuck here. But whenever he opened the bond lately, she was here. And she wasn’t feeling stuck. She was feeling happy again, although there was still something missing—him. He smiled. She missed him. Scratching his chest he looked down at himself in all his nakedness.

"I want to see what your chest looks like and I want to rub my bare skin against it."

Did she know what she was asking? Looking at his hands he had to laugh out loud at himself. What was he trying to hide? His hands, feet, and face, all of which she had been familiar with for a long time, were the most unusual parts of him. The rest wasn’t nearly that bad. Why would he cover that part up and let her see his hands and feet? He looked down at his chest. It was hairy. But so were a lot of men’s chests. All right, so his was hairier than most, but if she had a problem with hair, she’d have been gone a long time ago. His muscles were well defined. According to the muscle magazines Devin brought home with him, Vincent was rather ideally shaped—broad chest and shoulders, lean hips, strong muscular arms. He stood up straight and thought, "Big is good." He looked down at his knees and feet, they needed washing, his toenails needed clipping. He pictured scratching her with them by mistake and cringed. Sometimes big isn’t good. Turning back toward the river, he decided today was bath day.

***

Catherine was beginning to worry. She had just gotten off work. It was one in the afternoon. It still felt strange to be finishing at the DA’s office so early, but she was so glad she’d arranged it. It was almost a month ago now. She walked into Father’s study and said, "Do you mind if I continue teaching the afternoon class?"

"Well, no, but what about your job?"

"I’m going to ask Joe to move me to another division. There’s a part-time opening. It’s mostly boring paperwork but the hours are flexible and no one else wants it. I could work there in the mornings and teach here in the afternoons until Vincent gets back. What do you think?"

"Oh, Catherine, that would be such a load off my back but are you sure this is what you want to do?"

"I am. I’m really enjoying working with the children and I really want to continue it."

"And what happens when Vincent gets back? What will you have then?"

"I’ll have what I always had—a job at the DA’s office. Only this time it’ll be a safe one."

Riding in the taxi on the way home she smiled to herself remembering that conversation and the one with Joe that followed. He couldn’t believe she wanted that boring job, comparing it to wearing a hair shirt. "What are you trying to punish yourself for, Cathy?"

"Nothing, Joe. Look at me. I’m happy again. I’m teaching in a little independent school outside of town in the afternoons and I love it."

Joe finally accepted what she said. He could see the difference in her especially now. He did, now and then, throw a few interesting cases her way though. She had trouble resisting them as long as they weren’t dangerous. Yes, she was doing well. Now if only Vincent would do more than nudge at her emotions once in a while. He was alive at least, but she had no idea if he was any closer to solving his problems. Was he making any headway?

Lately, to make matters worse, there was a current of anxiety running through her as if she was running away or toward something often. She’d sometimes wake up in the middle of the night ready to strike out at an invisible foe, or sit in the dark for hours listening for something, some tiny sound that no one else could hear. She was also finding herself ravenously hungry several times a day and would eat large amounts of food in whatever state it was packaged in including raw meat. However, she didn’t seem to be gaining any weight despite the fact that she must be taking in four thousand calories a day. She seemed to be on constant alert except in the afternoons when she was teaching. She decided to talk to father about it.

When she returned below, where she was more and more feeling like a resident instead of a guest, she felt an excitement in the air that had not been there yesterday. Was it her imagination or was she better at picking these things up than she used to be?

Kanin passed her on the way to his sentry post and said, "Father wants to see you in his chamber before your class."

She thanked him and started running. It’s either good or very, very bad. She quickly checked on the bond and could feel Vincent’s heartbeat and then his reaction to her anxiety. She calmed. He was alive although not close. Maybe he’s coming back. Oh God! He’s coming back! She ran to Father’s chamber and through the doorway without stopping for breath. "What?" was all she could gasp after her run.

"He’s not coming back yet."

Her heart sank.

"He contacted us."

"I missed it. Oh, I missed it."

"Well, he didn’t seem anxious to talk with anyone including me. But, he wanted to let us know he’s well. He asked after you. I told him you were well."

"Did you tell him what I’ve been doing here."

"Ah, no. My guess is he knows you’re here quite often and if he didn’t ask why, I wasn’t going to volunteer."

"Good. He can ask when he gets back. Did he give you any indication of when that might be?"

"I’m afraid not my dear. However, he did say something interesting that I thought you might be able to interpret better than I. I think it’s a positive sign of his progress."

"What’s that?"

"He said, ‘there’s no one here but me.’ Does that make any sense to you?"

Catherine smiled. "Yes, I think it does. You’re right—it’s a good sign."

"Father, there is something I need medical advice about."

"Oh, what’s that?"

"Lately, I’ve been feeling a great deal of," Catherine rolled her hand in front of her stomach to help her describe the emotional state, "turmoil, no, not turmoil, anxiety perhaps, or adrenaline, yes that’s it! It’s one big adrenaline rush after another! I’m at a loss to explain it. I feel like I need to get up and run away all morning and most of the night."

"You say morning and night, not afternoon?"

"Yes, when I’m here it seems to calm down."

"Hmm. So you’re relatively calm now?"

"Yes."

"All right. Let’s get you to the hospital chamber and do some simple blood work."

"My class."

"Your class can wait fifteen minutes. Then I’d like you to stay here tonight and see if being in the tunnels makes you feel better. If not, we’ll do more blood work during your agitated state and see if there’s a difference. How’s that sound?"

After class, Catherine had dinner in the tunnels and tried to relax by listening to stories read by Father. However, she could feel this "agitated state" as Father called it becoming stronger and stronger. It seemed even worse in the tunnels instead of better.

After the children went to bed, Catherine went to Father to have him test her again. She sat in his chamber with Mary trying to comfort and sooth her while Father checked the results.

"Young lady, you have an excess of adrenaline running through your system, but I am at a loss to understand why. You say it calms down around eleven in the morning and then starts again at around six in the evening and lasts through the night. Is that correct?"

"Yes, every day."

"Hmm. Sounds like the favored sleeping and waking schedule of someone I know. My dear, I have something I want you to try. Do you remember when you shut off the bond so that Vincent wouldn’t come after you when Paracelsus kidnapped you?"

"Yes. But what . . . You think this is coming from Vincent?"

"I think it is a distinct possibility, yes."

"But why, why would he do this."

"My dear, I don’t think he has any idea what this is doing to you. I believe he’s just being Vincent down there—hunting, running, chasing mice, and whatever else Vincent likes to do."

"Chasing mice?"

"Forget I said that."

"Does he chase mice?"

Father sighed, "He . . . likes to . . . exercise his . . . his reflexes need . . . he’s very good at catching them. Oh, Catherine, don’t tell him I told you that. He used to do it when he was little. I suspect he still does like to chase the vermin in the tunnels once in a while. Don’t hold it against him."

Suddenly Catherine burst out giggling. Picturing Vincent chasing mice was about the funniest thing she could ever imagine. "Oh, Father. If he’s chasing mice down there, I’m glad. It’s so hard to find a game Vincent likes."

Father laughed and then asked, "Are you feeling better?"

Catherine sat still for a moment and then replied, "No, my mind was just temporarily distracted."

"I think what’s happening is that he’s thinking about you and sending the bond your way without realizing it. You need to cut it off. Do you think you can do that."

"I can try." Catherine sat quietly for a moment and concentrated on her receiving end of the bond. She pushed it away as much as possible, working at shutting down those feelings she was getting from Vincent. It was working.

Vincent was concentrating on a rat who had gone into his hole. He was waiting patiently to pounce when he felt the odd sensation of rejection. Catherine was pushing him away. He shuddered. What was happening? Was someone taking her away from him? He roared in frustration and began running.

Catherine opened her eyes with a start. "He’s upset. Something’s wrong. He doesn’t want me to do this."

"Catherine, what he’s doing to you is not healthy, he has to know that, try again."

She tried it again but was getting the same reaction from Vincent.

Vincent was nearing the pipes when he realized he had nothing to say. What was he going to say. Stop cutting me off? It was her choice to reject him? He must allow her a choice. He cut off the part of the bond he had opened to her and allowed her to return to the way she was. Perhaps that was best.

Catherine gasped, "He’s gone."

"What?"

"He stopped whatever he was doing. He didn’t want to but he stopped it." Catherine sighed. Her physical relief was tremendous; she hadn’t realized what he had been putting her through. But she felt as though she’d just taken a huge step back. He’d been gone two months. How long would it take him to come back now?

Father sighed in relief but knew she was suffering more than just the aftereffects of adrenaline.

 

***

Vincent sat below the pipe pondering the message he had just received. Apparently he had been making Catherine sick in some way by opening the bond to her. He was so sure he was doing the right thing in allowing her more access. Now what could he do? Were they even compatible? If just a small part of the bond was something she couldn’t handle, how would she ever manage the whole thing? Maybe he’d opened up the wrong part of it. He’d always considered this his fun-loving side. It never occurred to him that there was more adrenaline in it than she was used to. But of course there was. He was a hunter, not a card player. His heart beat for the thrill of a good chase, one that wore him out and gave him a reason to sleep well afterwards.

He also, he must admit, considered it a safe thing to open to her. Not filled with turbulent and deep emotions, these things were just on the surface, play to him. He was not yet ready to share his heart with her. In that case, why did he feel the need to share anything at all with her. He closed his eyes as the answer came to him so clearly. He had promised her that he would have an answer for her before he’d return, but he wanted to maintain that contact in some way. He was being selfish again—keeping her on a string. He had to allow her the freedom to walk away. If he didn’t trust her with that, then he really didn’t love her. He tapped a brief reply on the pipes and left to return to the river.

***

"He said he was sorry and that it wouldn’t happen again."

"He hasn’t contacted me through the bond for several weeks now. I’m worried."

"Well, perhaps he needs to keep the bond quiet for now. I’m sure he’s fine Catherine. You’re not thinking he could be . . . "

"No Father, he’s alive. I feel that much. But doesn’t he want to know how I am? It’s been almost three months since I’ve seen him."

Father looked at the girl he had begun to look upon as his daughter-in-law. When had he begun thinking that? She’d lost weight. She was paler than she had been and sadder now. She had started losing hope again.

"Catherine, he’s coming back. He will."

***

Vincent was running at breakneck speed through the tunnels, jumping over obstacles in his way and ducking in and out of low-lying tunnels. He’d never been allowed to run at top speed in the home tunnels. There were, of course, good reasons not to. Many of the older residents could be knocked down or one could hit a torch and start a fire. But here he was free to run as he liked. Free to do whatever pleased him. He stopped and let out a mighty roar that echoed and reverberated off the tunnel walls and back to him. He repeated his roar again and again until the tunnels were filled with what sounded like one hundred lions. He stood and listened until the last of the sounds died away, imagining an entire family for himself—mother, father, sisters, brothers, children . . . wife.

"What’s got you frustrated, Vincent." Father’s voice came back to him from long ago. "Vincent, we don’t want to wake up the entire community with you celebratory noise." The echoes of the past continued to come. "There’s no use being angry with Devin. You should have known better." When had Father learned the difference between frustration, joy, and anger in Vincent’s roars? Vincent didn’t even hear the difference. If he had a family full of people like himself, would he know the difference? When had he started to think of himself as a person and not a creature? When had he started to believe he should have a family of his own?

Vincent went up to the storage chamber and took out of it an old medicine chest. On the door was a mirror. Setting it on a rock, he looked in it and examined his face closely. If there was a female who was a person like him, would she find him attractive? Yes, he had to admit she probably would. Would he also find her attractive? That too, he believed would be the case, although he also had to admit that no matter how much fur she might have, in his imagination, she would still have Catherine’s eyes. Still, he could not imagine a more attractive female than Catherine. But if he found a female attractive who was so different from himself, would it not be logical to think that a female could also find him attractive despite his being different from her? Or even because of his differences? Vincent roared again and listened to the sound.

His chosen mate did not roar. But that was all right with him. She could not run as fast and she might not give him children who looked like him, but that was all right too. He smiled. Only a little while ago he would have been terrified by the idea of having a child that looked like himself. Now, he thought it might be nice, but it was all right if the child looked like Catherine too. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. He had a mother and father, sisters and brothers also. He had everything he needed already and they all loved him. He had been loved all his life. And now he was loved by a very special woman. He knew it was true. And now he knew why. He looked in the mirror and saw the face of a man in love—an unusual man, yes, but still mostly a man. The rest of him was a mystery he would have to live with. It didn’t bother Catherine. Why should it bother him? During his stay at the river he had discovered what he truly was. He saw in the mirror the man Catherine loved, the man his Father loved, the man his family loved, and the man he knew was loveable. And now it was time to go home.