Part 1

Sighing with relief, Peter Alcott stepped out of the elevator. God, it was hot in there without air conditioning. What a day to have that, of all things, fail in this already too warm building. He glanced at his watch and then cursed under his breath, 'Dammit, Cathy will have my ass.'

He had promised to be on time for their luncheon today. But, as usual, he was late. Peter smiled; late as Cathy had wagered he would be. The young lady knew him all too well. There was always that last patient to see, that last chart to go over. Shrugging his shoulders in a gesture of futility, he pushed open the door to the office of the District Attorney of Manhattan and stepped into the vast, cluttered room.

Catherine Chandler smiled at the nattily dressed man approaching her desk near the window. "Peter, why am I not surprised to see youre late again? Today's lunch is your treat!"

The craggy faced man smiled down on her. "Agreed. But, I get to pick the restaurant."

He held out her coat, but she shook her head, looking as though the coat might bite her. "Forget the coat! It's way too hot today. Even in here, you can tell outside must REALLY be wonderful." She added sarcastically, "Don't air conditioners pick just great times to go down? Even for August, this is too much!" With a nod of agreement, the doctor held the door open. They laughed together easily, catching up on gossip and news as they entered the elevator for the ride down to the parking level.

Jacob Wells ran the tips of his fingers along the rack of books in front of him. Where was that damnable journal? He thought he had filed it away only yesterday, or had he? Lifting his glasses off the end of his nose, he scanned his desk. With a cry of "Aha!" his hand dove beneath a massive pile of papers. They scattered furiously along his already disheveled looking workspace as he shook the journal in the air with a half mumbled cry of, "Now I have you!"

Standing in the entry, Vincent smiled as he watched his parent speak to inanimate objects. With both eyebrows arched questioningly, he started down the few steps. "Father? Are you talking to yourself - again?"

The older man looked a bit embarrassed. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am." Slyly adding, "And when you're my age, so will you, my man. In all probability, so will you. I didn't expect to see you until the council meeting tonight. You and Mouse finished early?"

"Yes. Thank Goodness," Vincent replied. "Mouse can think of more exasperating ways to turn a simple project into a ... a..."

"Search for the Holy Grail?" Father offered.

His son smiled thinly. "Exactly."

Jacob sank heavily to the chair at his desk, frowning down at the journal. "Vincent? Is there any way I can persuade you to change your mind about what you will say in council tonight? There must be something else we can do...."

Vincent shook his head negatively. "No Father. Please understand? You know how strangers react to me most of the time. I would spare myself that pain on Sunday, if you would allow it?"

Jacob Wells rubbed one hand along his tired eyes. "Of course. Your absence will be understood - and allowed, Vincent. Surely you know I would not force you to confront a stranger until you feel ready to do so?"

Vincent put one enormous furred hand on Jacob's shoulder, grasping gently. "I know that. But I wanted you to understand my reasons, thats all."

The Tunnel physician patted his sons hand with affection. "I do. So be it." He tapped one finger on the journal. "Now, will you assist in deciphering my handwriting of yesterday?" Opening the book, he asked, "Is that word infection or impaction?"

Catherine wiped her mouth on her linen napkin and sank back into her chair, sighing. "Well, Peter, as usual you've picked a fine luncheon for me. I'm glad I let you choose the menu." She leaned forward, nailing him with a look of a true lawyer. "Okay, I know there's something you're not telling me. Now, what's this all about?"

Peter looked away a moment, gesturing to the waiter for more coffee. "About? Do I have to have a reason to invite my goddaughter to lunch now?"

Catherine nodded, smiling. "When it's twice in one week? Yes, you do. So talk!" A bit startled to sense Peter's sudden uneasiness, she reached across the table and lightly touched his hand. "What is it?"

Covering her hand with his larger one, the man smiled kindly at her. "There's a side of my life I've never told you of, Cathy; told no one of actually. I'm about to share a secret with you that might make you wish I hadn't, about a place I know of. A...world, beyond this one, separate from this one."

Catherine looked at him, listening patiently as he continued. She had known this gentle, giving man all of her life. He was her father's dearest friend, and hers. Peter Alcott had brought her into this world; she trusted him as no other man except her father. But, what he was saying now, the place he was describing, and the people he was speaking of, made her a trifle nervous. What was he saying? An entire world existed beneath this city?! Glancing down at the table she frowned, but kept silent.

"And that's about it." Peter finished. Taking a deep, cleansing breath he watched Catherine's reaction to what he'd just told her. His long time friend and colleague, Jacob Wells, had asked for his help in finding a lawyer - one that would be willing to serve in an advisory capacity in his world. One wasn't needed on a full time basis, naturally, but it would be good to have one they could talk with. They needed a person that knew about them, down here, just in case one of their residents, Mouse for example, should get caught Above and need emergency assistance.

Peter had been willing to help, of course. But, he knew only three lawyers. One was a retired Federal judge now living in Florida, the second was the son of his partner; a senior in college, studying corporate law. But he was very young; too young to suit his purposes. And then there was Catherine Chandler, Charles' daughter. She was an intelligent and caring young woman - one who had forsaken the relatively easy world of corporate law for the tough, thankless, and sometimes dirty job of an Assistant District Attorney.

This young lady he trusted completely. He'd watched her grow from infancy; he was as proud of her as he would have been of his own child. Settling back into his chair, Peter allowed her to digest the amazing story he'd just related.

Catherine was quiet for many moments, and then she turned puzzled eyes to him. "I thank you for trusting me enough to offer me such an opportunity, Peter. But, why me? Surely someone with more experience, someone older, would be more acceptable to ... what was his name?"

"Jacob. Jacob Wells. No, Cathy, there is no one else that could help. My friend has heard all about you, from me, and he respects my judgment. Jacob would like to meet you on Sunday. If that's convenient for you?"

Her green eyes went very wide as she stammered, "T...This Sunday? So soon?"

"Yes. Are you afraid?"

She shrugged, admitting, "Maybe just a little."

"Don't be." Smiling, Peter continued, "Jacob's an old curmudgeon, Cathy, but he'd never bite you. You're much too lovely."

Knowing she was being teased, she grinned at him. "Too lovely, huh? So what does this Mister Wells DO with the ugly ones?"

Peter chuckled. "Why, he eats them alive, my dear."

Smiling, Catherine took a gulp of her coffee, and then nodded. "Okay, this Sunday it will be. You're coming with me?"

"Naturally," Peter replied, but his thoughts were focused elsewhere, on Vincent. Cathy seemed to be trusting and accepting so far, but how would she react to Vincent? Oh Lord, what am I getting myself into now? Or what am I getting this woman into, is more like it?

Turning to the left, and then the right, Catherine checked her hair in the mirror, and then took another swipe at it with her hairbrush; her hand was trembling just slightly. Damn. She wanted to be cool and collected today; she had to be. First impressions were so important. Would Jacob Wells like her? Would she like him?

Gahhh! Plunking the brush down on her dressing table she stuck her tongue out at the reflection in the gilt-edged mirror. Come on girl, get with the program! There's no use worrying about anyone liking anyone right now. She'd just cross that bridge when she had to, if she had to. Looking into the mirror, Catherine held up two fingers, crossed them and took one last appraising look at her outfit. Peter had said casual. With a reflective sigh, she reached for her notebook and pocketbook. It was time to meet him.

Closing the door of her apartment, Catherine waited impatiently for the elevator. Closing her eyes she sent a small prayer heavenward. God? Don't let me make a fool of myself today? PLEASE?

When Peter slid back the heavy wooden panel with a practiced touch of his hands, Catherine gasped as a small metal door was revealed. "All the times I've been here, that was there, a passage to the world Below?"

Peter nodded as he reached into his desk, drawing forth a small, old fashioned, curved key. "Yes, it's been here for many years, Cathy. Since before you were born, as a matter of fact. And you thought I was just an ordinary, boring old doctor, huh?" He grinned at the woman leaning forward somewhat impatiently in a nearby armchair.

Catherine didn't answer as the key slid into place. Almost grudgingly, a metallic thunk was heard as a series of tumblers fell into proper sequence. With a yielding groan, the small door opened just a seam. Rising from the chair, she went to stand next to Peter. There was a soft golden glow emanating from the opening; a strange light of some sort. "Peter," she whispered uneasily, "This is just a bit scary."

"Please don't be frightened? You know I'd never bring you anywhere, to meet anyone who could possibly threaten you in any way, Cathy. It's to avoid any possible chance of discovery that I go down this way." Smiling reassuringly at her, he went on, "There are many doors like this one all over the city. In stores, churches. There's even one in a pizza parlor.

As he spoke, Peter had been slowly guiding Catherine forward. Reaching around her, he slid the metal door back into place and locked it behind them.

Jacob stood near the stairway to the second level of his chamber admiring Mary's handiwork. Well, at least the woman could not say he was a complete disaster as a housekeeper. Mary had tidied his never-ending piles of books, dusted his desk, and then threatened to dust HIM if he didn't trim his beard and hair a bit. Studying him critically she'd remarked, "Father, you look somewhat like a forgotten and bad- tempered recluse, with all of that hair. And please change that dreadful sweater? You do hope to make a suitable impression on the woman, don't you?"

Taking Mary's advice to heart, he peered into the small mirror in his private bedchamber and nodded with satisfaction. All right. Beard and hair trimmed, bed made and sweater changed. Though why all this fuss was necessary, he didn't know. He was merely welcoming a new helper, after all; one that he hoped would be around long enough to get use to him and his somewhat chaotic way of living.

A sudden, small scraping sound on the stairway made him turn. Eyeing the man standing there, the Tunnel elder smiled. "Ah, Vincent. I was hoping to have a word with you before you left for the Falls. Have you had your tea?"

"Yes, thank you, Father. Mary told me of this grandeur, but I could hardly believe it. But now that I've seen all this and you..." His son swept one hand out before him, gesturing to the neat stacks of books, the orderly desk and then towards the man at his side.

His parent made a dismissive noise deep in his throat. "Have your little joke at my expense. Go ahead. But mark my words, what goes around comes around. I shall have retribution!"

The man with long wavy hair chuckled as he made for the stairway leading out of the chamber. On the top step, he turned, hesitatingly. "May I ask a favor?"

"Of course, Vincent."

The younger man lowered his head till a curtain of golden hair covered his unique face. His soft voice sounded strained, and just a bit apprehensive. "May I listen from the second level? I'd like to see this new helper for my own reasons, personal ones I cannot yet speak of, to anyone."

Jacob frowned. Personal reasons? But he didn't ask the obvious question, at least not right now. "Of course you may. Do you recall the woman's name?"

The words were barely a whisper, a breath - a heartbeat. "Oh yes. Her name is - Catherine."

Peter told Catherine a few scraps of his friend's life as they walked along the dusty corridor. Until she had climbed down the small ladder from his library above, she'd been halfway convinced her old friend was developing an illness of some kind. How was she to believe that such a story as the one he professed to be the truth?

Yet, here she was, walking down the corridor he'd described, listening to noisy pipes clanging what he had said were messages; some neighbor to neighbor, some of food deliveries, and one message he said told the man waiting Below that they were on their way to meet him.

As they walked, Peter continued his tale. ÖSo Jacob was arrested, thrown in jail, and then blacklisted. When he was finally freed, he found his way down here and he's been here ever since.

Catherine shook her head. "How could they do that to him, Peter? Our laws are supposed to protect people from those kinds of inquisitions. Witch-hunts are supposed to be a thing of the past! That poor man, to lose everything he had, all he loved, like that. It's no wonder he remains here, where its safe. I would too!"

"Hm, so would I," her friend agreed. "Times were different then, Cathy. People were different. The Atom bomb was built, and it became more than just a possibility. Many people were so frightened of the dangers involved with a bomb of that size they panicked. Some were arrested merely for speaking out against the government."

He guided her carefully along a narrow, rock-strewn passage as he continued his narrative. "All the things America stood for, hope, trust, freedom of speech, seemed to be forgotten, or simply ignored. And by the time America remembered those freedoms, many peoples lives were already beyond salvaging. Like Jacob Well's life, for example."

"He must be extremely bitter."

Peter sighed. "He was, but he's not anymore. Or he doesn't seem to be, as far as I can tell. It took years of self-examination to cope with all he'd lost, all he had suffered in just speaking the truth. But Jacob is a good man, Cathy. And he's not only a friend, he's my oldest and dearest friend. I would trust him with my life." Touching her shoulder, he turned Catherine to face him in the dimly lit passage. "And now, I'm trusting him with your life, too. In the past, helping him and those who live here has proved a trifle dangerous at times. I warned you of that."

"I remember. But you did say nothing is definite until I decide it is? And after I talk to him ... Well, let's just wait and see. I didn't promise anything, Peter."

"Of course, and neither has Jacob." Hoping to ease the apprehension he saw in her eyes, Peter teased, "Hell, the old buzzard may hate you on sight, girl!"

"Oh, he might huh?" She laughed aloud. "Well, if that old buzzard gives me any grief, I'll give it right back to him!"

"I'm well aware of that; I've felt your arrows now and again myself. That's one of the reasons I brought you down here, your tenacity. Jacob is a stubborn man, Cathy. It will take someone as uncompromising as he is to handle him. I think you fit the bill nicely."

"We'll see. Oh!" With a sudden downward angle of the tunnels, they now stood near a great three-arced waterfall. Staring at it, Catherine could hardly believe something so beautiful existed here, right below the city streets. "Peter, that's lovely! Look how the light above it makes three rainbows. How pretty."

He patted her shoulder. "We're almost there now."

Vincent settled himself into a large chair hidden in a small, dark corner of the upper level. His heart was pounding fiercely in his chest. Leaning back and closing his eyes, he willed himself into a quieter state of mind and body. He was about to learn the truth of his dreams; the waking dreams that interrupted his reading and sometimes stilled the writing in his journals.

They'd been going on for some time now, but he hadn't mentioned them to Father. That would only worry him. But the dreams were so vivid, so real, when one ended he half expected to look up and find his minds inner image standing before him in his chamber.

He took a lingering, cleansing breath. Whatever happened when this new helper appeared, he would deal with it. But why did his pulse race when he thought of her, or when he whispered her name? He had never met the woman. It wasn't conceivable that he knew her. Taking another deep breath, Vincent folded his hand tightly together, waiting for Miss Chandler and Peter to make their appearance. Yet, he DID know this woman. How was this possible? HOW?

Hesitating, Catherine examined the stone archway before her. "Is this it?"

"Yes." Taking her by the hand, Peter started forward. "Through here is the Library and Jacob's chamber. Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose. God, I'm so nervous!" She inhaled a deep breath and then released it slowly in an attempt to quiet her rapidly pounding heart. "Okay Peter, let's get this over with."

Reaching out with a shaking hand, Vincent steadied himself against the tunnel wall. It was all true; his waking dream was true! He did know this woman, or had known her in some life, at some other time. In some other place, she had been his. He had loved her deeply, passionately. No, this could NOT be. The rational side of his nature demanded that he give up these thoughts at once. But the side of his nature that was the dreamer, the poet, would not, could not, deny them. When Catherine had entered the room and spoken to Father, a wave of memories had torn through him - of a time past, a life past. A life that had included her. That had BEEN her.

He fought to stop trembling. Watching Father greet her, talk with her, he'd been hard pressed not to go down those few steps and make himself known; to meet Catherine and take the chance, however small, that she would NOT be frightened. But his more instinctive reserve stayed his feet. No. He couldn't take even the smallest chance of alarming her. How could he be near her? How could he not be near her? So close, she was so close.

All of his dreams were given credence as Vincent listened and watched a beautiful woman become a part of his world. Her soft laughter filled his heart. Her small, glowing face burned into his memory, his soul. He knew her, knew she had come back to him at last. At last! As though to fulfill a prophecy made long ago, in another life, Catherine had come back to him, yet he knew he could never claim what had been his, once before, in a different life; in a place where he must have looked and been entirely human. Reflecting on that thought, he felt all of his rage, all of his passion converge, settling on one fact, one hopeless truth. The one thing he desired most in this world - Catherine's love - he could never have. Not this time.

Oh God, this pain cuts like a knife... With a racking groan, Vincent slid to the tunnel floor with his back resting up against the rough wall. His hair fell forward as he buried his face in work-callused palms. In a voice vibrating with emotion, he gave life to his dream, as well as to his torment. His hoarse whimper reverberated around him, filling the air with his desolation. Anguished, calling aloud to the darkness as scalding tears wove a channel down his tortured face, he uttered the name of his dream tenderly, worshipfully. Lovingly. His eyes remained closed as he spoke the name again and again. It tore open his soul, flooding him with overwhelming despair.

Coming to terms with a life he could never have, with a dream and a woman he could never claim, Vincent's head bent forward to rest against his drawn up knees. As great sobs tore from his chest, cracking his magnificent heart wide open, he threw back his head and roared his grief aloud, trying to fill the empty place that used to hold his soul by screaming her name one - last - time.

"Catherine!"

Keeping his own counsel, Peter followed Catherine up the winding, narrow stairs. She hadn't said very much since they'd left Jacob and he wondered what was going on in her mind, what she was thinking; what her thoughts were of this place? He wanted to ask, but decided to give the woman a chance to organize her feelings. It had been quite an experience for her. After all, not every Alice got the chance to visit Wonderland in person.

Peering back at her friend, Catherine seemed to read his mind. "I feel like Dorothy and I've just come from the land of Oz. Mister Wells was so formal it stunned me. And I thought chivalry was dead," she observed, grinning at her companion.

"Chivalry's not dead here, Cathy. And when you meet Vincent, you'll know what I say is true."

She frowned. "Vincent? Oh yes, Mister Wells mentioned he had a son living here with him. Is that his name?"

"Yes."

"Will he be at the council meeting next month?"

Peter hunched his shoulders. "Maybe. He spends a good deal of his time in the deeper chambers, helping with repairs. He's a wonderful man, Cathy. A remarkable man who has overcome great personal hardships in his life, with a depth of courage that's truly astounding."

She looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

"When you meet Vincent, you will. Then, you'll understand everything. That, I promise."

Smiling, he held out his hand to Catherine. She took it and continued looking around as they finally reached the point from which they'd begun their extraordinary journey.

The blonde haired boy peeked around the corner to the entrance of the Triple Falls, then smiled. He had found him, he always could.

"'lo, Vincent."

Mouse? Looking up, the larger man frowned. "Is there trouble, am I needed?

"Nope." Mouse sat down next to his best friend. "Just wanted to see you. Been days. You hiding? Weren't at supper last night, night before that. Sick?"

Vincent smiled faintly towards his inquisitive friend. Sick? Yes, he was sick, but this boy would not understand his illness. Hesitating, he finally forced the lie to his lips. "No, I'm not -sick. I'm fine, Mouse."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I simply felt the need..."

Before Vincent could finish, the smaller man interrupted, as was his usual somewhat disconcerting habit. "Wanted to be alone, like Mouse does sometimes. To think. Right?"

"Yes, I needed to think." Keeping his eyes focused on the Triple Falls, Vincent watched the water cascade down onto the sharp rocks below and said nothing more. Yes, he wanted to think, and to harden his heart against feelings. Against dreams. Against ...wanting.

Mary made her way carefully into the chamber carrying the tray of tea things. "Father? I thought tonight perhaps you and the other council members would like some tea?"

Jacob cleared a space on his desk, smiling over to his friend and confidante. "Why, that's a lovely service you've set up, Mary. And cookies, too? Ah, we'd better hide those from Winslow. You know how he dotes on your cookies."

She blushed a pretty pink at the compliment and arranged the teacups and saucers on the table. Bringing the tea had actually been a subterfuge. She had hoped he'd mention Miss Chandler. She hadn't met her, but had heard from Father earlier how nice she seemed, and how dedicated to her work. Good. They needed someone like that; a lawyer who could defend their rights in the courts Above when necessary - if it ever became necessary. Mary prayed that wouldn't happen - ever.

Father watched her fuss until the table satisfied her esthetic taste. Smiling at her from his chair, he remarked, "Mary, we shall need one more cup - I think."

The woman looked confused. "But, I thought it was to be just you, William and the five regular members, besides myself? Who else are you expecting?"

"Peter is supposed to bring Miss Chandler down for the meeting. It's been quite a while since we've had the pleasure of Peter's company for a meeting. I'm glad he's found the time to join us tonight. It will make things that much easier for his young friend when the questions begin, as I'm sure they will."

"Oh, I do hope William and the others show a bit of...well, I just hope that they remember they're gentlemen."

Jacob chuckled. "They will. I've already spoken to them on that matter. Calm yourself, dear Mary. You seem to be in somewhat of a dither."

Glaring at the man, she shook her forefinger at him. "If anyone tries to intimidate that woman, they'll answer to me!"

Casting him one last look of warning, Mary left the chamber hurriedly. Oh dear, oh dear. So much to do and only twenty minutes left to do it in. Now, where had she put those napkins?!

Catherine and Peter walked slowly down the winding, torch-lit corridor. Stopping suddenly and turning to face him, she teased nervously, "Well, for once you were on time and now we've arrived too early."

He glowered at her for a moment, and then shrugged good-humoredly. "Pick, pick, pick! Damned if I do and damned if I don't, is that it? Ah, how does one please women?"

"You can't, but it's nice that you try." Laughing softly as they approached a two-way breach in the tunnel, Catherine started to the right, but then decided it would be better to wait for Peter to catch up. Gesturing toward the murky corridor ahead of her, she asked, "Isn't it this way? I would have sworn I remembered to turn right when I heard the falls."

"Yes, the waterfall is that way."

"Do we have enough time to stop and spend a few moments there? It's so peaceful."

"You can stop, but my old bones need some rest and a good strong cup of tea, if it's available." Studying the corridor, Peter advised, "Now, when you leave the falls, don't forget to turn left at the end of the corridor, and then just go straight ahead for about thirty yards. I'll meet you at the entrance to the library. Please remember to turn left? To the right is a place called The Whispering Gallery and a great chasm. It's a very dangerous spot. You will be careful, won't you?"

"I'll be fine. But, if I'm late..." Suddenly unsure, Catherine's voice trailed off to silence.

"If you're late, you're lost, and I'll have to come after you. You have about a half an hour. Take care. Jacob will have my head for allowing you to wander around down here alone."

Sighing heavily, Vincent slowly rose to his feet. It was time to start for the lower chambers. He could sense that Catherine was getting close. And then, suddenly, she was TOO close! He whirled around facing the door, and then shrank back into the shadows of the far wall. She wasn't merely close, she was here! HERE. No. God, please no! Trying to calm his rapid breathing, he quickly yanked his hood up to shadow his face.

Catherine entered the falls cavern and then hesitated, glancing around warily. Something seemed to be pulling at her. It was almost as though an unseen hand had reached out to touch her face. And she sensed that someone was watching her; someone who was very close. Shivering as the spray from the falls drifted over her clothes and skin, she moved forward. Sitting down on an outcropping of rock, she looked out over the churning water and sighed. This was such a beautiful place. Then, suddenly, the sensation of being watched washed over her again.

"Hello?" she called out. "I know you're there." Looking around, she demanded, "Where are you?"

Silence. As her eyes became accustomed to the gray-tinged shadows, she could still feel someone's eyes on her. Just as she was going to call out again, she spotted something that shouldn't be there - a form, a shape - a very large shape. Getting to her feet and walking towards it, she tried again. "I'm Catherine Chandler. Who are you, a member of the community, or are you a helper, like me?"

Again, nothing but silence. Now, she was getting mad! Whoever was there certainly seemed to be quite rude. "Well, whoever you are, it's only polite to answer a person, you know!"

From out of the shadows came a soft, yet totally masculine voice, for no female throat could have contained such a deep, chesty rumble. "I am sorry, Miss Chandler, I didn't mean to be discourteous. My name is Vincent. And I never meant to alarm you. Please forgive me, and don't be frightened? I'll goÖ"

With his head bent low, the tall hooded figure made quickly for the opposite wall and the chamber exit. Catherine hesitated and then moved closer, hoping that he'd speak again. What a wondrous voice Vincent had. There was such beauty in that voice, and such pain. Why did she feel such sorrow in a few words from a stranger? "Please? Don't go? I've been waiting to meet you for three weeks. You're never around very much."

Closing his eyes, Vincent took a deep breath, forcing his voice to remain calm. "I work further below much of the time, in the deeper caverns. Father has spoken highly of you, Miss Chandler."

"Please, call me Catherine?"

She saw the figure bend his head, his response more felt that actually heard. "Welcome to my ...this world, Catherine." Seeming to be unaware of doing it, Vincent placed his left hand on the rock wall beside him and straightened up slightly; as though drawing strength from the familiar rough texture. "I must go now."

It was then that Catherine saw his hands and her eyes went widely startled. Oh my God, they weren't the hands of a man! Or at least any man she'd ever known. He had claws. It was strange, but she wasn't the least bit afraid - at least not yet. "Don't go? Please!" She stopped directly behind him, her right hand outstretched, and then hesitated.

Sensing that she was about to touch him, Vincent moved further away. "Please let me pass? I don't wish to..." Exhaling roughly, he began again. "My appearance would only frighten you, Catherine."

Quickly reaching out, she gently captured the edge of his cloak in her fingers, and he stiffened. But he didn't pull away. "I must go," he repeated shakily

"Stay?" Hoping to calm his obvious agitation, she insisted quietly, "I'm truly not afraid.

"Perhaps you should be. Let me go, please?"

His voice was almost brusque, yet Catherine could feel great tenderness in his mournful entreaty. "Vincent, won't you sit with me for a few moments? I have to go to the council meeting soon, but I'd like to get to know you, if you'll let me?" She repeated her earlier words, and the quiet promise behind the words shook him to the soul. "Whatever your appearance, Vincent, I'm not afraid of you."

She slowly reached up and touched his right shoulder. He trembled from the feel of her hand, his breathing deepened roughly as he ceased struggling. "I will stay, if you desire it, Catherine. If it is what you want."

"It is. Thank you." She started around him slowly, trying not to make him too uncomfortable. And finally, they were standing face to face, his blazing blue eyes caught up and held fast within the depths of her smoky green ones, before sliding away again to examine the chamber floor. Catherine trembled all over as the blue of his eyes seemed to enter her body like a searching heat. Gentle eyes, kind eyes. Sad eyes. There was a depth of sorrow she'd never known before in this man's beautifully slanted eyes.

The rest of his face was certainly unique, but it didn't scare her, at least not too much. Suddenly remembering something from childhood, she smiled to herself. As a youngster, she was the one who could never watch the scary movies with her friends, the one who did NOT like Halloween. She'd overcome most of her fears in her adult life. Now, standing here next to this man, she was glad of that. For, to be honest, if anything could have scared her, he would have. Yet nothing about him was frightening - at least not to her. "Vincent, forgive me?"

His head snapped up, eyes meeting hers again. "For what should I forgive you, Catherine?"

"For my curiosity. I didn't mean..."

Taking a few steps to the right, he leaned back against the rocks, shaking his head; the outline of his face still mostly shadowed by the hooded cape. "It's all right. I know you didn't mean to cause me ...shame."

The pain in his voice made her aware of how uncomfortable he truly was. Oh God, Chandler what have you done? She reached out and put her fingers to the edges of the hooded cloak.

His stunned gasp stilled her hands for a moment, but then, with quiet determination she moved forward again. "Don't be ashamed. There's no reason to be. Vincent, let me see you? Trust me? Will you please trust me?"

A tremendous shudder seemed to surge through his body. "Yes, I trust you, Catherine."

Slowly pushing the hood away from his face, she lowered it gently to his broad shoulders and then stepped back. Vincent kept his head bowed until she put her right forefinger under his chin and coaxed him to meet her gaze. His head came up almost painfully slowly, his eyes wide, desperate with hope. And when he finally managed to look at the beautiful woman standing before him, he discovered in her eyes, and in her touch, so much more than hope. There, in her eyes, he found complete acceptance.

At that moment, a compassionate rush of her extreme sensitivity filled his heart. He felt no fear, truly none, in Catherine. She reached out to brush the hair away from his face, smiling up at him so calmly, so serenely, it exploded into his heart. In that instant, Vincent knew she had spoken the truth; she was not afraid of him in the least. At last he found his voice. A voice of satin laced with sandpaper. Gravel and velvet. Trust and love. "The meeting will be starting soon. They'll be worried, thinking you've wandered off and become lost, Catherine. May I walk with you?"

She held out her hand to him, wanting to cry and not really understanding why. "Yes, of course. I'm still not too sure of the way."

He touched her hand lightly, but then drew back, still afraid of causing her apprehension.

Reaching out for his hand again, Catherine clasped his fingers tightly. "Vincent, won't you please lead me through the dark?"

Striding swiftly towards the park entrance leading from his world to the world above, Vincent brushed some dirt from his cloak and then examined his nails. Blast. One of them was broken roughly along the edge. Reaching into one deep pocket of his cloak, he pulled out a large file and proceeded to have at the nail with a vengeance until he was satisfied it would not catch in clothing - neither Catherine's or his own.

Suddenly a smile overtook him. She let him touch her, even hold her in his arms, which had been amazing to him. Catherine actually seemed to enjoy his arm about her shoulders from time to time. She always reached out first when they met, hugging him hard for a moment before releasing him. When he dared to embrace her at all, he held her very carefully. There had been times he did not dare to do even that much - those times when his feelings, his love for her, had very nearly conquered his reserve. At those moments he wanted to reach for her, never to let her go from him again; to crush her to his chest and kiss her mouth, that lovely mouth that spoke so gently. The mouth that read to him, and calmed him when he was upset or hurt.

In his life, only Father had been able to do that - calm him. Vincent ducked his head shyly, remembering. One time Catherine had held him as a mother would hold her child, tightly against her breast. Then she'd rock him to and fro until all the pain ebbed away and he felt reborn, renewed in her touch. If he closed his eyes, he could feel her warmth still. As he could feel the heat of her skin, and the coolness in her fingers as they glided over his forehead.

Vincent closed his heart against what was rising, overwhelming him with emotion. He wanted her, this he knew. This he dealt with every moment of every day since seeing her, that first time. Painful? Yes it was extremely painful. But not to see Catherine, not to have her near, would have been beyond painful. It would have been unendurable, now. She had become a part of him, as he was part of her. Would he ever have the courage to tell her that, he wondered; to explain that he and she had a true connection, a bond that would never break for the rest of their lives? Unless he broke it, and that he prayed never to do. For that would be to deny her, and deny his love of her. How could he not love Catherine?

Tilting his head to the left, he smiled. He could do without many things; survive without them and go on. But he couldn't go on without Catherine - not any more. She had ended his aloneness forever - had changed him forever. And for this long he belonged with her, and to her. Forever. He knew he was someone who could love only once in his life. He'd always sensed that, and knew now to trust this sense, this second sight of his, without question.

Suddenly remembering the lateness of the hour, he hurried along the tunnels. The concert would start soon and he was bringing Catherine to his special listening place for the first time.

Another thing they shared besides a love of poetry was their love of music, especially classical pieces. Once, Catherine had told him of a concert she had been to long ago. The music was by Grieg, one of his favorite composers. He hadn't really been surprised to find out it was also hers. How extraordinary that there was so much they shared, so many things. And tonight the concert in the park Above was to be Grieg. He mustn't be late.

With a snort of disgust, Catherine glanced at her watch; great, just wonderful. What a day Joe picked for a conference, dammit! The day she had to be home early and get ready for a concert! And when she told him she had to meet someone, what had been DEAR Mister Maxwell's reaction? HA and again HA. He'd said, "So what?" Then he'd told her that HE had to give up many evenings for meetings and work, and so could she for a change. Errgghhh! Mercilessly punching the elevator button in her building, the exasperated woman looked down at her watch again, muttering, Joseph Maxwell, you are an unfeeling, uncaring, unromantic creep!

Pulling the towel from her still damp hair, Catherine threw open the doors of her closet. Okay. Dress...dress...DRESS? What was suitable for a tunnel concert? Dungarees? No! A skirt and blouse? Nah. Her eyes picked up a flash of bright purple. Whisking the dress from the closet, she held it before her in the full-length mirror.

Tilting her head this way and that, she nodded. This was the one. Deep purple, satin and velvet. High in front, low in back, with a handkerchief hem - uneven and delicately embroidered with lace. Yep, this was a perfect dress to melt a rock. For, that is what Vincent was - a rock. An immovable object. A mountain made of stubbornness! Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled on her stockings. Would that man ever get past his fear of hurting her enough to take her in his arms and kiss her? That would be enough, for now anyway. A first step, a baby step. It was nearly a year since she'd become a helper in Vincent's world; a year in about 3 months. For most of those months, she'd wanted Vincent to kiss her. Like most women, she was a bit insulted when he didn't even try. Not even once! And she'd told him so.

Finally, he had found the courage somewhere to explain when he realized she'd spoke only the truth; that she wanted him to kiss her and hold her. He'd told her sadly that between them there could only be friendship. And then hed painfully related the story of a girl named Lisa; how he'd hurt her, long ago. And that his hands were not meant to give love to a woman, to any woman - ever. Feeling his pain, she had reached out and taken his hands into hers, kissing each one of his fingers. And then they'd both cried. She cried for him, and for lost possibilities. He had cried for lost hope.

Sighing, Catherine shook her head. Vincent knew that she trusted him. Why wouldn't he trust himself? How could a man be so full of life, yet so afraid of it at the same time? As she put on her makeup, she frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Did she love Vincent? Good question, but the answer wasn't all that simple. She thought she did, but she wasn't sure. How could she be sure when he seemed almost terrified of her at times? Men! Why did things get so complicated with MEN?

With a final look in the mirror, Catherine grabbed her shawl and started for the basement - and her own special entrance to a world that had captured her heart, and the unique man who refused to make claims on it.

The concert was breathtaking; perfect. Vincent had gathered pillows of all shapes, sizes, and colors for them to sit on, as well as a large comforter to wrap around Catherine should she feel chilled by the damp night air above.

When the orchestra took a mid concert intermission, he offered her a small glass of wine. "Catherine?"

"Oh, how thoughtful you are." Taking the sparkling crystal glass, she took a long, slow sip. "Hmm, this is good. Where did you get it?"

"From a helper named Salvatore. He owns a pizza parlor near the Seventh street tunnel. Sal has been a good and trusted friend for as long as I can remember."

Catherine clinked her glass against his much smaller one. "Someday we should go there for a pizza."

He looked at her with a trace of amusement sparkling in his eyes. "If you and I walked in arm in arm, I really don't think the customers would understand, Catherine."

"Oh, you!" She reached out and bumped his elbow slightly; just enough to nearly spill his wine into his lap. With a jump forwards, he saved his pants, but not his green silk shirt. Catherine lowered her eyes. "Oops. Sorry about that, chief."

"Excuse me?" Vincent looked truly puzzled. "Chief?"

"Never mind. I'll explain later. When I said let's go for pizza, I meant AFTER hours."

Vincent swiped at the wine, but only succeeded in making the stain spread. Catherine didn't look as mortified as he felt right now. He looked over at her again. Yes, she was definitely grinning at him.

"'I'll have the shirt dry-cleaned for you. The stain should come out - I hope. But if it doesn't, I'll buy you a new one." When he sighed, she eyed him and arched an eyebrow. "Don't look so glum."

"This WAS my favorite shirt." He tried looking like a stern parent, and failed miserably as she taunted, "Don't be such a grouch! I AM sorry, and I didn't spill the wine on purpose. Or don't you believe me?"

He settled back against the wall as the orchestra began the overture to the second portion of the concert. So, he was a grouch, was he? His eyes glinted in the dimness of the chamber. "I don't believe you."

"What! Catherine gasped. You dare to question my honesty!"

"Yes, I do dare to question it," he began, his tone a mixture of amusement and feigned indignity, Especially when you're smiling at me in that way. "

Catching sight of the look of devilment in his eyes, Catherine collapsed against his chest, her laughter filling the air around them. Sitting up after a few moments, she swiped the tears from her eyes. "Oh my, your sense of humor gets me every time. Vincent, I am sorry about your shirt, though. Truly I am."

"Hm. NOW I believe you."

This caused another round of giggles, and this time he joined in wholeheartedly. Not seeming to be aware of it, Vincent's arms had tightened around Catherine, drawing her closer to him. As he turned his head to say something to her, her mouth was mere inches from his, slightly open, moist, waiting for the warmth of his. He tried to pull back, but he simply couldn't find that much inner strength. Catherine didn't move, didn't breathe as she saw the conflict in his eyes. Feeling him tremble, she realized instantly that he was struggling to deny his own feelings. In the end, he couldn't; he had known this time, this moment, would come eventually, and it had.

"Catherine?" His murmur of her name was both the question and the answer as a shaking hand crept up slowly along the edge of her jaw. One finger began to caress her yielding lower lip, stroking back and forth sweetly. "Oh, Catherine."

Catherine lowered her lips to his hand and kissed the palm with utmost tenderness, aware of his feelings, as well as her own. Then, she lifted her head slowly, her joy undeniable as she stroked one finger along his the side of his face. "Yes, Vincent."

His mouth seized hers instantly as she spoke his name. When he covered her lips possessively with his, male lust began to override his authority, completely escaping his dominance as he deepened the kiss until a moan was torn from one of them. Her? Him? He didn't know, and at this moment he was truly beyond caring. All he had ever wanted was in his arms, joined to him. As he deepened the kiss, he felt the flame of her body reach out, enraging him. He was going mad with wanting. Catherine was in his arms. The world was in his arms.

Breathing heavily, he eased her backwards toward the pillows, releasing her long enough to gasp her name, as tremors raced along his body to settle deep into his groin. Every muscle in his stomach and thighs tightened in arousal as he felt Catherine's slender form move beneath his. The power of just what he was feeling, the sensation of rubbing against her, was causing great pain, yet was such an intoxicating experience he was losing his reason - his very will.

Yes, he wanted this, he needed it. Catherine was HIS, would be his always. Always! From this moment, she must bend to HIS desires. Crushing her against him, Vincent felt the darkness reach out, seizing him. He was forfeiting control of his actions to what he called the dark side of his nature - a part of himself that he despised and could never trust. There was a rutting fire in his blood now as that darkness rose to claim him.

"We must not do this." As his fingers gripped her arms almost painfully, he wrenched himself away from the woman he desired with every part of his being, his breathing harsh, his eyes dark with barely confined hunger. "Catherine, we can not DO this!"

Then he turned away, growling savagely in the depths of his torment. Holding one hand over his wildly hammering heart, Vincent fought his own body for supremacy. He swallowed hard, then again, then one more time as he dragged air into his lungs. His words were gulped, sobbed in torment. "NO! I cannot do this. This cannot happen - ever!" He leapt to his feet to stand against the opposite wall, frozen as still as death, his eyes wide with fear.

Catherine reached out to him, but he shook his head. "No closer, please Catherine. I cannot endure having you nearer. I am losing myself. You must leave me. Now. "

"Let me help you?" She reached for him, but the expression on his face caused her to pull her hand back and let it fall to her side. "Vincent, tell me what I can do?"

"Do? There is nothing you can do." His eyes were filled with a combination of panic laced with unyielding anguish. She reached out to him, but then lowered her hand as his terror stole into her heart. "Catherine, go now, I beg of you? Quickly!"

Half blinded by tears, she did as he asked and ran from the chamber.

Part 2