CHAPTER 8

"Tell me everything," Jenny urged, taking a sip of wine, "and don’t you dare leave out the juicy details."

Catherine smiled and took another forkful of her salad. "You’re impossible, Jen."

"Look who’s talking," Jenny retorted, arching her brows.

"I know, I know," Catherine said, rolling her eyes. "This whole thing must look pretty strange to you, but I had my reasons for keeping it a secret."

Jenny reached across the table to touch her hand reassuringly. "You don’t have to explain it to me," she said, her voice suddenly sober. "All I want to know is if you’re happy, Cathy."

Catherine fought down the tears that threatened to well up. "I’ve never loved anyone as I love him. I didn’t even think it was possible to love that much."

Jenny grinned. "Sounds serious, all right." Growing earnest again, she added, "He’s the one we met last Halloween, isn’t he?"

"You remember that?" Catherine said with surprise.

"Who could forget eyes like that?" Jenny said dreamily.

Catherine didn’t reply and pointedly concentrated on her salad.

Suddenly a male voice asked, "Ms. Candler, may I talk to you for a minute?"

Catherine looked up and thought her heart would stop beating as she caught the dark brown eyes of Stewart Colwyn. She put down her fork and indicated that he take a seat. She could feel Jenny’s inquiring gaze on her and was suddenly glad that she wasn’t alone in this.

"Please go ahead, Mr. Colwyn," she said, putting down her fork and looking at him attentively.

If he was surprised that she remembered his name, he gave no indication. "That night," he began, "when I showed up in your basement and you told me you hadn’t seen anyone..." He paused, casting Jenny an uncertain sidelong gance.

"Yes?" Catherine urged, grateful for her court experience that had taught her not to let it show when she was nervous.

"I believe that someone was there," Stewart resumed, "and I believe that you were in danger then and that you still are."

"What makes you think so?" Catherine asked, unperturbed.

"I saw him again," he said enigmatically.

"Whom?" Catherine said with feigned disinterest.

Stewart Colwyn produced a folded piece of newspaper from the pocket of his coat and held it out for her to see. Catherine stole a glance at Jenny’s face and saw her friend’s eyes go wide with surprise as she caught sight of the drawing on the paper.

Catherine took the paper and pretended to read the article for the first time. "I remember that case," she said at last, "but why did you come to me with it?"

"Because I saw him a few nights ago," he said, and Catherine felt a chill creep through her blood. "He was very close to your building again, and I thought that I should warn you not to go down to the basement alone. Maybe you should even talk to your security guard." He gave a brief cynical laugh. "I don’t think he would listen to me."

"When did you...think you saw that man?" Catherine inquired carefully.

"He’s not a man, Ms. Chandler," Stewart warned. "I saw him kill three of my men, and I can assure you..."

"When did you see him, Mr. Colwyn?" Catherine cut him off insistently.

"Last week, during the night -- Tuesday into early Wednesday," he replied.

Jenny laughed derisively. "That was Halloween!" she exclaimed. "You certainly can’t come in here and think we’d believe such garbage, Mr.Colwyn. Now, would you please leave us in peace?"

"It’s all right, Jenny," Catherine said calmly, "I’m certain that Mr. Colwyn only meant well."

Looking up at Stewart who had already risen from his chair, she added, "Thank you for your concern. I’ll be careful." He nodded and walked away, tucking the piece of paper back into the pocket of his coat.

"What was that all about?" Jenny asked in a hushed voice, and before Catherine could answer, she said with dawning comprehension, "It isn’t a mask, right? It’s what he really looks like."

Unable to meet Jenny’s eyes, Catherine studied her clenched fists. Suddenly she wished desperately that this all were just a bad dream from which she could simply awaken and go on with her life. She realized sadly that for Vincent it had always been like that. He’d never known a normal life to which he could awaken. She mused silently that the months he’d spent in Connecticut had probably been the only hint at normalcy he’d ever experienced. And just because no one was there to reflect his differentness back to him. No one but her.

"Cathy?" Jenny’s voice finally drew her from her musings. She met her friend’s concerned gaze as steadily as she could.

"I’m glad you’re here, Jen," she said quietly, "and I’m glad that you know now."

Jenny blinked at her reassuringly. "You needn’t tell me to keep it a secret," she said conspiratorially. "I just hope I’m at least half as good at it as you are."

"And?" Catherine asked gingerly. "How do you feel about it?"

"Feel about what?" Jenny replied. "Do you expect me to be appalled that you love an unusual man?"

Catherine said nothing. She just waited apprehensively for Jenny to continue.

Jenny’s voice was calm and solemn when she finally said, "I looked into those eyes, my friend. How could I not understand?"

*

Sitting on the edge of the bed in Vincent’s chamber, Catherine waited anxiously for his reaction. She hadn’t been certain if she should tell him about Stewart Colwyn’s appearance at the restaurant, but finally she’d decided that he had to know.

"How did that man know you were there?" Vincent inquired with forced calmness.

"I’m not sure," she replied, "but I think it was pure coincidence. He probably would have contacted me anyway, and when he saw me at the restaurant, he seized the opportunity and spoke to me right there."

Catching Vincent’s doubtful look, Catherine continued, "I don’t believe he’s watching me. Don’t ask me how I know, but I’m certain he doesn’t suspect that I know you."

Vincent sighed. "At least now I know that I didn’t imagine those two figures in the alley."

Catherine noticed that the memory of that incident made him unusually tense. He rose from his chair and clenched his hands.

"What is it, Vincent?" she asked soothingly. "What happened back there in the alley?"

"Nothing happened," he responded tersely.

"Then why does it upset you so?" she asked.

"You don’t understand," Vincent said and started to pace the carpet in front of his bed. "I wanted to fight. That part of me which isn’t...human was disappointed when no one came, when it couldn’t release its power in a fight."

Catherine watched as he spun around and threw up his arms in a gesture of helplessness.

"What makes you think that your wish to fight was inhuman?" she asked. "Don’t you think that you just wanted to extinguish a possible threat to your world? I would want the same."

Vincent froze, his hands still balled into taut fists. "The human side of my personality," he said quietly, "doesn’t like to fight. It’s afraid to lose control over the anger and rage I experience when I have to face people who think they can judge me -- kill me -- just because I’m different. I know that this anger is understandable and, as you will say, human. But still...that other side of me..." His voice broke off and he stared down at the carpet unseeingly.

Catherine watched as his clawlike nails dug into his palms. She couldn’t stand the silence any longer and rose from the bed. Crossing the distance between them, she gently grasped his arm. "Please don’t torture yourself so," she begged. "I really don’t believe that there’s anything inhuman about you, Vincent." She stilled his imminent protest by touching her fingers to his lips. "Perhaps you think that I’m just not seeing what I don’t wish to see, but I honestly believe that this 'other side' of yours is not anything that’s outside human experience. The only difference probably lies in its intensity."

He stared at her in silence for a long while and just when Catherine hoped that he’d taken her point, he raised his hands to his face, touching his cat-like muzzle and his prolonged canine teeth. His voice was low when he spoke at last, but his words held all the intensity of a roar. "How human do you think these to be, Catherine?"

She reached up and pulled his hands down to her lips, alternately pressing small kisses on their backs. "We all carry a heritage from the animal realm in our genes," she replied simply. "Remember Tennyson’s words that you liked so much: 'And out of darkness came the hands that reached through nature, molding man.' Those hands, Vincent, knew what they did when they molded you." Encircling his waist, she rested her cheek on his chest and added, "Allow me to be presumptuous again in assuming that you were molded especially for me."

He didn’t say a word; he just grasped her shoulders and held her slightly away from him to study her face. His aquamarine eyes held a vast range of emotions as he gazed at her wordlessly. She endured his silent scrutiny patiently, wishing she were able to decipher more clearly what she sensed from him through their bond.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" he asked at last, his voice so low that it was barely audible. She drew a breath to reply, but he silenced her with a small shake of his head. He leaned toward her and the long strands of golden hair created a veil around their faces as he pressed a delicate kiss on her lips. "This is what makes me a man," he whispered close to her mouth, "that you believe in my humanity enough to love me so."

He kissed her again, more firmly this time, and she responded to his unspoken demand, parting her lips to welcome him. Catherine knew that Vincent savored the heat of desire just as much as she, despite the fact that they both knew they must not give in to passion completely, not here where they could never be certain of being undisturbed.

"I think," she heard him say when he pulled away to draw lungs full of much needed air, "that you are right."

"I am?" she replied, pleased that she had been able to assuage his self-doubts.

He nodded. "I agree with you that this chamber needs a door," he said with exaggerated solemnity.

In spite of herself, she laughed. "You are a hopeless case, Vincent."

"I agree with that, too," he murmured against her lips before he kissed her again.

*

Stewart Colwyn’s men had changed some of their routes through the park. Vincent had no explanation for it, so he decided to be even more watchful in the future. It disconcerted him that one of the patrols came so close to the park entrance. He would have to speak to the council and suggest that this particular entrance be sealed off for a while.

Vincent headed for an abandoned entrance that lay hidden among a patch of shrubbery. He removed the planks that covered the opening and eased himself through the hole, dropping into a crouch on the floor of the large concrete tube. It had once been part of a system of drainage tunnels that connected to his world, but now it served mainly as an emergency exit. Vincent paused as his acute hearing picked up voices from above, but it was only some late passers-by on their way home. On his hands and knees, Vincent made his way back to the home tunnels.

On entering his chamber, he was surprised to find Rao waiting for him. His friend sat in the huge armchair that appeared even bigger now that it held the old man’s slight frame.

"Rao," Vincent exclaimed. "How wonderful to see you."

Rao remained seated and looked up at Vincent with fond scrutiny. "You have grown, son," he remarked at last.

Discarding his cloak, Vincent smiled. "You always say that," he observed.

"And it’s always true," Rao insisted solemnly.

Shaking his head in mild disbelief, Vincent sat down opposite Rao and waited patiently for the old man to speak.

"How is your Catherine?" Rao asked.

A gentle warmth stole around Vincent’s heart. His Catherine. Was that how his friends and family saw her? He smiled a little sadly. "She’s fine, Rao. It’s just that we aren’t able to see each other as much as we’d like to."

"For young love, time is never long enough," Rao responded meaningfully.

Vincent felt his face break into a smile. "That’s true," he said at last. "I just wish that our worlds weren’t so different. I cannot be part of her world and she doesn’t feel at home in mine."

"Maybe it isn’t your world," Rao suggested softly, "but only the darkness. Most people still have that little child in their hearts who is afraid of the dark. Perhaps you can help her to free her inner child and make her confront her fears."

Vincent drew up his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "I don’t think I’m the right person to help Catherine confront her fears. I’m still struggling with my own demons. How can I be certain that I won’t confront her with my fears instead?"

"Do you need to be certain?" Rao asked back.

Vincent thought about that for a while. "I don’t want to make it worse than it is," he said finally.

"What do you think would be the worst?" Rao inquired calmly.

Vincent heaved a sigh. "That it might be the darkness within me that she is most afraid of."

"Then show her the light," Rao said, "and the darkness won’t matter."

"But how?" Vincent replied helplessly.

Rao gazed at him enigmatically. "You gave to Catherine what she most desired of you -- your heart," he said quietly. "Maybe you’ll find a way for her to discover something within the darkness that she can love as well."

"But how can she love anything about the darkness?" Vincent asked, throwing up his hands in a gesture of defeat.

Rao folded his sensitive hands in front of him. "Once there was a time when you didn’t believe that she could ever love anything about you, either. Remember?"

At a loss for a reply, Vincent leaned back in his chair.

Rao rose to his feet and patted Vincent’s shoulder as he passed by him on his way to the exit. "You’ll find a way," he reassured him. "Now I’m going to see your father. I promised him a game of chess tonight."

Soundlessly he walked out of the chamber, leaving Vincent alone with his thoughts.

*

Catherine had been looking forward the whole day to her evening with Vincent, and now that she was with him at last, she could hardly contain her joy.

"Julio gave me a message for Father," she said as they walked toward the home tunnels. Releasing Vincent’s hand, she fished in the pocket of her coat for the envelope.

Vincent stopped in his tracks and looked at her inquiringly. "Julio isn’t in need of a doctor, is he?" he asked with concern.

"I don’t think so," she reassured him. "Julio and his family seemed fine." Producing the letter from her pocket, she waved it at him and grabbed his hand again as they resumed their way down.

Catherine noted that Vincent was very quiet although he bristled with a strange kind of energy, as if he were dying to tell her something. Smiling to herself, she decided not to pressure him about it. He would talk to her in his own time. She tugged at his hand, pulling him to a halt. When he looked at her quizzically, she rose on tiptoes, tilting up her head in a wordless plea to be kissed. He complied willingly, and she reveled in the velvety feel of his softly stubbled upper lip as his mouth caressed her gently. They both moaned with desire as their kiss deepened, and Catherine thought that she’d gladly deal with any darkness as long as he was in it.

Suddenly Vincent cocked his head and listened intently. At first Catherine couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but then she noticed a change in the usual pattern of the pipe messages.

"It’s an emergency call," Vincent explained. "The sentries report intruders on one of the upper levels." With that he seized her hand and pulled her onward. Almost blindly, she followed behind him, grateful that he was matching his forceful long strides to her shorter ones.

He guided her to Father’s study where a group of people had gathered. When Father caught sight of Vincent, he waved him over to the table and briefly filled him in. "Two armed men entered the tunnels in sector B. They are now moving toward the Whispering Gallery."

Vincent bent over the map that lay spread on Father’s desk and splayed his fingers over the area in question. "They’ve come for me," he said, "and I’ll deal with them my way." He pointed his finger at a certain spot on the map. "That’s where I’ll lure them to. They’ve come to seek out the darkness, and darkness is what they’ll find."

Catherine’s breath caught in her throat as she fully comprehended Vincent’s plan.

No, she pleaded silently. Please no.

Vincent’s head snapped up and he met her wide-eyed stare with a look she knew all too well. She’d seen it at the cabin after Vincent had fought with the two men who had threatened her. It was the same smoldering wildness that she saw glistening there now.

"Catherine," he said hoarsely as he crossed the space between them and took her hands. "Please stay here with Father and the others. I need to know that you’re safe."

She didn’t find the words to reply right away, and he looked at her imploringly.

"You must not come after me," he demanded in an entreating voice. "Promise me that."

She hesitated, shaken that be knew her so well. More than anything she wanted to be near him now, so that she could try to prevent the worst.

"Promise me," he repeated, his eyes boring into hers.

"I promise," she said at last, but she had difficulty getting the words past the tightness in her throat.

His cloak swept out behind him as he pivoted and strode from the room.

Catherine looked after him, remotely aware of solicitous hands that seized her shoulders and nudged her gently into a chair.

"He’ll be with you again soon," Mary’s soothing voice reassured her. "Vincent always comes back."

*

The corridors became more narrow and twisted as Vincent reached the lower sections of the underground world. He took great care not to move too fast lest Stewart Colwyn and the other man lose track of him. He could hear their hushed conversation as they considered whether or not they should go back for reinforcement.

"Then we’ll lose him altogether," the man Stewart called Cliff said as he paused to catch his breath.

"But you saw what he did to Jim and his men," Vincent heard Stewart’s reply. "We’d better be very careful."

"Jim and his crew were unprepared," Cliff retorted, "but you and I know what we’re up against."

They set into motion again, and Vincent pushed himself from the wall to resume his downward trek. Squeezing through a rocky crevice, Vincent loosened a stone and dropped it noisily to the ground before he resumed his path. He could hear the footsteps of his hunters accelerate as they moved toward the sound. When he neared the rope bridge that spanned a deep ravine, he increased his speed in order to cross the bridge before the two men could catch up with him. Once on the bridge, he would become a helpless target for their guns.

Vincent had barely reached the other side and ducked into a low tunnel, when a gunshot reverberated through the cavern behind him. He could hear Stewart’s terse voice as he rebuked the other man because of his haste.

Once the two men came so close that Vincent could see the beam of a flashlight on the wall behind him. Increasing his speed, he headed toward the abyss. Soundlessly he descended the flat steps of the winding staircase that ran down along the wall into a fathomless depth.

Suddenly another shot rang out, and Vincent froze and spun around, looking directly into the blinding beam of a flashlight.

"Nice to meet you at last," Cliff’s taunting voice reached him. Vincent didn’t move, but his mind worked frantically as he thought of a way to reach the crawlspace which branched off toward the catacombs a few feet below him.

"A pretty impressive sight," Stewart stated flatly, but the tremor in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by Vincent.

"Yeah," the other man replied, "it’s just a shame that no one besides us will be able to enjoy it."

The menace in Cliff’s voice didn’t escape Vincent and he realized that he had to act quickly. Slowly drawing some air back into his lungs, he began to speak. "You shouldn’t use your weapons down here," he said with forced calmness.

At the unexpected sound of Vincent’s voice the two men were momentarily stunned into silence, but Cliff recovered quickly enough to reply, "Says who?"

Vincent ignored the question. "These walls aren’t as solid as they appear," he continued undauntedly. "You would..."

He didn’t get any further before another shot split the darkness, ricocheting off the stony wall next to Vincent. He realized that the time for talking was over and spun around to jump and dive for the only exit left to him. He barely made it into the opening when a low rumble shook the earth. Vincent hurried to move into the tunnels far enough to be out of immediate danger. The hairs on his body stood on end as he heard the desperate scream of a man falling to his death.

The ensuing silence was so terrible that Vincent felt the urge to shield his ears against the pounding of his own blood. Slowly, carefully he crept back into the crawlspace to assess the damage. With trepidation he peered through the opening and up along the wall toward the edge of the abyss. There was only very little light to see by, but enough for Vincent to realize that parts of the staircase had come down and that the climb upwards would be too dangerous an endeavor. With a sigh he realized that he would have to take the twenty-four hour detour over the catacombs. He was just about to withdraw from the opening and return into the crawlspace, when he picked up the sound of labored breathing from above. Straining his eyes to make out its source in the near darkness, Vincent discovered the shadowy figure of one of his pursuers. Clinging to the brittle wall, he stood on a treacherous ledge that could give way under his feet at any moment.

Vincent felt a growl building in his chest at the sight of his enemy whose very helplessness filled him with momentary satisfaction. His muscles tensed as he fought the impulse to leave the man to his fate. He deserves it, the beast demanded, but deep in his heart Vincent knew that no one deserved being abandoned like that. He simply couldn’t bring himself to turn his back on the man whose will of survival was slowly fading as his strength decreased.

With painstaking thoroughness Vincent studied the remnants of the staircase and gauged their solidity. Finally he shrugged off his cloak and moved through the opening to begin his ascent toward the man who was panting heavily by now. Vincent chose his hand- and footholds with great care and concentrated on how his sharp, strong nails dug into the friable rock. When he finally neared his goal, he could hear that the man’s breath froze in his throat.

"Don’t let go," Vincent ordered, assessing the ledge above their heads which was a solid looking remainder of the former staircase. "I’m going to climb past you and then I’ll reach for you to pull you up," he explained to the shaking figure, trying to make his voice sound reassuring.

Stones broke loose beneath Vincent’s hands as he fought to pull himself over the edge, and his right foot all but slipped, but finally he came to lie on his stomach. Creeping and pushing himself forward, he peered down into Stewart Colwyn’s terrified face. Slowly Vincent reached down with one hand to grasp Stewart’s wrist, and before the man could release the stone he was clinging to, Vincent caught his other arm in an iron grip. He pulled forcefully, every muscle in his body straining against the struggling weight of Stewart’s body. Finally Vincent managed to drag the limp figure over the edge and onto the relative safety of the ledge.

They rested in silence, both struggling to regain their strength, when finally Stewart raised his head and tried to pierce the darkness with his eyes. "Who are you?" he asked in a cracking voice, and Vincent sensed that the man’s terror had been replaced by awe and respect.

"I’ll tell you what I’m not," he replied carefully. "No matter what you may think, I’m not a threat to the city. That’s all you need to know."

Stewart accepted the answer wordlessly, obviously pondering its implications. Finally he struggled to lever himself to a sitting position, and Vincent’s arm snaked out to pull him back from the edge and closer to the wall.

"What are you going to do now?" Stewart Colwyn asked hoarsely.

"Guide you out," Vincent said simply. He rose and reached down to support Stewart’s shoulders, pulling him to his feet. Step by agonizing step the two men made their way up the damaged staircase, and Vincent didn’t release him until they reached the solid floor of the tunnels that would lead them out of the darkness and toward life.

*

Alone in Vincent’s chamber, Catherine wandered about the room, studying the fascinating collection of odds and ends as she waited for his return. Finally she sat down on the bed and braced her arms behind her back, looking up at the rocky ceiling. The various shades of gray and brown above her head seemed unable to reflect the warm hues of light that fell through the half circle of stained glass behind her. The coarse, shadowy surface of the bedrock reminded her painfully of the danger Vincent had put himself in. Pushing the thought aside lest she distract him even further with her worrying, she turned and pulled up her legs as she leaned back against a huge, patched pillow and regarded the arched window. Bathing her eyes in the amber and orange shine, she thought how much she loved this chamber. It made her feel safe and at home in a way only Vincent himself was able to surpass.

Catherine closed her eyes and allowed herself to be lulled into a drowsy state of semi-awareness. Suddenly the rhythm of the tapping on the pipes changed. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up straight as the frequency of the messages increased. Although Vincent had taught her a few single words in pipe code, she understood next to nothing of what was being relayed, save for Vincent’s name.

She leapt to her feet and left the chamber, heading for the nearby study.

"He’s on his way back home," came the quick reassurance as she cast a questioning look at the small group of people assembled there.

"Come, sit with us," Mary invited, and Catherine complied. As they sat together, waiting for Vincent’s return, Catherine marveled at the ability of the tunnel folk to be silent together without filling the quietude with superficial chatter.

When Vincent finally entered the room, all faces turned toward him, and the first thing Catherine noted was that his eyes were clear and calm. So he hasn’t killed, she thought immediately, relieved both by that and by the fact that he didn’t seem to be hurt. She noticed the absence of his cloak as she took in his dirt streaked face and dusty clothes, but other than that he appeared to be fine. Unaware that she’d risen to her feet, she moved toward him and took his hands.

Despite all the gazes that were directed at them, Vincent took his time returning her silent regard before he guided her back to the table where the others were seated, waiting patiently for him to speak. He pulled up chairs for Catherine and himself and gratefully accepted the glass of water Father handed him. Clearing his throat, he finally began to relate his story. No one interrupted him and only when he paused to take another sip of water, did Father interject, "What exit did you lead him to?"

"I took him to the manhole in the alley close to Catherine’s building, since that’s where his men saw me once anyway."

Father nodded thoughtfully and Catherine wondered a little about the fact that no one seemed to be concerned that Stewart Colwyn was free to go and spread the news about Vincent’s existence all over the city. She caught Father’s understanding gaze. "Even if he were to tell anyone about Vincent," he said reassuringly, "after all Colwyn has said so far, no one is going to believe him any more than they already do."

Winslow rose and rounded the table, giving Vincent’s shoulder a companionable squeeze. "You did the right thing," he said. "I’m not sure, though, if I’d been able to resist..." He let his voice trail away as he slowly walked from the chamber. One by one the small assembly left the study, each keeping to their own thoughts.

Catherine stood by as Father and Vincent exchanged an understanding look and a heartfelt embrace. It never failed to move her how freely and honestly the people of the tunnel community displayed their affection for one another. That was something she hardly saw in her world, especially among men.

Vincent took her hand and together they walked back to his chamber. Catherine went for a washcloth and when she returned from the small alcove that held his washing facilities, she saw him pull off his soiled sweater and reach for a fresh shirt.

Catherine wondered briefly if the sight of his bare upper body would ever cease to bring about those feelings of tenderness and desire that engulfed her and filled her with sweet elation. She crossed the room and embraced him unhurriedly, pressing a lingering kiss against the small indentation at the base of his throat. He gasped and his arms came up to hold her close. She reveled in the feel of him as she rubbed his back with slow, calming strokes. "I was so afraid of losing you," she whispered against his skin.

His quick intake of breath betrayed his own emotionally charged state. "Catherine," he whispered hoarsely, "oh, Catherine." They clung to one another for a long, bittersweet moment, and Catherine savored the subtle play of Vincent’s pectoral muscles under her cheek. She turned her head and kissed his chest again before she remembered the washcloth in her hand. Slowly, gently, she began to clean his face and neck. He endured her tender ministrations silently, but she could feel his intense regard all the time.

"And what do you think Stewart Colwyn is going to do now?" she asked while wiping away some of the dirt and sweat from his cheeks and forehead.

Vincent shrugged with a sigh. "I don’t know," he murmured and, pulling her back into his arms, he added, "All we have is the hope that he will listen to the human side of his heart."

She leaned back to study his face. "As did you," she stated, her chest filling with pride and joy that he finally seemed willing to acknowledge both sides of human nature in everyone, even in himself.

Vincent shook his head uncertainly. "Maybe I should have said more -- explained to him..."

"If your deed didn’t convince him, no words of yours ever could have," she said.

He looked at her thoughtfully, and the blue of his eyes intensified as he lowered his head. She half-expected him to kiss her, but he just rested his forehead against hers.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, "that this evening didn’t turn out the way I had planned."

"And what is it you had planned?" she asked slowly, arching her brows.

He straightened and released her. "I wanted to give you something," he said, quickly pulling on the shirt as he walked over to his writing table. He didn’t bother to fasten the laces, he just opened a drawer of his writing table and pulled out a small object that he hid in his large palm.

Catherine thought she had never seen anything more beautiful than Vincent as he walked toward her, his hair hopelessly tangled and his clothes rumpled and torn. His shoulders rose and fell softly as he drew a breath and began to speak. "Catherine, I wanted you to have something from my world, something that you can always carry with you to remind you that the darkness also contains light."

He opened his hand and she saw a beautiful, clear crystal on a delicate golden chain nestled in his palm. Picking up one end of the chain, he let the crystal dangle from his fingers. It caught the candlelight and reflected it outward as if hundreds of colorful sparks burst into existence all at once. Overwhelmed by the beauty before her, Catherine looked from the crystal to Vincent and then back again.

"This is...incredible," she breathed, tentatively reaching out for the pendant and tracing its contours with her index finger. It was only then that Vincent’s words really sank in. Tears filled her eyes as she repeated, "Darkness also contains light."

Vincent untangled the ends of the chain and placed it slowly around her neck. Taking a step in retreat, he regarded her reverently. "It comes from our deepest chambers," he said at last, watching as she closed her fingers around the crystal. "Can you feel the energy passing through it?"

A soft prickling sensation teased the skin of her palm and she opened her hand, staring at the crystal in amazement.

Vincent smiled. "It has been said," he told her in his deep, resonant voice, "that quartz crystals bring the light of eternity into our souls."

Catherine moved toward him and encircled him with her arms. "Thank you so much," she said throatily.

He held her tightly against his body and she was very much aware of the desire pulsing between them. Cradled against the hard planes of his chest and thighs, she wanted him so much that it made her head dizzy and her knees go weak. She knew that he was aware of it, too, yet he remained completely motionless. She noted with mild surprise that his behavior didn’t even puzzle her. She just held on to him, savoring the delicious tingle of arousal that was quickly spreading through them both. "There’s a reason why I chose this particular gift for you," he confessed at last.

"I know," she replied breathily. "You wanted to help me overcome my fear of the darkness but, Vincent, you’ve long since accomplished that."

"I have?" he asked, and she could hear a smile in his voice.

She nodded and lifted her head to search for his eyes. "You’ve given me the light of your spirit and soul, Vincent, and you’ve taught me to see that light in everything. Your love brought it into my body as well. You’ve shown me that passion isn’t just a fire that burns for mere seconds, but a steady glow that sustains my heart every moment of my life."

Her voice fell away as she lost herself in the deep blue of his attentive gaze.

"You did the same for me," he said thoughtfully. "First your friendship and then your love removed the layers of stones and rock around my soul and freed the man in me."

Without taking his eyes from hers, he reached down for the crystal and held it up between their faces. Only then did he release her gaze to look at its sparkling facets. "It seems as if it has a fire of its own," he observed with childlike wonderment.

"Isn’t it amazing," she whispered, cupping her hand around his, "that something which grew deep down in the dark womb of the earth can contain all the colors of the rainbow?" She felt him tremble under her touch, and the crystal slid from his hand as he wove his fingers through her hair and pulled her close for a kiss.