To Hope Anew

Chapter Eighteen

Vincent pulled his converging thoughts together finally to focuson his little boy. Jacob was carefully examining the ring that Dianawould soon be wearing. Pascal had seated the child on his lap on thelowest stair and was patiently offering his observations about thespecialness of this day. Vincent could just make out the words abovethe happy murmur of the gathering crowd: "They love each other verymuch."

Standing a few feet away and a bit separate from the familiarmembers of his family and community, Vincent had been silentlymarveling at the gentle transformation within the Underworld today.He readily sensed that it went far beyond the physical changes in theGreat Hall, even though the room had miraculously become a bower inspringtime, alight with candles and wondrously bedecked with abundantbunches of flowers everywhere.

The transformation seemed to encompass the very people who hadtaken the time today to come and join in this gathering, echoing thespirit of the place that was once again new, within the very heart ofthe crowd of family and friends. There was so much an overwhelmingsense of long-awaited hope and joy finally grasped at in every facehe saw.

Because of it, Vincent realized then how much his own trials andpain had affected his community. At times burdened by the constantneed to give himself continually to those around him in the manyday-to-day experiences of life in his world, he hadn't always seenhow difficult it had been for each soul that he touched to realizetheir attempts, to in some small way ease his pain, had been allfruitlessly inadequate.

But, one blazing spirit had taken it upon herself to ignite therestoration within his heart that so many of his loved ones had sadlyabandoned in defeat. And her accomplishment had very much brought thebrightness, the -- rightness -- back to the entire community. It wasalways there, that gentle, nurturing support that was the true heartof the Underworld, but it had long been shadowed by pain endured by aloved one that no one could seem to touch. Diana had managed to workanother one of her small miracles again, her subtle transformationsthat seemed always to actually have been there all along. Because ofit the Underworld was resurrected in spirit as much as he.

A soft smile stole over the unique contours of Vincent's face.Even Pascal had succumbed to the magic.

The quiet, monkish, brilliant pipe master had actually consentedto leave his beloved pipe chamber for most of the day, so he couldparticipate in the celebration fully with his childhood friend. Overthe course of the past months, he had actually found excuses to leavethe pipes in Zack's capable young hands, so that he could spend sometime interacting with other members of the Underworld family. He'dmade it a point to personally show Jacob a bit of the wonder of theirso uniquely musical communications system, helping the little boylearn some simple codes. In the process, he had shared with thosearound him his own wise and uncomplicated heart.

So, hearing Pascal speak to the child now of love, quiteunselfconsciously, was suddenly not at all out of place or surprisingto Vincent. It was simply part of the blessed transformation Diana'sown hopeful nature had brought about.

Hope.

She had never completely lost it in her relationship with him.

Despite the pain, fears, guilt, and overwhelming sense of futilitythat had sometimes encompassed them both, her generosity of heart,her spirit so willing to share pain as well as promise, had broughtthem both to this day.

Would he be capable of embracing the totality of that hope as wellat her side today? She deserved it so. She needed it so. Diana hadbeen so immersed in her redeeming rescue of his soul that she'd verynearly lost her own.

That near loss had terrified Vincent more than anything he'd yetendured, except for his blackest grief and his ongoing battles withthe darknesses he feared within himself. It had been a moment assearingly painful as his last instant with Catherine in his arms. Itwas the instant he knew he could never live his life without Diana athis side, whatever the cost, whatever the sacrifices.

That revelation had come to him on a snowy evening at thebeginning of last winter . . . a night that began in turmoil . . .passed through anguishing fear . . . touched to breathless sweetnessand tenderness . . . and found him breaking Diana's heart to keep hersafe.

The hot water from the shower was near to scalding, pounding ather delicate skin with a force to render her numb, but Diana held herbody under the torrent without flinching. The steaming baptism washardly enough to wash away the feeling of tainted violation she'dbeen overcome by.

Joe had called her that afternoon. They had just gotten thewarrant for DeSalvo's arrest. All their months of painful effort hadpaid off. They were going to get him off the streets.

Diana demanded that Joe let her in on the arrest. She'd never donethat before, preferring always to remain in the background, profilingsuspects, directing avenues of investigation. This time, though, itwas untellingly important for her to be there when the cuffs were puton DeSalvo. She wanted to see him being hauled off. She needed to seeit.

Against his better judgment, Joe had consented, deciding thatperhaps it would give Diana a sense of closure that could help herpull free from the case that had consumed so much of her energies forso long. At least until it came up for trial.

So, they'd come for DeSalvo at his shipping company office andarrested him. He never missed a beat, coolly informing the officers,and Joe, that they'd be hearing from his attorneys within the hourand that they'd all forfeit their jobs in light of their"harrassment" of him.

Then, he unexpectedly slipped up in his cool demeaner again, as hehad when Joe and Diana had first questioned him. As he walked pastthe police woman on the way to an awaiting squad car, in cuffs andbetween two uniformed officers, he suddenly lunged at Diana, nailingher to the corridor wall with all the weight of his body obscenelypushing up against her, a stare that froze her blood leering fromconscienceless eyes.

"I'll be looking forward to meeting you again, soon, SergeantBennett."

Joe had seen her blanche at the threatening contact, turning herhead away from the meticulously groomed suspect as he actually thrusthis face against hers, his mouth to hers. The DA had forced his wayimmediately between Diana and her tormentor, even before theuniformed officers had had time to react. Pulling the suspect off hiscompanion with his own rage just seething beneath the surface of histested patience, Joe had slammed DeSalvo against the oppositewall.

"You can add assaulting an officer to the charges," he quicklyannounced.

DeSalvo simply shook himself, as though he needed to resettle hisEuropean suit coat back onto his trim frame preparing to walk intothe board room of a sales meeting. A self-assured smile on his facenearly caused Joe to snap, but the other officers quickly maneuveredtheir suspect out of the building and into the awaiting black andwhite.

When the DA had turned to his companion, the look of startledterror had disappeared from her face, but she was still pale andbreathless. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Joe," she responded, a bit unsteadily. "Don't worry.It's not the first time I've been cornered."

Her attempt at regaining her hold on the moment did little toquell Joe's anxiety for her. She may have gotten used to the scum ofthe earth shadowing her every move, but it was the first time thatJoe had ever seen her affected so visibly.

And it was the first time he'd reacted so . . . instinctively . .. to protect . . . someone he cared about. Not since Cathy. Itunnerved him.

"All right, you got in on the collar. Now I'm ordering you off thecase for the rest of the week, Bennett," he pronounced shakily.

"I take my order from Captain Phillips, Maxwell, remember?" Herusual quiet defiance did not disguise the grateful relief he saw inher eyes at his imperative.

"It's already arranged. You are not to set foot anywhere near thatcase till Monday morning."

Diana truly appreciated the concern she read in the dark eyesholding hers, but Joe's pulling rank on her was the one thing thatcould set her off. She'd worked on her own terms too long. She knewwhat she had to do draw herself from her obsessive mindset.

"You forget, all my work is at home, Joe."

"Not for long. Get all your files together when you get there andI'll send someone over for them in the morning."

"You don't trust me to take some down time? I may be a bitbattle-fatigued, but I'm not completely out of my mind, Maxwell. Notyet, anyway."

The look on Joe's face moved from frustrated honesty to one thatwas tender and caring. He took hold of her arm and urged her quietlywith all the influence one trusted friend could have upon thedecisions of another.

"I mean it, Diana," he spoke softly, his earlier resolve ofgetting her into a more protective environment very much on his mind.But it was more than just trying to keep her physically safe from themorass that could spawn the likes of DeSalvo. Vulnerable as she hadappeared at the instant that she'd been assaulted, he'd seen atrembling, terrified edge of her spirit that she'd never let anyoneamong her colleagues witness before.

"You told me once not to let the angels cry. To get on with mylife. Well, I've been trying, and maybe succeeding at times actually.What have you been doing for yourself, Diana? You can't go on likethis, and I don't just mean having to endure a bastard like DeSalvo.This case is off priority for you now. You are what isimportant."

The gentle tone to his voice made Diana swallow hard. Why was sheno longer angry at Joe's interference with her work methods?

Then the words she would have so willingly taken to heart: "Therehas to be somewhere you can go, something you can do, to help youbalance yourself out, someone you can be with. You haven't beentaking care of yourself. This case just proves it."

Diana reached over for his hand and held it tightly for a moment."Joe, they don't make friends like you anymore. I'm lucky to haveyou."

Gentle eyes shimmered hopefully a moment back at her. Maybe he'dreached her after all. He couldn't bear the thought of losing someoneelse again. "I should have followed my first instincts about you andfallen in love, Bennett," he teased defensively.

"Italian, Scottish, and Irish: Wouldn't that have made a pleasant,volcanic mix!" came the finally familiar, acerbic edge to her wit.Joe was grateful to hear it. He was used to having to deal with Dianawith a mixture of awe and exasperation. Seeing her frightened andlost was not anything he'd wish to experience again. It broke hisheart.

"At any rate, you have my word," Diana continued. "I am a civilianuntil Monday morning." She reached over and squeezed his handaffectionately. The words of gratitude that accompanied that gentleacknowledgement were from the heart as well. "Thanks, Joe."

The DA waited a moment before following her into their awaitingcar, trying to truly gauge her state of mind and heart, despite herreassuring words. He prayed she'd really be able to give herself somebreathing room now, sensing that she'd been closer to the edge thanshe'd ever let him know. But he'd seen it, felt it, the pain, thehopelessness, making its insiduous way through her spirit.

It had been a long while since he'd caught sight of the tenderwarmth in her green eyes that always managed to reassure him abouther. He had felt she had someone in her heart, someone capable ofsteadying her course in life, self-consuming as it was. But it wasdifficult for him to reconcile that light from within her to hisperceptions of what, or who, could be its possible source.

She'd only accepted a ride home as far as her subway transfer. Joehad almost insisted on seeing her all the way home, afraid, still, toleave her alone, the blatant threat of DeSalvo's words to her ringingin his ears. But she'd again persisted in telling him that she wasall right and would continue to remain so. Turning down the street tothe subway stairs, she left him with a quiet self-determination thathe almost trusted. Almost, but not quite.

Diana had headed home, then, actually feeling a deep sense ofrelief, as if some burden had been lifted from her, despite DeSalvo'soutburst against her. She'd done her best. Their suspect was beingcharged. There was little else she could do except hope that thelegal system in the city should work for justice and the truth. Nowshe needed to get past the feeling of isolating responsibility. Forall his mother-hen tendancies, she knew Joe was right about her.

So, she left a message at Laura's flat, to be taken Below: If itwas agreeable to Father, she'd like to come down in the morning tospend a few days recuperating in the welcome solace of theUnderworld.

As if she actually needed permission to spend time in thetunnels.

Diana had become so much a part of the community in her own rightthat Father had to, at times, remind himself she wasn't a child ofcandlelight, born among the stone chambers herself.

Yet, the welcome promise of quiet time spent within the nurturingconfines of the tunnels still held a daunting reality about it: She'dbe thrust once again into the confounding circumstances of heart thatwould mean spending time in Vincent's presence.

It had been difficult to come Below regularly for quite some time,because of her involvement with the case, surely, but also because itwas becoming increasingly difficult for her to part from her veryessence of spirit. It remained there, long after she'd returned toher loft, to the city's wealth of supposed freedom and possibility.That most profound depth of herself remained bound to another heartthat ached to keep her near, but could never find the courage tobelieve she would welcome the entreaty.

This time, though, it would be different, Diana promised herself.They would find their equilibrium somehow, manage to wrest out abalance between the sweetness of the dream and the heartache of thepresent reality.

As if to bless her thoughts on the matter, by the time she'dexited the subway for a brief interval of grocery shopping, it hadbegun to snow. The first accumulating snow of the year. No matter howold she was, she still marveled in the wonder of the large, frostyceletial sugar crystals drifting slowly down to the earth. It alwaysmade her feel like a child.

At the moment, it even momentarily erased the still naggingfeeling of violation that clung to the back of her mind.

Her thoughts turned to the Underworld again. And to Vincent. Forall the earth-shattering experiences they'd shared in the pastmonths, in truth, she'd come to know very little of the life he'd ledbefore Catherine had ever blessed his existence. The thought of himas a child merged with her own happy remembrances of snowy eveningsas a little girl.

Had Vincent ever had the opportunity to play in the snow as a boy?He would not have been able to come Above until well past dark. Didhis memories include the delicious feeling of snowflakes on hischeeks? His long hair would have easily caught the crystals of snow.Did he ever find himself laughing and dodging snowballs flung at himfrom playmates with bad aim?

From the benign possibilities of the past to the realities of thepresent: Could he ever share a winter evening thus with Jacob?

By the time Diana made it to her loft with a bag full of foodluxuries for the community Below, she couldn't actually tell if thetears in her eyes were a result of the now biting cold or the achethat had settled itself around her heart again.

That ache came this time, though, at the thought of all the dreamsthat life's actualities were capable of extinguishing. The limits ofVincent's existence, the boundaries beyond which he'd never be ableto reach, suddenly came crashing down around her as well. She foughtfor her hope, awash in pain and loss, as she'd been so often in pastmonths because of the case that had consumed her.

The boundaries between the pain of that tragedy and her own senseof futility and fear became blurred and, indeed, indistinguishable.Hopes, dreams . . . love . . . all seemed indistinct enticementsnever to be held to, or shared. Connie and Ritchie had been robbed oftheir dreams, by violence, by the infernal darkness that could twistpaternal care into jealous rage. There was so much darkness outthere, and so much more . . . within. Was this what Vincent feared ofhimself? Wasn't it what she feared of herself as well?

What little hope she'd taken hold of in Joe's presence wascompletely lost by the time Diana found herself stumbling through thechaotic, horrific mental images that now assailed her, images ofblood and pain, of trust betrayed and tenderness defiled. Withoutwarning, she began trembling, as the feeling of DeSalvo's hard bodythrust perversely against hers ran a violent chill through her verysoul. The obscenely threatening contact had been no less lethal toher spirit than a bullet could have been to her slender form.

God, she whispered, help me pull away from it all. Shaking herhead to try and clear her mind, Diana sought to draw her spirit freeof the pain that was threatening her hold on herself. She needed tofocus on something concrete, something she knew was there in reality,beyond the phantom images of the past two months. Moving hertear-misted gaze around her apartment, she tried to take in thedetails of the room, called to mind the particulars of her life awayfrom the case, hoping to rest on something familiar and real, andactually, hers.

But, her desperate struggle for separation from the morass ofdarkness only brought her attention to the bulletin board behind herwork desk. The irony of it all simply overwhelmed her: That was whatwould always be familiar for her -- the pain and ugliness of adangerous city whose deepest, most hideous secrets she had been giventhe dubious privilege of exhuming. There was little freedom orpromise her world could offer her any longer, only more darkness thatwould slowly keep hold of more of her own soul.

Joe had told her to pull back. She had believed it was possible todo so, wondering incredulously at his insistence. Of course she'dpull back, recenter herself. Did he actually believe her incapable ofletting go of the pain? Did he think she had nowhere to turn herenergies at self-restoration to?

Connie DeSalvo had managed to find that place in her young life,even if it was only for a heartbreakingly short time.

The classmates Diana and Jimmy had interviewed had all painted asimilar picture for them of the first victims: that of two totallydissimilar people finding a welcome oneness in their lives together.These kids would have grown from a sweet high school romance to afulfilling adult relationship, to a commitment that would have lasteda lifetime, in spite of all the odds. She sensed it.

To be loved like that. To love like that.

Perhaps such depth of communion was not a once in a lifetime thingcapable of existing only in a shadowy world of rock and candleflame.Perhaps Catherine and Vincent had not been the only ones to findit.

Perhaps there would be a chance for her, too.

Diana walked up to her working board purposefully, feeling thehelplessness ease back from her a fraction. She steeled her resolve,determined to move past the panic of uncertainty. Slowly she began tounpin all the photos, clippings, and notes she had compiled on theboard over the past two months, gathering it all as Joe hadinstructed her to, preparing it for whomever would be cursed with itsrevelation next. She'd find the strength to do this, now, hand it allover, because she'd done all that she could possibly do for two pairsof murdered teenagers.

Finally, she set the yearbook photos of Connie DeSalvo and RitchieAlavar on the top of the pile in the file folder.

They'd managed to find peace in each other, somehow. They'd foundthe courage to dream past artificial limits that had no basis intruth.

Until the world's ugliness had devoured them, along with theirhopes.

It was no use.

With torrential power, Diana was thrust back into the lives of thetwo young lovers with terrifying clarity, as she stood and stared atthe photos she'd just set down. They'd been willing to dreamtogether, share their hopes with one another, a treasure, a gift.They were at peace with one another. She could see it in their faces.She could feel it in her own heart.

The air was becoming crisp and she cuddled closer to the warm,beloved body under the stadium blanket they were sharing. His armwent around her automatically, as if holding her was the only placeit could possibly rest comfortably. She was stretched out easily onthe park bench against the metal arm, and he was laying on her, hisdark, curly hair brushing softly against her skin where he'd set hishead on her chest. Even though her blouse was halfway unbuttoned, shewasn't cold. The warmth of his body reached hers, the sweetness oftheir sharing still sweeping its heady tenderness over their forms.She could almost drift asleep.

The "I love you's" weren't even necessary. All she needed was toread it in his deep, limpid eyes when he raised his head up to catchsight of her face, those eyes she'd carry in her soul till her dyingday, full of gentle warmth, humor, and bright hope. A gold crossaround his neck hung down between them as he moved over her moreclosely.

With uncertain ability, Diana drew herself back to her ownsurroundings again, the reality of her loft, the papers and photosstacked before her. With unexpected emotion, she reached to the finalitem hanging on her board, with a trembling hand: the gold cross. Itwas simply fashioned, not very large. "Riccardo" was inscribed on theback with a date.

The minute Diana touched that cross, the tears began to flow, withabandon. Glowing golden now, the cross hadn't appeared at all likethat when she had first seen it. The first time Diana had seenRitchie Alavar's crucifix was at the morgue.

It was imbedded in Connie's right hand, piercing the flesh of herpalm at all four points, drawing blood, and leaving an agonizingimprint after it was removed.

With her own hand still shaking, Diana picked up the cross by thechain and set it onto the pile of papers, closing the file folderover it defensively. Even though she knew there would be no stoppingthe pain now.

They were kissing, lovingly, with the hungry ache and totalabandon romance between high school sweethearts could so easilynurture. She could lose herself in that kiss so easily, feel himlosing himself to the tender rush of emotions enclosing them thatthey could no longer deny.

He slipped his hands to search softly over her bare skin, thetouch so beloved and welcome. She could hear the hypnotic rhythm ofher heart meld with his. This is how it would be for them, forever.She knew it, felt it, deep within her soul. They'd be together,forever, finding their way past the pain and fear somehow, bearingthe wounds of limits that would reduce the reality of their love.They had the strength to hope. She believed it.

From somewhere behind the bench, a shadow fell between them,startling Connie from her thoughts. She caught sight of it as Ritchiepulled momentarily away from her body, to read her need. The shadowlengthened behind him. She wasn't certain what it was, but watched itcome down over the young man she held in her arms, almost infreeze-frame motion. Ritchie didn't see it. His eyes were full onlyof her, shining with their love.

Without comprehending why, she saw those eyes go slowly blank,those deep dark eyes within which she could always find his devotionto her. Why were they so unfamiliar, suddenly, lacking that spark ofvivacious life that always radiated out to her? Ritchie leaned closerand closer to her, as if he would whisper some sweet word into herear, but she understood with a shock that he was actually fallingforward upon her, his face coming heavily to rest back on herchest.

In soundless horror she realized that was all that was left of hishead. The rest of it was splattered, on the bench, on the blanket . .. on her.

Frantically, Connie twisted her head around, the weight ofRitchie's oppressively heavy body pinning her to the bench. Awarethat they were no longer alone, she saw nothing but the trees andshrubs shifting in a gentle autumn wind.

Without warning, something, someone, grabbed her by the hair,yanking her brutally off the bench, using her flowing chestnut locksagainst her. She felt herself moving out from under Ritchie's limpform, the metal of the bench arm digging across her spine. Not asound had she been able to utter since their kiss had ended, thoughshe wanted to scream out her terror at the top of her lungs. She hadno voice, and no way of defending herself against the black shadowthat was dragging her away, pulling her away from Ritchie. Who wasdead.

With some unknown strength born of anguish and fear, Conniereached out for the beloved body, clung to it against the force thatwould so heartlessly separate them. She felt something strike herright hand, give into her hand as she was pulled away into thesurrounding brush.

Diana had collapsed onto the chair at her desk. She was tremblingso violently she couldn't remain on her feet, uncertain of what washappening to her. No, that was not right. She knew what was happeningto her, or at least guessed. And what was most terrifying for her wasthe fact that she, too, had no way to defend herself against theblackness that was dragging her down.

For an instant, the thought of Joe entered her mind. She couldcall him, have him come over. He'd been obviously concerned for heras they'd parted earlier. But, what could she tell him was happening?And could she track him down? He could be anywhere by now, at hisoffice, at the precinct, on his way home. What could he possibly dofor her if she did get a hold of him?

Still, instinctively, Diana knew she shouldn't be alone, gothrough whatever was happening to her alone. She needed strength andunderstanding to fight it, hold on to herself against the onslaughtof panic and confusion infusing her spirit with a rapidlyoverwhelming force. Never wishing to drop her burden of turmoil ontoan already beleaguered spirit, Diana's heart, nevertheless, reachedfar out to the one person she knew with the courage to help her pullherself free of the nightmare threatening to drown her now atlast.

"Oh, God, Vincent. Please come," she prayed breathlessly, neveronce doubting that he'd hear her heart's plea for help.

For a long moment Diana clung to the sides of her desk, needingthe tangible support despite the fact she was seated. She tried toeven out her breathing, managed to after an eternity, and finallydistanced herself far enough from the images in her mind to steadyher erratic heartbeat. She closed her eyes and rested her headwearily onto her folded arms.

This was insane. No, this was insanity.

She had felt herself so completely within Connie's soul that shecould feel the girl's terror of that night as her very own. Never hadshe gone so deeply within a victim's mind before, found herself sototally encompassed by another's spirit that she feared her hold ofherself. It was as terrifying as the dead girl's own experiences.

Ten minutes passed before Diana could trust herself to move, carryher own weight. Her body was suddenly leaden, burdened by physicalpain, every fiber of her being bruised and abraided. With thegreatest effort she pulled herself wearily to the bathroom and sat onthe edge of the tub. Reaching behind herself awkwardly, she let thewater run into the tub, hot and full force. Maybe it would be able tosoothe her violently converging emotions.

Or maybe she'd lose her sense of self again and drown in her owntub.

Diana stretched an arm up and pulled on the diverter for theshower head instead. It would be a safer choice. She slowly drew herclothes off, leaving them in a heap on the floor, not even noticingshe hadn't brought her nightshirt into the bathroom. She stood herexhausted body under the hard stream of near-scalding water, fightingthe revulsion she felt from its force as an unholy assault.