KALEIDOSCOPE III
Cynthia Hatch

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Part 1a

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream ~ Edgar Allan Poe

Love.

In the blue stillness it enveloped everything in its soft folds, lapping, whispering silkily against itself, shimmering without, within.., drifting across her lips as she breathed his name... "Vincent... "

"I'm here."

The tone as gentle, as indescribably comforting as the first time she'd ever heard it. His hand against her hair. She turned instinctively into its warm strength and opened her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

He was leaning over her, so that his hair fell forward, brushing her cheek, his eyes filled with concern.

"No... it's okay." For a moment sleep heavy lids closed again, and a slow smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I was just someplace else. Someplace. . . wonderful. Tell me that it wasn't a dream--that it really happened."

"It was a dream. It didn't really happen."

The tender irony of his words, so quick to pick up the thread of memory woven through her own, caused her smile to widen, and she blinked up at him. "I asked you not to tell me that. I was having such an interesting time."

"In the land of shadows?"

"Well, it seemed incredibly real while it was happening. You know how that can be. Did you dream last night, Vincent?"

"Mmm. But I've been up for some time. I didn't want to disturb you."

For the first time she noticed that he was fully dressed, a jerkin of worn russet laced over his shirt, suede boots rising to his knees. His hair had the soft, loose look of being newly washed. From somewhere beyond the chamber came the muted sounds of activity that meant the tunnel dwellers were up and about their business.

"Vincent, I'm sorry. It must be really late." She pushed herself up on her elbows, trying to clear the last cobwebs of sleep from her drowsy mind.

"You've been through a terrible ordeal. If you can sleep again you should."

"No, really, I'm fine . . . is that coffee I smell?"

He straightened up, stepping to the writing table and turned with an earthenware mug still steaming in his hand. "It is what you prefer in the morning?"

"I'm not sure it's really a matter of preference." She sat up, accepting the cup gratefully, as he pulled two plump cushions into position behind her and sat down on the edge of the bed. "It's more like a necessity to get me started, a habit I developed in college to keep from drifting off in lecture hall."

"You're welcome to drift here, Catherine--as long as you like."

"I know." He hadn't touched her since the first soothing stroke of her hair that had brought her back to a reality, which--she was just now beginning to appreciate--was scarcely less fantastic than the one she'd abandoned. To waken here---in his bed--his face the first thing she saw... As their eyes met the sense of being securely held was unmistakable. Emotions, those that lived and those that had been only imagined, both genuine, both deeply felt, closed around her, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. To drift in the blueness of his eyes--oh, yes . . . "I know," she repeated softly. "Vincent, I'm so grateful you let me stay. You can't imagine how badly I needed to be with you."

"I can. Because I know how badly I needed not to let you go."

For a moment it seemed impossible that the caress of his voice, his eyes, the palpable sensations streaming through their bond wouldn't solidify into a physical embrace, but she remembered his reluctance the night before, his conviction that she needed time to heal from the assault before his touch would be welcome. How much you don't understand yet, Vincent, she thought. And how much you do--so much more than you realize.

"Your coffee's getting cold," he reminded her gently.

She smiled and took a sip, surprised at the richness of its taste. No short cuts in this world. No instant compromises. No modem conveniences that sacrificed quality for efficiency. "It's delicious, Vincent. but what if somebody comes? Aren't they going to---"

"No one will come." She wondered what he'd done to ensure that. but the quiet conviction in his voice left no room for doubt. "Would you like to tell me--about what fascinated you so in the dream world?"

"I would, yes. So often I'll have a dream that I'd like to remember, but unless I tell someone immediately or write it down. it just disappears. And this felt so significant, but already it's breaking up. There seemed to be a logical progression at the time, but now it's only pieces, and they don't even fit together."

"Dreams may be the refuge of the truth, Catherine. They can lead us down pathways we might not have the courage to explore in the waking world."

"I know. That's what's so frustrating. How can it help to make discoveries, if you can't remember them afterwards?"

"Perhaps a part of you remembers.., a part that needs to know."

"I hope so."  She took another drink, searching the stone arch of the ceiling with her eyes, trying to grasp the strands of memory that swayed just out of reach. "There was a room, Vincent--a chamber I've never seen before, and you and I were trapped there, waiting for Mouse to free us. but I don't know who locked us in."

"Mitch." The single syllable was etched with venom.

"No. it wasn't like that. In fact. I had a really good feeling about it, as if somehow there was a freedom there greater than we had ever known. Not too logical, is it?"

"The dream world has its own logic, Catherine---symbols, reflections. What the waking mind cannot decipher may be the simplest of languages to the subconscious."

"It's funny you should say that, because I remember you mentioning something about Freud--in the dream. We were walking--just the two of us--on a lovely, sunny beach. The waves were so clear, such an incredible shade of blue · . . "Her voice trailed off, until she realized he was watching her expectantly. Another long sip hid her coloring cheeks behind the oversized cup and uncombed hair. When she finished, she lowered the mug to her lap, careful to keep her fingers between the rough ceramic and the clean, faded cotton of the thick quilt that covered her knees. With her free hand she pushed her hair behind her ear and met his eyes again. "Come to think of it, there seemed to be an awful lot of water in my dream."

"Water?" He leaned on one elbow watching her intently. How she loved that ceaseless curiosity that sparked in his eyes, the insatiable interest in everything life might present, no matter how complex or how simple. And how she loved being the focus of that interest, sharing it with him. The feeling warmed her spirit as naturally as the hot coffee had chased the morning chill.

"I remember it seemed to be raining all the time. You were having problems down here because of it. And that place I'd never seen before--there was a... a watery floor." She frowned at her own odd phraseology. "I can still remember the bubbling sound it made. And a lake---a lake in a meadow full of sunshine."

"We were there.., together?' His tone was even, but she caught the edge of an old guilt. For the first time he had lowered his eyes as if drawn to the sight of his own long fingers tracing a pattern in the quilt.

"No, it wasn't that lake," she said hurriedly, "and I wasn't there with you. I think... I think it was my friend Nancy Tucker."

"There were others in your dream?" Surprise returned his gaze to hers. and she had to laugh.

"Sorry. I feel like it was really all about you and me, but the pictures I see · . . I'm afraid there must have been a cast of thousands. My other very good friend Jenny was in it. She was talking about water too---a sailing regatta that for some reason I couldn't go to. There was some incredibly important reason that I couldn't go, but I couldn't tell her what it was--and now I don't even remember." She frowned against the teasing images that refused to show anything but their most superficial faces. "And Joe was there. He was playing chess, but I can't recall who with. Maybe Father?"

"If so, is there any chance that Father won?"

"It was a dream, Vincent," she grinned. "Not a fantasy."

The flash of his smile plucked instantly at her heart, filling her with a kind of giddy gratitude that she had been responsible for it. "And I remember Joe and I sitting in a car waiting for.., something. I have no idea what, but I know where Isn't that strange?"

He tilted his head in anticipation.

"Battery Park."

"On the harbor.'

"Water," she confirmed, nodding. "And that's not all.' As images scudded across her mind, disjointed, random, her thoughts of Joe snagged one in passing.

"I kept trying to persuade Joe to go away, take a trip."

"Niagara Falls," he offered solemnly.

"Deep-sea fishing."

She gave him a self-satisfied smile, knowing he was enjoying their game as much as she was, but she didn't let her eyes linger for long. Not when the brief glance suddenly tied the most exquisite knots somewhere inside. How could he know how totally irresistible he looked, sitting so close?

Maybe it was the knowledge that in an instant that body, graceful in repose. could bristle with an energy so powerful it was hard to comprehend--maybe it was that very contrast that made him appear so relaxed, as if no tension had ever found its way through the layers of clothing to the fine-tuned muscles within. His eyes, regarding her with loving amusement, the angle of his head that let his hair spill in enchanting rivulets over his shoulder--no, it wouldn't do to dwell on that. It was enough just to be here in this place that would forever seem a source of healing, wrapped in the mystic circle of their bond.

Her efforts to recall the visions, so graphic Just a short time ago, produced only puzzling results. The flashes of memory she was able to grasp carried none of the intensity that still echoed through her emotions; they seemed nonsensical, unrelated to anything that might arouse the passion she was sure had permeated her sleep.

It was the blank spaces she came up against that inexplicably stirred her emotions: the sensation of being submerged and wanting strangely to give herself up to the powerful currents. The Great Falls--had she been there in her dream? It would be a natural possibility, considering the element that had dominated her dreaming. No, she was sure that particular symbol had never appeared, and yet the thought of it brought a rush of confusing emotions so stunning that even now it almost stopped her breath.

It was like studying a map where intermittent portions had been obliterated; what was left were enigmatic signposts, while she was sure it was the missing portions, the gaps promising a plunge into some deeper understanding, that held the key to a destination.

Deliberately, she scanned the room, fishing for another elusive dream fragment, and her eyes stopped on the portrait of the two of them. "Where was a painting. Everybody was looking for it." He followed her gaze. "Kristopher's painting?"

"Uh-uh." She sipped her coffee, trying to call the image back. "But it was an actual painting. Manet, maybe.., or Monet?"

"Water lilies?"

"No--wait--it wasn't even French--no rain, no lake or harbor. I can see it now--an old master of a woman at a window. I've always liked it--a Vermeer."

"Vermeer--Dutch for 'from the lake.' His Woman with a Water Jug?. There's an admirable consistency to your visions, Catherine."

She met his twinkling eyes with a rueful laugh. "Your brother says consistency's the hobgoblin of small minds."

"Only because he's raised inconsistency to an art. Why was everyone searching for this painting?"

"I'm not sure, but it seemed vital to find it. I remember all the people down here--even the children--wandering through the tunnels, looking, and someone explaining that a lot of valuable art was kept underground--in a water pipe."

"That much is true--under the Metropolitan Museum of Art."

"Really? Then I can't be blamed for being overly consistent. I must have read it somewhere."

"Catherine, to me you are forever blameless. What else?"

She drank the last of the coffee, placing the empty cup on the bedside shelf, and turned to hug her knees. "Everything else is just a jumble---taxis . . . roller skates.., some kind of giant animal--like a rat, but it wasn't frightening, only silly."

"With such an array to choose from, you hardly need fear Devin's hobgoblin."

"Maybe not." She blinked at him a moment as a new thought bobbed to the surface. "Vincent, have you ever known anyone named Gillian---Jill?"

He bowed his head, and when he looked up a smile had curved the comers of his lips. "Only in the nursery rhyme---fetching water. Did such a person tumble through your dreams last night?"

"No... not literally.., but the aqueduct she was building did. Uh-oh, Vincent, I think the hobgoblin's back."

"I'll protect you from it with my last ounce of strength."

"Thank you," she smiled. "You know the worst thing is that the really important parts--and there were some, I know--I can feel it so strongly--everything about you and me, Vincent. All of that is just gone, lost. There's nothing left in here but random images." She pressed her fingers to her temple as if the gesture could summon the elusive connections.

Suddenly his hand was covering hers, the benevolent teasing gone from his manner. "Catherine. if your dreaming had truths to show you, lessons to teach. perhaps they were not lessons of the mind." The strong furred fingers lowered her hand gently above her heart, and she returned their pressure, basking in the promise of his eyes, the assurance in his voice. "Those lessons may be safely locked away--here until it's time for you to learn them."

"I hope you're right."

"Vincent... Vincent, it's me.'

The disembodied voice came from somewhere beyond the chamber entrance, projected loudly enough to reach them where they sat beneath the topaz arc of the window, yet so determinedly whispered--as if the speaker feared detection--that the result was a queer, strident hissing impossible to attribute to anyone she knew.

Vincent's eyes had never left hers, and now she saw a flicker of some emotion that might have been resignation. "It's Mouse, Catherine. Do you mind?"

"Not if you don't" He squeezed her hand one more time and rose to move toward the doorway, calling out permission to enter. How had Mouse gotten by whatever safeguard Vincent had arranged to protect their privacy? There was no time to ponder the question, and she threw back the covers, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed just as the boy skittered through the entrance. He appeared unsurprised to see her there. The grin he threw her seemed vaguely conspiratorial. "Good morning, Mouse," she greeted him casually.

"Hi, Catherine." He waved at her, peering around the large object that partially obstructed his view and only then seemed to register what the large object was. "Oh, hi, Vincent. Sorry--needed to ask you something."

"It couldn't have waited, Mouse?"

"Uh-uh. Important. Need to know before you and Catherine leave."

From her position on the bed, it was impossible to see Vincent's expression, and she wished, not for the first time, that she could read his emotions as easily as he could read hers. From the look on Mouse's face, she guessed he had finally realized that he might be intruding, and he hurried to justify his mission.

"Catherine's building. Still blocked. Can't go back till I move the rocks. Should I do that, Vincent?"

"How can you, Mouse, and keep the position I asked you to hold?"

"Oh." He chewed his lip, as if mulling some complex equation to which there might actually be an answer.

"The answer is no, Mouse... thank you. It may not be safe to do that for some time."

Consternation melted from the boy's brow with the kindness in his mentor's mellow voice. "Okay good,' he beamed. "Catherine stays here--below. We'll have fun, right?"

She saved Vincent the trouble of framing a reply to that one. "I wish I could." She slipped from the bed to cross the chamber and throw her arms around their visitor. "How can I ever thank you, Mouse, for what you did?"

Her quick kiss on his cheek brought a furious blush. "Ah, Vincent already thanked me. Vincent thanks, you thank--same thing."

"Catherine and I were wondering if there was something we could do--something you'd like to have."

"Have? Like a present?"

Vincent nodded.

"Is there anything special you've been wanting? Something maybe I could find for you above?"

Dark eyes squinted briefly in concentration, then lit up with childlike enthusiasm. "Okay, sure---explosives!"

"Explosives," she repeated flatly, for want of a better response.

"Mouse, surely there's something more.., personal . . . that would please you."

"Used 'em two times, Vincent. Once saved Father. Once saved Catherine. Both times saved you. Personal, right?"

"Far too personal to ever repay," Vincent acknowledged swiftly, "but we hope never to need such drastic measures again."

"There's no reason you have to decide now, Mouse. Why don't you think about it for a while. We just wanted you to know how grateful we are for your help."

"Okay." He smiled shyly. "Should go now. Make sure nobody comes here." He bounded from the chamber, and she turned to Vincent.

"Mouse is our sentry?"

"It seemed somehow.., appropriate."

She nodded, smiling. "It's obvious he worships you, Vincent. He'd never question anything you asked him to do."

"Nor the propriety of the request."

"No. He's so innocent.., it wouldn't occur to him... " A blush rose, and she bent down to pick up her shoes still lying next to the bed where she'd left them last night. "I should go too," she said, slipping them on. "I need to go back up and change."

"If you're certain you're ready." He drew his cloak from the back of a chair, swinging it over his shoulders. "It's nearly noon. You should be able to use the park entrance with safety."

They left the chamber together, encountering no one till they reached the first junction, where a figure sat hunched in contemplation.

"Haven't thought of anything yet," Mouse greeted them, scrambling to his feet.

"Please. Mouse, take all the time you need. I'm merely walking Catherine to the threshold."

"Going above?" He eyed her. crestfallen.

"I have to," she told him gently. "But I'll be back before too long. I'm sure."

"We could use your help, Mouse. If you could go ahead--"

"Make sure the coast's clear, right? Okay good. Follow the leader." Clearly relishing this new role. he darted off, pausing only to peer around the next bend with exaggerated caution before he was lost from sight in a cloud of amber steam.

She exchanged a smile with Vincent as he took her hand, struck as always by the contrast of the tenderness in his touch and the intimidating proportions of his towering presence. "Will I see you later on?"

"I'm not certain. There's something I must do---as soon as darkness falls." Something in his tone drew her look of inquiry,

"What?"

"Sam, Catherine - Mitch's father. He must be told."

"No!" She stopped in her tracks. "Not by you, Vincent. Surely someone else can break the news to him.., the police---"

"He deserves to be told by someone who cares, someone who was there."

"To be told what? What kind of monster his son had become?"

He had turned away from the near panic In her voice. "Vincent, I know you. I know you won't want to burden a sick old man with the ugliness of what really happened--what Mitch tried to do to me. And if you don't, how are you going to explain why · . . why Mitch had to be stopped...your part in all that?"

"Sam was a helper for many years, Catherine. I owe him whatever part of the truth I can offer him."

"But what good will it do?" His fingers had loosened, prepared to free his hand and himself from the assault of her concern, but she refused to relinquish her hold. "Whatever pain Mitch has caused him over the years, whatever relief he might feel that it's over, Sam was still a father. It's bound to hurt him that all hope is gone for his son to ever show any decency and that you were involved. Vincent, you could be robbing him of two sons with your truth--the one who grieved him for so long and the one he wished he'd had.. in you."

"He is very ill, Catherine--near death. I doubt that he could survive another confrontation with Mitch. It may ease his fears to learn there's no danger of that." He turned reassuring her with his eyes, his voice. "I'll take great care, I promise. You needn't worry so about him."

"It's not Sam I'm worried about, Vincent," she said. tightening her grip. "It's you. It isn't fair that you should have to be the one to go to him. I know how much it will hurt. Can't you just let the authorities break it to him?"

"Catherine." His voice was soft, his eyes filled with sympathy for her distress· Her hand was lost now In both of his, as he bent toward her. "Please, try to understand. Sam is a friend. He accepted my friendship long ago. I cannot turn my back on him now.., especially not now."

Her imploring look took in every beautiful detail of the face before her. The strong, exotic features, softly dusted with gold, the slant of his eyes--aquamarine in the torches' mellow light, their expression such a familiar blend of strength and compassion that she knew her attempts to dissuade him had been doomed from the outset. "I know you can't." she conceded at last. "But if you must do this. Vincent, at least let me go with you."

He drew in a deep breath, lips parted, teeth glinting white in the brief moment before he turned away. "No." This time he had succeeded in extricating his hand, clasping the edges of his cloak against his chest as he began to move again down the passageway.

"Why not?" she demanded, hurrying to keep pace with him.

"You've suffered enough, Catherine--because of Mitch. There is no reason you should be subjected to more."

"No reason?" He was stubbornly avoiding her gaze, a ploy she'd become accustomed to and always interpreted as a natural tendency to isolate himself, to take on whatever unpleasantness threatened and bear the brunt of it alone, sparing the people he loved. But there was more to it than that, she realized suddenly. The thought had risen unbidden--from where she couldn't guess. It carried the validity of a revelation, but she shoved it aside for now.

"There's a very good reason. I'd like to be there for you. Vincent, love isn't just about sharing the good feelings. When you love someone you want to share their pain as well. You did that--for me--yesterday, and it helped so much. Why can't you let me do the same for you?"

They were nearing the final tunnel that would lead them to the gated threshold and to parting, and he slowed his pace as she took his arm, though he still wouldn't meet her eyes. "I was unable to protect you yesterday as I should have. The least I can do is spare you the anguish that must follow."

"I know that's what you think you're doing," she said quietly, striving to see the situation from his point of view, "but do you know how it makes me feel? It makes me feel like you're shutting me out, like you're saying I don't have the right--or the strength--to take an equal responsibility in our relationship. It makes me feel like you doubt my love for you."

"Catherine, that isn't true." He looked at her aghast and having done so seemed unable to look away. "Your love.., astonishes me. Your strength is beyond any I have ever found in myself. If I—"

His words broke off, even as his eyes still held hers, filled with the passion of his unfinished thoughts, as Mouse reappeared from his scouting expedition, oblivious to the intensity of the conversation he was unceremoniously interrupting, nearly running into them both as he careened around the corner.

"Two women," he reported. "One tall, one short. One with a camera. One man--in a uniform. One dog--brown with a big furry tail."

"In the tunnels?" Catherine stared at him.

"In the park."

"Thank you, Mouse," Vincent said evenly. He looked down at her, a little wistfully, she thought, as their chaperone made no move to leave. "It should be safe for you to slip out once they've passed."

"I’ve gotten pretty good at it," she admitted. "And I’ll check right away to find out when it might be safe to unblock the exit under my building. It wouldn't be smart to depend on this entrance all the time." Rising on tiptoe, she brushed a kiss across the smooth plane of his cheek. The same naiveté that had ensured Mouse would see nothing improper in her spending the night in Vincent's chamber now kept him from realizing that they just might have preferred a more private leave-taking. He stood by watching them with mild interest, as she added, "Thank you, Vincent--for everything," and moved into the culvert that opened onto the city.

"Catherine."

She turned at the magical sound that never failed to send a thrill rippling deep within.

"Tonight... as soon as it's dark... I'll meet you at the fire escape to Sam's building."

Her eyes locked with the hypnotic blue of his--so filled with tenderness and with his efforts to understand what it meant to no longer be alone, to adjust to her miraculous presence in the cloistered confines that had been his life. Grateful tears hovered behind the smile she gave him. Too touched to speak, she merely nodded and turned back to make her way along the pipe.

The sun blazed hot beyond, as cautiously she surveyed the scene outside. The man that Mouse had mentioned wore the uniform of a park maintenance worker. He had made his way some distance up the road, pausing to spear bits of trash that sheltered along the curb. The short woman was posing stiffly in a clearing far up the slope, while her companion moved backward, a camera pressed to her face, in an apparent effort to capture both her friend and the skyline that loomed in the background. Nearby, the dog--a blur of happily unleashed fur--bounded after a flock of pigeons, oblivious to the slight figure in a jogging outfit that had appeared, making its way along the drainage ditch.

As she walked, she toed at the fallen leaves that stuck to the damp concrete. If anyone happened to glance her way, they might assume she was searching for something that had fallen down the hill. The air had grown insufferably hot, far too warm for the fleece-lined sweat shirt that had been quite comfortable the previous evening. It grew warmer still as she considered his reluctance to meet her eyes. How often had she faltered under his gaze---lost all resolve, all ability to think? The possibility that he could be equally undone by her own adoring glances made delectable food for thought, and it was almost an hour later as she showered in her apartment sealed against the intrepid August heat, that she realized he hadn't told her where Sam lived.