Catherine frowned as she replaced the telephone receiver. Although she was occasionally contacted by people from the Tunnels, it was generally because her help was needed, or because Vincent had particularly requested her to see someone. This call was the latest of several recently from a young man named Dench, asking her to meet him for lunch.

Dench had lived among the Tunnel community for about a year, following a suicide attempt. A Helper had found him one night in the act of trying to slash his wrists behind some garbage cans in an alley. Disregarding his own safety, the man had thrown himself on Dench before he could finish the job and taken him Below, where Father had sanctioned his stay until he returned to physical and emotional stability. At the age of twenty six, and with the face of an Angel, Dench's plight had pulled at everyone's heartstrings, including Catherine, but it was Father and Vincent who inched him painstakingly along the road to recovery; Father providing the physical restorative powers and Vincent, the emotional strength and companionship.

As she walked to the fast food restaurant where they had arranged to meet, Catherine wondered, not for the first time, how best to deal with a situation she knew she couldn't ignore any longer.

Dench was waiting for her in a booth when she arrived. "Hi Cath'! How are you?" He sprang out of his seat and waited until she had slid in opposite before resuming his place.

"I'm just fine Dench, how are you?"

"Great, just great. You're looking really terrific today."

She smiled and glanced at her watch. "Well, thank you. Now, I don't have too long so why don't we order and then you can tell me why you wanted to see me. Okay?"

He signalled to a waitress, who came over and stood before them, beaming. "Hi, I'm Angela. What can I get you folks?"

Catherine glanced briefly at the menu and then set it aside. "I'll have a quarterpounder with cheese, and a coffee please."

The waitress scribbled on her pad. "Regular or decaff?"

"Decaff. Thank you."

When Dench had placed his order he turned back to Catherine. "Thanks for coming to meet me today Cath'. I really appreciate it."

"Well I was a little surprised. Is something wrong?"

He pulled a face. "Hey, does something have to be wrong before I want to see you?"

"We did see each other last Friday."

He made a pretence of trying to think back to the previous weekend when Catherine had gone Below to be with Vincent at a christening ceremony. "Oh, that. Hell, everyone else was there that night so it doesn't count. I wanted to see you alone."

Catherine shifted in her seat and was grateful for the arrival of the waitress with their order. The girl set the plates before them and then departed, instructing them to enjoy their meal.

Catherine had been aware for some weeks that Dench harboured more than just a friendly interest in her, and despite his determination to see only good in people, she was sure Vincent had seen it too, although neither had broached the subject. Now she knew the time had come to remove as gently as possible, any illusion Dench might have about her feelings toward him.

"I only agreed to meet you because I think there are some things you should understand," she began.

"You're going to tell me you belong to Vincent." To Catherine's relief he had lowered his voice.

"I don't belong to anyone, Dench. None of us can, or should even want to possess another person. You should always remember that. But the answer to your question in the sense you mean is, yes. And I always will. There can be no one else for me, ever. I thought you knew that."

He shrugged, "I guess I just find that kind of hard to accept. I mean, why Cath'? You are so beautiful, you could have anyone ... why him? Obviously you don't give a damn about looks!" He paused to laugh at his own joke. " So he sure as hell must have something the rest of us don't. Level with me Cath'"

"I couldn't explain it to you even if I wanted to, which I don't. All you need to know is that Vincent saved my life once and I owe him everything."

"Not your heart, not your celibacy. Okay, you're grateful to him ... hell, I'm grateful to him, we're all grateful to him, but that doesn't make you his slave for life. Maybe it's time you woke up to what a normal man can give you. Be Vincent's friend, sure, but look for a lover ... look at me Cath."

Slightly sickened by his remarks, Catherine laid aside her half eaten burger. "I'm afraid you don't understand anything about it and I'm not prepared to discuss it any further."

She started to get up but Dench put out a hand to stop her. "Okay, okay. I guess I should've never tried to open that particular can of worms. It's none of my business except that I care about you Cath' and I had to warn you."

"Warn me? About what?" Dench leaned forward conspiratorial and his voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.

"About Vincent of course. You know he kills people? Oh don't look like that ..." he said hurriedly at Catherine's incredulous expression. "Since I've been in the Tunnels I've heard what happens whenever someone outside upsets him ... or you. But I think it's gotten out of control now. He does it for pleasure. I think he gets off on it."

This time Catherine refused to be restrained and she jumped up, turning on Dench, her eyes blazing. "How can you say something like that. After all he's done for you ... to violate his friendship and trust like this is reprehensible!" Close to tears of hurt and anger, she ran out of the restaurant only to be caught by Dench a few yards down the restaurant only to be caught by Dench a few yards down the street.

Grabbing her arm he pleaded with her. "I'm sorry Cathy'! Please forgive me ... I'm really sorry!" His handsome baby-face was a picture of misery. "I'd never do anything to hurt him ... the guy's been like a brother to me. I guess my love for you just made it all come out wrong. I am worried about him though. Whatever you think of me, please, for his sake, keep an eye on him. Promise me?"

Catherine tried to shake off his hand.

"Please Cath, I beg you ... from the bottom of my heart."

Searching his eyes for some kind of sign that he was lying and finding none, Catherine let out a long breath and nodded. "Okay Dench. This conversation never took place, but I will ... keep my eyes open."

"Thanks. Really. I never meant to upset you, but I'd sure as hell never forgive myself if anything happened to either one of you and I hadn't at least tried to warn you."

Four days later Joe Maxwell burst into Catherine's office, brandishing the morning newspaper. "You see this?" Punching the front page with his knuckles, he thrust it in front of Catherine.

"What is it?" There was a photo of a man found dead in Central Park. Sadly, there was nothing particularly unusual about that these days but when Catherine saw the face and read the accompanying account of the murder, her blood ran cold.

"...mauled to death ... wounds consistent with those likely to be inflicted by a wild animal."

"Looks like our 'friend' from last year has struck again," said Joe roughly. "I hope to God it's not starting over. They never did catch him."

The moment darkness fell found Catherine waiting at the Tunnel entrance. Father came to meet her.

"Where's Vincent?" she cried, "I must see him!"

"Calm yourself child," soothed the old man. "Come, sit with me in my chamber until Vincent returns."

Catherine fiddled nervously with the strap on her shoulder bag. "Where is he?"

Father sighed, shaking his head. "He's walking in the park. I told him to wait until later but he said he needed some fresh air. I'm sure he won't be long."

"Did he go Above last night?"

On reaching his chamber, Father poured Catherine a goblet of wine and sat down opposite her.

"Why yes, for a while he did. Why?"

Catherine took a gulp of wine and attempted to steady her hands. Before she could answer, a sound behind them made them both turn their heads. Vincent stood in the doorway.

"Catherine. I see Father has made you welcome in my absence."

Catherine ran to him. "I must talk to you Vincent ... in private."

He inclined his head slightly, "Something is wrong?"

"Yes! No. That is ... I'm not sure."

He held out his hand and let her away, apologising to Father for their hasty exit.

Once in his chamber Catherine rounded on him. "Why were you in the Park?"

"I needed some air. Does it matter?"

"It might. And last night ... did you 'need some air' then too?"

"Since you ask, yes I did. I feel claustrophobic sometimes. You know that, Catherine."

She prowled around the chamber wanting to ask the question but not knowing how to do it.

"Catherine, what is the matter? I can sense tremendous turmoil in you. Tell me."

"Vincent, can you remember ... how you felt, last night?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, did you feel angry ... frightened ... sick?"

Vincent made a frustrated sound in his throat. "Catherine, what are you asking me? Why all these questions?"

Opening her bag she removed the newspaper and held it out to him. Taking it he scanned the story on the front page, then tossed it on to the table and looked at her.

"You think I did that?"

"No I just ... when Father said you went out last night I wondered if ..."

"You wondered if my Dark Side was starting to surface again. It's all right Catherine, I understand your fear. You lived through it with me ... you saw how terrifying it is. Let me put your mind at rest. I feel perfectly healthy ... it wasn't me. I did not kill that man, Catherine."

A sob escaped Catherine's throat and she closed the distance between them, touching his arm tentatively. "Oh Vincent, I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?"

"You believe me then?" he enquired softly.

She was crying now. "Of course I believe you. I know you'd never lie to me and I know you'd never kill anyone unless it was in self defence or to protect someone you love. I was just so afraid that your ... illness ... might be beginning again."

He held out his hands and she threw herself at him, strengthened by the warmth of his body as the powerful limbs closed around her. When he held her like this she felt they were invincible; that she need never be afraid for either of them again.

Catherine's relief that Vincent wasn't responsible for the Central park murder was to be short lived. Three days later another body was found on the opposite side of the park and less than 48 hours later, yet another; the cause of death in each case again attributed to mauling by some kind of clawed creature, possibly of the cat family. The Police became understandably edgy and had dubbed the killer 'The Beast'.

Pressure on the D.A.'s office to find the killer mounted daily, and this time when Catherine went to Vincent, it was not to question him, but to seek comfort and advice.

"Joe thinks the person the Police were hunting last year has begun killing again," she said. "I don't know what to tell him. You and I know it's a copycat killer but there's no way I can prove that to him without exposing you. It's a 'Catch-22' situation."

Vincent nodded, "And undoubtedly the Police still have all the evidence collected previously. Unless we can do something about this ourselves it's only a matter of time before I am discovered, which in turn will place in danger the lives of everyone in the Tunnels. I cannot take that risk."

The mere thought of Vincent's capture and almost inevitable death at the hands of the Police was like a knife in her heart. "What can we do?" she asked.

"I must leave the Tunnels until the killer is caught and it is safe for me to return," replied Vincent, "and for that I need your help Catherine."

"Anything - you know that. Tell me!"

"I cannot go to the Catacombs because I need to be able to watch the Park at night. It is the daylight that presents the greatest difficulty. Catherine, I have to ask you ... would you permit me to use your apartment during the day ... just until this is over?"

Catherine's heart turned over with joy. "Of course you can! Oh Vincent, it will be wonderful to have you in my home ... to know you're there when I return from work in the evening."

He touched her cheek with a gentle smile. "As soon as darkness falls I shall be gone Catherine. Winter is upon us and I shall spend as long as possible in the Park."

"But you'll freeze to death!"

"I promise you it will not be the temperature that troubles me, Catherine. The greatest danger will come from the people who use the park."

"The Police will probably stake it out each night," Catherine frowned. "We'll need to keep you carefully hidden."

Vincent gripped her shoulders. 'Not 'we', Catherine. If I am found, the Police will kill me; you know that. I do not want you anywhere near the park until this is over."

Knowing it was useless to argue with him she merely handed over the key to her French doors and kissed his cheek before leaving.

Neither of them saw a figure disappear into the shadows outside Vincent's chamber.

Vincent found Father more difficult to convince than Catherine. He was firmly of the opinion that his son should remain Below in safety and the network of the Tunnels communication system should be extended to ensure security was tighter than ever before.

"You can't do this, Vincent," he pleaded. "The danger is immense."

"And to everyone else if I stay, Father," countered Vincent. "But this business of using Catherine's apartment during the day; what about her cleaning lady?"

"She will tell her she is going away for a few weeks and will contact her when she returns."

"What about friends arriving unexpectedly or, worse still, what if someone has a key to the apartment, someone Catherine has forgotten about ... an old boyfriend or a relative perhaps?" Father was becoming more agitated every second.

"Her father is the only one, and she will ask him for it tonight on the pretext of having the locks changed. If all goes well, this arrangement will only be for a few nights. The killer has struck three times so far in the last ten days."

Father paced up and down his chamber. "I don't like this one bit Vincent. I wonder if you truly realise the danger you are exposing yourself to."

Vincent stepped in front of the old man and gripped his arms. "I do realise, Father. And I shall return to the Tunnels, my home, in a very short while. Trust me ... and pray for me."

The two embraced, each feeling the weight of fear and danger pressing in on them, lightened only by the love they shared.

For the sixth time in half an hour Catherine was interrupted by the phone ringing on her desk.

"Catherine Chandler ... may I help you?"

"Cath', it's me, Dench."

Laying down her pen she turned her full attention to the man at the other end of the phone, praying he wasn't going to ask her to meet him again. "Yes, Dench, what can I do for you."

"I have to talk to you ... about our mutual friend. I'm worried."

'So am I', Catherine thought. 'But more about you at the moment.'

"You needn't be, I assure you. I've seen the party in question recently and everything's fine. There's no need to worry."

"Oh but there is, Cath'. Haven't you been reading the papers?"

A cold chill seem to envelop her heart. "I know what's going on of course, but that has nothing to do with our friend I promise you."

"That's what he told you, of course. But perhaps you're too close to be objective about this, and before you say anything else, there's been another."

"What!"

"You heard me. We have to do something ... we have to stop this now, before anyone else is killed!"

Catherine was close to tears when she spoke. "Who would do this? What sick mind would do something like this!"

"I guess there's always a chance I'm wrong about this Cath'. Could just be there's someone out there who hates our friend enough to want the cops to think it's him. I'll see what I can dig up. But whatever happens, remember I'm here for you if you need me. I'll be in touch."

The line went dead and Catherine sat there shaking, digesting the full implication of Dench's words. She looked at her watch; five forty. Too late ... Vincent would have left by now. She wouldn't be able to speak to him until he returned just before dawn. Unless ... no, she'd never be able to find him in the park. He could be anywhere, and he'd be furious if she broke her promise and put herself in danger for him. Suddenly she knew there was no choice to make, and she jumped up, grabbed her bag and ran to Joe Maxwell's office. Flinging open the door she barely noticed he had a senior member of the NYPD with him.

"Joe I'm really sorry but I have to go. I'll finish reading the Anderson file tomorrow. Excuse me," she added.

"Cathy wait! Can't you tell me what this is about?"

Catherine was halfway down the corridor as she threw the words over her shoulder. "No time Joe. Sorry."

The November darkness had fallen over Central Park like Vincent's own black mantle. Normally she wasn't afraid when she was going to see him, knowing he would always protect her; that he'd be in the Tunnels or close by, feeling any surge of emotion almost as powerfully as she did. But this was different. The Park covered roughly two square miles of mainly open ground with a less than spotless reputation at night even before the four latest murders. Cautiously, she made her way along the Fifth Avenue side towards The Lake, comforting herself with the fact that all the victims so far, had been men. 'Where are you, Vincent?' she whispered to herself. He could be hiding anywhere in the undergrowth or even in a tree.

She passed a tramp asleep under some newspaper on a bench and another either drunk or sleeping at the foot of a tree. They posed no threat to her and Catherine continued walking, quickly, trying not to run and arouse interest in any unsavoury characters who might be lurking. When she had covered about half a mile, a sound from the bushes sent her heart flying into her mouth.

"Catherine!"

Her fear evaporated as Vincent emerged and marched her beneath a tree.

"What are you doing here! I told you not to ..."

"Vincent listen to me! I know who the killer is ... it's Dench! Do you hear me! It's Dench!"

He sensed she was on the verge of hysteria and placed his hand over her mouth.

"Yes I know, Catherine. I know. Now please, calm yourself. We must remain quiet. Are you all right?"

She nodded and he released her.

"How did you know?"

"He's been calling me at the office. I had lunch with him recently and he acted kind of weird. He began to come on to me and I told him I wasn't interested. He tried to tell me you were ... losing control ... like before ... and that he was worried about you; what you might do. I walked out on him and he came after me to apologise. He was very plausible, Vincent. And then when the killings started ..."

"You thought perhaps he was right; that it was me. It's all right, Catherine, I understand."

"I just had to be sure. And then tonight - he called me again and said he had to talk to me about you; that he was sure it was you and that maybe I was too close to you to see the truth. Then he said something weird and I realised it had been him the whole time!"

"What did he tell you?"

"He said maybe someone hated you enough to want the Police to believe you did it."

Vincent and Catherine spun around and Vincent gave a low snarl, deep in his throat. Dench stood in front of them with one arm held aloft, a long-clawed glove covering his hand.

"With this it was easy to make it look like your work Vincent," he jeered. "But it was a bad mistake, what I said to Cath'. As soon as I said it I knew she'd realise it was me. After all, the Police don't even know you exist. Only someone from the tunnels would know about what happened last year, and none of them would do anything to hurt you would they? They all 'love' you, don't they Vincent?"

He mimicked the word as if by doing so it would lose its meaning. The usually handsome face had become a cold mask of hatred that Vincent had never seen before.

"Why, Dench?" he asked simply.

"Because of HER!" spat the other man, pointing at Catherine. "Because I thought if I could make her see what you really are, I'd have a chance with her. It sickens me to think of her being with you! You're nothing but a goddamn freak who should be in a fringing sideshow!"

Vincent turned his back but his shoulders heaved with rage and it took every bit of self-control not to attack the man he had thought was his friend for the past year. He clenched his fists so tightly he drew blood from his own claws and, fearful of a confrontation which would end in Dench's death, Catherine moved between them, forcing her voice to sound calm when she spoke.

"It's over now Dench. Why don't we go to the police. I'll come with you. You've been under a lot of pressure since last year and the Police will know that ... they'll find someone who can talk to you, help you through this."

But as desperately as Catherine had wanted to diffuse the situation, neither she nor Vincent were prepared for the change in Dench, as the callous expression fell away and tears began pouring down his face. Cradling his head in both hands he began to sob.

"Oh God! Oh God, what have I done! I didn't mean it Vincent, I'm sorry. Can you forgive me? I'm so sorry! I'll make it up to you, I swear ... I'll tell the Police it was me. Vincent PLEASE!"

Catherine watched in astonishment as Vincent turned around, unsure what to do about the man grovelling at his feet. She could see the consternation on his face as he struggled with the inner rage and torment brought about by Dench's earlier remarks and his natural compassion for another human being in distress.

The compassion won, as knew it would, but suddenly, as Vincent bent to lift the other man from the ground, in a lightning move Dench produced a hunting knife from somewhere and with an almost superhuman strength, plunged the blade deep between Vincent's ribs.

"NO! OH GOD, NO!" Catherine screamed.

They heard Vincent's sharp intake of breath as he reeled and staggered back against a tree. He gripped the handle of the knife and pulled, and Catherine watched in horror as, with a sound that was a cross between a roar and a groan, he inched the blade out of his chest and flung it to the ground. With the other hand he knocked Dench flying as he pounced on the knife again.

From the ground the young man looked up and grinned, showing his teeth and laughing in a crazed fashion. "It's too late Vincent," he screamed. "You see I have to kill you now in self-defence so that the Police will stop looking. Once 'The Beast' is dead they'll close the case."

Catherine knew she had to move quickly. Opening her purse she whipped out the small handgun she'd carried ever since the attack on herself, aimed it at Dench and fired. He fell, clutching his leg, but with a reserve of strength that only the mad or desperate possess, he lunged at Vincent again. This time Catherine shot to kill and Dench fell like a stone.

"Vincent!" Catherine screamed.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion for Vincent. He had sunk to his knees against the tree, blood oozing through his fingers as he clutched at the knife wound. The pain in his chest was excruciating and he could hear his breath rasping in his throat, each one burning more powerfully and becoming more difficult than the previous one. Through a semi-conscious haze he felt Catherine beside him, knew she was sobbing and shouting but he couldn't seem to distinguish the words. She was pointing to something making a noise in the air, and trying to make him get up, but when he tried, even with her arms around him, his legs wouldn't seem to work and then suddenly he couldn't see properly as darkness began to blur his vision. He must have been leaning on her too heavily because they both ended up on the ground and the next time he tried to rise it was even harder, although the pain was beginning to fade, along with her voice. He began to wonder if he was going to die, and suddenly knew he couldn't let it happen like this; not out in the Park and in front of Catherine.

He shook his head in an effort to clear it and mercifully everything came more or less back into focus, including the pain. Looking up he realised there was a helicopter overhead and that was what Catherine had been trying to tell him. With every ounce of his remaining strength he heaved himself upright and allowed her to lead him towards the Tunnel entrance. He couldn't remember how far away it was and he seriously doubted if he could make it. They staggered on, with Catherine flattening them both against a tree every so often as the police searchlight scanned the ground.

"Catherine, please ... go on alone ... I don't think I can ..." he gasped, when she suddenly yelled: "Father, William, Mouse! Quickly, help us for God's sake ... hurry!"

Then several hands all grabbed him and he was virtually carried the rest of the way. The last thing he remembered was Catherine's beautiful tear-stained face looking down at him. Her hands and coat were covered in blood. He hoped she hadn't been hurt.

Three days later Catherine was sitting in Father's chamber, having spent much of the previous two days at the Police Station.

"So the Police are satisfied that Dench was the killer and you shot him in self defence?" Father asked.

She nodded, the strain of the last few days apparent on her pale face.

"They found the clawed glove he used and as you know, we have the knife down here. They've said as far as they're concerned the case is closed."

Father shook his head sadly. "Dench was obviously schizophrenic. He was able to convince all of us that he'd recovered from whatever trauma caused him to attempt suicide, whilst all the time he was harbouring an obsession for you and hatred for Vincent."

"I know, it's terrifying. I was so afraid Vincent was going to die. You're absolutely sure he'll be okay?"

Father took her hand and squeezed it. "I am now. The knife punctured his lung, you know. It was touch and go for a time. If the knife had entered his body another inch to the left it would have been his heart. My limited skills and resources could not have saved him then."

Catherine shivered involuntarily. Then she stood up and bent to kiss Father's cheek. "Thank you Father, for giving him back to me. I don't think I could bear to go on living without him ... not now."

"Come my dear. No more talk like that. Let's go and see him, shall we? He's still weak, naturally, but seeing you will probably do him more good than all the pills I could give him."

Catherine took his arm and together they made their way to Vincent's chamber.

He lay against an assortment of cushions made from various materials ranging from cotton and softest leather to intricately crocheted wool. The book of poetry he had been reading now lay discarded, face down on the bed. He was wearing a full sleeved shirt, open down the front and his chest was heavily bandaged. Although his face was frighteningly pale, the disarray of the fur bed cover indicated that already he was bored and frustrated at the knowledge he was not yet strong enough to be up and about.

"I've brought someone to see you Vincent."

He opened his eyes and when he saw Catherine, smiled and held out his hand.

"I'll leave you two alone for a while," whispered Father and Catherine flashed him a grateful smile.

She walked over to the bed and took Vincent's hand in hers. As she looked down at the face of the man she loved, a face that had always been beautiful to her, she thought about what her life would be like if he had died. And her voice matched the sudden, inexplicable weakness in her limbs when she spoke.

"I think I need to sit down Vincent. I hope that's okay with you."

He took her fingers and pressed them to his lips. "If I wasn't already lying here I would say the same thing to you Catherine." And she knew he understood.

Very carefully she leaned forward and lay her face against his shoulder as he stroked her hair.

"Don't frighten me like that again, Vincent," she breathed. "Don't ever leave me ...ever."

"I won't. I love you, Catherine," he whispered.