O NEVER STAR

PART II

by Becky Bain

"Amy! It's five-fifteen. Aren't you going home?"

Catherine started, nearly dropping the videocassette in herhands.

"Sorry," Rick Sterns apologized. "I thought you heard me comein."

She shook her head and went back to pressing sticky labels onto aseries of videotapes. She'd been Amy for almost seven months now andwas used to the name, but Rick's sudden appearance had startledher.

She'd been feeling faintly edgy all day, but tried to shake itoff. "In a few minutes," she answered, forcing a cheerfulness shedidn't feel. "I'm almost finished labeling these new tapes."

Rick was her age, slight of build, with thick dark hair andengaging brown eyes usually hidden behind silver wire-rim glasses. Hestood above her, hands on his hips, and scowled.

"The tapes will still be there in the morning," he pointed out."You can label them then."

"I can, but I'm not going to." She pressed the last of theidentifying labels into place and began to slide the tapes intoopaque plastic cases. "I'm almost done."

He tried unsuccessfully to hide a grin and reached to help her."What am I going to do with you?" he demanded.

"Give me a raise?" she inquired hopefully. The familiar bantermight ease the apprehensive itch she felt creeping across the back ofher neck.

His expression turned regretful. "I wish I could," he said. "Butyou know how tight things have been..."

She patted his arm. "I was joking, Rick. Naturally, you don't payme what I'm worth, but the fringe benefits are nice."

It was a standing joke; Catherine, in her identity as Amy Eldin,worked in Rick's small video shop in Spokane, Washington, makingbarely more than minimum wage. It was unskilled work, but she wasused to that now; almost three years of being on the run had taughther to be grateful for any work at all, and this job was one of thegood ones.

Past lives had found her waiting tables, cleaning offices,stuffing envelopes, painting houses and babysitting. Her onlyrequirement for employment was that she be allowed to have her sonwith her at all times. She couldn't risk being separated fromhim.

"Fringe benefits, huh?" Rick wiggled his eyebrows and tried toleer. "When are you going to come by my place and take advantage ofthem?"

Catherine couldn't help a giggle. "I don't know. I'll have tocheck my calendar."

"Yeah, right. Well, while you're doing that, how about dinnerTuesday? My place?"

"Only if I can bring my chaperon," she agreed promptly. A pair oftwo-year-old boys were more than adequate security against romance,even if she and Rick had any amorous interest in each other, whichthey didn't.

Only days after Rick had hired her, his wife had been killed in acar accident. With instinctive compassion Catherine had reached out,offering comfort, and in the aftermath of tragedy, a deep and abidingaffection had grown up between them. Rick was her best friend here inthis life, and she knew he regarded her in the same light.

"No problem," he answered now. "Mine'll be there, too."

"Then it's a date."

"Right." His expression turned thoughtful. "So when are you goingon a real date?"

"With who?" Her surprise was genuine. Rick had never ventured anopinion on her private life, and she wondered if this was what hadbeen eating at the edge of her nerves all day. Maybe Rick had beensending out subtle signals that her subconscious had recognized.

"Well, not me," he countered swiftly.

Catherine felt a mixture of relief and alarm. The quickly stiflednotion that Rick had developed an interest in her was replaced by acautious, protective reserve.

Rick recognized her reluctance. "It's still him, isn't it?" Heknew little of her past, but of course he knew there'd been someone-- her son was living proof of that. The subject had come up duringslack times in the store or on occasions when their friendship led tocasual dinners, or afternoons in the park.

Of necessity, Catherine had never told him much, but she couldn'tkeep her love for Vincent from shining through, no matter howobliquely she spoke of him. Now she nodded quiet agreement. "Italways will be."

"I never asked you before," he said slowly, obviously choosing hiswords with care. "But is your loyalty to him the right thing foryou?"

She stiffened and he hastened to explain. "I mean, I see youstruggling to make ends meet, keep the kid in shoes and clothes --you never buy anything for yourself, and I know you're not gettingany help. You're doing it all by yourself." His voice grew strongerwith conviction. "And I just think if he was any kind of man at all,he'd be helping you."

She bent her head, all her attention focused on her hands and therote motions they were making. Her edginess had increased, and thevery discussion sent small alarms racing through her.

He mistook her silence for anger. "Amy? I'm sorry if I went toofar... I know it's none of my business..."

"He doesn't even know he has a son," she said, speaking tooquickly. That rocked him, and she could see him struggling for theright words. "It's a very long story, Rick, and I don't want to gointo it now," she continued, forestalling further questions.

The tinkle of a bell heralded a customer in the front of the storeand, with a backward look of apology, Rick went to handle thetransaction. Catherine could hear the low murmur of their voices outfront; the sound was punctuated by the high, light sound ofchildren's voices from the back room.

The conversation had left her tense, almost shaking, and shebreathed deeply, forcing the shivers of panic to subside. If Rickstarted asking questions about her past, it would make things veryawkward. It might even be a sign...

"Mommy!"

The childish call put a swift halt to her reverie. "Just aminute!" she called back, and swiftly boxed up the new tapes. It wasa matter of a few seconds to clear her work area and she picked upher purse and stuck her head into the front room.The customer hadgone, and Rick was scribbling something on a clipboard.

"I'm going now," she said. "I'm off tomorrow, but I'll see youSaturday."

"Okay," he answered, without looking up. "Enjoy your day off."

"Oh, sure. I get to do my laundry."

The sound of his laughter followed her into the rear of thebuilding. She stopped in a narrow doorway blocked by a child's gate.The room beyond was small, with one meager window, covered with steelmesh, high on one wall.

The faded linoleum floor was crowded with a heavy, padded mattopped with a tangle of colorful blankets, a small painted bookcasefull of Dr. Seuss and Richard Scarry, and a child-sized wooden tablewith two chairs. The little space left was taken up by a scatteringof faded stuffed animals and a heaping pile of Lego blocks. Thisroom, once a storage area, had been converted into a mini-nursery/daycare center, and allowed Catherine, Rick, and the video store's thirdemployee, Beverly, to bring their children to work with them.

The boys were in there now; Rick's son Jeremy was engaged increating a formless structure from the large, toddler-sized Legos,while standing at the gate, his small face puckered anxiously, wasthe light and the star of Catherine's life.

Nicholas.

"Hi, sweetie," she greeted him, ruffling his unruly shock ofwheat-blond hair.

"Hi, Mommy," he answered, and rattled the gate. "Let me out."

She was already unfastening the child-proof catch and when thegate swung open, Nicholas tumbled out to be caught in her embrace.His small arms wound tightly around her neck, and he nuzzled inclose, under her chin. "Don't be scared, Mommy," he admonishedsoftly.

"I won't be, anymore," she assured him, mentally chastisingherself for allowing her reaction to Rick's remarks to be felt. For,like his father, Nicholas was an empath. "Are you ready to go home?"she inquired.

He lifted his head and grinned. "Maybe the park?" he suggestedsweetly.

Catherine expected this -- it was part of their ritual on days shegot off early. "The park, huh?"

He nodded eagerly and she set him down. A word and a touch senthim scurrying for his jacket and the toy he'd brought that morning.Jeremy left his Lego creation and came to the doorway.

"'Bye, Nicky," he murmured around the finger in his mouth.

"'Bye, Jer," Nicholas replied, already halfway to the backdoor.

Catherine crouched down. "How about a hug before I go, Jeremy?"she asked.

He nodded and she took him in her arms, patting his narrow backand murmuring soft endearments. She had a deep fondness for thelittle boy who still missed his mother so very much.

"Your daddy's in the front," she said when his grip on her neckloosened. Turning him gently, she pointed him in the right direction.Jeremy wouldn't be content in the playroom without Nicholas there tokeep him company, and she knew Rick wouldn't make him stay therealone. "You'd better go see what he's up to."

Released, Jeremy scampered toward the front of the store whileCatherine let Nicholas and herself out the back, using her key tolock the deadbolt behind her.

The park was on the way home, and home itself was only a shortdistance away. Catherine had walked to work, as she usually did whenthe weather allowed -- the result of a combination of her currentnear-poverty and her New York City upbringing. Walking saved gas, aswell as wear and tear on her shabby old car, and besides, in NewYork, no one would think of driving the short distance she had totravel. She took Nicholas's hand and set out on the path towardhome.

"Mommy! Watch me!"

Obediently, Catherine looked up, shading her eyes with her handand squinting at the top of the playground slide. "I'm watching," sheanswered.

Nicholas swooped down the slide with more enthusiasm than grace,landing on his bottom. He scrambled to his feet, blond hair glintingin the sunlight, and ran toward her. "Did you see me?"

"I saw. You were wonderful. Nicky, it's getting late. We should gonow."

His face crumpled. "No! I didn't swing yet."

She glanced at her watch, confirming what her inner sense wasalready telling her -- it was already suppertime, and it would be astruggle to get Nicholas fed, bathed, and into his pajamas bybedtime. "I'm sorry, Nick. It's going to be dark soon. You'll have toswing next time."

"One more slide?" Eyes that were almost the bluest she'd ever seenpleaded with her.

She could never resist those eyes. "Okay. One more."

"Thank you, Mommy!"

Before she could move to help him, he was swarming up the steepsteps to the top of the slide. From habit she stood by the ladder,ready to catch him if he should slip, but he didn't need her help.Surefooted and agile, he climbed easily; at the top, he flopped downon his stomach and peered over the side.

"Are you watching?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm watching," she confirmed, stepping back so she could get abetter view. She took her eyes off him for a quick, habitual lookaround, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Mommy! Watch me!" His strong square jaw, a legacy from her, wasoutthrust in indignation.

"I'm sorry, Nick. I'm watching now."

Pacified and sure of her attention, he pushed off. She alwayscringed when he went down the slide head-first, certain he was goingto land on his face, but he never did. Always, he managed to catchhimself on hands and knees, as he did this time, sliding across thesoft ground and sending up a miniature cloud of dust.

"All done," he announced, picking himself up and dusting his handson the seat of his pants before examining the palms.

"Did you scrape yourself?" she asked, bending over him.

"Nope. Get my truck, Mommy."

"Please?" she suggested mildly.

"Please," he added, grinning.

The truck, a large yellow Tonka model, was where Nicholas had leftit, half-buried in the sand. Idly wondering what she could fix fordinner, Catherine crossed the playground to pick it up.

"Cathy!" A man's voice cut across the park and instinctively sheresponded, half-turning to look before she caught herself. She duckedher head, trying to disguise her reaction, and waited. Nothinghappened and after a moment she looked up.

A swift glance around showed a mother pushing a stroller down thesidewalk while a little girl trailed behind. On the far side of thepark, a group of boys played an energetic game of football; nearby,an older couple gleaned aluminum cans from the park wastebaskets. Ateenage couple was stretched on the grass beneath a nearby tree,fondling each other with adolescent passion, and a dark-haired man inrunning shorts and tank top jogged along the paved trail. The manclapped his hands and shouted impatiently, all without breakingstride. "Cathy!"

Catherine straightened, Nicholas's truck in her hands, as amedium-sized dog of indeterminate breed raced out of a copse oftrees, long ears flying.

"Cathy!" the man called again, and the dog obeyed, friskingalongside.

Catherine forced a smile and permitted some of the anxious tensionto bleed away. She couldn't afford to be too relieved, though;responding, even briefly, to her own name was a serious mistake, onethat could cost her life, or her son's life.

All her senses were unusually heightened during the three-blockwalk home. Every passing car, each pedestrian, even a couple of kidsriding bikes, were scrutinized carefully, weighed as possiblethreats, and observed until they passed out of sight. Long practiceat suppressing her feelings kept Nicholas from picking up on heredginess; he chattered happily about the playground.

Home was a dingy two-room furnished apartment with a tinykitchenette tucked into the corner of what passed for a living room."Put your truck away, Nick," she instructed, and went into the littlekitchen.

Like Old Mother Hubbard's, her cupboards were nearly bare;tomorrow she'd walk back to the video store to pick up her check. Thelocal supermarket would cash it for her and she'd do her weeklyshopping. But tonight, like most Thursdays, pickings were slim.

She found some leftover macaroni and cheese in the refrigerator,scraped it into a saucepan, and set the pan on the stove. Theremnants of a package of frozen peas went into another pan and sheset the table and read Nicholas a story while the meal warmed.

Nicholas wolfed his macaroni with gusto and picked at his peasuntil Catherine exerted parental pressure. She ate her own meal moreslowly, remembering, with just a touch of wistfulness, a time whenshe'd dined on such delicacies as lobster thermidor and filet mignon.After dinner came Nicholas's bath and after his bath was bedtime.

"A story?" he prompted when he was snugly tucked in.

She sat on the edge of the bed. "A story about what? Tigers?" Shepinched his toes, gently, through the blankets. "Bears?" She squeezedhis knees. "Killer whales?" Her voice rose in mock threat and shelunged for his midriff.

He doubled over, protecting his stomach, and giggled wildly."No!"

"No?" She sat up. "What, then?"

He sobered, but kept his knees raised in case she went for thetickle again. "Tell me about my daddy."

She was conscious of her voice lowering, as it always did when shespoke of Vincent. "All right," she agreed. "But remember..."

"...he's a secret," Nicholas finished for her.

"That's right. Don't tell anybody."

"Not even Jeremy?" His eyes twinkled with the familiar game.

"No."

"Not even Erin, or Jessica?" Those were the daughters of Beverly,the other clerk at the video store.

"No."

"Not even Rick?"

"Not even anybody. Not ever."

The ritual questioning over, he settled back on his pillow. "Ipromise."

"Good boy." She touched his cheek tenderly. "Your daddy is tall,"she began. "He has long blond hair, just a little darker thanyours..."

"And blue eyes," Nicholas prompted.

"And blue eyes," she agreed. "Exactly like yours."

"And he's strong." That was important to little boys.

"Very strong. But he's also good, and gentle and kind..."

The familiar litany continued; Nicholas knew the answers as wellas Catherine did, by now, but he still loved to hear about hisfather.

After Nicholas fell asleep, she cleaned the apartment and sortedlaundry for the next day's trip to the laundromat. It was difficult,after conjuring him up for Nicholas, to banish the image of Vincentbut it was also necessary, if only for her own sanity. Long practice,along with fierce concentration on her chores, helped her accomplishit. Later, when she was in bed...

After expending so much mental, as well as physical, energy, shewas tired by the time she thought of seeking her own bed. In the tinybathroom she readied herself for sleep, finding comfort in thefamiliar routine of tooth-brushing and face-washing. Midway through,she caught her own eye in the mirror and paused; irrationally,because he was so near the surface tonight, it occurred to her towonder what Vincent might think, if he could see her now. Pensively,she studied herself in the mirror.

Her face was thinner now, and a bone-deep weariness showed in thelines of her face. She touched her hair. Since her escape, she'd letit grow once and cut it short again, but she'd started letting itgrow again; it was still layered, after a fashion, but the back andsides reached her shoulders now. Soon it would be long enough to combit in the old way, parted on the side and brushed smooth.

Only she couldn't wear it that way because it made her look likethe pictures she knew Gabriel must have.

She reached for her brush and dragged it through her hair with aswift, soundless fury, until her scalp was raw and hot tears stungher eyes. She no longer resembled the woman she'd once been. Therewas no point in pretending.

The sudden surge of irritation seemed to dispel the naggingurgency that had plagued her all day, but still sleep was long incoming. The anxiety usually came in cycles, ebbing and rising like atide, but if it persisted, she'd have to take it as a sign. She'dlearned, over the past years, to listen to her instincts.

When she finally slept, she dreamed of Vincent; he stood on thefar side of a deep, fathomless chasm and no matter how she tried, shecouldn't reach him.

Despite the disturbing night, she was up early the next morning tofix oatmeal for Nicholas's breakfast and help him dress. They were atthe laundromat when it opened at nine, and by ten-thirty the laundrywas done. Her paycheck wouldn't be ready until much later and all thehours in between could be devoted to Nicholas.

As usual, he wanted to go to the park and, also as usual, sheindulged him. Catherine chose a bench in the sun and sat to watch himplay, blessing the quirk of fate that had brought him to her.

The sun's warmth made her drowsy and she permitted herself torelax, just a little. It wasn't often she and Nicholas had anafternoon together in the park.

Lazily, her mind drifted back to the wisps of dreams sheremembered. They weren't always like last night's -- scattered andfrightening. Sometimes they were lovely, comforting and soothing.Sometimes she and Vincent were together. And when she woke from oneof those beautiful dreams, there were always a few moments when stillshe could see him, still she could feel the warm glow of hislove.

She'd once found a poem in an old edition of the Oxford Book ofAmerican Verse that always sprang to mind at such moments.

 

it is at moments after i have dreamed

of the rare entertainment of your eyes,

when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed

 

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;

at moments when the glassy darkness holds

 

the genuine apparition of your smile

(it was through tears always) and silence moulds

such strangeness as was mine a little while;

 

moments when my once more illustrious arms

are filled with fascination, when my breast

wears the intolerant brightness of your charms;

 

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

 

--turning from the tremendous lie of sleep

i watch the roses of the day grow deep.

It might have been written for her, for them. Though every momentwith Vincent had been cherished, she sometimes felt now that shehadn't valued them as much as she might. She wished she could go backand change that. She hadn't known how few those moments would be, norhow long they would have to last.

Nicholas looked up from his play and frowned at her, andreflexively, she turned her mind away from the memories thatdisturbed him.

It wasn't healthy, the constant repression of fear, of memories.She knew that, wondered sometimes if one day she would snap andtumble blindly into madness, but in truth, she had no choice.Nicholas was an empath and especially sensitive to her. She couldn'tlet him absorb either the terror or the terrible, aching lonelinessthat sometimes welled up inside her. She had to keep him safe.

So, for the most part, she quelled the memories and controlled thefear. A certain amount of fear was good. It kept her alert, wary. Butshe had to be careful. Too much fear could cripple her, take away herpower to act. And that could very well be fatal.

As usual, Saturday was a busy day at the video store. Catherinewas scheduled to get off at three, but Beverly called in sick so shestayed late to help Rick with an onslaught of customers. He finallyshooed her out about six, claiming he could easily handle rentals ofthe four or five movies left in the store.

She smiled at his weak joke, but didn't argue. She was far tootired. She and Nicholas bypassed the park and went straight home.When they got there, the phone was ringing.

Catherine fumbled with her keys. The door finally opened and shehurried inside, snatching up the receiver before the caller couldhang up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Amy, it's me." Rick's voice, mild and reassuring, camethrough the instrument. "You sound out of breath."

"I was outside," she answered, trailing the long cord as she movedto shut and lock the front door. "What's up?"

He seemed to hesitate. "Well, actually, something kind of funnyhappened right after you left."

She stiffened. Her inner alarms, oddly silent for the past twodays, were sounding madly. "What do you mean, funny?"

"A guy came in -- a police officer. He showed me his badge andsaid he was investigating a strange car that had been spotted parkedoutside."

It was suddenly hard to breathe; across the room, Nicholas lookedup from his truck. "Mommy?"

She waved him back and struggled to calm herself. "In a minute,okay, Nick? I'm on the phone."

"Amy? You there?"

She forced a deep breath. "Yeah, Rick, I just had to say somethingto Nicky. So what about this car? Why did he come to you?" Catherine,always abnormally aware of her surroundings, had not observed anycars doing anything she would classify as strange.

"That's the part that seemed funny. He just wants to know ifeither of us could give a description of the driver."

"Either of us? Did he know about me?"

"He asked if anyone else worked the store today; I gave him yourname and told him you'd be here tomorrow."

"You didn't give him my address?" She held her breath, waiting forthe answer.

"No. I started to, but something about this guy rubbed me thewrong way. I just told him I didn't know where you lived." He paused."I don't remember seeing any cars acting strangely today, doyou?"

She shook her head, forgetting he couldn't see her. "No."

"Yeah. Well, anyway, I just thought you'd like to beforewarned."

"Yes. I appreciate it, Rick. Thank you."

"No problem. See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she echoed faintly, and hung up.

Catherine had learned, over the past few years, to heed herinstincts, and they were fairly screeching at her, telling her to getout. Now.

Panic wouldn't help. It would only upset Nicholas and impair herability to think, to plan. So she forced a composure she didn't feeland opened a can of ravioli, responding automatically to Nicholas'shappy chatter as the meal warmed on the stove. He ate his dinner anddrank a glass of milk before she bathed him and put him to bed.

Tonight, his bedtime routine included a book and a lullaby;afterward, she sat beside him, stroking his hair. Only when she wassure he was asleep did she go to work.

She began with a systematic sweep of the apartment, gathering andsorting belongings. Things deemed essential, like jeans and shirts,underwear and socks, were carefully rolled and stuffed into nylonbags. Nicky's favorite teddy bear, abandoned in a corner of thekitchen, went in with the essentials; he didn't often cry, but notfinding his bear when he looked for it would bring tears.

Around Catherine's waist, under her blouse, she wore a wide belt.The belt never left her waist except when she bathed; then, it hungwithin easy reach. Her bank account, opened to help establish heridentity as Amy Eldin, held only a token amount. What was left of thethirty thousand she'd withdrawn from the Chase trust almost threeyears ago, along with the little she'd been able to save from her jobat the video store, was tucked into several of the belt's narrowzipper compartments.

The belt also contained three driver's licenses, all fromdifferent states. The licenses bore Catherine's photograph anddescription, but the names varied; already she was prepared to leavethis life behind and begin a new one.

While Nicholas slept, she packed the car, the sixth she'd ownedsince her son was born. It didn't take long. Non-essentials -- herskirts and dresses, Nicholas's toys -- went in the trunk.

There wasn't much. Her wardrobe, once an important part of herlife, was inconsequential now; with her limited budget, she boughtonly what she needed for work. Nick's toys were mostlysecond-hand.

The nylon bags, zipped closed and bulging, went in the back seatwhere they would be easily accessible. Nick's car seat was alreadybuckled into the front passenger seat. He liked to ride up front sohe could see the cars, and Catherine enjoyed his company. He wasextremely articulate for a child his age, and conversation was easierif he was beside her.

With most of her worldly possessions inside, she was careful tolock the car. She'd have to get rid of it soon; changing lives againmeant changing everything. Names, residence, employment.

Thoughts of her job reminded her that Rick expected her to coverthe store tomorrow, and a creeping sense of guilt nagged as shecompleted her preparations. She beat it back with reality; anywarning to Rick, no matter how well worded, could be fatal. Shewished, though, that she could let him know she was all right; shewished she could say goodbye.

By eleven she was ready, and went to get Nicholas. "Going?" heasked sleepily as she carried him to the car.

"Yes," she answered, buckling him into his car seat. "Goingaway."

He was asleep again before she'd driven two blocks, slumpedcomfortably against the straps that held him into his seat. Choosinga direction at random, Catherine headed east, leaving Spokanebehind.

In the small hours before dawn Catherine decided she'd put enoughdistance between herself and Spokane to risk a motel; she found onein a small Montana town. Nicholas was so soundly asleep that hedidn't stir when she carried him into the room and tucked him intothe only bed. She brought in the nylon bags, kicked off her shoes,and crawled in beside him.

Exhausted, knowing the day ahead would be taxing, Catherine hopedto snatch a little sleep before morning. Her entire body was rigidwith tension, though, and her racing mind refused to relax.Deliberately, she turned her thoughts to the past.

She was practiced at this. There were times when comfort could befound in her memories. She sifted through, remembering snatches,looking for just the right moment. When she finally found it, sheclosed her eyes, breathing deeply, and let the memory unfold, like afilm clip, only better.

It was from their early months together, while things were stillsometimes uncertain between them. She'd helped a boy, Tony Ramos,find his family again, and afterward, she'd returned to the tunnels,knowing Vincent would be waiting. He'd listened while she told himwhat had transpired above, and then, for the first time, he'd reachedfor her, his hand cradling the back of her neck as he'd drawn herclose.

She could feel his arms around her, the warmth of his hand on thenape of her neck, the rough texture of his cloak beneath her cheek.She could almost smell the curious blend of candle-smoke and freshearth that he always carried with him, feel his cheek resting againsther hair.

When they'd finally drawn apart, he had reached for her hand,taking it firmly in his larger one. This was a new gesture, too, andshe'd wished she hadn't worn gloves so she could feel his palmagainst hers. Together they'd strolled back to the entry below herapartment building. He'd been curiously shy as they said goodnight,perhaps remembering his earlier boldness in initiating their embrace,and she hadn't pushed him. She hadn't wanted to pressure him, or makehim uncomfortable.

She didn't want to dwell on the moment of parting; there were toomany such moments, and remembering them was always painful. Instead,she let her mind skip randomly, choosing its own path. It settled onanother memory, one that didn't even include Vincent, except in aroundabout way. This one took place even earlier in theirrelationship -- before she'd established much of a rapport with thepeople who lived below.

Something had been wrong; she could feel it, vaguely, and knew itconcerned Vincent. Unable to concentrate, she'd left work and gone tothe tunnels to look for him. When no one answered her call on thepipes, she'd tried to find her own way and ended up stumbling overone of Mouse's 'express routes' -- a trapdoor over a long, slidingchute that terminated about twelve feet above his bed.

She could remember her first sight of Mouse, his blue eyes widewith curious apprehension beneath his tousled mop of hair -- and thedelight in his voice when she'd identified herself.

"Vincent's Catherine?" he'd asked.

With a low moan, she broke off the memory and rolled over,pressing her face into the pillow. Beside her, Nicholas stirredrestlessly.

She hadn't been Vincent's Catherine for a very long time -- hadn'tbeen Catherine at all. She was Nicholas's Mommy now, and peoplecalled her Amy. Before that, she'd been Stephanie, and Karen, andChristine.

Vincent didn't even know where she was; since their bond had beendamaged by his illness, he might even think she was dead. Sometimesshe wondered what his life was like now, if he grieved for her, if hewas all right, but she couldn't think about that now. Worry aboutVincent sapped her strength and undermined her determination to keeptheir son safe, to protect Vincent's world, and by extension, Vincenthimself, no matter the cost to herself.

It was why she'd never written him, never tried to contact him.She didn't dare. Gabriel wanted her, wanted her child. He would neverstop looking, never. It was this knowledge that kept her moving,changing names, jobs, identities. She wasn't foolish enough to thinkhe wouldn't still be watching people she'd been close to, peopleshe'd cared about.

Peter Alcott would certainly have come under that heading, and soCatherine refused to even try to contact him. Gabriel might bewatching. Contact might establish a link, allowing Gabriel to tracethe message back to its source, and her; or the danger might go theother way, following the message to its ultimate destination --Vincent.

There were other helpers, of course, people with no known link toher; she might have risked them, if she had only known how. But thenames she knew were only first names; the addresses had never beenwritten down, and were lost to memory.

And besides, she didn't know, couldn't imagine what it would do toVincent to receive the only sort of message she could send him. Thetruth was unthinkable -- that she lived in constant fear, always onlya step or two ahead of a madman who would have her killed as casuallyas most people might swat an annoying insect. Any lie would make himbelieve she'd left him voluntarily, without word, without apparentthought as to what her sudden disappearance might do to him.

No. Better to let him think... whatever he thought. She didn'thave the courage to disrupt whatever belief he'd found to comfort himin the past three years.

It hurt that he didn't know of their son. She wished, with all herheart, that she could tell him. He deserved to know.

Her original letter to Peter, scrawled hastily only hours beforeNicholas's birth, had long ago been destroyed, but in another of thenarrow compartments in the belt around her waist, securely sealed ina carefully addressed and stamped envelope, were other, morecarefully worded letters -- to Peter, and to Vincent himself.

Aware the letters might be read by others -- police, for instance,should her death be a violent one -- she had been deliberately vagueabout many things, but not about her son. She knew that Peter wouldmove mountains, were it necessary, to get Nicholas and take himsafely home to Vincent. If something happened to her, the risk wouldbe justified. Nicholas couldn't be left unprotected, unloved.

Nicholas rolled over, nestling close to her side and she shiftedto accommodate his new position. She was beginning to relax. Her mindwandered, bringing other memories. She had begun planning her lifewhen she'd left Albuquerque the morning after the baby's birth.

She couldn't make another withdrawal from Margaret's trust. Theauthorization code changed once the trust had been drawn on, and shedidn't know the new code. So she had to be frugal, to conserve herfunds.

From Albuquerque, she'd headed north. After a only a few hours,her strength, depleted by stress and childbirth, had failed her, andshe'd stopped in Pueblo, Colorado to spend the night. She'd gone onto Denver the next morning, reaching it by noon.

The first thing she did there was abandon her car; without it, shewould be much harder to trace. Then she'd gone to a motel, where, fortwo days, all she did was sleep, eat, and tend her baby.

Thankfully, he seemed perfectly healthy. His appetite was vigorousand he grew stronger every day. Sometimes, when she held him,fascinated by the solemn wisdom in his eyes, it seemed they wereconnecting, he and she, on some level she didn't quiteunderstand.

She didn't try. As she had done with his father, she simplyaccepted.

She opened her eyes to the pale pink glow of dawn and realizedshe'd fallen asleep. With her first awareness came a surge ofadrenaline, and all sleepiness vanished as she rolled out of bed.

She dressed quickly and turned to Nicholas.

He roused when she shook him, blinking sleepily in the palemorning light. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she greeted him. Hehalf-drowsed, too sleepy to help much as she dressed him.

She carried him to the car, buckled him in, and set out, stillheading east, toward the rising sun. Awake but still drowsy, Nicholascuddled his bear and stared silently at the road ahead.

The gentle thrum of tires on pavement was hypnotic, and as themiles unrolled, so did memories.

The first few months after Nicholas's birth had been nothing lessthan a nightmare. She'd been unable to shake the fear that any momentsomeone would step forward and tear Nicholas away from her; all herenergies were directed toward protecting him. Reflexively, she tippedher head to the right and touched the smooth skin in front of herleft ear.

Removing the tell-tale scar had been one of the most difficultthings she'd done. She'd been living in Salt Lake City then, notworking because Nicholas was still so young. The process itself hadbeen simple enough. She'd made an appointment with a prominentplastic surgeon in Dallas. On the day, she'd flown first to Denverand then, using another name, to Dallas. Nicholas had gone with herand had slept peacefully in a corner of the doctor's office while sheunderwent the simple procedure to remove the scar. She'd flown back,repeating the change of flights and names, the same afternoon.

For a long time after that, she'd cried whenever she looked in themirror, but that had ended long ago. She couldn't afford to cryanymore. It wasted energy and sapped her will.

The sun was high in the sky when Nicholas stirred himself andspoke. "I'm hungry."

"Well, hello, there," Catherine answered him, taking her eyes offthe road just long enough to flash him a smile.

"Hello. I'm hungry." He wasn't impatient, or imperious. Justfactual.

"Okay. We'll come to a town soon, and we'll stop for something toeat," she answered.

"McDonald's?" he asked hopefully.

She sighed. McDonald's was a rare treat in Nicholas's life and onehe dearly loved.

"If there's a McDonald's, we'll stop there," she promised,thinking he deserved something special.

"Good," he said with satisfaction. Still not fully awake, hesettled back to watch the passing countryside.

There were billboards advertising McDonald's even before theyreached the next town, and it wasn't long before Catherine could seethe trademark golden arches, temptingly close to the highway. Shepulled into the parking lot and reached over to unbuckle her son.

"Hurry, Mommy," he urged. "I'm starving!"

Despite the urgency pushing her onward, she laughed. "I thinkyou'll manage to last until we get you some breakfast."

"Maybe," he conceded grudgingly, and held her hand as they wentinside.

He grumbled when she took him first to the bathroom to use thefacilities and wash up, but at last they were settled in a booth --he with an Egg McMuffin, which he proceeded to take apart and eat oneingredient at a time, and she with a Danish, orange juice and coffee.Afterwards he wanted to play in the playground, but she dissuaded himand he acceded gracefully.

"Where we going, Mommy?" he asked as she started the car.

Catherine's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I don't knowyet, Nick. Somewhere east of here, I guess."

"Going to see Daddy?" he inquired, leaning forward to see herface.

Her breath caught and she bent forward, resting her forehead onher hands. An instinctive 'no' rose in her throat, but she couldn'tvoice it. *Why not?* asked a persuasive little voice, deepinside.

*Because,* another, more rational voice answered fiercely.

*It's dangerous. They're still looking for us. For Nicky. I knowthey are. And New York is the most dangerous place for us.*

*But when would it ever be truly safe?* the other voice argued.*When could we ever be sure Gabriel had given up his search? It'sbeen more than two years. How intense can the search be, after allthis time? All we'd have to do is reach the tunnels... then we'd besafe...*

Safe. She hardly remembered what being safe felt like. And she wastired. So tired.

Tired of running. Of being afraid. Of being alone.

"Mommy? Mommy?" Nicholas's anxious voice finally penetrated andshe took a deep breath before turning to face him. "Mommy okay?" heasked, straining against the straps on his car seat.

Automatically she reached to smooth back the hair that tumbledover his forehead, soothing him with her touch. "I'm fine, Nick. Iwas just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" he persisted. "Going to see Daddy?"

The earnest look in his eyes triggered a snap decision. "Yes,Nicky. Going to see Daddy."

Once the words were said, it was as if a great weight had beenlifted from her heart. Right or wrong, the decision had been made;they were going to New York.

In Miles City, Montana, she abandoned her car as she had all theothers she'd owned, and spent half of her last four thousand dollarson a tan 1987 Ford Tempo. It was more than she usually spent ontransportation, but she wanted to be sure it would get thetwenty-five hundred miles between here and New York.

It took three days to cross the continent. Catherine spent thethree days watching her rear-view mirror, taking careful note of thevehicles she passed, and that passed her. She had too much experienceto let down her guard now.

Even with her heightened sensitivity, the trip couldn't have beenmore uneventful. Nothing was even remotely suspicious. If this was aregular move, she'd have been thinking of finding a place to settledown by now, but this change seemed different. She approached NewYork with what could best be described as a feeling of dread.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. It was getting hard tobreathe -- there was a tight band around her chest and somethingclutched at her throat.

Somehow, she got the car off the highway and parked safely. Shewas shaking violently, soaked with sweat and gasping for breath.

Beside her, Nicholas was frantic, tearing at the straps that heldhim in his seat. From somewhere, she found the presence of mind tounbuckle him and pull him into her lap. She held him tight, rockingand crooning instinctively.

It wasn't clear who was giving and who receiving comfort, butpresently she felt able to lift her head and take a deep, unimpededbreath. She had control now. It would be all right.

"I'm okay now, Nicky."

He looked up at her. She was startled to see his cheeks were wet.She hadn't realized he'd been crying.

She pulled him against her breast, not in desperation this time,but with tenderness. "Oh, Nicky," she murmured into his hair. "I'm sosorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"What's wrong?" His voice quivered.

"I don't know. I'm scared, and I'm not sure why. But maybe, Nick,"she paused and he looked up at her, trust shining out of thoseincredibly wise blue eyes. "Maybe we should go somewhere else. Icould find a job, and we'd get a new apartment..."

She fell silent at the stark disappointment on his face. "But yousaid we could go see my daddy."

"I know. I know I did, and I want to, Nick, I really do. Butsomething about this feels wrong, and it scares me."

"Are you scared to see my daddy?"

She caught her breath. It was an innocent question; all he knewabout New York was that his daddy lived there. She opened her mouthto deny it... and couldn't.

*What if I am?* she thought. *What if it's Vincent I'm afraid tosee? Afraid of what I'll learn.*

Because for the past three years, she'd clung to the knowledgethat Vincent loved her. Whatever else happened, Vincent loved her.And if somehow things had changed, if somehow his feelings weredifferent now...

*I couldn't bear it,* she thought unhappily. *I couldn't go on.And if I can't go on, what happens to Nick?*

And as soon as she had formulated the question, she understood theanswer. Nicholas would be safe. Whatever Vincent's feelings for her,he wouldn't reject a child. His own son. Nicholas would be safe, andthat was all that mattered.

She took a deep breath and felt the first stirring ofdetermination. Nicholas felt it and twisted in her lap to look up ather. "Come on, Nick," she said, lifting him into his car seat. "We'regoing home."

It was long past the time they would normally stop for the night,but they were too close and now, with her new resolve, Catherinecouldn't bear to wait. So they pressed on, crossing into Manhattanlate in the evening.

The lights of the city blazed a greeting and Catherine foundherself smiling as she wound her way through the late-night traffic.She'd spent the last hour of driving devising a plan, so she knewprecisely where she was going.

She found a parking spot near Madison Square Garden, only a fewblocks from where she meant to go. With the four nylon bagscontaining their 'necessities' on one arm, she balanced Nicholas onher hip with the other and gave a cautious look around. No one paidthe least bit of attention.

She strolled down the sidewalk, grateful for the brisk disinterestof passersby. When sidewalk traffic thinned, she gave another lookaround, hitched Nicholas higher on her hip, and slipped into anarrow, filthy alley.

"Where we going, Mommy?" Nicholas's whisper sounded loud in herear.

She shushed him, waiting, watching. There was no outcry, nocuriosity from the sidewalk. No one followed her, and after a moment,she turned and picked a careful path through the refuse littering thecramped space. At the rear of the alley was a steep, narrow stair,fenced off by a rusting wrought iron railing.

She set Nicholas on his feet and took his hand to help him downthe narrow stair. At its foot was a heavy steel door. "Here, Nicky,watch these," she whispered, setting the nylon bags at his feet.Shoulder against the door, she shoved, hard. With a moan of rustinghinges, it gave.

She pushed again, using the big muscles in her legs to power openthe door. It moved slowly, protesting all the while, but at last theopening was wide enough. Catherine took a flashlight from one of thenylon bags and shined the light inside.

The room beyond was small and dank, festooned with dusty cobwebs.Remnants of a small fire occupied one corner, and the wall above wasstreaked with smoke; a half-disassembled packing crate sat nearby --the obvious source of firewood.

Someone, probably one of the city's homeless, sheltered here, butthe room's sometime inhabitant wasn't here now, and Catherine bentquickly to toss her nylon bags inside before she took Nicholas's armand guided him into the room.

"It's dark, Mommy!" he protested in a whisper. "Dirty!"

"I know, Nick. Don't be afraid. I'm here."

"I'm not scared," he asserted bravely.

"Good boy. Here, hold the light while I shut the door."

The door closed inch by painful inch; despite the effort requiredto shut it, Catherine refused to stop until it finally fit tightlyagainst its jamb.

Breathing hard from exertion, she went to the far wall of thelittle room and knelt, running her fingers over the rough stonesurface. Her memory was accurate, and in a moment she located thesection she was looking for -- a section Vincent had shown her once,years ago. "In case you are ever near here, and need to reach us,"he'd said gravely.

She bit down hard on the memory; there was no time now forreminiscing. The section of wall gave to slight pressure, turningsoundlessly on a central pivot point to reveal the damp darknessbeyond. She put her head through the opening, shining the light toconfirm what she remembered about this place.

"Come here, Nick," she said.

"Are you going to put me in the hole?" he asked fearfully.

The question rocked her back on her heels and it occurred to herthat maybe she was going a little too fast for him. "Nicky, it'sokay," she said softly, gathering him into her arms. "You know I'dnever let you go anywhere you might be hurt, don't you?"

He nodded, his face tight against her breast.

"I know it's dark, but that's where we have to go if we want tofind your daddy."

He lifted his head. "My daddy's in there?"

"Down there somewhere, yes. I hope so." She moved him a littleaway from her, hands on his shoulders. "I need you to cooperate withme, Nick, because there's a ladder and it's steep."

"I'm good at ladders," he said, casting a wary glance at the darkopening. "Will we have the light?"

"You can hold it if you're very careful," she promised. "I'll needmy hands to close the portal."

He leaned toward the opening and she shined the light inside so hecould see. "Okay," he agreed.

After dropping their bags, Catherine eased herself through theopening and fumbled until she found the metal staples that formed theladder. She held on with one hand and helped Nicholas through,putting him between her and the ladder. "The steps are far apart,"she warned. "Hold on tight."

When she was sure he had his balance, she handed him theflashlight and reached around him to close the entrance. Negotiatingthe ladder was a little tricky and Catherine kept one hand underNicholas's arm in case he slipped, but she needn't have worried. Hehandled the steep ladder easily, and in a moment they were standingon the tunnel floor.

They'd made it. They were safe.

Catherine pressed herself against the tunnel wall, nearlyembracing the rough, cold stone. It scratched her cheek and the airsmelled damp and musty, like stale earth. She had never felt orsmelled anything so wonderful in her entire life.

Nicholas caught her hand. "Okay, Mommy?" he inquired.

Only reluctantly did she pull away from the wall. "Better thanokay, Nick," she told him. "Help me pick up the bags."

He did, and, taking his hand firmly in hers and shining the lightbefore them, she set out. They hadn't gone far before she heardtapping on the pipe that ran along the ceiling. She didn't knowpipecode but had no trouble guessing it was an intruder alert.Someone would be coming soon to investigate.

She knew who the usual investigator was, and her heart began topound, whether with anticipation or trepidation, she wasn't sure. Shewalked faster.

When their path was finally blocked, though, it was by two figuressmaller than the one Catherine had hoped for. The lantern carried bythe shorter of the two cast enough light for her to recognize them.Mouse, who held the lantern, and Zach, grown up now, and carrying along wooden staff.

"Stop," Mouse commanded imperiously, squinting to see in the dimtunnel. "Who?"

Zach stood beside him, silently defensive.

Catherine couldn't help a misty smile. "Hello, Mouse."

Mouse gave her a quick, startled look and glanced at Zach beforeedging closer. "Who?" he demanded again.

"Don't you know me, Mouse? Have I changed so much?"

It was Zach who gave a sudden start of recognition."Catherine?"

"Yes. It's me."

Mouse dropped the lantern, and it went out. "Catherine?" hebreathed.

Catherine turned her flashlight onto her face. "Yes, Mouse. I'vecome back."

"Catherine!" Surging forward, he enveloped her in an enthusiasticbear hug. "Catherine!"

"I'm glad to see you, Mouse," she said, laughing. "I missedyou."

"Missed you, too," he confided shyly, stepping back.

She turned to Zach and hugged him, too. "You've grown so!" shemarvelled. "I hardly recognized you."

"It's been a long time," he reminded her. "I'm seventeen." Heglanced at Nicholas.

"This is Nicholas," Catherine said. "Nicky, these are my friends,Mouse and Zach."

Suddenly shy, Nicholas pressed himself against her legs.

"Hello, Nick," Zach said, squatting in front of him. "I'm glad tomeet you." He offered his hand and after a moment, Nicholas took itand they shook hands.

Following Zach's example, Mouse offered his hand, too, andNicholas returned the handshake solemnly. "Do you know my daddy?" heinquired.

"Of course they do," Catherine said smoothly. "Everyone here knowshim."

Mouse and Zach exchanged quick, startled looks, and Mouseshrugged. "Better take you to Father," he announced, and turned torelight the lantern.

"Vincent's not here," Zach added in a low voice. "He's above.Won't be back 'til dawn, probably."

She nodded and gathered up the nylon bags she'd dropped in theexcitement. Mouse took two of them, slipping them up over hisshoulder. Zach tapped a quick message on the pipe and took theothers. Catherine reached for Nicholas's hand.

"Carry me, Mommy," he said plaintively. "I'm tired."

She scooped him up and settled him on her hip. Mouse went aheadwith the re-lit lantern while Zach stayed beside Catherine to helpher over the rough places. The second time she stumbled, he stoppedher.

"He must be heavy," he said, indicating Nicholas. "Let me carryhim awhile."

Catherine gazed at her son doubtfully. She didn't know if he'd goto a virtual stranger, but her legs were tired and her hip had begunto ache from his weight. "What do you think, Nick? Can Zach carry youfor a little bit?"

Nicholas considered the question, studying Zach carefully.

"I'll be right here beside you," Catherine encouraged.

"Okay," he acquiesced, finally.

Zach put down his staff and the bags he carried and took Nicholasin his arms, settling the little boy comfortably against hisshoulder. "That okay?"

Nicholas nodded.

"Good. Mouse, get my staff, would you? Catherine, can you get thebags...?"

In a moment they were ready, and set out again. It had been a longday for Nicholas and soon his head dropped onto Zach's shoulder. Bythe time they reached the hub area, he was fast asleep.

Because it was late, they met no one until they were nearly toFather's chamber. There, the way was blocked by a slight figure, whopeered toward them anxiously.

Jamie.

"What happened to the intru..." she began, and stopped, staring."Catherine?" she asked in disbelief, and repeated it with certainty."Catherine!" She offered an enthusiastic hug of welcome.

"Hello, Jamie," Catherine greeted, hugging back. "It's so good tosee you."

Jamie stepped back to look her over. "Vincent said you'd come backwhen you could."

So he hadn't forgotten her. Catherine felt the first small rippleof relief. "I didn't think it would be so long," she admitted.

"No," Jamie answered. "Neither did he."

"I don't mean to interrupt," Zach said gently. "But Father'swaiting."

Catherine nodded and pressed Jamie's hand. "Later, Jamie. I'lltell you everything later."

Father's chamber was just as she remembered it; crowded withfurniture, knickknacks, and untidy stacks of books, and lit with thesoft golden glow of a score of candles. Father himself sat at hisgreat desk, bent over some huge ledger; he looked up at the sound offootsteps.

"Zach. Mouse. What did you..." He stopped at the sight of Nicholascontentedly asleep in Zach's arms. "A child?" He rose and came aroundhis desk. "Bring him here..." he began. Catherine gently pushed herway between Mouse and Zach and paused at the top of the short flightof wrought iron stairs.

"Hello, Father," she greeted him, quietly.

For a moment, he simply gaped. He took his glasses off, polishingthem on the hem of his shirt before putting them back on and peeringthrough them. He had aged since Catherine had last seen him; his hairwas more silver now than brown, and his face bore new traces of careand worry.

At last he spoke. "You've been gone a very long time." His words,mild though they were, struck with all the power of a blow. Sheflinched.

She understood, of course. His first concern, always, was forVincent, and she'd hurt Vincent terribly. Of course he'd be angrywith her.

The hurt spread. Nicholas, sensing her distress, stirred sleepily."Mommy?" Only half awake, he reached for her.

Father's gaze flicked from one to the other; his eyes widened inshock and recognition as she took her son into her arms.

"It's all right, Nicky," she soothed automatically. She knew herexpression must be one of defiance, and Father's opposition vanishedin the space of a heartbeat.

"Catherine, forgive me," he said, and limped forward to put hisarms around her. "I spoke without thought. Welcome home."

He meant it, and she melted, hugging him back fiercely. This wasthe welcome she had longed for.

Caught between them, Nicholas began to squirm. "You're squishingme!" he protested. Catherine stepped back, smiling.

"Father, I'd like you to meet my son, Nicholas."

Father acknowledged the introduction gravely. "I'm very pleased tomeet you, Nicholas. Welcome to my home."

Nicholas eyed him warily. "Are you my daddy? We came to seehim."

Father managed a chuckle. "No, Nicholas, I'm not." His glance wentto Catherine, questioning, and she nodded. "I expect he'll be here inthe morning," he went on.

"I want to see him," Nicholas protested.

"Yes, I'm sure you do. And he'll be very surprised to see you,"Father said, with another glance at Catherine.

She nodded again, confirming his guess.

"Yes, very surprised, indeed," Father murmured. "Please,Catherine, come and sit down. Zach and Mouse, thank you for bringingCatherine and Nicholas to me. Tomorrow I'm sure there will be storiesto tell, but it's late..."

"Sure, Father," Zach acknowledged. "Come on, Mouse. I still havehalf a shift to go as sentry..."

They went out, and as they left, Mary came in, speaking quickly."Father, Jamie's just told me the most incredible..." She sawCatherine sitting with Nicholas in her lap and stopped, her eyesmisting with sudden emotion. "It's true, then," she whispered. "Oh,Catherine, I am so very glad to see you."

Catherine put Nicholas down and rose to return Mary's embrace."Not half as glad as I am to be here, Mary," she answered. "Therewere times I thought I'd never see this place again."

"Yes, of course," Father said. "You must tell us -- what happened?Where have you been?"

Catherine glanced at Nicholas. Young as he was, there were thingshe simply shouldn't hear. He looked up. "I'm hungry, Mommy."

Mary gave Catherine a knowing look. "Would you like to come withme, Nicholas?" she asked. "I'm sure William has something good to eatin the kitchen."

Nicholas shrank back uncertainly.

"It's okay, Nicky," Catherine encouraged. "Mary is a friend."

"Of my daddy?" he wanted to know.

It was Mary's turn to be startled, but Father handled itgracefully. "Yes, of course," he said easily. "Mary is a friend ofeveryone down here, and especially the children."

Nicky took a minute to think it over, and then extended atentative hand. He looked back once, but Catherine smiledencouragement and he followed Mary out of the room.

"He is... a wonderful child," Father said, his voice breaking."How old is he?"

"An extraordinary child," Catherine agreed. "He's two and a half.Nearly three, really."

He peered at her over the top of his glasses. "So you knew, beforeyou left us..."

"That I was pregnant? Yes." She looked away. "I didn't know how totell him, Father. I wanted to... meant to..."

He nodded in sympathy. "And then what happened? We know your carwas found, abandoned, in a parking garage. A few days later there wasan emergency call on the pipes. Pascal was certain it was you.Vincent followed the call to a warehouse... he saw you but couldn'treach you in time..."

She nodded. "I don't remember very much of that time," sheconfessed. "They kept giving me drugs. I was sick, and hallucinating.I remember calling for help on the pipes, but I don't rememberVincent. They must have given me another shot..."

"What happened after that? Where did you go? Vincent searched foryou. Frantically, at first. He still goes above, every night."

"Looking for me?" Catherine's voice was very small. "After allthis time?"

Father hesitated. "No," he admitted, finally. "I don't believehe's actually searching any longer. About a year ago, I had thefeeling that he was slowly giving up hope of ever finding you."

"But he still goes up there."

Father nodded. "I think, now, he's punishing himself."

"For not finding me."

He nodded again. "I fear so. He prowls the streets, alone with histhoughts... and his memories. I think he goes places that meantsomething to the two of you." He leaned forward, his expressionearnest. "He hasn't forgotten you, Catherine. He loves youstill."

She bent her head. The small stirring of relief, begun withJamie's matter-of-fact statement, swelled until the joy of it madeher almost giddy. And ashamed, for doubting him. "I know," shewhispered, and realized she really had known, all along. "I haven'tforgotten him, either."

"No," Father agreed, glancing toward the door where Mary andNicholas had gone out. "I don't imagine you have. But you were gonefor three years, Catherine. Without so much as a word. Couldn't youhave let him know you were safe? Couldn't you have done thatmuch?"

She met his pleading gaze firmly. "No, Father, I couldn't."

Clearly stunned by her quiet statement, he leaned back in hischair and listened as she explained about her kidnapping, andGabriel.

"He is ruthless, Father. Relentless. I knew he would be lookingfor me, trying to trace me somehow. So I ran. As far and as fast as Icould.

"After Nick was born, I went to Denver, and spent a week getting ahalf-dozen birth certificates and ID's. I changed cars and took Nickyto Salt Lake City. We lived there for almost five months. Later, welived in Sacramento, Seattle, Portland, and finally Spokane,Washington. I kept changing cars, changing jobs, changing names." Shetouched the smooth skin in front of her left ear. "I even had my scarremoved because it identified me. It was hard, Father, and harderbecause I couldn't let anyone know. I couldn't risk it."

He nodded, a slow comprehension blending with compassion on hisface. "Of course you couldn't." He got up from his chair and limpedaround his desk. Bending, he put an arm around her shoulders andpressed a fatherly kiss into her hair. "Thank you, Catherine, for allyou've sacrificed for him. For all you've given him."

"I would do anything for him, Father. You must know that bynow."

The sound of voices in the passage outside intruded and Mary camein, carrying Nicholas.

"I do," Father answered quietly, for Catherine's ears only. Hiseyes were fixed on the sleepy little boy in Mary's arms.

Catherine stood up, taking him into her own arms. "Did you getsomething to eat?" she asked.

He nodded.

"He ate a big bowl of William's vegetable soup," Mary said. Shepointed to Jamie, who was behind her, carrying a tray. "We brought abowl back for you, Catherine, because Nicholas says you haven't eatensince lunchtime."

There was fresh bread and sweet butter on the tray, along with thesoup, and Catherine ate hungrily. Nicholas sat at her feet, nibblingon cookies, while Father took Jamie and Mary aside for a condensedversion of the story Catherine had told him.

"Oh, dear," Mary said, when he finished. "What you've been throughdoesn't bear thinking about." She glanced down at Nicholas, who wasyawning widely. "It's very late. You must be exhausted. I have Brookepreparing a guest chamber. I'm sure you'll be comfortable there."

Catherine laughed. "I'd hoped to make a quiet entrance," she said."But it sounds as if everyone knows I'm back."

Mary smiled. "You can't expect us to keep such joyous news asecret, can you?" she asked. "But we all understand how tired youmust be, and we've all agreed to let you rejoin us gradually."

"That's very thoughtful, Mary," Father agreed. "Perhaps you'd showCatherine and Nicholas to their chamber now. Jamie, will you go toPascal and ask him to keep the news of Catherine's return off thepipes for now? And to have Vincent come straight to me when hereturns?"

Jamie nodded and darted out. Catherine looked at Fatherquizzically.

"I fear what the shock might do, should he hear of your return asa rumor on the pipes," Father said gently. "I'll tell him as soon ashe comes in, and send him to you right away."

Catherine nodded and lifted Nicholas, who tugged on her sleepily."Thank you for everything, Father," she said, kissing his cheek."Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Catherine," he answered with a smile. "Welcomehome."

The guest chamber was not the one Catherine had used after herfather died. "This one is better suited for two people," Maryexplained, showing her inside. Brooke had just finished making thebed, and greeted Catherine warmly before saying goodnight.

"Will you need help getting Nicholas settled down?" Mary asked."No? Then I'll leave you alone. You know how to call on the pipes ifyou need anything."

"I remember," Catherine nodded. "Thank you, Mary. Goodnight."

The chamber was L-shaped, with a massive carved four-posted bed, adresser, a table, and two armchairs in the large main section. Theell was smaller, holding only a small cot and a nightstand. Catherinechanged Nicholas into a pair of faded blue pajamas and tucked himunder the blankets on the cot.

"G'night, Mommy," he mumbled sleepily, and closed his eyes. Shebent to kiss his smooth cheek.

"Goodnight, Nicky," she whispered. "I love you."

His breathing showed he was already asleep -- not surprising,considering it was well past midnight. Catherine readied herself forbed, choosing the nightgown Mary had provided for her, rather thanone of her own. After brushing her teeth and her hair, she got intobed, but tired as she was, it was impossible to sleep.

She was here, at last, and soon, in just a few hours, she'd seeVincent again. Her heart quickened and she felt the tremor of nervousbutterflies in her stomach. Scrolling through old memories wouldn'thelp tonight. She rose and relit the bedside candle.

Three years was a long time, and Father's assurances weren't quiteenough to dispel the anxiety. She'd changed, and not only in the wayshe looked. Most likely, Vincent had changed, too. Even if they stillloved one another, things couldn't be the same between them. Notafter so long. She couldn't imagine feeling awkward or ill at ease inVincent's presence, but it might happen. How would she react? Whatshould she say?

Shivering, she moved to light another candle. There was aselection of books on the table and she picked one up. It was anearly edition of a story she'd read as a child. A Wrinkle inTime, by Madeleine L'Engle. A story about the power of love.

She put the book down and checked on Nicholas. Thankfully, heragitation wasn't disturbing him; he slept peacefully. She wandered tothe opening that led outside. The tunnels were quiet now; even thepipes were still. She wondered how long it would be before Vincentreturned, how long it would be until Father sent him here, toher.

She hugged herself, suppressing another flurry of nerves. She litanother candle, and another, and walked the perimeter of the room,touching things, reassuring herself of their solidity. Reassuringherself that this wasn't a dream, or wishful thinking. She was here.This was real. And soon...

A sense of someone watching her from the doorway made her turn,and he was there, shimmering in the light of the candles. She stoppedbreathing.

His eyes were wide in disbelief and he put out a hand to steadyhimself again the rough rock wall. "Are you real?" he whispered,imploring.

He hadn't changed much; not as much as she had. His sufferingshowed mainly in his eyes -- in the pain and fear she saw mirroredthere.

"I'm real, Vincent," she answered, surprised at how steady hervoice sounded. "I'm here."

He took one tentative step, and another, as if afraid a too-rapidmovement would make her vanish. She waited, and when he was finallystanding before her, he put out a tremulous hand. Gingerly, hetouched her hair and her face. "You are real," he breathed, his voicetaut with wonder.

"Yes."

He blinked, and pulled his hand away. "Forgive me," he faltered."The wonder of having you here, after so long... I have noright..."

Clearly, he was hesitant to take up where they had left off,wondering what had kept her away for so long, but his eyes told hereverything she needed to know. She caught his hand and pressed it toher cheek. "I'm the one who should ask forgiveness," she whispered."I let you hurt for so long..."

He shook his head. "There is nothing to forgive."

Catherine touched his face, feeling the velvety stubble of hisbeard as she trailed her fingers along his jaw. It was somethingshe'd always wanted to do but never dared. "Hold me," she saidsuddenly, surprising herself. Her voice sounded loud in the chamberand she closed her eyes. "Please."

Still hesitant, he folded her tenderly against his chest. Sheclutched him, pressing her face into his cloak. Something inside herloosened, freeing all the pent-up fears.

"I was so scared, Vincent." The words tumbled out, nearlyincoherent. "I missed you so much, and I couldn't tell you... and Iwas so scared."

Her arms were tight around his waist; she could feel his cheekpressed hard against the top of her head. He rocked her gently,making small shushing noises, and it dawned on her that he thoughtshe was weeping. She wasn't, though she might have liked to. She hadheld the tears back for so very long that her eyes remainedstubbornly dry. Only her heart cried out against the confusion,grief, and devastating loneliness that remained locked inside.

"Three years, Catherine," he whispered into her hair. "Threeyears."

"I'm so sorry, Vincent. I couldn't tell you where I was... it wastoo dangerous..."

"I looked for you..."

"I know. Father told me. And I knew anyway." She stepped back.Telling Vincent was even more difficult than telling Father. "I waskidnapped. By a man called Gabriel. At first he wanted a book, ablack book that Joe gave me. Later, he wanted... something else. Hekept me prisoner in a locked room for six months because of it."

"What? What did you have that he wanted?" His expression darkened."It was because of me. He wanted to know about me."

"No. Well, not directly." She looked up, seeing the confusion inhis gaze. "You haven't talked to Father yet, have you?" she asked,with sudden insight.

He shook his head. "No. I was on my way when I passed thischamber... and saw you..." He looked toward the doorway. "Perhaps Ishould see what he wants."

She clutched at his arm. "No. He just wants to tell you I'm here,break it to you easily, I think."

He managed a shadow of a smile. "Too late."

"Yes," she agreed shakily. "Too late."

"Go on. What did you have that this man wanted?"

"Oh, Vincent, this is so hard. I tried so many times to think ofthe words to tell you this..."

His expression darkened and she could see him brace himself forsome terrible revelation.

She took his hand. "Maybe I should just show you. Come here."

She led him around the corner to where their son lay sleeping."Gabriel wanted my baby," she said simply. "His name isNicholas."

Vincent stood silently and looked down at the sleeping boy. Hisexpression was closed, impassive. "He is beautiful, Catherine," hesaid at last, whispering. "He has a look of you."

"And of you," she said steadily.

Astonishment and wonder and fear chased through his eyes. Hismouth opened and closed again, and Catherine wondered what she couldpossibly say to ease this moment for him.

He looked back at their son, who, either in response to theirhushed voices, or, being who he was, because of the raw emotionflooding the chamber, chose this moment to stir sleepily and open hiseyes.

His expression reflected no shock, no fear, only a drowsycuriosity. "Are you my daddy?"

Words were beyond Vincent, so Catherine answered for him. "Yes,Nick. He is."

Innate courtesy finally gave Vincent back his voice. "Hello,Nicholas," he managed, softly. "I'm very glad to meet you."

Nicholas merely blinked, squinting against the candlelight.Catherine could see that this was too much for both father and son,and intervened. "It's too early to wake up, Nick. Go back tosleep."

His gaze wandered from her face to his father's and back again."Will my daddy be here when I wake up?"

Catherine glanced at Vincent, who was once more incapable ofspeech. "Yes. He'll be here in the morning."

"Will he tell me a story?" Nicholas persisted sleepily.

"Tomorrow," she promised. "He has lots of stories, Nicky. But fornow, you have to go to sleep."

Already slumber was reclaiming the little boy. "'kay," he answereddrowsily. "'Night, Mommy. 'Night, Daddy."

Catherine leaned forward to kiss his smooth cheek. "Goodnight,Nicky."

Her action seemed to prod Vincent, who put his hand outtentatively to touch his son for the first time, smoothing back thethick blond hair. "Goodnight, Nicholas," he murmured. Catherineplucked at his sleeve and he followed her back into the mainchamber.

He was obviously still in shock; his gaze, when he looked at her,was incredulous. "How?" he asked, his voice barely audible, even inthe hush of the chamber. "When?"

He was maintaining a careful distance between them now, and shedidn't try to close the gap. "While you were ill," she said simply,answering him directly. "In the catacombs."

His eyes closed as a look of dread crossed his face; at his sides,his hands clenched into fists. "No." It was almost a moan, a denialof his worst fears.

Catherine searched for words, seeking a way to make himunderstand. "While I was gone, hiding, there were some very bad days,Vincent," she began. He showed no signs of hearing her, but he hadn'tbolted yet, either. She drew a deep breath and went on. "I used tosave my memories for the worst times. At night, before I went tosleep, I would take them out, one by one, and relive them, trying toremember every word, every nuance."

His eyes opened; he watched her intently. "I kept the memory ofthat night for especially bad times, Vincent."

He studied her carefully; she had the feeling, as she had so oftenin the past, that he was looking directly into her heart. "Was it agood memory?" he asked at last, and she could see a flicker of hopein his eyes.

She nodded. "Very good. But sad."

His expression faltered. "Sad? Why?"

"Because I knew it was a memory you didn't have."

He looked away. "No," he whispered. "I know nothing of whathappened there. I remember none of it."

"I remember. When you're ready, I'll tell you."

He nodded, his gaze still fixed on something only he could see."Were you afraid?"

She tilted her head, studying him. She couldn't see his eyes; hishair screened them, but she could tell, by the set of his head, hisshoulders, that he was seeking reassurance. "Not for myself. I knewyou couldn't hurt me. But I was terrified for you, Vincent. You wereso far away from me, and I was afraid I couldn't reach you." Sheclosed her eyes and shivered, remembering the dreadful moment whenhe'd dropped like a stone, unmoving. She'd been frantic with fear,and in a way, that fear had woven a thread through all the days thathad followed. She opened her eyes to find him watching her.

"Are you afraid now, Catherine?"

It was her turn to look away. "I was," she said, too rapidly. "Atfirst, when I learned I was carrying your child, I was afraid to tellyou."

His breath caught. "Why?"

"You'd been through so much. How could I place another burden onyou?"

"You should have told me."

"I meant to. I was coming, that night, the night I was kidnapped,to tell you."

"I searched for you. Everywhere. For months, years."

"I know you did. After I escaped, I was afraid to contact you,afraid of leading them here, somehow. And always, always, I wasafraid they would find me and take Nicky away."

Speaking of those terrible months had wakened the memories. Theywere too close, crowding her and she couldn't push them away anymore.

"Catherine?"

She could hear the alarm in his voice, dimly, but couldn't findvoice to reassure him. She was trembling and couldn't catch herbreath. The walls, so safe a moment ago, were closing in...

Then his arms were around her, holding her tight against hischest. "You're safe," he murmured, unconsciously echoing the firstwords he had ever spoken to her. "You're safe now. No harm will cometo you here."

Instinct told her to resist. There was no room in her life forweakness; if she'd learned nothing else in the past three years,she'd learned that, and it had been a hard and bitter lesson. Shecould fight the weakness if she could move, could run. But when shestruggled, he didn't let go.

"You're safe here," he repeated insistently. "It's all rightnow."

The fear was welling up now, overwhelming in its intensity. Itfilled her chest, her throat. She couldn't breathe and she tried, asshe'd done so often before, to push the horror back, to cage it upwhere it couldn't interfere.

But it was too late. It was out now, choking her and Vincentwouldn't let her go.

"It's all right," he said. "I'm here. It's going to be allright."

Her body shook in long, uncontrolled tremors; she couldn't makethem stop. And then the tears came. Long, wrenching sobs shook her,one after the other. Vincent's firm hold turned tender and she saggedagainst him. When the storm was over, she felt a vast weariness, asif she'd set down an immense burden.

"I'm sorry," she began, shakily. "I didn't know that wouldhappen."

"It's all right," he murmured, low in her ear. He swayed just thetiniest bit, rocking her against his chest. "It's going to be allright."

"Is it?" she asked wistfully. It had been such a long time sincethings were right.

"Yes," he said firmly. "It will be."

She believed him, and looked up, surprised that his face boretraces of tears, as well.

"It's late and you're tired," Vincent murmured in her ear. "Youshould sleep."

He guided her toward the bed, but when he would have drawn away,she caught his hands. "Stay with me," she pleaded.

He faltered. "Catherine..."

She could see the uncertainty in his eyes. "Please. I don't wantto be alone."

Still he hesitated and she felt a quiver of panic. If he steppedback now, after all she'd been through, she couldn't bear it."Please." She heard the supplication in her own voice, and didn'tcare. "Please."

He looked down at her hands clutching his. "It means so much toyou?" he whispered.

Words failed her; she nodded.

"Then I'll stay."

There was no mistaking his discomfort as he removed cloak andboots, but when she turned back the quilts, he slid between thesheets with only the tiniest of hesitations.

He lay stiffly on his own side of the bed, not touching her; itwas almost worse than being alone.

"Catherine." His voice was soft in the stillness.

"Yes?"

"I don't know what our lives will be like, now."

"Neither do I. It's been a long time for us, Vincent. That makesit harder. But we'll find a way." She reached for his hand, findingcomfort as his strong, warm fingers closed over hers. "I found out along time ago that nothing matters, as long as I have Nicky. Andyou."

"You have me," he affirmed swiftly. "Always."

She couldn't bear the separation, even of inches, any longer. Sherolled toward him and, instead of flinching, he gathered herclose.

She closed her eyes. She was safe. Nicky was safe. She didn't needto be afraid anymore.

For the first time in a very long while, she dared to dream abouttomorrow.

The End