CHAPTER 3

Slowly the haze of inhuman rage retreated from Vincent’s vision and he blinked tentatively, taking in a sparsely furnished room and a familiar, wrinkled face close to his. Carefully clearing his throat, Vincent tried his voice, not sure if it would obey him.

"I’m not hurt," he said as he felt Rao’s probing fingers on his face and neck.

"But you are bleeding in your soul," came the quiet reply.

Vincent heaved a sigh as he straightened in the chair, giving up his struggle to remember how he had gotten here.

"Rao, I’ve killed," he said, his voice still raw and shaky. "After so many years I’ve had to kill again." Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he added, "How am I supposed to live with that? I thought I could do it, put it all behind me and forget -- forget what I am."

The old man continued to skim his hands across Vincent’s body, barely touching him. His white hair was like a halo around his head, and Vincent closed his eyes against the brightness. Ignoring Rao’s strange ministrations, he continued, "Whatever I touch gets touched by the darkness inside me. The only way to keep those I love safe is to stay away from them."

Rao stopped the silent movements of his hands and sat back in his chair, regarding Vincent wordlessly.

Despite himself Vincent felt the corners of his mouth lift in a tentative smile. "Self-pity will get me nowhere, right?"

The old man’s features brightened as he smiled in return. "Who taught you such wisdom?" he inquired mischievously.

"You did," Vincent replied.

"Life did," Rao retorted, the smile gone from his face, but there was still a twinkle in the depth of his dark eyes.

Vincent nodded in silent agreement. "I believe that I should not return to the tunnels for a while."

"You are safe here with me," Rao offered warmly.

Vincent thought about that for a moment. "I can’t..." His voice broke off.

"You can’t what?" Rao prompted.

"I don’t want to put you at risk," Vincent explained.

"You are safe here with me," Rao reiterated. His eyes glowed enigmatically as they caught the soft light from the oil lamp that stood between them on the table.

No longer able to bear the tension inside him, Vincent stood and started pacing the room. How should he ever regain his peace of mind when the fragments of his life seemed to close in on him like the crumbling walls of a tunnel during a cave-in?

He had been selfish in his desire to nurture his friendship with Catherine. He never should have left the tunnels again after the first threat to his life months ago. His chest was suddenly tight with a feeling of guilt that wouldn’t leave him alone.

"Innocence and experience," Rao’s voice reached him as if from a great distance.

Vincent whisked around. "What?"

"It is not the experiences that corrupt the mind," the old man said gently, "but what they leave behind, the residue, the scars, the memories. These pile up one on top of the other and sorrow begins."

Drawn in by the calmness of Rao’s voice, Vincent returned to his seat to listen.

"You cannot escape from experiences," Rao resumed his speech, "but they need not take root in the soil of the mind. It’s these roots that give rise to conflict, struggle, and sorrow."

Vincent thought about that for a moment. "Are you telling me that I should act as if nothing had happened tonight?" he asked, confused. Without waiting for a reply, he went on, "From the beginning you have tried to teach me the pureness of spirit, the stillness of mind, but there is something in me -- a dark force, a passion so profound -- that won’t leave me in peace. It makes me want so much more than what is possible for me. It makes me restless, hopeless, helpless. And see where it has gotten me. I’m afraid that for me there is no way to escape the dark clouds of sorrow."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Rao’s voice began to flow again. "Sorrow is not born of passion, Vincent. Sorrow is experience, the experience of everyday life, the life of agony and fleeting pleasures, fears and certainties. The clear mind alone can be truly passionate. Without passion you cannot see the breeze among the leaves or the moonlight on the water. Without passion there is no love."

Vincent’s heart twisted painfully in his chest as his confusion grew. With unfailing certainty, Rao had laid out all the shards of Vincent’s life before him. He buried his head in his palms and felt tears gather in his eyes. What was he to do?

Rao’s hand was light and reassuring as he brushed Vincent’s hair from his face and feathered a caress upon his cheek with the knuckle of his forefinger.

"Living on the surface of life as we do," Rao whispered, "we don’t suspect what a treasure of love and wisdom we have within. If I knew of a simple, painless way of unlocking this treasure, I would be the first to give it. I’m afraid, though, there is no shortcut around the labors of this journey into consciousness, and those who have traversed it testify that it is the ultimate test of human endurance."

Vincent jerked away from the old man’s touch and stared at him defiantly. "Human endurance?" he exclaimed. "Then these words hardly apply to me."

"They do," Rao contradicted. "They apply to all of us who strive to transcend the countless darknesses that tie us to illusion." He rose to his feet and went over to the sofa at the far wall. "Your struggle against the dark isn’t so unique as you think it is," he said back over his shoulder. Unfolding a blanket, Rao started a soft singsong that wrapped around Vincent’s troubled mind like a balm.

"You need to rest, son," Rao murmured close to his ear, and Vincent noted faintly that he hadn’t even been aware of the old man’s approach. The singsong continued and Vincent succumbed to the compelling rhythm of the foreign tune. He barely remembered crossing the space between the chair and the bed. All he could think of was sleep.

"Listen to the sound of life," a voice whispered in his dreams, "it’s the sound of truth, the innermost song of your heart." And Vincent listened breathlessly as the tune wove its healing magic around his soul.

*

Catherine sat at her desk in the office and stared incredulously at the newspaper in her hands. MONSTER KILLED THREE MEN IN CENTRAL PARK, the headline said, and next to it there was a drawing of a man with feline features, a bizarre caricature of Vincent’s face, distorted in a grimace of rage, showing long, deadly fangs.

While she read the article, a chill swept through her blood as comprehension dawned on her. The men had been found two nights ago, after Vincent had left her. She re-read the article and sighed with relief that obviously the "monster" had escaped.

She flinched at the touch of a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right, Cathy?" Joe Maxwell asked solicitously.

She gave him an absentminded nod. "Yes, Joe, thanks."

He peered over her shoulder and reached for the newspaper. "Since when do you read this crap?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.

Catherine shrugged. "I don’t know who put it on my desk," she lied, unwilling to admit that she had purchased the paper on her way to the office because the drawing on the front page had literally jumped at her. "Do we have anything about this?" she asked, feigning only marginal interest.

Joe shrugged. "Not much. From the way the bodies looked, we can assume that some animal escaped from the zoo," he said casually, "but we have no confirmation, so far."

"Who were they?" Catherine asked, trying to sound more firm than she felt.

"We have their names but that’s all," Joe replied. "It looks as if they were playing some weird game of hide and seek out there in the park. One of the men who found the bodies, a certain Stewart Colwyn, told the police that they’d been looking for some kind of...creature...for months. Seems as if they found it at last."

Ignoring Joe’s detached sense of humor, Catherine put away the newspaper. She placed her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking.

"Cathy?" Joe asked with concern, putting his hand on her shoulder. "What is it? You look pale."

"I didn’t sleep well," she replied, glad that she was bending the truth only slightly.

With effort she turned her attention to the stack of folders she’d have to deal with today. She decided that she’d better get this started or she would have to take work home with her yet again. She needed to talk to Vincent as quickly as possible and wished for the hundredth time that she knew a way to contact him. She hoped desperately that he would come to her, and the last thing she wanted was to be swamped with paper work when he was there.

*

Catherine paced the terrace, her eyes sweeping the illuminated buildings opposite her. She stopped and leaned over the railing to scan the patch of night-darkened park below. Four days had passed without any sign from Vincent, and her inability to contact him filled her with helpless anger. Four nights she had spent waiting for him, four nights filled with doubts and uncertainties and deep worry for him. The drawing from the newspaper haunted her, and she thought about the man who was most likely responsible for it. She’d been able to take a look into the files of the police and found that the man who’d shot Vincent and whom she’d seen in the basement afterwards, was one of those who had found and reported the bodies in the park. Stewart Colwyn. She had to tell Vincent as quickly as possible. He must be even more careful from now on.

"Damn it, Vincent," she swore under her breath, resuming her restless pacing, "don’t do this to me. Please show up, my friend." If we are still friends, she added inwardly, remembering his distant look after she had eyed him so shamelessly a few nights ago. After all that had happened since then, the incident seemed relatively inconsequential now. Slapping her hand at the cold concrete of the balustrade, she gritted her teeth. If only there were something she could do.

"Catherine," his voice came softly from the far end of the balcony. She spun around to face him, and as he emerged from the shadows she ran to him and dissolved into his arms.

"Vincent," she breathed on a sigh, "I thought you’d never come."

He returned her embrace gently, but then he drew back and pulled her with him as he walked to the door. "We should go inside," he urged tersely.

Catherine took in the rigid set of his jaw and the flicker of fear in his eyes. "Tell me," she said as Vincent pulled the doors shut behind them. He discarded his cloak and drew her away from the window.

"Please dim the lights," he demanded, and the urgency in his voice all but frightened her.

When they were finally seated, Vincent reached for Catherine’s hand in a surprising act of intimacy. "Something happened," he began.

"I know," she said, reaching across the coffee table and picking up the newspaper.

Vincent took it from her and scanned the page intently. Then he put the paper down and flung back his head. "Catherine," he moaned desperately, "I’m afraid I wasn’t completely honest with you when we started our friendship. I haven’t told you everything about me, about my...darker side, the one that is capable of killing as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"But Vincent," she countered, "at least one of the men who hunted you in the park was also one of those who shot you down in the basement. As I understand it, you had no alternative."

"Maybe not," he conceded, "but that is not the point. What I was trying to tell you is that there is something inside me which is not...human." He paused, but she didn’t know what to say, so she simply waited for him to continue. "I don’t fight like humans do," he said finally. "It doesn’t even feel as if it’s me who does the killing. It’s as if the part of me that thinks retreats to the back of my mind, while the part of me that acts is overtaken by a strange force that is more...animal-like in its character." He paused again, casting her a sidelong glance. "I should have told you about these things, Catherine," he added quietly. "It was not right of me to withhold them from you."

Catherine inhaled deeply to collect her thoughts. "You had no reason to tell me, either, Vincent. At least not until now. And now you have told me, haven’t you?"

"Although you already knew," he stated flatly, still avoiding her eyes.

"Yes," she conceded, guiding his face so that he would meet her gaze.

"And yet you welcomed me with open arms," he said, and the awe in his eyes made her want to weep.

"What did you expect?" she asked lightly. "That I would run from you? After all, I didn’t threaten you, so I was hardly in any danger." She thought about it for a moment and then added seriously, "Unless you perceived my behavior last time you were with me as a threat."

That brought an unexpected smile from him and he cast his eyes down again. "Not as a threat," he said at last. "But you could say that I was surprised," he paused, "and startled."

"Am I forgiven?" she asked, and he smiled again.

"Yes," he replied, growing serious as he held her gaze with his. The ensuing silence was vibrant and eloquent, and she wished she could preserve it somehow. "Catherine," his voice floated on the stillness, "That man you mentioned -- what do you know about him?"

"Not much," she replied. "His name is Stewart Colwyn, and he’s driven by the fanatical idea of erasing all 'evil' from the streets of the city."

"And from below the streets as well," Vincent interjected, his words carrying a bitter undercurrent.

"Do you have any idea as to how he discovered you back then?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I was on my security rounds when two men suddenly appeared out of nothing."

Catherine thought about that for a while. "Obviously they never gave up on finding you," she remarked.

Vincent swallowed and studied his hands as he began to speak again. "Catherine, that’s the reason why I came to you tonight. I have to tell you something else. I’ve decided to go away for a while."

She wasn’t really surprised to hear that, yet she flinched with the impact of his words. "Where will you go?" Reconsidering, she hastened to add, "I’m sorry. Of course, you needn’t answer that."

"No," he reassured her, "it’s all right. I’m going to a place deep beneath the surface of this city, and I’m telling you about it because I don’t want you to wait for me to come back. As things are, I must never show my face again above ground."

Catherine could feel the hidden emotions that he tried to choke down, and they pierced her to the heart. "Is that where you’ve lived all the time? Below ground?"

Vincent nodded. "But not as far as I will go this time. My family lives in relatively close proximity to the world above. Before I became a target to the twisted ambitions of my hunters, I used to travel above ground a lot. At least during the hours of night I wandered under the open skies. The night was mine, Catherine." He swallowed down a sob, unable to continue.

Catherine edged closer, putting her arm around his shoulder. Tears spilled from her eyes and she was helpless to suppress them. She didn’t even try. "That place," she said quietly, "tell me about it."

"The place where I’ve lived?" he asked.

"No, the place where you will hide," she answered.

"There’s nothing to tell," he said, his voice devoid of inflection. "It’s only darkness and silence, a darkness so oppressive that it suffocates you." His words died away in a murmur. "And a silence so loud that it tears you apart."

A desperation seized Catherine’s heart, so intense that it took her breath away. "No," she gasped, "you mustn’t do that. You can’t bury yourself alive."

He heaved a forlorn sigh. "I’m afraid I don’t have much choice. If I don’t vanish from the face of the earth, I’m not only putting myself in peril but my whole world as well. No one must ever see me again."

Catherine leaned her head against his shoulder, thinking long and hard. "There may be an alternative after all," she suggested.

Vincent shook his head in denial. "Catherine, I have to be gone within the hour. My return below ground will be the last time I face the danger of being seen. Then I will move on farther down into the deepest reaches of the underground world. Those men must never find me with the others of the community. Without me my people have a chance, with me they’re in grave danger because they would always try to protect me."

"Who says that burying yourself alive is the only option you have?" she insisted, sitting up straight. "Wouldn’t it be enough to leave the city?" Vincent gave her a look that told her clearly what he thought of the momentary state of her sanity. "I mean it," she said, "please hear me out.

"There’s a cabin in the woods, about three hours from the city. It belongs to my father, but he never goes there because of the painful memories it harbors. When I was little and my mother was still alive, we used to spend our summers there. My father never returned there after she died, but he couldn’t bring himself to sell it either. I’ve been there alone a couple of times, when I needed to think, to be by myself for a while. You could live there, Vincent, and you wouldn’t be trapped in any way. You’d always have the woods to escape to if someone neared the cabin, but that won’t happen. The area is easy to overlook. There is a cellar beneath the cabin that has an opening underground which leads directly into the woods. You don’t really need it, because there’s no one living nearby. But even if anyone came, they wouldn’t see you leaving the house. Twice a year, I call an agency that takes care of vacation properties, just to have someone go out there and make sure the cabin isn’t falling apart. I can still do that, so as not to raise any suspicion, but you’ll know in time and you can stay away for a day or two. It’s safe, Vincent, or as safe as anything can be. Please think about it? Please?"

He had listened wordlessly but with obvious fascination. Slowly his gaze slid from hers and strayed to the window. The silence between them bristled with energy that coiled around the endings of every single nerve in Catherine’s body. Please, she prayed inwardly, please don’t let him choose that tomb in the darkness.

Finally his voice drifted through the stillness, "It would mean exchanging one solitude for another, but if I accept your generous offer, I would still have the light." He turned abruptly to look at her. "Catherine," he rasped, "when I awoke in your apartment for the first time, sunlight came in through the window, and I remember that it scared me at first. I had to look away. I’m not used to the light of day. I’ve always been a creature of the darkness. I have no way of knowing how the light of day would affect me, affect what I am."

"You have a way of finding out," Catherine replied slowly. "You can try."

Vincent inhaled deeply and released his breath in a hiss. He pushed from the sofa and paced a few steps, then stopped and spun around. "It’s almost frightening how much I want it," he said in a shaking voice.

Catherine stood up and went over to where he stood, gently gripping his hands. "You can trust me, Vincent," she implored him. "I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it’s absolutely safe. We could even build a second shelter, or several, farther in the woods, so that you don’t have to stay in one place all the time."

Vincent brought up her hands to his chest, squeezing them affectionately. "It sounds so reasonable, so tempting. I wish I had time to think it all over more thoroughly."

Catherine didn’t reply to that. She just looked up into his face, waiting. His brows were pulled together in a deep frown and he chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. She would have loved to touch him, to take the tension away, but she dared not. A muscle twitched in his jaw and Catherine thought her heart would stop beating when he drew breath to speak.

"May I make a phone call?" he asked.

She wasn’t sure why that question took her by surprise. "Of course," she hastened to reply.

He released her hands and walked over to the telephone, and she thought incoherently that the receiver against Vincent’s ear looked just as much out of place as the headphones had. His voice was hushed as he talked to someone he called Rao, and she tried not to listen in on the conversation. At some point Vincent chuckled softly, and her heart turned over with relief at the unexpected sound.

Returning the receiver to its cradle, Vincent stood for a moment, lost in thought. "Rao will inform my family," he said at last, his voice holding an edge of sorrow.

Catherine stepped up to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I’m sorry, Vincent," she began, "for not considering your family and how much you’re going to miss them."

He gave a slight shrug. "I’d be separated from them in any case, Catherine." His voice trailed away and she didn’t pursue the issue.

"Shall we go tonight?" she asked gently, and when he didn’t respond, she added, "Tomorrow night would be better, because renting a van in the middle of the night might raise suspicion. At that, you need a few things like clothing and supplies. Let’s see. Tomorrow is Friday. If I plan our trip tomorrow, it will look as if I’d simply decided to go away for the weekend."

He looked at her and his features softened. "Thank you, Catherine," he whispered.

"Never mind," she smiled. "That’s what friends are for." With that, she took his hand and pulled him over to the sofa, urging him to sit down. "Let’s make a list," she said. "You’re going to need warm stuff out there for a while yet. There are still the few things I bought last time..."

"Rao will send someone," Vincent interrupted her enthusiastic plans, "who will bring me some of my things."

"But it’s no problem at all to buy some," she threw in.

He covered her hand with his. "I would feel more comfortable," he explained softly.

"Okay then," she said, "let’s just shop for supplies."

He nodded, and she thought with a smile that he looked a little like a boy who was about to go away to his first summer camp.

*

Vincent rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling of Catherine’s living room. This time he had insisted that Catherine keep her bed, although she had offered it to him, claiming that the sofa bed was too small for him. But it had proven big enough after all. It was the restless tumble of his thoughts that wouldn’t let him fall asleep.

He hadn’t known just how much he detested the blackness deep down in the earth, until Catherine had offered him an alternative -- a life in daylight. The darkness of the world below where he had spent most of his life within the tunnel community, was only made bearable by thousands of candles and the loving hearts of its inhabitants. To live without their light -- alone -- was suddenly unthinkable, especially now that Catherine had painted vivid pictures of a cabin in the woods, of the open sky by day and the familiar comfort of the stars by night. Yes, he would miss Father and the others, but he knew that they would be safer this way, because there was something else he’d had to consider, something he couldn’t bring himself to tell Catherine. He had lived in the darkness before, separated from his family and friends. He had exiled himself every time he’d felt his other side emerging, that part of himself that was so difficult to keep in control. But the beast within him didn’t like the blackness down there any more than his human side, and many times Vincent had found himself back in the tunnels and chambers of his home without knowing how he’d gotten there. Once he’d even awakened in the park in the predawn hours. Vincent knew that if the beastly side of himself chose to surface during his exile deep down in the earth, he would have no control whatsoever to keep the community or himself from being harmed. The prospect of living out there in the woods gave him hope that, even in case his darker side took possession of him, he would return to his human state before he reached human settlements. Unfortunately, now that he had killed and the beast within had sniffed blood again, the probability had increased that something like that might happen.

With a moan of frustration, Vincent rolled onto his stomach and pushed the pillow into a more comfortable shape beneath his head. He even considered getting up and reading a little, but for that he was too weary after all. When he did fall asleep at last, his dreams were full of birds and trees and the sound of the wind in the branches.

*

Groaning, Catherine switched off the alarm clock and dropped her head back onto the pillow. Suddenly she remembered Vincent sleeping nearby in the living room, and the thought instantly got her to her feet. Before retreating to the bathroom, she took a peek at him as he lay sprawled across the sofa bed, his left arm flung out beside him so that his hand almost touched the carpet. It astounded her that he hadn’t been roused by the alarm, but then it had been quite late when they had gone to sleep at last.

She took a quick shower and dressed unhurriedly. It was fortunate that she had to do some leg work this morning, so she wasn’t pressed into any schedule and could do her shopping for supplies along the way. She was in the process of fixing breakfast in her kitchen when the doorbell rang.

"Damn," she muttered and rushed into the living room, only to find that Vincent had already disappeared from sight. With a nervous look at the rumpled bed, Catherine approached the door. "Who’s there?" she asked cautiously.

"Rao," came the quiet reply.

Catherine recalled that Vincent had used the name during his telephone call the evening before.

"I am here to deliver something," Rao offered patiently, and Catherine hastened to open the door. Deep brown eyes met hers, and the old man’s kind face, framed by snow white hair, broke into a reassuring smile. He indicated the suitcase standing next to him.

"Do you mind if I deliver this personally?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Of course not," Catherine said. "Please come in."

By the time Catherine had closed and locked the door, Vincent was emerging from her bedroom, completely dressed. Only his unkempt hair betrayed that he had just been roused from sleep.

"Rao," Vincent exclaimed delightedly and extended his hands. The two men embraced, Rao all but disappearing in the circle of Vincent’s massive arms. "When you said you’d see to it that I get some of my things, I didn’t expect you to deliver them personally," Vincent said, still smiling.

"It’s my pleasure," Rao said, "and besides, I have a message from Father. Initially he was the one who wanted to bring you your clothes."

Vincent’s features sobered, and Rao blinked at him mischievously.

"You’ve been Below?" Vincent asked, surprised.

"You know that I require little sleep," the old man replied.

"What did Father say?" Vincent inquired carefully.

"At first when I told him about your plans, he would have nothing of it, but I managed to convince him that you made the right choice. In the end he conceded that it would be wrong for you to bury yourself in the darkness below the catacombs. He seemed even grateful for the opportunity you’ve been offered." Rao paused and looked at Vincent intently. "He sends you his blessings," he whispered, "and his love."

"His blessings," Vincent echoed dazedly, and Catherine was moved by the relief she could hear in his voice.

The two men fell silent and regarded each other fondly.

"Please have a seat," Catherine invited. "Would you care to join us for a cup of tea?"

Rao’s eyes turned on her and she marveled at their intensity. "Thank you," he said, inclining his head politely.

They shared a peaceful breakfast, and Catherine thought that she’d never felt more calm in her life than now, sitting here with Vincent and his friend, listening to their quiet conversation. There was something about the old man that touched her deeply and it filled her with gratitude that Vincent had a friend like him.

Chapter Four