Catherine didn’t care, she didn’t want to see this trip end. Just as she thought, Vincent was a most interesting travel companion with a wealth of knowledge that astounded her and a wry sense of humor rare in one who had suffered as he had. He never accepted the role of victim which astonished her, as she had known many so-called victims. Without any fireworks or shooting stars, she simply came to love him with all her heart and soul. Vincent, on the other hand, had lost his heart the day she came to see him at the carnival. They loved each other and yet never admitted it to themselves although the bond that had formed between them pulsed with their love. Vincent was confused about what he read in the bond and Catherine, not knowing about the bond, didn’t know what she was feeling. She only knew that she wanted to be with him as much as possible.
On the last morning before they drove into New York City, they discussed what they should do. Catherine suggested that they drive straight to Central Park. Vincent wanted her to let him off near the docks, there were several entrances to the tunnels there. Catherine won out when she pointed out that she didn’t want to drive alone in that part of the city. So, this day they slept with no blanket between them and both of them fell into a deep, restful sleep.
Catherine came fully awake when Vincent shook her shoulder. “It’s time, Catherine.”
They quickly dressed, Catherine went to the nearest restaurant and returned with a large dinner which they completely consumed, and then pulled out onto the road for the most dangerous part of their journey. After a night spent in cautious driving through Newark, Jersey City and then through the Holland Tunnel they drove, at last, into the drive through in Central Park.
“We made it, Vincent.” Catherine banged the steering wheel with both hands. “We finally got you home.” She rested her head on the top of the wheel and quivered from the release of tension.
“Yes, there are no words to tell you how thankful I am.” He gazed at the dark of Central Park relieved to be home.
“Vincent, before you go, will I ever see you again?” She didn’t think she could bear it if he said no and waited with bated breath for his answer.
“I don’t know,” he answered. He was so confused he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to see her but was afraid it would be dangerous.
“I guess I’ll have to live with that.” Her shoulders slumped when she heard his answer. She stepped out, absentmindedly grabbing her purse, and met him in front of the car.
He pulled her into his arms, setting his chin on top of her head. Suddenly, the idea of never seeing her smiling face again was more than he was able to stand. “You will see me again, Catherine,” he spoke into her hair.
A sweet joy flooded through her at those words and she hugged him as hard as she could. “I’m glad,” she said, simply.
A car went careening
by then came to a screeching halt. Cruising the streets looking for
trouble, the ‘Silks’ found more than they bargained for. “There’s
that freak. How did he get away from Scarlotti?” someone shouted.
Four well dressed young men piled out of the car and came running back.
“I’ll kill that bastard this time. He’s not going to live another
day,” the leader, Chris, called out. “Get’em.” Guns appeared
in their hands and they fired at the couple.
“‘Silks’,” Vincent whispered and flinched as a shot struck him in the shoulder. “Come, Catherine, you can’t remain here.” Grabbing her hand he pulled her along behind him. Wearing high heels is not conducive to fast running and she tripped as another shot was fired. She winced, went limp then fell to the ground.
Shouting to each other, the gang converged on Vincent and Catherine. “We got ‘em, guys,” Chris shouted as the gang members stepped out of the bushes surrounding them. Vincent turned the beast loose and watched in satisfaction as he quickly dispatched the punks who had the temerity to assault Catherine. In varying positions that bespoke their lifelessness, the ‘Silks’ were lying scattered on the ground.
He shook his head to clear it, thinking, Oh god, don’t let Catherine have seen any of this. She was lying under a bush, conscious, looking at him not in horror, but in sympathy and understanding. Ashamed that she had seen what his dark side could do, he picked her up and as he did, she fainted. He carried her through the Central Park Entrance. She lay limply in his arms and his heart fluttered in fear for her as he hurried through the tunnels. Soon, the pipes were ringing with the news of his return.
Turning a corner, he almost collided with an excited and breathless Mouse. “Vincent. You’re back.”
“Yes, Mouse. Tap a message to Father to meet me in the hospital chamber.”
“Vincent hurt?”
“Yes and so is Catherine.” He shifted her in his arms.
“Catherine? Who?”
“I’ll tell you later. Get Father.”
“Ok good, ok fine.” The pipes rang with Mouse’s message.
Trailing a large contingency of tunnel dwellers, Vincent sped into the operating chamber. Mouse had ranged ahead of the procession, clearing the tunnels for Vincent’s swift passage. He was laying Catherine on the exam table when Father, followed by Mary, limped into the chamber. “Vincent,” he gasped. “I refused to believe until I saw you with my own eyes. It’s been so long.” He crushed his restored son to his breast. When he pulled back to look at him, Father caressed his hair as he had waited to do for six longs months. He heard a dripping sound and looking down saw blood falling from Vincent’s right hand. “My god, son, you’re bleeding. Here sit. Let me look at it. Mary, bring my bag over here.” He maneuvered Vincent to a nearby chair.
“No, Father, take care of Catherine first. She was shot in the back.” Desperate, Vincent leapt to his feet to stand beside an unconscious Catherine. He bent over her and caressed her cheek, tenderly.
“Catherine? Who is this stranger, this woman?” He was very angry that someone had broken their most cardinal rule. From the look on Vincent’s face he suspected that he was the rule breaker.
“She is not a stranger to me, Father. She is the woman I l . . . who rescued me. I will explain later.” Taking her small, limp hand in his, he implored, “Please don’t leave me, don’t die. If you die, I die.” Father caught his breath when he heard these words. What had happened between them while Vincent was gone? Pleading eyes sought Father. “Take care of her, please, Father.”
Father stared into his son’s agonized eyes and nodded in sudden decision. “William, Cullen, get all these people out of here. We will hear Vincent’s tale later.”
Still holding Catherine’s cool hand, Vincent sank gratefully into the chair that Mary provided for him. He smiled at her wearily, and thanked her. Mary returned his smile and spoke softly over the noise of the crowd leaving the chamber, “It’s so good to have you back, Vincent. We sorely missed you.”
Father stepped up to the exam table, studying the lovely young woman laying there. He located the bullet wound after removing her jacket. After stabilizing her, he turned his attentions to Vincent’s wound. The bullet had torn a path through the fleshy part of the shoulder and was a clean but bloody wound. Father cleaned then bandaged the wound. “You must lie down, son,” he entreated, “you’re practically out on your feet now.”
“No, not until I know Catherine is all right. Father, you don’t know what she has done for me.” His stubborn refusal to leave her brought to mind how stubborn Vincent could be and Father gave in.
“Well, I’m afraid you will only be in the way when we operate,” Father stated hoping this would penetrate Vincent’s obvious fear for this young woman.
Vincent nodded once, “I will sit out of the way but I am not leaving her.” He picked up the chair, moved it to the wall, and settled into it crossing his arms across his chest.
At this time Catherine moaned, “Vincent?”
Instantly, he was at her side. “I’m here Catherine,” he answered, bending over her.
“Did we get you home?” He had to bend closely over her to hear the words.
“Yes, Catherine,” he brushed her hair softly back from her forehead, “I’m home.”
“Good,” she smiled then drifted into unconsciousness.
He turned to the only doctor there. “Please, Father, save her,” he begged.
“Well, get out of the way let me do my job,” was Father’s gruff answer.
Mary helped Father into a clean, sterile surgical gown and, putting one on herself, prepared to follow his every instructions. “Let’s get her prepped, Mary. Help me turn her on her stomach.” They had already taken her blood pressure and started an IV when Mary swabbed the wound with betadine. In silence, Mary and Father operated on their patient. He merely had to put out a hand and the correct instrument was slapped into his hand. The only sounds to be heard were the agitated breathing of Vincent and the occasional whisper and soft clink of metal against metal. At last, the loud silence was broken by the clink of a spent bullet dropping into a metal bowl. After stitching the incision closed, Father turned toward a barely conscious Vincent and resting a hand on his shoulder brought him instantly alert.
“Catherine? Is she . . . ?”
“She’s fine, Vincent,” Father interrupted. “I took the bullet out. It didn’t hit any vital organs. She’ll be up in no time.”
“Oh thank you, Father.” Vincent hugged him clumsily then staggered over to her side and gazed lovingly at her. She was so pale. To think it was all his fault. How could he make it up to her after all she had done for him?
“William, Cullen, please move her into the hospital chamber,” Father ordered.
“No, I will do it,” Vincent stated.
Instantly, Father’s
hand was on his arm. “You’re not strong enough, Vincent. You’ve
lost a lot of blood.” Vincent stared at him stubbornly. Breathing
a sigh of defeat, Father said, “At least let them help you.” Curtly,
Vincent nodded and carefully gathering Catherine in his arms followed William
and Cullen into the hospital chamber where he safely deposited her in the
bed that the two
men had pulled away
from the wall.
“Vincent, you need to look after yourself. Lie down,” Father ordered him in no uncertain tones and forcibly moved Vincent to another bed. If not for his weakened condition Father would never have been able to budge him.
“I won’t leave her. I need to be here when she wakes.” Vincent protested as he was physically pushed down on the bed.
“Yes, yes, I know. Now lie down or you will fall down.”
“Move the bed next to hers.”
“William, Cullen move Vincent’s bed next to hers, please.”
His last sight as he slipped into a deep untroubled sleep was of Catherine peacefully sleeping. Father slowly shook his head in misgiving as he pulled the curtain aside and stepped out to give his report to the community.