A MATTER OF PLACE (THE WORLD BEYOND)

By Nightwalker87

Author's Note: This piece was the result of a challenge issued bymy friend, De, who introduced me to the series. It started out as tenpages and kept growing. I hope you enjoy the final product.

CHAPTER ONE

If we only have love*

To embrace without fear

We will kiss with our eyes

We will sleep without tears

The picture ended, and, as the credits rolled, the audiencegathered their things. Murmurs of conversations could be heardbeneath the Dolby sound of the movie's theme music. A small,chestnut-haired young woman grabbed the blue trench coat she hadfling earlier across the vacant seat next to her. Giving it avigorous shake, she turned to her companion.

"Ready, Cathy?" No response. "Cathy?" she repeated a little louderwhen the woman failed to move.

"Earth to Catherine Chandler. The movie is over. You have regainedcontrol of your mind. You may leave. Now!" Jenny Aaronson commandedin an authoritative voice, barely smothering a giggle.

"Huh?..." Catherine Chandler slowly responded while shaking herhead to distill the sense of awakening from a drugged sleep.

"Is the movie over?"

"Yes, Cath, it's over. Has been for ten minutes."

Leaning over, Jenny softly punched her friend in the leftshoulder. "Obviously, you were so enthralled by it, you wanted it togo on and on and on. Now that you've rejoined the rest of us, can wego? I'm starved."

As if on cue, a low rumble emerged from the region of her stomach.Clutching her mid-section in mock pain, she snarled, "If I don't getsomething to eat in 3 minutes, I will self-destruct. And you willnever forgive yourself."

Hastily, Catherine stood and slipped her arms through the greenwool coat that had rested on her lap throughout the show. Ignoringthe buttons, she pulled it tightly around her slender body andgrabbed her purse.

Turning to her friend, she slipped an arm around Jenny's shoulder,"Let's go put some food in you. And just maybe you won'tself-destruct for say..., " she glanced at her watch, pretending togravely consider the matter. "...Two hours," she finally concludedand then grinned brightly.

Too brightly thought Jenny as they moved up the aisle and throughthe lobby. Outside, Catherine handed Jenny her purse as she silentlybuttoned her coat. Jenny did not attempt to break the silence withher usual light-hearted banter. She intently watched her friend,noting the jerkiness of her movements; the slight slump to hershoulders and the aura of tiredness. No, not tiredness, Jennymentally corrected herself but something else.

"What is it, Cath?" her voice floated gently through the Septemberevening.

Catherine debated whether to ignore the question by pretending shedid not hear it. However, she knew her college friend well. If shedid not respond, Jenny would only persist until she did. Withoutlooking at her friend, she retrieved her purse.

"It's nothing, Jen," she mumbled as she turned and headed east onThird Avenue. She had walked a few paces before the other woman fellin step beside her.

"Sure, Cathy, nothing." Jenny didn't bother to hide her disbelief.

They walked the four block to Nadine's, their favorite bistro onthe eastside in silence. Around them, fellow New Yorkers hurried byat the clipped, impatient pace only true New Yorkers walked. Now andthen, a male pedestrian paused a moment to observe the two as theypassed.

In height, they were about the same, 5'51/2". Both carried theunmistakable air of successful, career women at home with themselves.Slender bodies were propelled forth by commanding strides. Neitherlooked left nor right out of choice, not fear. This was their city-acity with which they had come to terms and vice versa. There theresemblance ended.

Jenny had chestnut-colored hair styled in riotous curls around herface. Her eyes were brown and her nose a tad too small for the roundface. Openness, the bedrock of her personality, was stamped on herfeatures. It was a friendly face, prone to an easy smile; the laughlines around her small mouth an immediate confirmation of that.Catherine's brownish blonde hair barely brushed her shoulders whileframing an oval face. Hair and eyes blended well with a nose that wasa shade shy of being short. High cheekbones coupled with grayishgreen eyes and full lips made her the more striking of the two.

When men looked at Jenny, they smiled and frequently asked herout. When they looked at Catherine, something about the face--thelook of the eyes--made they hesitate and then reject the impulse. Ifasked, they were at a loss to explain the hesitation.

The two women entered the bistro and were immediately seated bythe maitre d'. Once seated, they shrugged out of their coats and thenscanned the place for familiar faces. As always on Saturday nights,the place was crowded. Every white-clothed table was full and thelines were three deep around the big mahogany bar running the lengthof the room. Here and there, mahogany beans sprouted from floor toceiling. Each beam had a cluster of people surrounding it. Thebrick-faced walls and early American lighting gave the room, despitethe crowd, an air of intimacy. Soft music--a mixture of jazz,classical, and pop--enhanced the overall effect of restfulness.

"Evening, Zack, " each responded while opening the menu.

Zack stayed long enough to pour them glasses of wine from a carafeof spitzers.

Catherine pretended to study the menu then finally gave up.Closing it, she began to tap the it against the bottom edge of thetable. She didn't become aware of the action until Jenny gently butfirmly took the folder out of her hands.

"Oh, Jen. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to annoy you. I..."

"You didn't annoy me, Cath. I already know what I'm ordering.However, I am annoyed because something is bothering you. Why don'tyou tell me about it?"

"Jen...," Catherine began, only to be interrupted by Zack'sreturn.

"Ladies, tonight's specials are..."

"Don't bother, Zack. We'll both have small Caesar salads andchicken almondine," ordered Jenny, after a glance at Catherine.

After Zack's departure, Jenny quickly returned to theconversation.

"Cathy, what is it?"

Catherine stared into the worried eyes of friend then down at thetable.

"That's just it, Jen. I don't know...," she haltingly stated."Everything is alright at the job and I can't complain about my homelife. Yet I feelÖ"

"Tired?"

"No, not tired. Or sad. Or unhappy."

"Then what?" Jenny was perplexed and it showed.

"I don't know. Restless, perhaps. No, edgy. No, that's not iteither." Sighing, she cradled her head in her hands.

"I feel like I'm standing atop of a precipice with a foot on theedge. Behind me is the known and a head of me. A head of me...I don'tknow."

Frustrated because she could not explain, she slapped her palmsagainst the table and then clenched her fists.

Jenny reached across the small space and grasped the fists in herhands. She rubbed the skin drawn tight across the knuckles.

"Cathy, I don't pretend to understand what is going on with you.Just know that I love you and I'm hear if you need me."

Catherine forced her fingers to relax and grasped the warmthcushioning her hands. Looking up, she managed a genuine smile.

"Believe me, Jen, I know that and I appreciate it. I rely on it.Don't worry, everything will sort itself out. Who knows, maybe, I'mgoing through menopause," she ended on a teasing note.

The other woman smiled and relaxed, pleased to see the return ofher old friend. Turning her head, she spied Zack heading toward them.

Releasing Catherine hands, she gleefully rubbed her own togetherand remarked, "Ah, food. At last.."

Jenny's rapt expression caused Catherine to chuckle and quip, "Areyou sure it's the food? Perhaps Zack is making you salivate likethat."

"Zack? Never. I only salivate for food"

The waiter placed the salads on the table, breathing an inwardsigh of relief. The air of doom and gloom had lifted. The two womenlooked relaxed which meant a good tip for him. Perhaps, he couldreplenish his dwindling art supply. Smiling broadly, he retrieved abasket of warm petit French loaves and placed them in the middle ofthe table.

"All set for now, ladies? I'll return with the rest of the orderas soon as it' s ready."

Once he was gone, the two women proceeded to analyze the movie.They decided it hadn't been worth the $7.00 admission and debated atgreat length how much it had been worth.

Deep beneath the city streets, Vincent's pen halted in mid-word.He cocked his head as though listening to something far off thenchuckled softly. He could sense Catherine's merriment and was pleasedthat she was finally enjoying the evening with Jenny.

The chuckle died and a frown creased his face. Something wastroubling her. Tonight was a much-needed reprieve but that was all itwas. Placing the pen on the paper, he continued the entry in hisdiary.

CHAPTER TWO

Catherine unlatched the door and crossed the threshold of herapartment. Turning, she then locked it. With each click of the fourlatches, the good feeling generated by an evening spend with Jennyslowly evaporated.

As she hung her coat in the closet, she swore aloud "Dammit,what's wrong with me?" She desperately recalled the events of theevening, trying to recapture its pleasure. Momentarily, her dark moodlifted and she laughed while recalling Jen's imitation of the leadactor's idea of toughness; a cross between Rambo, Robocop, and theTerminator. Her own imitation of the heroine--a combination of WonderWoman, Riley, and Supergirl--had sent them both into gales oflaughter. An argument then ensued regarding who had selected themovie and why. Finally, a truce was declared after each acknowledgedthat the selection had been the fault of the feature's stars--twowell-know actors who had made bad choices and even worse chemistry onscene.

The light-hearted mood continued as she showered, donned a gownand got into bed. Yawning, she turned on her side and fell asleep,only to awaken an hour later in a cold sweat. Her palms were clammy;her heart beat accelerated. Shakily, she pushed hair out of her eyesand tried to bring her trembling body under control. Throwing the bedcovers aside, she swung her legs over the edge and sat, head cuppedin her hands. An unsteady hand snagged the matching velour robe ofher gown from a nearby chair. She got up and put the robe on,snapping the buttons all the way down. Barefoot, she patted into thekitchen to make some tea. With deft movements, she put water in thekettle and placed it on the burner. Once kettle started whistling,she placed a mug with herbal tea in it on the counter. Using apotholder, she poured the hot water into the mug and returned thekettle to the stove. Picking up the mug in one hand, she turned theburner and overhead light off with the other, plunging the apartmentonce more into a total darkness that seemed to be closing in on her.

Air, she thought, I need air. She left the kitchen and quicklymoved across the living room and bounded up the three steps to thedining area and the terrace beyond. She paused momentarily to placethe mug on the dining table and then hurriedly pushed open the Frenchdoors and stepped onto the balcony.

The September night was soothing to her. She retrieved the tea,took a sip and then placed the mug on the small iron-wrought tablenext to the lounger. For a moment, she was indecisive about what todo next. She couldn't go back inside, it was too oppressive. On theterrace, she could breathe. She retrieved the down comforter from thefoot of her bed and returned to the balcony. She lay down on thelounger and drew the comforter around her.

Picking up the now lukewarm tea, she relaxed into the back of thelounger and stared into the darkness. It was a moonless night withthousands of twinkling lights patterning the sky. As can often happenin September, it was warmer now than it had been earlier in theevening. Between her nightwear, the comforter, and the tea, she feltcozily warm. Placing the mug back on the table, she stretched out,her eyes heavy with sleep. She slowly drifted off, cocooned by thecity night. Gradually as she slept, the warm coziness was replaced bya cold darkness from which she could not escape.

A figure slipped out of the shadows and rushed to the womanwrithing on the lounger.

Vincent knelt beside Catherine and shook her gently. "Catherine,it is only a dream," he whispered in a raspy and soothing voice.

She didn't seem to hear him as she began to sob--woeful sounds ofunbridled fear. All the while, she thrashed about in the comforter,which in sleep, had twisted around her body, trapping her.

"Catherine, wake up!" Vincent commanded loudly. Turning her to theside, he pulled on the bedding, releasing it. Throwing it down, helaid Catherine on her back and shook her again.

"Catherine. Catherine, you're free. Wake up." His words had noeffect and he sensed her slipping deeper into terror. Gathering herto him, he stretched out on the settee. Throwing his cloak over themboth, he ran his arms up and down her chilled back several times. Hecontinued to speak softly to her, "Come back, Catherine. It's just adream."

The warmth of his body and the sound of his voice graduallypenetrated the terror and her sobbing lessened and then ceased. Hertightly curled fists relaxed and, blindly, she clung to him. Feelingher return to consciousness, he held her tighter and sighed.

"Oh, Catherine."

Cloistered in his arms, Catherine smelled the leather of the tuniche wore and his own smoky scent. She inhaled deeply; trying to drawthe scent within her essence, knowing it was her only salvation. Eyesclosed, she felt the muscles of his thighs against her own and thesoftness of the fur beneath his cheek. It was then that she realizedthey were intertwined. She felt winded as though she had run a greatdistance. Disoriented, she opened her eyes and looked up at Vincent.The concern in his eyes puzzled her.

"Vincent? What happened? The last thing I remember is falling asleep."

"You dreamt, Catherine. A nightmare."

She blanched as the response. Recalling the terror of the dream,she began to tremble.

"Catherine, what is it? Tell me."

Drawing out of his embrace, she got up and moved to lean againston the low-bricked wall of the terrace. Propping her arms against theedge, she dropped her head onto them.

He watched her go, not concerned at the lack of response. He felther gather her strength taking back control of her environment. Aftera moment, he followed in her path and stood next to her. As always,when he was this close, the familiar tug on his body grew stronger.He ruthlessly squelched it and concentrated only on her. He waitedpatiently, his face turned to view her profile. He could see a muscletighten on her jaw.

A slight shift of her head and she would see a man who was morethan a man. A person whose leonine features that would frighten theworld. Moreover, in its fright, the world would overlook the blueeyes--mirrors to the soul within. It would only see the red gold manefalling below his shoulders or the claw-like hands and canine teeth.It would not see Vincent. Not as she, and all who loved him, saw him.At 6'2", he towered over her yet she had never felt overwhelmed byhis height. Right now, she found comfort in it.

"I dreamed of him...the watcher." Her voice flowed softly towardshim although she had not turned. " The one who stalked me in April.Only this time, he won. I couldn't get out. The water got higher andhigher. I couldn't breathe and I died," the last words were a murmur,ribbed with fear.

"Catherine, it's over. He cannot harm you. You are alive andhere...with me."

"I know, I know. But it was so real...," her voiced trailed offand she shuddered. "So close. So very close."

Vincent took her in his arms. "Yes, close, but you survived."

She felt his hands in her hair, stroking; his touch wascomforting. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the feeling ofsecurity. She felt his fingers work their way down the sides of herhead until his warm palms cupped her face. The tactile message wasloud and clear: She was safe and warm. Warm...

He sensed it as she knew he would. Exerting slight pressure, heforced her to look up at him. Gray green eyes met sapphire blue andtime stood still. Two pairs of eyes met and what had gone before wasforgotten; banished to the nether world of what had been or couldhave been. As though a camera shutter clicked, the scene changed. Theterrace and the September night disappeared. There was onlyCatherine. Only Vincent. There was only rushing needs, full-blown anddemanding.

She needed a touch he alone could provide. The gray disappearedfrom her eyes and the green deepened to the color of emeralds.

Sapphire-colored eyes became the purest shade of that gemstone ashis need for a touch from her took command, trampling all otherconsiderations.

She was his. He was hers. It was as simple and complex as that.

Her lips parted and a soft breath trickled out, the soundruthlessly drawing him further into the maelstrom. He watched herlips part and, inexorably, his head was drawn downward. The pull hecontinually fought around Catherine was more potent then ever before.Perhaps this moment had been impregnated that April night when he hadalmost lost her. The time since then an incubation to now. Herearlier nightmare, a reminder of the slenderness of life. He didn'tknow. It didn't matter. As he reached for her lips, he didn't care.

Catherine needed the touch of his lips to banish the nightmare.She needed to know that she would not die without having known whathe could give. To hold him yet not touch him; not feel his lipsagainst hers, his breath intermingled with hers, was no longerbearable. She could not remember why it had taken so long to get tothis place.

Just before her lips touched his, he turned his head and her lipslanded on his jaw.

"No." The pain of regret resounded in the word as Vincent brokethe embrace and stepped out of her arms. Involuntarily, he backedaway from her until he was braced against a terrace wall. His eyesnever left her left hers as he fought to regain command of thesensations whirling through him. The efforts sent chills through himand his body became rigid. His breathing was ragged as he shook hishead; the gesture a plea.

She felt bereaved as she fought to contain her raging passion.Like him, she drew deep, painful breaths. It didn't seem to helpmuch. It was as though the Pandora's Box that housed her needs hadbroken open.

"Catherine."

The appeal in his voice was unmistakable and it touched her. Shedeterminedly forced the traitorous needs down and cleared her mind ofeverything but Vincent. The effort drained her. She folded her armsacross her body in a vain attempt to stem the cold seeping into herbones.

Vincent relaxed although he made no effort to go to her. Thesituation was too volatile as the need hung in the air between them.He retrieved his cloak from the lounger and put it on.

"I think I had better go," he whispered while pulling the hood up.

She nodded in agreement. "Good night, Vincent."

She turned and left the terrace, her steps lethargic.

Feeling her weariness and underlining sadness, he started tofollow but stopped. He could almost hear her plea to be left alone.He turned away from the terrace doors and moved to the far end of thebalcony. Moments later, he disappeared into the night.

In the apartment, Catherine sat in the darkened living room,praying for the rays of a new day.

"Hey, Radcliffe, is that deposition ready yet?" Joe Maxwell askedas he pulled on his suit jacket. Not waiting for a reply, he walkedover to her desk.

"Uh, no, Joe. But, I'm almost done." Catherine replied withoutlooking up. Her desk was cluttered with law books and depositions.

Joe impatiently fixed his tie and ran a hand absently through hisdark hair. "Radcliffe, I need that deposition."

"Yes, I know. However, you don't need it until Wednesday. It willbe done, " she snapped as she threw the pen down and glared at him.

Joe held up his hands up as though fighting off a blow. "Easy,Chandler. I was just asking. My, my, we are in a mood," he teased.

He's right, Catherine thought, I am in a mood. She sheepishlygrinned, easing the momentary tension.

"Ah, that's better. Remember, Chandler, I'm on your side." Hisboyish grin was infectious and she laughed.

"There are times when I'm not so sure. Seriously, I will have itready in time."

Maxwell studied the woman seated before him. There was an air ofstrain about her. The circles beneath her eyes spoke volumes aboutlack of sleep. Despite the terra cotta colored sweater and skirt, shelooked drained; washed out.

"Cathy, is there something you want to talk about? Somethingwrong?"

He watched her close up. Her animated face lost all emotion.

"No, Joe. Why do you ask?" was the guarded response.

"I don't know. You seem...tired somehow. Cathy, I 'm not trying topry...," his discomfort was apparent, "...but, if you need..."

"Ready, Joe?" a perky voice queried just behind him.

Gina Barrett, a slender, brunette, flashed a smile of hello toCathy as she joined Joe. Slipping an arm through his, she tuggedplayfully.

"Come on, Joe. You were supposed to meet me downstairs ten minutesago. How's it going Cath?"

"Okay, Gina. Where are you two going tonight?"

"First, dinner. There's this little Egyptian restaurant in theVillage. I hear the food is great and spicy. Then, I am going to draghim off to hear a group called Marble Heads."

Joe grimaced. Listening to some group named "Marble Head" did notbode well for the evening. On the other hand, Gina had good ifsomewhat eclectic musical tastes and her business instincts were verysharp. Feigning a groan, he pulled her towards the doors. "Come on.If I have to listen to them, the food at this restaurant had betterbe fantastic! Night, Cathy."

Catherine chuckled. "Night, guys. Have fun."

She returned to the deposition, her thoughts still on Joe andGina. They were quite a pair. Though they had met under tragicconditions, the resulting relationship was ample compensation. Bothwere happy and it showed. Why shouldn't it? she thought. Being inlove should make one happy. I am not going to go there, she silentlyaffirmed and resolutely returned her attention to papers on the desk.

"Vincent. Vincent, it's your move." Father chided, gesturingtowards the chessboard.

Vincent stared at the board, his thoughts elsewhere, and blindlymoved a piece.

Father sighed. The move was a gross mistake. Obviously, yourattention is not completely focused on the game, Father muttered tohimself.

"Vincent, I don't believe you are concentrating. Perhaps we wouldcontinue this another time."

"You're right, Father. Another time would be better."

Vincent stretched as Father moved the board out of the way. Theolder man then reached across the space between them and covered oneof Vincent's hands.

"It's Catherine, isn't it?"

Vincent nodded then tilted his head slightly, listening to somedistant sound.

A smile briefly lit his features, softening them. It disappeared.Confusion and sadness were written in the eyes that turned to Father.

"Something is wrong. I can feel it. I just don't know what it is.Lately, there has been a ...distance."

"Is something wrong with your bond? Is it weakening?"

"No, that's not it." Vincent stood and began to pace. "The bond isstrong. However, it's as though a barrier has been placed within it.Previously, what Catherine felt flowed through me like a river.Something has slowed the currents of her feelings. I can't explain itany better."

"Have you spoken with Catherine about it?"

The negative response elicited a sound of exasperation fromFather. "For God's sake, why not?"

Vincent stopped pacing to place a hand on a small figurine of awoman. He caressed it, drawing some solace from its coolness.

"Because I believe the barrier is of Catherine's making." Hereplied in a slightly shaky voice.

The magnitude of the statement was not lost on either man. Fromthe beginning, the bond had flowed unimpeded between Catherine andVincent. Through it, he experienced her joy, anger, compassion andfear. Except for the incident with Paracelsus, she had neverattempted to hamper the connection. It had never entered any one'smind that she might wish otherwise.

Vincent rested his bowed frame against the table. Father rose andwent to him. Cupping a shoulder, he tried to reassure his son. "I amsure it's nothing, Vincent. You know that Catherine loves you. Whenshe is ready, she will tell you. I am certain of it."

"Yes, I know."

The fear of what she might tell him was evident in his blue eyesand reflected in the older man's gray ones.

"Meanwhile, try not to brood over it. Ah, Henry, you're just theperson I need to see." he said, addressing the young man entering thechamber. "Vincent, would you get the plans for the new chambers andpoint out the weaknesses you found?"

"Yes, Father." He retrieved the plans from a cabinet in the rearof the study and joined the others at the table. Unrolling thecharts, he proceeded to outline the problems with the structure inthe new living areas.

CHAPTER THREE

Time moved relentlessly forward. September slipped into Octoberand then it, too, was gone. By November, the trees were stripped bareof the leaves of summer. The green grass had become barren brownearth and the chilliness of October had eroded into the coldness ofthe forthcoming winter.

As the seasons change, so do relationships. The relationshipbetween Catherine and Vincent subtlety altered as the weeks passed.There was always the loved; that could not be denied. However, therewas also a restraint as though a 50-watt light bulb had replaced the100-watt that was the electricity of their union. Together or a part,there was a pallor to both. The pleasure-pain of their relationshipseemed to have tilted towards pain. Catherine would not speak of it.Vincent could not. And the impasse continued.

"Catherine Chandler here."

"Cathy, hi. It's Nancy."

"Nance, hello. What's up?" Catherine cradled the phone against herneck as she searched the messy desk for yet another deposition.

"Nothing. Just called to make certain you're coming up tomorrow."

"Of course. When have I ever turned down a Thanksgiving dinner atyour home? Beside, Jenny would kill me if I backed out now."

Nancy's laughter flowed through the telephone line. "That's true.You know for someone who love's to eat, Jenny is one lousy cook.Almost as bad as you."

"Come on, Nancy, I'm not that bad. As least I know how to makemelon balls."

"Yes. That and boil an egg. The extent of your culinaryabilities."

Catherine laughed and didn't bother to deny the truth of herfriend's statement. The two chatted a few minutes longer then hungup. A smile hovered on Catherine's face reflecting the bubble ofexcitement and delight within. It would be good to get away for a fewdays. She eagerly anticipated being drawn into Nancy's geniality andthat of her husband and children. Besides, her friend was a greatcook and she could use a good meal. The glow faded as Catherineruefully admitted to herself that, of late, she had not been eatingwell. Additionally, she was almost an insomniac. The combination hadleft her drawn and wan. Joe came out of his office, buttoning up histrench coat. The air of expectancy around him was palpable. Watchinghim, Catherine knew it meant only one thing--Gina was on her wayback.

"Hey, Joe. What time does Gina's plane land?" She called out justas he got to the door.

"In about two hours, if the U. S. Air flight from LA lands ontime. I'm on the way to LaGuardia now. Enjoy Thanksgiving, kiddo. Seeyou Monday."

He was gone. Catherine shook her head at the image left in hiswake. The man could be a barracuda in the courtroom; cold, unbending.Yet, he'd rushed out of the office like a sixteen-year-old on a hotdate.

Three hours later, she unlocked the door to her condo and entered.Automatically, she flicked the nearby switch bathing the room in softlights. Shedding her trench coat, she hung it in the closet anddouble-checked the door's lock. Moving into the kitchen, she put thekettle on for tea and switched on the radio, twilling the dial to herfavorite music station.

The strands of a Beethoven sonata filled the small kitchen. It wassoothing and the tension of the previous weeks began to ease. Thesonata ended and the news came on.

"An hour ago, U S Air Flight #533 from Los Angeles crashed whilelanding at LaGuardia Airport. Survivors have been taken to HillcrestGeneral Hospital. The plane was carrying 355 people..." The announcerdroned on but Catherine was no longer listening.

She stood frozen in shock and disbelief. It wasn't possible, shethought. Gina is on that flight. Gina. Joe. She ran into the livingroom where she picked up the purse that she'd so recently discarded.Yanking open the closet door, she grabbed her coat and rushed out ofthe apartment. On the street, she hailed a cab and jumped in.

"Hillcrest General Hospital," she informed the driver afterslamming the door.

"Lady, that's in Queens. I don't go to Queens," he snarled in aBrooklyn twang.

"You'll go to Queens or lose your license. I work with the DA'soffice and I'll make damn sure of it!" she snapped.

The driver glanced in the cab's rearview mirror. He saw thedetermination and anger in her face. Hell, she probably can, hethought. Shrugging, he started the cab and headed to Queens.

It was Saturday night. Catherine looked at the reflection in themirror, noting the strain of the last 72 hours; knowing the hourswould be etched in her mind forever. Turning on the hair dryer, sheabsently moved it through her hair as the memories of the past threedays washed over her...

The trip to Hillcrest had taken forever. When she arrived, theplace was in a state of controlled chaos. Doctors and nurses rushedaround the endless stream of gurneys. Moan and groans seemed to beeverywhere. In the midst of all this, relatives searched franticallyfor someone to tell them if their loved ones were among the living.It had taken her almost 90 minutes to find Joe. His anguishedexpression stopped her heart. Praying, she had rushed to his side tobe told that Gina was barely alive. The waiting and praying for herrecovery began. Periodically, the doctors taking care of Gina updatedthem.

As Wednesday night turned into Thursday afternoon, Catherineforced Joe down to the hospital cafeteria where both pretended to eatthe lumps that passed for steak and potatoes. Throughout the ordeal,Joe had half-heartedly encouraged Catherine to go home. He wouldtelephone her when something happened. Her refusal was quietly andfirmly stated every time. Somewhere between Wednesday and Thursday,she remembered to call Jenny and explain the situation. Her friendwas solicitous and, although she had never met Gina, she sent herprayers for a safe recovery.

Throughout the long hours, the waiting continued. Each time avoice steeped in grief carried over the sounds of people quietlytalking , they had cringed. Each time a door opened and a figure inwhite moved in their direction, they shrank back only to breathe asigh of relief when the person passed by. Finally, the waiting ended.Dr. Campbell, head of the team treating Gina, emerged from her room.Smiling, she informed them that the crisis had passed. Gina wouldfully recover in time. After thanking him, Joe then Catherine hadbriefly visited the unconscious woman.

As the memories faded, Catherine shut off the dryer and ran a handthrough her hair. In the end, it had turned out all right. This time,an insistent voice kept reminding her. This time. Impatiently, shewent into the bedroom where she exchanged the gray caftan for jeansand a blouse. Grabbing a short brown leather jacket from the closetand her keys, she left. In the basement, she passed through thehidden entrance and stepped down the ladder. At the bottom of theshaft, she moved out of the light that perpetually shined in the areaand into the darkness. Into his arm.

"Catherine, it is over. Let it out," he implored.

Clinging tightly to him, she cried out the tension and worry ofthe latest crisis in her life. She sobbed in relief that Gina wasrecovering and grieved for those who had not survived.

"She almost didn't make it, Vincent," she repeated the phrase asthough it was a mantra while sobbing uncontrollably.

At last, the crying ended but she didn't move out of his embraceand he did not attempt to end it. For Catherine, it was a time ofrevelations. The persistent voice whispered through herconsciousness--this time. This time. How many "this times" had therebeen for her. For Vincent. How many more yet to come? And, when therewere no more "this time," what then? How would she meet it? On my ownterms, the voice whispered, with no regrets. No regrets for whatmight have been.

No regrets. And she dropped the barrier she had so painstakinglyplaced in their bond weeks ago. She let the need grow and swell likea balloon within her. She heard Vincent inhale sharply as her buriedpassion caught him off guard and smashed through his defenses. Shefelt the tremors go through his body as he tightened the embrace. Shelifted her head and gasped. His eyes were twin bluish flames; shecould not recall them ever being so blue. The sight sent her emotionswhirling upward and a burning sensation began in the pit of herstomach and expanded outward.

"Catherine?" he whispered raggedly, his eyes on her parted lips;his expression wild.

"Yes, Vincent, yes." She was barely able to form the words neededto answer the unspoken question. She could feel his breath rush out,warm across her face and she wanted it. She wanted to take it withinher lips, feel it on her tongue, swallow it.

Now, now, her mind screamed. Or had she spoken it aloud?. Shedidn't know and it didn't matter. As his head descended, she closedher eyes.

His lips grazed her jaw line. "No Catherine," he croaked as helifted his head. Straightening to his full height, he stepped back.

Catherine stared at him in disbelief. A part of her was stunned.This is not happening, she thought. Not again. How could he denythis? She dropped her arms and stepped towards him. Recoiling, heturned away but not before she read the confusion, longing, and shamein his expression. She did not move towards him again.

"Why not, Vincent? There is no shame in what we are feeling."

"For me, there is. We both know that," he mumbled without turning.

"No, Vincent. That's not true," she insisted.

He shook his head. "It is true. For me, we both know it is. I hurtLisa..."

"Lisa. Lisa is the past," she interrupted with irritation."Vincent, look at me, please."

A brief hesitation and he faced her; body tight as a violinstring; muscles tensed for flight. Through his golden mane, she couldsee the pulse throbbing wildly in his throat.

"I love you, Vincent. You love me. You could never hurt me. I knowthat."

"Catherine, I can't take that risk. I can't. If I hurt you, I...,"a muscle worked in his jaw as he failed to put the nameless dreadinto words.

"If, if, if. Vincent, you are talking about ifs. We can't live ourlives on ifs. It's not fair to us. To you. To me. I can't live mylife on ifs anymore."

He shifted uneasily. "What are you saying, Catherine?"

"I love you, Vincent, but I can't go on loving you on these terms.There's you. There's me. And there's us. What we have is veryspecial. But, there is so much more. We can't have it unless both ofus are willing to move towards it...together."

"Catherine, I only want what is best for you."

"But I want what's best for US, Vincent. Don't you see that? Youdeserve it all. We deserve it all."

Desperate to reach through to him, she clutched his arm and feltthe muscles stiffen. His face softened and deep within the azureeyes, passion flared. Then his expression hardened, erasing themomentary lapse.

"I can't."

"Can't or won't? Which is it?"

The question echoed in the chasm separating them. Then heshrugged, the gesture a statement that the difference between the twowords was immaterial.

"That's not an answer," she angrily snapped.

"What will you have me tell you, Catherine?"

"The truth."

"Does it matter? The outcome is the same," he respondedimpatiently while beginning to pace.

"Yes, it does matter and the outcome is not the same. Can'timplies lack of choice through one's inability. Won't is the decisionnot to although one has the ability." She paused to allow thestatement to sink in.

"Vincent, we both know you are capable. If you say or thinkotherwise, you're not being truthful."

The statement stopped him cold. Her logic had trapped him as muchas his physical reactions to her touch. He knew it. In desperation,he frantically searched for a third alternative; one that would haltthe confrontation he feared would change their relationship forever.But there was none.

"All right, the answer is won't..., "he acknowledge without facingher, "and we both know why."

"No, Vincent, we do not. Not really."

Her denial surprised him. "Catherine?!"

She interrupted, "Lisa? I 've told you how I feel about somethingthat happened between two adolescents years ago." With a wave of herhand, she dismissed Lisa and firmly shut the door on the incident.

She began to pace while he watched her through narrowed eyes,annoyed at her dismissal of that painful incident. He felt heragitation but made no move to soothe her because he did not know how.And because of the precarious state of his own emotions. As she beganto speak again, he braced himself as though to defend against anattack.

Catherine squared her shoulders and moved to stand in front of himwith her head slightly tilted. Her expression was thoughtful as sheaddressed him.

"Vincent, you have overcome much in your life. For example, yourfight with Devin. Although the scars are a constant reminder, you andhe have a good relationship. Over the years, you've developed othersolid relationships of friendship and love. But the incident withLisa is somehow different. The incident left no permanent scars onher. Yet, because of it, you would deny all that you are capable ofbecoming. I wonder why that is?" she mused, her tone reflective. Itwas as if she was thinking aloud, his presence forgotten.

"I have told you why. However, I suspect you have a differentanswer." His voice was curt, whether in pain or anger, she could notsay. At the moment, she did not care.

"I believe Lisa is an excuse. You always speak of 'losingcontrol.' But you are not afraid of losing control to your otherself. Subconsciously, you're really afraid of losing control of thisrelationship."

"Catherine, no!" he gasped, astonished by her analysis.

"Yes," she sadly affirmed. "How else would you explain yourchoices. You choose to deny a relationship we both want. It was yourchoice that I not come below when Spirco threatened you. Just as itwas your choice to separate yourself from the Community, from me,when you were ill."

"You are wrong, Catherine. What I have done has been because ofyou. For you," he rasped.

"Perhaps, in part. Mostly, Vincent, it's been done for you. Byyou. For you alone. And I am partly to blame because I let you."

She was hurting him but she knew there was no other way. Hisactions and hers had forced them to this point. There was no turningback for either of them. She paused, drained by the revelations.Unconsciously, she clutched her waist as if chilled or in pain.

"I let you because I love you and I though it was the right thingto do."

"Obviously you no longer think that."

"No. I'm not sure it was ever right. Anyway, I've grown andchanged so much in the last two year. I have learned to be strong andto give and receive love. There was a Catherine who didn't want tomake choices. Didn't want to stand alone. Didn't really understandwhat love was. That Catherine needed someone like Tom. She doesn'texist anymore. This Catherine could not tolerate the type ofcontrolling relationship that Tom offered. She will not, I will nottolerate it from you."

He fell heavily against the tunnel wall. "Catherine, are yousaying I am like Tom?"

"In a way, Vincent. Your style is subtler but the end is just thesame, control and--through that control--limitations. I won't acceptlimitations on your love. Limitations that you have set. I once toldyou that I would accept this as my fate gladly. But I don't believeit is my fate. Or yours."

"You're wrong, Catherine. It is not as you think."

"Yes, it is, Vincent, even if you can't see it. It is and it mustend. Each time you pull away, we die a little. Each time the desirefor you swells and I have to repress it, we die a little. I won'tlive my life like this any longer. Nor will I be satisfied withsomeday. A someday that will never happen as long as you insist onputting controls on what we have. I would rather face the reality ofwhat is than bask in the false hope of what could be. Do youunderstand what I am saying, Vincent?" She didn't bother to stop thetears rolling silently down her cheeks or shield him from herterrible, gnawing pain.

Each word had been a needle prick and he was in agony. "Yes,Catherine, I understand. Find someone else. Dream another dream. "

She shook her head sadly. "If you can say that then you truly donot understand. I love you. You are my dream. I will find no oneelse. I will dream no other dream. But, at the end of my life, I willhave no regrets for dreaming of something that could never be."

She walked away. At the top of the ladder, she heard his growl ofanguish and held tight to the rung to prevent herself from going tohim.

Below, he collapsed on the tunnel floor. A second roar echoedthrough the passageway and he dissolved into tears; the silentweeping testament to the depth of his despair.

CHAPTER FOUR

November slide into December and the winter settled in. Winterfestand Christmas came and went. Church bells ushered in the New Yearalong with the bitter cold and snow.

In the days following the conversation with Vincent, Catherine hadnourished a small hope that he would reconsider his decision and lookat their relationship through her eyes. It had not happened. Atfirst, her grief had gone too deep for tears and so there were none.She survived the days on the job and nights alone through ananesthetized shell. She barely noticed the world around her. Midwaythrough December the shell cracked and crumbled and the pain erupted.She cried nonstop for almost two weeks. The physical drain coupledwith her emotional turmoil took her to the brink of collapse.

Often, through the crying spells, a figure stood in the shadows ofher terrace and wept as well. It did not disappear until she hadfallen asleep exhausted inside and out.

In desperation, she marched into Joe's office and demanded timeoff. He took one look at her face; the swollen, red-rimmed eyes, theshallow skin, and lackluster hair, and ordered her out of the officefor at least two weeks.

As she turned to leave, he spoke. "Cathy, I don't know what'swrong. Whatever it is, it's eating you alive. You need to solvewhatever it is before it kills you. Take all the time you need.Radcliffe, if you want to talk about it, I'm here."

"Thanks, Joe, I know that," was barely audible as she left heroffice. Gathering her things, she went home where she called Nancyand invited herself to Connecticut. Nancy, sensing something waswrong, eagerly told her to come. Two hours later, she was packed anddriving on the New England turnpike.

The chimes had barely faded as Nancy rushed to the door and threwit open. One look at her friend and the hearty greeting she'd readieddied on her lips. The woman who stood before her bore littleresemblance to the Cathy Chandler she knew. What stood before her wasan empty shell.

"Hi, Nance," Catherine said without enthusiasm. The look on herfriend's face spoke volumes. She didn't need a mirror to know shelooked like a survivor of the concentration camps. The winter coatwas too large as were the turtleneck and slacks she wore beneath it.Although she had tried, she knew no amount of makeup could hide thedark, purple circles under her eyes that had become permanentfixtures. She had brushed and re-brushed her hair until her arms hurtto no avail; the sheen was gone from her hair. It now hung aslistless as she felt.

"Damn you, Catherine Chandler. Get in here," shouted Nancy as shedragged her friend into the hall and enveloped her in a hug.Catherine tried and failed to put any warmth in the return squeeze.It required something she just didn't seem to have.

"Here, let me take your coat," Nancy clucked like a mother hen asshe stripped the coat off her friend and pushed the other womantowards the living room.

Catherine sluggishly moved forward to stand just inside the livingroom arch. A fire was blazing in the hearth and she dimly knew sheshould move towards it but the effort was too great. Nancy gatheredher by the shoulders and led her to the love seat facing the hearth.She gently shoved her down and stood a moment, studying the figuredejectedly seated before her. She reminds me of a broken doll or lostchild Nancy thought.

"I'll be right back. Don't move," she ordered although she doubtedif her friend had the energy to go anywhere.

At the sideboard along the rear left side of the room, she poureda large quantity of brandy into a glass.

Returning to the loveseat, she wrapped Catherine's fingers aroundthe glass and said, "Sip this. I'm going to get your luggage. Back ina minute."

While Nancy was gone, Catherine sipped on the brandy. It made afiery path down her throat and settled in her midsection. Slowly, thecold center, her companion for weeks, began to thaw. A few minuteslater, Nancy returned to sit next to her.

Nancy noted the slight flush to her friend's cheeks and nodded. Atleast she no longer looks like a corpse, she thought. There wassilence in the room as the two sipped their drinks and stared intothe fire. Finally, Catherine roused herself enough to ask about Pauland their children.

"They're still in Orlando with Paul's parents. Their Christmasgift to the children was a trip to Walt Disney World. You know Paulis just a kid at heart so he invited himself along. I would have gonetoo but I'm freelancing and I had a deadline to meet. I turned theproject in yesterday. So, my friend, it's just you and me for thenext week."

Catherine began to chuckle only to have it turn into a sob. Nancyplaced Catherine's drink then her own on the coffee table in front ofthem. Laying her hands on the other's shoulders, she forced Catherineto face her. Grey green eyes that were normally spirited were devoidof life.

"It's Vincent, isn't it?," she asked in a low-keyed voice, alreadyknowing the answer.

The little control Catherine had shattered and she began to weepwhile clutching her friend closely. Nancy suffered the strangleholdwhile realizing she was the lifeline to her friend surviving themoment; the ordeal.

Outside, the winter shadows lengthened as the last of the dayslide beneath the two-story colonial house. Inside, the house wasdark except for the light cast by the fire. Catherine's realitynarrowed to the woman who held her and the room bathe in firelight.Gradually her sobs ceased and she pulled out of her friend's grasp.

"Tell me all of it," Nancy somberly stated.

And she did. When she was through, the darkness was firmlyentrenched around them. Throughout the recitation, Nancy had notspoken.

"Oh, Cath. Why didn't you call me? Why did you think you could gothrough this alone?" she chided.

"Because I thought I could. No, because I didn't really believe Iwould have to," she responded, trying to be honest with herself andher friend.

"Why not?"

"Because I believed what we had could overcome all his doubts, hisinhibitions. The control he placed on himself and on me," was theself-mocking response. "I was wrong."

"Obviously." Nancy replied without a hint of sarcasm. "Now what?"

"I don't know."

Nancy pulled on the beige blouse soaked through with Catherine'stears. "Well I do. You and I are going to change, eat, and talk somemore. In that order."

For the first time since arriving, Catherine genuinely laughed."Has anyone told you that marriage and motherhood have turned youinto a bully?"

"Yes, Paul. Frequently. You know what, Cath, it's the only way toget anything done. Why don't you go up and rest. Take a bath. I'llmeet you in the kitchen in 45 minutes."

"Yes, I could do with a change," Catherine agreed as she got up.Retrieving her glass of brandy, she walked out the living.

Nancy watched her friend depart a look of deep concern etched inher face. She remained motionless, lost in thought over Catherine andVincent. She stood up and stoked the fire then moved determinedlytowards the stairs. Over the years, she and Catherine had weatheredmuch. Together, they would endure and get through this.

Catherine, freshly changed, joined Nancy in the kitchen an hourlater, after taking a long, leisurely bath. The two worked side byside preparing a simple dinner of brown rice layered with stir-friedChinese vegetables and roast chicken. By unspoken agreement,Catherine's problem with Vincent was not discussed. Rather, theytalked about mutual friends, the holiday missed with each other, andNancy's recent assignment. To Catherine's surprise, she cleared herplate; the appetite that had disappeared weeks ago reappeared in thenurturing environment.

Over coffee, Nancy broached the unspoken topic again. "Tell whatyou're feeling, Cath."

Catherine didn't pretend not to understand the question. Dumping athird teaspoon of sugar into her coffee, she slowly stirred it.

"I feel...I feel as though I'm slowly bleeding to death," shepoignantly responded. "I feel like half of me is missing. I knowwhere it is but I can't get to it." Sighing, she lifted the cup toher lips and drank, relishing the strong brew.

"Nance, I look at myself but I'm not all there. You know what Imean?" Glancing at the woman sitting across from her, she was pleasedto see Nancy's nod of understanding.

"Yes, Cath, I believe I do. But, how do you feel about yourdecision now."

For the first time, Catherine was animated in her response."Nance, it was the right decision. For him. For me. For us. I wouldbe a fool if I didn't acknowledge that it hurts. It hurts like helland perhaps I haven't handled it as well as I could have. However, itwas...is the right decision. Vincent once said the one either movestowards love or away. That there is no other way. I agree. We musteither move towards it--all of it--or away. The way he'd chosen wasnot towards it." She could not keep the bitterness out of her voice."I had hoped he would see it. He didn't."

She shrugged and then continued, "So I grieve. Hopefully I willthen get on with my life."

"Does that mean letting someone else in?"

Catherine recoiled. The cup she held trembled violently and shealmost dropped it. Her repulsion at the thought of another manholding her, touching her, was obvious.

Nancy, observing the violence of her reaction, inwardly cringed.Catherine Chandler had in indeed fallen deeply and irrevocably inlove. A part of her understood and agreed with her college friend.Like Catherine, she'd met the passion of her life, Paul. The thoughtof anyone other him holding her in the night or kissing her in thedawn was abhorrent. Unlike Catherine, however, she had Paul.Together, they had their children. A tear slipped out and rolled downher cheek as she mourned all that Catherine would not have.

Seeing the tear, Catherine reached across the table to stroke herfriend's hand. She who had needed comforting earlier was now the onecomforting.

"Nance, don't. Please don't. I have loved and been loved as noother could possibly be. It really will be all right. I just needtime. It will be okay. I will be okay."

"Sure it will, Cath. I know you will be," Nancy responded, givingher friend a watery smile.

Catherine stretched and yawned, the fatigue at last descendingupon her. "I'm really tired. I think I'll turn in, if you don'tmind."

"No, of course not. Go ahead I'll clean up the kitchen."

Catherine started out the room and then stopped. Retracing hersteps, she leaned down and hugged her friend.

"Thanks, Nancy. Thanks for listening. I really needed this. Anddon't worry I'll survive. I really will."

A note of cautious confidence was there. It warmed and reassuredNancy. Perhaps everything would work out.

Over the next week, the two talked about the past, the present,and the future. They visited flea markets and yard sales nearWestport. Sometimes they browsed. Other times, they bought theproffered wares while Nancy complained that Paul would certainlydivorce her after learning of her newest acquisitions. On Wednesday,they took a train to New York City to see a Broadway play. Stayingover at Catherine's apartment, they spent Thursday shopping alongFifth Avenue. They giggled at the outrageous prices of variousoutlandish outfits. As they shopped, Catherine shared with Nancy allher hopes and aspirations regarding Vincent and what could be. Atdays' end, they returned to Connecticut, pleasantly tired but happy.

On Saturday, the day before the return of Nancy's family,Catherine packed up and went home. The wound was raw but the healinghad begun.

Devin Wells was deeply concerned. His surprise visit to theCommunity for Winterfest was going well. Father was pleased to seehis wandering son and his presence had enhanced the festive occasion.For Devin, the visit was a time to renew old acquaintances and toreminisce. His stories of childhood antics, many of which hadinvolved Vincent much to Father's consternation, had rekindled echoesof a past time--harsh, yet endearing. Most of the Community recalledthe devilish, strong-willed boy who had inspired many adventures andmis-adventures. Father pretended to be dismayed after realizing theextent of the mischief of the children under Devin's leadership. Thatthe children had survived to become responsible, adult leaders helabeled a miracle.

The pleasure of the holiday was marred only by the absence ofCatherine and Vincent's unusual quietness. It was obvious to everyonethat his heart was elsewhere. Devin had made overtures to the youngerman, trying to ferret out the problem. Vincent had been unwilling totalk and Devin, out of respect, had not pushed the issue. Two daysafter Winterfest, his patience had disappeared. The time fortiptoeing around Vincent had elapsed. A man of action, Devin went insearch of answers.

He located his brother at the Great Falls. Vincent stood on aslanting bank with his head bent, and his arms clasped across hischest. As Devin approached, he gave no indication of awareness of hisolder brother's presence.

"Vincent, can I talk to you?"

"Of course, Devin. What is it?" Vincent responded without turning.

"It's you. To be blunt, it's you and Catherine. What's going on?"

As he spoke, Devin reached out and grasped Vincent's shoulders,forcing the younger man to turn towards him or forcefully break thecontact. Vincent chose the latter although he would not make eyecontact; his mane serving as an impenetrable wall.

"Devin, it is of no concern. Please do not worry."

"No concern! Vincent, don't be absurd! Father says you're notsleeping. Something is tearing you apart and I know it has to do withCatherine. What's happened?" he persisted.

The tone more than the words told Vincent he was fighting a losingbattle. Devin would persist until he had an answer. Further, Fatherhad given every indication that he, too, wanted answers. Sighing,Vincent lifted his head to focus on a spot on the chamber wall justover Devin's left shoulder.

"Yes, it is Catherine. She will not be visiting the tunnelsagain."

"What do you mean--again? She's not coming back for a while...orforever?"

"Forever." The word, despite the rumbling of the falls, seemed toreverberate throughout the chamber; the finality it implied ringingloudly.

Vincent stared at Devin, watching his facial expression change asthe full import of his statement sank in. Devin's eyes widened inamazement. "What! I don't believe it."

"It's true."

Although he spoke calmly, Devin could read the pain in Vincent'seyes.

"I...we decided it was for the best," he stammered.

"Hmm," Devin responded while groping to read between the lines. Heknew there was more to the story. Vincent, what don't you start fromthe beginning?"

It was the request he had dreaded. He was not ready to openlydiscuss it; not when the wounds were still fresh. The look of grimdetermination on Devin's face told him that evasiveness would not betolerated. He had only to choices: tell Devin now or Father later.His brother seemed a better option.

"Very well but can we sit down?" Vincent asked, turning towards acluster of boulders near the chamber's entrance.

Devin agreed and the two settled on the boulders. Haltingly,Vincent disclosed the quarrel that had precipitated his estrangementfrom Catherine. Devin didn't interrupt the narrative, sensing hisbrother's need to complete the story as quickly as possible.Periodically, unnoticed by Vincent, he nodded or smiled slightly.

Several minutes passed after Vincent finished his story. CatherineChandler is a good mate for my brother, Devin thought as hecontemplated all that had been told. She understands Vincent betterthan Father. She, too, had seen through the facade of excuses thattrapped Vincent outside any semblance of a normal life. He frowned ashe pondered the magnitude of the task before him: how to make Vincentunderstand Catherine's position. By nature, his brother was stubborn.When he was certain he was right, he was intractable.

"What are you going to do?" Devin asked.

"Do? There is nothing to do. It is over."

"Just like that, it's over?" Devin's voice was carefully devoid ofany emotion although his stomach coiled in apprehension at the noteof defeat in his brother's voice. Vincent was a fighter and had beenall his life. Yet, now, when he had everything to fight for, he wascapitulating without a struggle.

"No, Devin, not just like that. However, I believe it is best forCatherine."

"There you go doing exactly what she said you do. You believe thatit's right for her. Catherine has told you what is right for her.You've ignored that and decided otherwise. Again."

Vincent turned to him in confusion. "Is it so wrong to want whatis best for those you love?"

"No and yes. Not, it's not wrong .to want what's best. It is wrongif you do not leave the final decision to the individual involved. Inthis case, Catherine."

"She doesn't understand the full power of...the other part of me.What if I hurt her?"

Devin chose his words with deliberation, knowing the wrongstatement would send Vincent scurrying the other way.

"Doesn't she? Vincent, I have seen your lady in action. She's nofool. She is a woman quite capable of making decisions for herself.She is a person of great love and courage who loves you. All of you."

"I know Catherine has great courage. But what she wants...needs, Icannot give her. The risks are too great."

"There are risks, of course. But, risk of what? That you wouldhurt her? I don't believe that and I don't think you really believeeither," Devin stated emphatically.

At the statement, Vincent's eyes narrowed in irritation. "Then youagree with Catherine. You truly believe that fear of the other is notthe reason for ...limitations. Devin, you, all people, know theconsequences of my losing control."

Devin ran his fingers lightly over the three deep scars on hisface, lasting proof of the power that Vincent could unleash.

"I do know. Vincent, what happened then was between two children along time ago. We're no longer children governed by uncontrolledemotions. We are men who, through experience and time, have learnedself-discipline. You above all others. Besides, you struck outbecause I hurt you with my words...my actions. Vincent, there areindeed risks. In that you are right..."

Vincent's puzzlement was evident in his expression and voice, "Idon't understand. You agree there are risks yet you think Catherineis right? How can that be?"

"You didn't let me finish. There are risks...but not to Catherine.The risks have never been to Catherine. The risks are to you."

"Me! Devin, what risks are there to me? Catherine could never hurtme."

"No, Catherine could never hurt you. Opening to her, completelyopening to her, could. A physical relationship with Catherine wouldmean unlocking all the doors. It means all the barriers come down andshe becomes a part of you in a way no one else can. If that happens,you would totally need her ...depend on her. And you've never reallywanted that...not from a woman," he finished softly.

Vincent's head snapped up and he angrily stared at his brother.Devin didn't flinch or turn away. He returned the look, hisexpression placid. In Vincent's eyes, he saw anger, fear, and thatnameless pain he'd often seen when they were growing up. A pain notrooted in the taunts of the tunnel children or the limitations placedon Vincent's exposure to the World Above. It had taken Devin years toidentify the pain's roots.

"What do you mean?" whispered Vincent, as he resumed hisexamination of the Great Falls. His body was tense and his mane hadfallen forward again, shielding his face from view.

"You know what I mean. Vincent, we can't undo the past no matterhow much we may wish to. All we can do is learn from it, grow fromit. Let it guide but not rule us."

Devin knew by Vincent's posture that he had his full attention. Hestood and brushed bits of dirt from his jeans. Walking towards theentrance, he stopped and softly spoke, "One more thing, Vincent. Youhave always been a big believer in courage. Well, it takes courage tolove, truly love, another person. To do so requires forfeiting allrights to one's protective armor. It means walking naked through aminefield of potential pain, sorrow, joy and happiness. Catherine hasthat courage. Do you?"

He departed, leaving a confused and hurting Vincent perched on aprecipice. He could step forward into the unknown or remain on thefirm ground he had treaded all his life.

CHAPTER FIVE

February was a bland month. It carried neither the lingering goodcheer of Christmas that January inherited nor the promise of springbestowed by March. It was quite simply a month to be endured: theunending cold, gray skies, snow and occasional ice storm. In NewYork, as elsewhere, people grumbled their way through the month,their only solace its shortness. Tempers flared with greaterfrequency and politeness was simply a word in the dictionary.

For Catherine Chandler, February was a month of renewal--ofherself. The visit with Nancy had been an excellent antidote. Herappetite increased and her energy returned. While her steps lackedbounce, there was some spring in them. With the passing of each day,she became stronger. If there remained a brittleness to her posture,no one noticed or commented.

She resumed the weekly get-togethers with Jenny; a ritual that hadvanished after the near tragedy in November. They frequently went tothe movies and spent the time afterwards blasting the scripts, actorsand directors of the features. They also frequented art openings andconcerts. Sometimes, Gina and Joe joined them. Gina had fullyrecovered from the accident. In January, Joe proposed and sheaccepted. Catherine had wholeheartedly wished the couple well,pleased that she could relish their happiness without wishing thesame for herself.

She thought of Vincent often. The searing pain that had marked theearly days of their breakup was gone, but the love remained and sheknew it always would. The pain of his decision and her anguish overwhat could have been had diminished although their bite couldoccasionally be felt. A reminder occurred towards the end of themonth.

She met Jenny at Carnegie Hall for a Boston Symphony performance.Vivaldi's Concerto in B Minor was on the program. Somehow, shemanaged to sit through the piece although she had begged off dinner.She rushed home, locked her doors, closed her curtains and cried. Shecried for the music of his favorite composer, for him, for herself.Fortunately, the crying binges were rare.

As March began, her life settled into a pattern more reflective ofthe living. Colleagues and friends noticed the changes in her andinitially were pleased. As time passed, a disturbing quirk in heractions made them uneasy. Catherine would go out in a group or withJenny, Joe and Gina, or Nancy. Otherwise, she didn't date. Foraysinto the New York City nightlife without her friends were nonexistentor infrequent. If required to attend some unavoidable function, shearrived alone and left the same way. Jenny's attempts to match makewere dismissal failures. After several aborted efforts, she gave upafter realizing that Catherine was simply not interested. Nancy, ofcourse, understood her friend's action although she prayed that timewould change her behavior.

The Monday after St. Patrick's Day, Joe summoned Catherine to hisoffice where he handed her a folder. After reading through it, shementally groaned although her expression did not change.

"Radcliffe, I know you're swamped but this may be a good one.We've got an informant name of Clarence Van Buren. He says he cangive us a manufacturer of the drug Ice.

"Are you sure, Joe?" she couldn't contain her excitement.

Joe smiled. Chandler was one of the best people he had. Shethrived on the challenges thrown at her. Miraculously, she inevitablydelivered; although more often than not, it was dead bodies. In Joe'sbooks, it balanced. Dead the slime balls they dealt with had nochance of slipping through the system on a technicality. Or, of beingparoled after serving a fraction of their time for the heinous painthey had inflicted.

"Yes, I'm sure Cathy. If we can turn this guy, we can put atemporary dent in the trade. He wants you to meet him tonight at theold Brooklyn Navy Yard. On Tillman, just off Myrtle at 1:00 a.m."

She paused. That was a deserted area. On one side loomed thewarehouses of the dismantled U. S. Navy Yard. Overhead was an accessroute to the Manhattan Bridge. The area across from the yard wascomposed of low income housing whose inhabitants were poor people whoheard no evil and never saw it.

"Cathy, if you rather I send someone else...," Joe's voice trailedinto silence although the doubts he had about sending her thereremained.

"No, Joe. I'll be okay," she stated firmly as though speaking thewords was a talisman.

For a moment, he studied her, then shrugged. " Okay, Cathy. Justbe careful. If something happens to you, Gina will personally drop mein the murky Hudson." He pretended to shudder at the thought.Catherine chuckled then turned to leave.

As she moved through the door, Joe cautioned her once more."Cathy, don't take any chances, okay?"

"Don't worry, I won't. At the first sign of trouble, I'm gone,"she reassured him before closing the door.

An hour beyond midnight, Catherine was standing in the cold on thecorner of Tillman and Myrtle. The streets were devoid of life andtraffic was nonexistent except for the rumbling of the cars andtrucks on the overhead route to Manhattan. She checked her watch. Itwas 1:10 am and the informant had not appeared.

"Damn you, Clarence. Five minutes more and I'm leaving," shemuttered.

A figure abruptly materialized in the darkness and started towardsher; the sound of his footsteps amplified by the surroundingemptiness. When he moved into view, she closely examined the sourceof her present discomfort. He was not much taller than she, perhaps5'8, with a shock of flaming red hair was. In the streetlightilluminating his features, she saw pale green eyes and a riotouspattern of freckles across a blunt nose.

My God, she thought, he can't be more than eighteen.

He was mere inches from her when a car careened around Tillman,splintering the silence. Instinctively, both turned toward the soundof the screeching tires. They then looked at each. Without exchanginga word, both sprinted in the direction of the abandoned Navy Yard. Asthey ran, they heard a cacophony of footsteps pursing them.

In the yard, they stopped to rest. Up close, Catherine could readthe stark fear in the youngster's eyes.

"Friends of your?" she quipped, scanning the area for a way out.

"My former friends, the Jackhammers," the youth retorted, his calmvoice a contradiction to the terror in his eyes.

"Jackhammers. Sounds like the name of a heavy metal group," shereplied in a humorous tone.

Pulling her purse off a shoulder, Catherine quickly unzipped itand reached in. Taking a .38 calibre gun out, she closed the bag andshoved it back on her shoulder out of the way. Clarence's eyeswidened at the sight of the gun and Catherine realized that he was anovice at all of this. How he had gotten involved in drugs wassomething she would speculate on later; assuming there was a later.

"Let's move!" she commanded, pushing him forward. They had onlygone 20 feet when she shoved him down between two heavy crates. "Nomatter what happens, you stay here," she ordered without preamble.

Not waiting for a response, she sprinted in the direction fromwhich they had come and turned sharply to the right, away fromClarence. She continued to run, damning her lack of direction becauseof the unknown territory. Seconds later, an Uzi sprayed a barrage ofbullets behind her, hitting the spot she'd occupied thirty secondsago. A .38 is no match for that, she thought as she slowed down.Cautiously, she inched along the pier on hands and knees. If all elsefailed, she concluded, a dip in the dirty East River might benecessary although she did not relish the idea. Still, she ruefullyadmitted, it was infinitely better than dying.

Using the crates and rusty machinery as cover, she gradually madeher way forward. A sudden spray of bullets erupted in front of her.It was followed by a second bombardment behind her, forcing her toretreat behind a crate. She was trapped in a crossfire. Whoever theJackhammers were, they had anticipated her actions.

She scrutinized her surroundings. Behind her was a solid wall ofcrates. No way she could reach the river through them. She couldn'tcrawl over them for they were too high. The crossfire prevented herfrom going left or right. There was no escape. In the night air, herhearing sharpened and the sound of expensive leather slapping againstthe ground grew louder.

Catherine realized that she'd run the gambit. Her "this times"were gone; the "sooner or later" that was always on the fringes ofher awareness had become now. She grimly acknowledged that tonightshe would die. She crouched, gun cocked, ready to take others withher.

Then she heard the sound; an ear-splitting roar followed byhacking noises and howls of pain. Not certain of his location, sheheld her position fearful of putting him in further danger. It wasover in minutes. The subsequent silence, after the sounds of theprevious 15 minutes, was unnatural. Hearing his soft footfall on theconcrete, she stood.

He rounded a corner and faced her.

She studied the figure silhouetted against the night sky; the oneperson she had hoped to yet dreaded meeting for the last four months.Her examination swept upward and she noted the corded, muscular legsencased in well-worn jeans. His chest was as wide as she rememberedthe biceps as large. Her scrutiny ended at his beautiful face. Themane was still tawny and long but it lacked luster. Before, it hadbeen a majestic crown; sign of the heir apparent to the world Below.Now it shaggily hung like the fur of a malnourished dog. His face wasleaner; the planes and angles more pronounced giving him a gauntappearance. He stopped in front of her and she found herself staringinto eyes that were lifeless. Where once sapphires burned fiercely,his eyes were now the dull colors of the polluted Atlantic Ocean.

"Catherine, you are safe." His statement was flat and lackedemotion.

The bond was there but it no longer sizzled and hummed like a highvoltage cable. Like the couple facing each other, it was a shadow ofwhat had once been.

"Thank you, Vincent," she coolly uttered.

He looked at her a moment longer and then wordlessly disappearedinto the shadows.

She refused to dwell on the encounter. But, as she hurried back toClarence, she wondered what they had done to each other. A part ofher mourned for what they had been and wept for what they had become.Reaching the youth's hiding place, she called out.

"Clarence. It's over. You can come out now."

Seconds later, the redheaded informer appeared, grinning as heflashed "V" for victory signs on both hands.

Catherine shook her head at the sight. God protect the young, sheprayed as she brusquely ushered him out of the yard and into her car.She drove towards Manhattan, wondering how to stem the bleeding ofwounds re-opened by the encounter with Vincent. She had no answerand, in frustration, she silently cursed Joe Maxwell and Clarence VanBuren.

Deep within the intestines of Manhattan, Vincent left the cut-offtunnel from lower Brooklyn. His strength, which had graduallydwindled over the last four months, gave out and he slumped against atunnel wall. After all this time, her fear had reached across thechasm to him. He had been unable to resist its call as the need toprotect propelled him to her. Rounding the corner, Catherine'sappearance had saddened him. She was an echo of herself although thegritty determination was still there. Like him, she was going throughthe motions of living.

Catherine, he mused, what have I done to you--to us--but create adeath slower than either of us could have imagined. Can you feel it,Catherine? Feel the vultures hovering around us?

Mouse, out on a nocturnal journey, interrupted his musings. Theblond, stocky youth almost stumbled over Vincent's outstretched legs.

"Vincent, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Mouse. I'm just tired. Please help me to my chamber."

Mouse helped his mentor to stand. As they moved in the directionof the inner chambers, he spoke. "Vincent, sick. Sick for Catherine.Mouse knows. So does Father. Why not Vincent?"

The subterranean waterfall in the world Below was one of Father'sfavorites. He was uncertain if it was because of the fall's intrinsicvalue to him or because Vincent loved it.

Father sat on a boulder near the falls, certain of very little inhis world. He was convinced, however, that Vincent would be lost tothe community if the impasse with Catherine was not resolved. If thathappened, the world that he had painstakingly built would in alllikelihood end with Father. Vincent's combination of compassion,wisdom, and strength was unique and irreplaceable. The Communitycontinued survival needed Vincent's leadership.

Before leaving, Devin had shared with him the conversation withVincent. Once Father would have unerringly supported his son'sposition. Now he truly believed Vincent was wrong. In the last twoyears, Catherine had proven herself again and again. Her braveryequaled that of his son as did her willingness to sacrifice all forthis world. The joy she brought to Vincent could not be ignored norminimized. Her love for him was indisputable and Father believed theybelonged together.

Twenty years later, he bitterly regretted the actions that hadseparated Vincent and Lisa after the unfortunate incident. It wasapparent to him that the episode had left an indelible mark on hisson. It had produced within Vincent an insurmountable barrier. Abarrier that would not give in the face of the obvious: Catherine wasnot Lisa.

Lisa had been and was a shallow, self-centered individualconcerned only with her dancing. Her recent visit had confirmed this.It had also torn open old wounds in Vincent and Father while creatingnew ones for Catherine. Lisa had blithely gone her way, oblivious andunwilling to discuss the past. In his ignorance, Father had believedher departure, to testify against a former lover, had solved theproblem. How could I have deluded myself, he wondered for thehundredth time. How? Why didn't I see the potential impact of Lisa'sreturn on Vincent? I should have known it would have repercussions onhis relationship with Catherine. His self-recriminations wereinterrupted by Mary's arrival.

The statuesque woman with graying hair was the epitome ofnurturing. Mary had been with since the beginning. Over the years,she had become Father's confidante and the voice of compassion whenhe needed it. She had raised most of the adults in the community,including Vincent. Along with everyone else, she had watched hisrelationship with Catherine grow and blossom. The present state ofaffairs saddened and worried her as much as it did Father.

"Father." She entered and sat beside him on the boulder. "I cameto tell you that Vincent is back. It was on the pipes. He collapsedjust inside the cut-off from Brooklyn and Mouse had to help him tohis chamber. I just checked on him. He's asleep but the tray Williamprepared for him was untouched."

The news did not surprise Father. For weeks, he watched his son'sstamina and appetite diminish. Dispirited, he continued to stare intothe pool at the bottom of the waterfall, seeking answers.

"Father, I'm very worried. He's not eating and he sleeps verylittle. And he walks around as though he were lost. I suspectCatherine is in no better condition."

"I agree, Mary. But there is nothing we can do. Each time I broachthe topic of Catherine, Vincent refuses to talk about her or heleaves. They will have to sort this out themselves."

"And if they can't?" Mary asked, a thread of fear in the question.

Father could not lie to her. "If they cannot, then they will belost to each other...and the Community. I doubt we or they couldsurvive the loss."

Father scowled in frustration at the impotency of his position. Hedespised being helpless.

CHAPTER SIX

Vincent rolled on his back and threw an arm over his eyes. Scenesof the last six torturous months paraded across his closed lids:Catherine that dreadful November night. Catherine in the BrooklynNavy Yard two months ago. The conversation with Devin. The argumentswith Father. Catherine in the rain. Catherine on her balcony. It wasan endless film relentlessly reminding him of what had been.

Sighing, he rubbed his eyes with clawed hands, trying to erase thefeel of grittiness behind them, the byproduct of sleeplessness. Itdidn't help as nothing had helped in a long while. He stared at theceiling of the chamber while the sound of thundering water roared offto his left. Lost in thought, the roaring barely impinged on hisconsciousness. Deep within himself, he felt the anger well up again.He didn't fight it, hadn't fought it since coming to the grottoalmost four weeks ago.

It engulfed him and he gave himself over to it. Large sobs rackedhis body while he rhythmically beat closed fists against his chest.In his mind, he screamed his anger and pain to the unknown person whohad bore him; only to leave him to die. Why? Why did you leave me?Why? I hate you for leaving me! I hate you! I hate you! It became alitany that could not be contained and he shouted the words aloud inthe cavern. Over and over until the echoes clashed with the rapidityof the chant. Clashed, too, with the sounds of painful sobbing. Thereverberations grew becoming painful to his ears yet he made noattempt to block the words out. Rather, they fed his rage and hiscontinued pouring out his anguish. Having lost his internal clock, hecould not tell how long his wailing lasted. Finally, the echoes diedaway, leaving him mentally and physically exhausted. His voice washoarse from shouting and his chest heaved as he drew deep breathsinto lungs burning for oxygen.

With his remaining energy, he managed to make a fire and spreadout blankets near it. Going to the nearby pool, he deeply drank ofthe cool water. Returning to the fire, he laid down. As he slippedinto sleep, he promised himself that he would eat the next day.

When he awakened, the fire was no more than cold ashes. Throwingoff the blankets, he stretched muscles that had tightened in hissleep. Sitting up, he vigorously rubbed his face, erasing the lastremnants of a long, fatigue-induced sleep. Through his internalclock, he surmised that he had slept for sixteen hours. Rising, hewent through his morning rituals and then changed clothes. Afterlaying a new fire, he found he was ravenous and he prepared and ate alarge, simple meal. Throughout the whole process, he was aware of thechange within. For the first time in his life, he was at peace withhimself. And, in that peace, he found a perspective that he hadpreviously avoided. Sitting on the edge of the pool, he examined itclosely.

Us. Catherine had spoken of us. Had he ever thought in terms ofus? Two as one? Had he ever truly thought of Catherine as the otherhalf of himself? No, a voice within answered. She was Catherine--hisCatherine and the love of his life. That the reverse was also true,he had never really considered. Nor had he contemplated theimplications of a love as great as his own. Her love had changed hisworld; changed him. That his love had done the same for her hadseemed..? Unimaginable, he admitted to himself. Why? He ruthlesslyasked himself. Because of who I am. What I am. Really? He winced athis own sarcasm. No, that is not true, he acknowledged. It is onlyunimaginable to me because I would not allow myself to imagine, todream. Because I believed she would ultimately abandon me. Abandon meas Lisa had. As my mother had.

As the revelation sank in, he studied it in microscopic detail.Despite Catherine's proclamations as well as what he felt throughtheir bond and saw in her eyes, he had believed that she wouldsomeday leave him. In fear of that occurrence, he had carefullycontrolled the direction of their relationship. He had funneled hislove through a glass tube; a tube he had erected to protect himselffrom the pain of another abandonment. Catherine had shattered thetube to reach within to him. For him. She was right; theirrelationship had been unequal. How could it be otherwise? From thebeginning, he had placed himself out side a lover's reach. Devin wasright. He had let the past lead him. And in doing so, he hadoverlooked one sanguine fact: Catherine loved him. He loved her. Itwas as complex as that because love is a complexity composed ofneeds, desires, and risks. It was as simple as that because loveprovides the strength, faith, and courage to face the needs, desires,and risks. Through the combinations, two people arrived at a placethat was theirs alone.

He stood and quickly broke camp. He methodically repacked his gearand supplies and doused the fire. Outwardly, he appeared calm, almostplacid. However, a study of his face would reveal eyes that once moreburned brightly with hopes and dreams.

At the threshold of the grotto, he paused to slowly examine thearea, forever burning into his memory the place and what had occurredhere. As he began the four-day trek homeward, he considered returningthere someday. Somehow, he knew he would not. It had served itpurpose and was part of the past.

Four days later, he returned home where he rested for two. At theclose of the second day, his internal clock told him it was night inthe world Above. Slipping into his cloak, he hurried out. At the bendin the tunnel that he led to Catherine's apartment, he paused to tapout a message to Father. Minutes later, he stood in the shadows onher balcony.

"Thank you for seeing me home. Good night," Catherine said overher shoulder while stepping into the elevator. The doors whooshedclose and she exhaled in gladness that the interminable evening hadended. The function had been an unavoidable charity event. The man,an old colleague from her day in corporate law, she dismissed as areminder of the hazards of attending such functions alone. Time hadnot changed him; he was still falsely amorous because of his looksand fiercely ambitious, the byproduct of an Ivy League education.

When the doors opened on her floor, she dragged herself the shortdistance to the apartment. Weariness made her clumsy and she fumbledwith the keys. Once inside, she secured the locks, her mind alreadyon a long, hot bubble bath to soothe her haggard nerves. She turnedtowards the living room and went rigid with shock. Candles wereeverywhere: the mantle, dining room table, and table stands. Throughthe open terrace door, she could see candles on balcony table aswell. Off to the left, she perceived shadows on the bedroom wall castby wavering twinkles of light. The scene brought tears of remembranceof the world she had not visited in months. She flew through thewidth of the room, up the stairs and onto the balcony. There shehalted, searching for him. He stood in the corner nearest the doorsleading to her bedroom.

She whispered in disbelief, "Vincent? Here? Why?"

He didn't respond as he moved towards her, his eyes never leavingher face. Stopping an arm's length in front of her, he drank in thesight of the face he had desperately missed through the long, bleakmonths.

"Because there is no other place, Catherine," he answered in araspy voice.

She was caught off guard and wary. She had not expected him andwasn't sure she wanted him here after months of absence. Not aftershe had accepted that what she needed most in her universe was nothers to have.

He stood before her--tense, nervous, uncertain, and wondering. Hadhe waited too long? Had the scars inflicted by their impasse scabbedover? Was it too late?

"Come with me, Catherine. Come with me to our place," hebeseeched, his voice strained by the waiting, the wanting, theneeding. He held out his hand, "Please."

Blue eyes bore into green before she looked down at the handreaching towards her--for her. Distantly, she noted the blond red furthat covered the back of the hand and the sharp finger nails; clawsthat could hold a child tenderly or violently shred someone. This wasVincent, her Vincent, and he was like no other in the world.

Her hesitation caused him to falter. He dropped his hand andturned away, the action acknowledging defeat. He had lost her. He hadfinally arrived at the place where she was only to discoveremptiness. A dull throb of devastation began deep in his chest. Hejerkily walked towards the balcony doors. Her choice was made and hehad to escape before he shattered completely. Find somewhere privateto allow the growing pain to engulf and destroy him. His cloak was inthe bedroom on a chair placed near the balcony doors. He had to reachthe cloak, disappear into it and away from her. Turning, he movedthrough the doorway.

He was so concentrated on the seemingly impossible task that thebond failed him. The arms circling his waist were a surprise. Thosearms were gentle bands of steel holding him capture. Through thelink, he finally felt the unfurling of her love and passion. Like abud unfolding, her feelings surged through him. Turning within theembrace, he read the confirmation in her face and clutched hertightly.

Her body was warm against his. He felt her softness touch hishardness--plane for plane, angle for angle. She was woman and he wasman. Rock against river, they flowed.

"Catherine," he stammered, overcome by the look in her eyes,overwhelmed more by his need of her. He loved her. He wanted her. Hebrought his lips down and pressed them insistently against hers.

To Catherine, his lips were softer and hotter than she hadimagined, their unusual shape enhancing her pleasure. Over and over,he kissed her until she gasped with delight. His tongue, wet andwarm, slipped into her open mouth.

Tongue battle tongue. Breath battled breath as one sighed and theother sucked it in. He repeatedly invaded her mouth seeking thewarmth within, taking in her essence as she took in his. She feltflushed and disoriented. Her arms tightened around his broad back,drawing him nearer. His scent reached her---intoxicating her. Shecould not get enough of him as her teeth gently nibbled the inside ofhis lower lip. Closer her mind screamed. Closer.

A groan escaped him and he was lost in her. He wanted, needed hercloser. Restlessly, his hands roamed her slight figure to her hips.There, he pressed her tightly to him so she would know. Wouldunderstand.

She understood and accepted. He had made the decision. It wasright. For him. For her. For them. She felt his burgeoning desire andher own intensified; she felt her core flooding in warm response.

She groaned, but he ignored it savoring his Catherine. Heshuddered trying to contain the wildness rising within. The handscaressing her hair suddenly became demanding as his strokingincreased and his fingers tangled in the silky locks. He broke thekiss to inhale deeply of her shampoo of spring flowers.

She ran her tongue along his jawline, liking the feel of it. Herhands moved over his back in a circular motion than down his hips,pulling them hard against her.

The action ignited him and he felt scorched by the heat risingwithin himself. One hand cupped her face as the other removed thebeaded comb perched precariously atop her hair. It tumbled into hishands, longer than he remembered. She reached towards the heat of hispalm, rubbing her cheek sensuously against it. She exhaled, herwarmth floating over his hand and he shivered.

"Come with me," he passionately repeated.

"Always," she heatedly responded.

Stepping back, he reached down and slowly unbuttoned the blackcape she wore. It feel to the floor; an unnoticed black pool on thepearl gray carpet of the bedroom. She stood before him in asleeveless, white chiffon dress. The soft material gracefully huggedher curves. To Vincent, she looked stunning and his breath quickened.Without thought, he flipped one thin strap off her shoulder needingto touch, to taste the skin beneath. Placing his mouth in the spotvacated by the strap, he slowly ran his tongue along her skin.

The moist, fiery feel of his lips made her tremble. As he blazed atrail of soft, wet kisses down her shoulder and up her neck, she feltrationality slipping away into the realm of sensation. She cried outin pleasure when he ran a hand across the top of her breasts, histouch feather light. Her nipples puckered and strained against theconstraining fabric when he repeated the motion.

"Ah, Vincent," she hissed on an involuntary breath of longing."Please," she begged, her breathing shallow and harsh.

In one swift movement, he placed his open mouth on one breast,wetting the bodice and what lay beneath with is sucking. She moanedin satisfaction while pressing his hungry, questing lips closer. hethen moved to her other nipple as his fingers fondled the firstthrough the moistened fabric. She soared, as did he. It was more thaneither had ever imagined. It flowed around them, through them; theprimitive need of man and woman. One for the other.

The fierceness of what they were feeling threatened to drown them.As though each sensed it, they shifted to face one another and theireyes locked. In his, she saw the journey's end. The agonizing trip tothis place--their place--was over. She raised trembling fingers tohis cheek. Her fingertips traced the unhealthy leanness she foundthere. Tears sprang to her eyes at this sign of the journey's price.As they rolled silently down her face, he leaned over and slowlylicked them away--the action comforting and arousing.

Within the bond, she felt his reaction, a mirror to her own.Beyond that, she felt his passion and was not surprised when hepushed the bodice of her dress down exposing her breasts. Leaningdown, he nestled in the valley between them. Turning, he took ahardened nipple into his mouth. He sucked on it as a child would, themotion causing her to moan his name.

Under his sensual onslaught, she could not remain motionless.Reaching down, she stroked, him with one hand, though his jeans. Shestroked as he sucked--each torturing the other. As he pulled, shelightly ran the fingertips of her other hand through his mane anddown his neck. Her fingertips were soft--the touch a trickle of warmwater on his neck and back. The sensation sent a tremor through him.The furry skin beneath her hand was downy soft like cashmere and hertactile sense reviled in the feeling.

Exerting pressure, she caused the two to tumble onto the nearbybed where Vincent laid, arms still intertwined around her. She lookedat him sprawled on the bed, his face a vision of passion, and hisgolden mane spilling around his head. Her eyes filled with tears ofjoy and relief.

"Catherine?" he questioned, concern evident in his voice.

She shook her head and shakily smiled. "It's nothing. It's justthat I... I..."

"I know, I know. But, it is over. It begins."

"Yes, it begins," she agreed as she unlaced his vest and he shookit off. She lifted his shirt to nuzzle his chest. His head began tospin wildly as the tension, a warm feeling, built in his stomach andliquid fire roared through his body.

He barely had the strength to raise his arms so she could pull theshirt completely over his head. She discarded it and ran her handslovingly over the broad expanse of his chest. The feeling of fuzzydown tickled the nerves of her fingers. Impulsively, she bent andrubbed her face in his chest, evoking grasps of pleasure. Duplicatinghis earlier actions, she lightly skimmed her knuckles across theflat, male nipples. When she placed cool lips against one nipple andgently tugged, his control evaporated.

Roughly, he pulled the dress completely off her body as she, withshaking fingers, undid his belt and pants. Their remaining clotheswere quickly stripped away. Finally, they lay naked, facing eachother within the circle of their love.

He ran his hands over her legs, pausing to stroke her inner thighsthen moving to cup her buttocks, gently rubbing her against hismaleness.

Catherine felt her center turn into molten honey from the intimatecontact. She tightened her thighs around him, enjoying the feel ofsoftness against hardness. She felt the tremors coursing through hisbody as, beneath her, he thrashed his head from side to side.

A low growl rumbled from his chest. "Catherine, I need you...Now!"the imperious male demanded of his mate, his other half.

"I need you, Vincent, she responded, " she responded, a demand asancient as time in her voice.

Gently, she guided his entrance into her wet, waiting core; theplace made ready for him so long ago. The two merged and sighed inunison at the feat. As he began the ritual born between man and womancenturies before, sizzling sapphire met fiery emerald eyes. Trust,love, desire, and hope were reflected in each as two became one.

In that oneness, an unequivocal truth was disclosed: She had herplace in the world Above. He had his in the world Below. Together,they had their own place beyond Above and Below.

If we only have love...

Then will nothing at all

But the little we are

We'll have conquered all time

All space, the sun and the stars

THE END

*Excerpts from "If We Only Have Love," recorded by Johnny Mathis,Feelings album, 1975, Columbia Records.

This story is part of an anthology entitled "All That Matters:Tales of Beauty and the Beast." I started the anthology in January1990 after the series ended. As real life got in the way and thefandom dwindled, I put it away. Recently, I discovered via the webthat BATB lives! I pulled out my files and decided to submit thecompleted stories. Thanks to the positive feedback on the otherpieces, I may yet finish it.