REVELATIONS

"Seriously, Cath, what's the matter with you? Poor Greg was totally devastated. What's wrong with spending the weekend with him? After all, you two have been dating for quite a while now. Certainly you must know that...."

"We haven't been dating, Jen," Catherine interrupted her friend. They were walking side by side along a path in Central Park, savoring the mild warmth of an October afternoon.

"Then what would you call it?" Jenny shot back, raising her brows inquiringly.

Catherine stopped and drew a deep breath. "I thought Greg and I were friends. I never meant for him to think..."

"But that's exactly what he thinks, Cath," Jenny continued when Catherine fell silent, "and you certainly can't blame him for that."

With a slow, pensive shrug Catherine resumed walking. "I know, Jen. It's all my fault. I'll talk to him. He'll understand."

"Understand what? I mean, what's wrong with him? Or should I ask what's wrong with you?"

Catherine stopped in her tracks again and half turned to face her friend of many years. "I don't know, Jen," she answered uncertainly. "I guess I'm just not in love with him."

Jenny smiled and put her arm around Catherine's shoulder companionably. "It's all right," she said reassuringly. "In that case there's nothing you can do but tell him the truth."

Catherine nodded. "I know. And I will," she said with a shaky smile.

The two friends continued walking in silence, and Catherine's thoughts wandered once again to Vincent. She hadn't seen him again in all those months after his visit to her balcony when he had warned her of the stranger who had followed her. Yet he had never been far from her thoughts. There had been times, however, when she doubted the reality of that evening, but somehow she knew that it had been one of the most real events in her life. Whenever she remembered Vincent there was a warm feeling that wrapped around her heart and made it tremble. The excitement she felt when she was thinking of him was a little reminiscent of a teenage infatuation, and she found it highly disconcerting to feel that way. Maybe Jenny was right and there was something wrong with her. Wasn't Vincent the perfect dream hero, an enchanted fairytale prince who only waited to be released from a dark spell?

Knock it off, Chandler, she silently scolded herself. You're way too old for stuff like that. And somewhere in her mind she could hear the echo of Tom Gunther's voice as he had told her once, "Those are the dreams of a teenager."

Jenny's voice broke her reverie. "Don't you think it's time we went back?" she asked, casting her a furtive glance.

Catherine looked up and met her friend's worried gaze. "I'm okay, Jen," she said with a smile, "or I will be -- once I've set things right."

Jenny nodded understandingly, and the friends were just turning to walk back the way they had come, when Catherine noticed a man strolling casually down the slope that led to the drainage pipe where she had seen Vincent for the first time. Something about the figure struck her as oddly familiar, and when he ducked into the opening, she realized with a sudden pang of recognition that he was the one who had followed her into the tunnel months ago. She hadn't seen him all too clearly back then, yet she knew with absolute certainty that it was him. There was something in the way he moved.... She tried not to stare at the stranger too intently, not wanting to explain to Jenny what she found so intriguing.

"He looks nice, doesn't he?" Jenny remarked dryly, following the retreating figure with her eyes.

Laughing, Catherine encircled her friend's shoulders. "We'd better hurry," she said. "It's getting late."

On their way back Catherine's mind raced in search of a possible way to get a message to Vincent. She had to warn him. It was the least she could do.

*

Looking down at the infant cradled in his palms brought a strange ache to Vincent's heart. His large hands dwarfed the baby's head, and he marveled at the fragility of his tiny charge. Little Paul was the newest member of the tunnel community, probably no more than six weeks old. A helper, Suzanna, had found him and brought him Below three weeks ago. Suzanna, too, had been a foundling who was brought to and raised in the tunnels. Vincent still remembered the tears in the young woman's eyes when she had handed the little bundle to Father. Never one to refuse a child, Father had taken the little boy in, to be nurtured and reared along with many other children who lived Below. All they knew about the infant was that he'd obviously been abandoned, a fact that pained Vincent deep in his soul. Whenever he could, he stole into the nursery to spend time with baby Paul, to hold him and rock him and give him as much warmth and love as possible.

The baby sighed in his sleep, and Vincent bent to press a cautious kiss to his forehead. The tiny brows creased comically at the contact, and Vincent's heart constricted with tenderness as he looked down at the precious child. How could anyone not have wanted him? He was not only normal, he was perfect. How could anyone be so heartless as to...

An urgent message on the pipes interrupted Vincent's thoughts, and he cocked his head to listen.

INTRUDER, the message said. PARK LEVEL, SECTION C.

Careful not to wake the baby, Vincent rose and carried him over to his crib. Exchanging an understanding look with Mary who sat there, watching over the little ones and knitting, he hurriedly left the nursery to see if his help was needed.

*

Unsure if it had been wise of her to venture into the tunnel this deeply, Catherine held on to her flashlight and tried to think of a way to make herself known. She needed to let Vincent know that she had to talk to him. How much farther could this tunnel reach? Suddenly her heart lurched in her chest as she made out footsteps ahead of her. Was that him? Had he heard her at last? When the steps drew nearer, she noticed with a sinking feeling that what she heard was the gait of more than one person. She was hardly able to finish the thought when two people rounded the corner before her, a young woman and a sturdy-looking black man. They seemed to be every bit as nervous as Catherine, and for a long moment they just stood there and stared at her. Then the young woman began to speak.

"Can we help you? Did you lose your way?"

Catherine was still thinking of an answer that would not betray anything about Vincent, when she picked up a rustle of heavy cloth and barely audible footsteps that approached them from the adjoining tunnel.

When Vincent stepped out of the darkness, straightening before her, one gloved hand braced against the wall, she realized that she had forgotten how tall he actually was. The torchlight gilded the long hair cascading over his shoulders, and as he looked down at her, she could see that his eyes weren't amber but blue.

"It's all right, Jamie," she heard him say. "I know her. She is no threat to our world." And at Jamie's still doubtful look he added, "She could have betrayed our secret a long time ago, but she never did."

"I guess you'll have to explain that to Father," the burly man cut in.

"I will, Winslow," Vincent replied patiently, "but now I'd like to talk to Catherine privately. Please will you...?"

"All right, all right," Winslow mumbled, gesturing for the young woman to follow him back into the tunnel.

Catherine found herself staring after them when she felt the soft touch of Vincent's hand on her arm.

"Why have you come?" he inquired softly. "It's dangerous to intrude into this system of tunnels. You could have easily gotten lost."

"I'm sorry," Catherine replied contritely. "I didn't imagine that this is a whole system of tunnels. I guess I just thought that somehow I'd find you right behind that steel door." Vincent kept looking at her inquisitively, and she hastened to go on. "Do you remember the man who followed me in here and then back through the park?" At his nod she continued, "You assumed he was after me, but I saw him again today. He entered the drainage tunnel just a few hours ago. It had nothing to do with me. I just happened to be there, taking a walk with a friend of mine, and it was pure coincidence that we were close enough to see him."

A lengthy silence followed, and Catherine seized the opportunity to study his features in the dim light of the torches ensconced in the concrete wall a little farther down the corridor. She let her eyes stray across his creased brows and down along his cheeks to his unusual mouth. His lips were pressed into a tight line and from the set of his jaw she could tell that he had come to a decision.

"Catherine," he began, his voice tight with concentration, "I must ask you to never come this way again."

"But I'm sure that I wasn't being followed," Catherine said defensively.

The look he gave her silenced her. "I'm afraid that is something you cannot know for certain. There is too much at stake to take any risks."

Catherine nodded slowly. "Of course. I'll see if I can find out anything about that man. It might prove difficult, though. I haven't even seen his face clearly yet. Is there any way to contact you if I do learn something about him?"

"Then I'll come to you," was all he said.

"But how will you know?" she asked curiously.

He lowered his gaze for a second before he met her eyes again. "This is something I can do, Catherine," he explained quietly. "I can feel...things...in people if I put my mind to it."

"How does that happen?" she persisted.

"I'm not sure. It is something I discovered a long time ago. I have learned to block it, for it is impossible to live among people if one is constantly aware of their feelings."

"But you can reopen that block," she said with awe.

"Yes, but only if it cannot be helped," he stated with a hooded expression.

She nodded again. "Then, what do I have to do when I need to talk to you?"

"Nothing in particular. I will sense it when you wish to tell me something." Catherine realized that she must have stared at him in wonderment, for he added huskily, "I'm sorry Catherine, I don't mean to upset you. It is just that...I'm afraid there is no other way."

"No, Vincent, it's all right," she hastened to assure him. "I trust you."

For a long, silent moment he just held her gaze with his, and she wished fervently that she were able to sense what went through his mind.

"I shall walk you back now," he said, indicating for her to follow him. Catherine wasn't sure just what she had expected, but the regret she felt that she had to leave already surprised her. They walked on wordlessly, and only before they arrived at the steel door did he turn to look at her again. Slowly he reached up and triggered the opening mechanism. "Thank you, Catherine," was all he said as he stepped aside to let her pass.

She gave him a hesitant smile before she walked through the door and focused her attention on the way ahead, but somehow she knew that he would be there, following her through the park, seeing her safely home.

*

"Vincent?" Father's voice came from the chamber entrance. "May I come in?"

Vincent had already retired for the night, yet he wasn't surprised by his parent's late visit. "Yes, Father, of course," he said, putting aside the book he'd been reading as he sat up in bed.

The older man leaned heavily on his walking stick as he approached his son. "Vincent, we need to talk. That woman Winslow told me about -- who is she? Why didn't you tell me about her? How can you take risks with a stranger? What have you..."

"Father," Vincent stopped the flood of questions. "She is a friend. She came to warn me that she'd seen a stranger entering the access tunnel in the park."

"What stranger? For heaven's sake, Vincent, why didn't you inform me about all that from the beginning?"

"There wasn't much I could have told you," Vincent answered evasively. How should he explain to his father that he'd not talked about the stranger because he felt, deep down in his soul, that the man was no threat?

The older man's exasperation increased by the minute. "Vincent, your irresponsibility must be brought before the council. You know very well that any possible threat has to be reported immediately. And that woman -- how could you trust her with our secret without asking the council first?"

Slumping his shoulders in defeat, Vincent realized that there was no other way but to tell Father about Catherine and how she'd refrained from giving him away to the stranger. He left out the fact, however, that he had seen Catherine in the drainage tunnel before that. He only related to Father what he considered absolutely necessary.

"You don't seriously intend to go Above and seek out that woman," Father ranted, gesticulating with his walking stick.

"I have to, Father," Vincent replied simply. "It is the only way of finding out what the stranger might possibly want from us. Please believe me that it is my first concern to keep the tunnels safe. I need you to trust me on this. Please...."

Silence fell between them, and with remorse Vincent noted how tired and frail Father suddenly looked, wrapped in his patched robe and braced upon his cane. "I do trust you, Vincent," the old man said at last. "I think the problem is that you don't seem to trust me anymore."

"Father," Vincent began, but his parent had already turned to leave. Looking after him as he disappeared into the narrow entryway, Vincent wondered why he'd been so reluctant to confide in his father. He had always been able to tell him everything. Why did he suddenly feel the need to keep things to himself? Unable to find an answer, he laid back in his bed and closed his eyes. Would Father ever be able to understand the importance of the fact that a beautiful woman had not been afraid of him? Between two strangers she'd chosen him over the other, the normal-looking one. She had trusted him, protected him, and kept his secret. How could Father ever understand any of that?

*

The little ones slept peacefully, and Vincent looked down at the tiny form under the colorful blanket in the crib before him. Baby Paul's shoulders heaved softly as he lay on his side, both hands curled into small fists. Vincent studied the infant's peaceful features, his heart heavy with emotions too raw for words. At last he tore his gaze from the sleeping child and, sweeping the room with one final glance, left the nursery in order to return to his chamber and retire for the night.

Once there, Vincent lit the candles on his desk and eased himself into the big chair next to his bed. Bracing both elbows on the armrests, he steepled his fingers before his face and closed his eyes. Two days had passed by uneventfully since Catherine had come to warn him, and now Vincent decided that it was time to see if she had found out anything about the stranger who had tried to intrude on their world again. Slowly, reluctantly, he focused his thoughts on Catherine's image in his memory. He knew he had to want this; he had to make a deliberate effort to open up to Catherine if he wanted to perceive what she was feeling. For so long now, he had worked so hard on effectively shutting off other people's emotions that, if the necessity arose and he had to read them, he found it difficult to circumvent the blocks he had erected.

His mind probed gently and promptly collided with a barrier solid enough to present an obstacle to his perception. He probed again, softly nudging the wall before his inner eye until it began to dissolve into a misty haze. He didn't know what to expect beyond that wall -- he never knew -- and that uncertainty was something he found more than unsettling. Sometimes it was a swirling vortex of emotions, sometimes a black void, at other times a blinding light; and always, always he had to struggle lest he be carried away. But this time, there were no words to describe the sweetness of it. He encountered a soft breeze that carried the fragrance of roses. It wafted through his mind and stole around his heart like a soothing caress, and he had to remind himself what he was doing -- and why. He felt no pull, no call, only soft contentment and silence. Experience told him that these were the signs that someone was peacefully asleep.

A sigh escaped him as he closed his inner eye and opened his senses to the outside again. Carefully, he guided his awareness along the familiar tapping on the pipes and the smells of leather and candle wax before he slowly resurfaced and closed the connection he had established. Pushing himself to his feet, he took a few deep breaths in order to calm the throbbing beat of his heart.

Vincent had not looked forward to activating his empathic powers, but what he had just experienced was a very pleasant surprise. He had felt no strangeness at all, no shying away from his internal touch, and he wondered if that was only because Catherine was asleep. Usually some subconscious part of the people he tried to read recoiled and resisted his attempt to get through to them, and it took a great portion of willpower on his part to press on and yet remain only at the parameters of their consciousness. Immerging himself too deeply always posed a danger of getting swept away, and that was something so painful that Vincent had decided to leave the matter alone altogether when he'd still been very young. Sometimes over the years, though, it had been vital to perceive somebody's emotional state and act accordingly. Vincent always strove to handle his unusual ability delicately and respectfully, but most of the time he'd simply shut it off in order to live something akin to a normal life.

Vincent was already in bed and on the verge of sleep when suddenly the scent of roses teased his nostrils and brought back the fleeting memory of how sweetly Catherine's soul had welcomed his. Once more he was aware of her relaxed contentment throbbing through his consciousness, and images of her face rose from the mists around his weary mind. He wondered fleetingly how it was possible that he felt her so intensely although he could not remember lowering his blocks. But he was too tired to pursue the question. Hugging his pillow close, he finally surrendered to sleep.

*

A cold November wind drove dry leaves down the sidewalk as Catherine headed for a small cafe at the corner. The first drops of rain hit her face just before she reached her destination. Gratefully she entered the cafe and made her way to a quiet booth at the window. There was just enough time for some coffee and a sandwich before lunch break was over and she had to return to the office.

After placing her order, she reclined against the backrest of the bench. Closing her eyes for a minute, she tried to relax when she heard a rustle of cloth as someone's steps came to a halt right in front of her. A gust of apprehension swept through her as her eyes flew open and she found herself staring into the handsome face of a dark-haired man. His brown eyes gazed at her solemnly before he indicated the seat opposite her, asking, "Do you mind?"

Something about him struck her as strangely familiar and, still searching her memory for any clue as to where she could have possibly seen him before, she gave him a slight nod. Only then, as he lowered himself onto the bench, did she become aware of a barely perceptible stiffness in his shoulder which made his movements a little clumsy. Catherine swallowed hard as she realized that this was the man who had followed her into the drainage pipe once and whom she had seen there again only a few weeks ago. It was the timbre of his voice she recognized above everything else, but she also remembered his way of favoring his left side. She was at a loss as to what to say, so she just looked at him, waiting. While he busied himself with shrugging out of his coat and placing it on the bench beside him, Catherine studied him furtively. He was a tall man, most likely in his mid-thirties, and she couldn't help but notice that he was easy to look at. His features appeared guarded but kind, and Catherine found herself thinking that it was mainly his eyes that conveyed a gentle nature.

His voice was low and quiet when he began to speak. "I'm sorry to bother you, Ms. Chandler, but I need to talk to you."

She'd already figured that much and simply gestured for him to continue. She wasn't even surprised that he knew her name. Strangely, the apprehension she'd felt only a few moments ago was gone.

"First of all, I never meant for you to feel threatened," he went on. "All I want is to talk to him."

Now she was alarmed, but instantly she suppressed her rising panic. "Talk to whom?" she asked innocently.

"To him, the one who lives in that tunnel beyond the steel door which he's always so quick to shut behind him when he disappears." He spoke so matter-of-factly that Catherine was having a hard time not responding to his words, but she decided that it was too early to say anything, so she just stared at him expectantly until he continued. "You know, I once even pulled the lever and opened that door, but then I thought that simply intruding upon someone's privacy is not the best way of getting acquainted."

Unclenching the fists she was hiding in her lap beneath the table, Catherine leaned back and frowned at him. "So, what gives you the idea," she asked finally, "that any of what you've just told me has got anything to do with me, Mr. ... ?"

"Daniel," he hastened to provide. "Just call me Daniel. And if memory serves me correctly, that's where you and I first met, right in front of the aforementioned door."

"I don't know of any door," she lied. "I told you that I was there investigating a crime that had taken place close by."

"Yes, that's what you told me," he said quietly. "Look, Ms. Chandler, I really don't mean to waste your time. I need to talk to him. I have my reasons, reasons that might prove important to him, as well. Why don't you just ask him if he'll meet me?"

"I'm sorry, Daniel, but I don't see that I can help you in any way," was all she said in response, but inwardly she was dying to learn more about this man and his motives. How was it possible that he knew so much about Vincent and the tunnels? He must have spent a great deal of time around the access pipe, just watching. In a way, she felt compassion for him as he sat before her, studying his folded hands.

The waitress appeared and placed a tray with Catherine's meal on the table. Then she turned to Daniel to take his order, but he declined politely. "I must go now," he said with a sad smile. Shrugging, the waitress disappeared.

"Tell me one thing, Daniel," Catherine demanded. "Since you know where he -- whoever you're talking about -- lives, why don't you just wait for him and talk to him when he shows up?" She'd meant for it to sound a little cynical, as if she didn't believe one word of what he'd told her, but Daniel just looked up to gaze at her intently for a moment before he answered.

"He ... is quite elusive and awfully swift, as you know very well. But I won't keep you any longer. Sorry for bothering you. I guess I wouldn't talk about any of it to a total stranger, either." Daniel reached for his coat and rose from his seat.

"I'm truly sorry," Catherine said again, but this time she meant every word of it. He smiled down at her and nodded a silent good bye. Then he turned to go, leaving her to stare after him in bewilderment.

*

Pacing her living room, Catherine tried to recall exactly what Vincent had said regarding his ability to sense it within her if she wanted to talk to him. As things were, her need to talk to him was overwhelming right now. She couldn't imagine how he would know, yet she believed him.

When he finally arrived, his slight tapping against the pane of her terrace door made her flinch and whisk around, although she'd anticipated his appearance. Inhaling deeply, she went over to the door and pushed it open.

There he stood, gazing at her wordlessly, and she wished she knew the right thing to say to ease the tension apparent in his posture. "You came," she stated simply and fought down the impulse to ask him inside. Somehow she knew that he would decline.

His voice was low and controlled as he began to speak. "I felt your unrest, Catherine. What happened?"

Wrapping her arms tightly around her body, she stared out into the night. "I spoke to him today. He said his name was Daniel. He wants to talk with you, Vincent." He came up behind her, and she turned to meet his concerned gaze. "Daniel said he needed to talk to the one who lives in the tunnel beyond the steel door," she added. "He even knows about the hidden lever and said that he triggered it once."

"But he didn't enter the tunnels," Vincent stated hoarsely. "No intruder was reported of late."

"Daniel said that invading someone's privacy was not a good way to get acquainted. Vincent, why would he want so badly to get acquainted with you? Do you think he's dangerous?"

Expelling a low moan, Vincent replied, "I don't know. I am at a loss as to what to think of all this." He paused, pondering all that had been said, and then inquired, "Did he mention anything about...my appearance?"

"No, he didn't. I'm certain, though, that he saw you, but it's entirely possible that he never saw you clearly enough to make out your face." Her mind went back to the first time she had seen him. "Do you often stand in front of the tunnel opening during the hours of dawn?" she asked.

His head snapped up, and he looked at her, bewildered. "What makes you think that I do?"

"I saw you," she confessed and told him how she'd climbed the tree in order to think and clear her mind. "I couldn't see your face from up there," she said, "only your posture and movements. Yet there was something familiar about you, something that spoke to a deep part of who I am."

For long, breathless moments he just stared at her, confusion clearly written across his face. Then he spun away from her and, bracing his arms against the balcony rail, threw back his head in anguish. "How could I be so irresponsible as to take such a risk?" he groaned.

She stepped up to him, placing a comforting hand on his tense arm. "You probably just love to watch the sunrise," she suggested softly. "You can hardly call that irresponsible. It's only human."

At her last word he recoiled from her touch. "Human!" he tossed at her. "You can hardly call me human, can you?"

Catherine's heart constricted in her chest with the pain she sensed behind his outburst. She was at a loss for words, so she just looked at him pleadingly. He calmed immediately. "So, the first time you saw my face was the day I was being followed by...Daniel. I've always wondered why you weren't scared; why you didn't tell him, or anybody else, about what you'd seen."

"I don't know," Catherine answered carefully. "As I said, there was something familiar about you. I felt as if I knew you." He shook his head in wonderment, but didn't comment. "What are you going to do?" she inquired when he remained silent.

"I'm not certain yet," he answered. "First of all I shall have to talk to the people of our community. Then all of us will decide together."

"Vincent," she said, touching his arm again, "if there's anything I can do to help -- please let me know?"

His head came up slowly and he locked gazes with her. "You have a generous heart, Catherine," he said huskily, "but I don't think there is anything you can do." The way he straightened told her that he was about to leave.

"Will you come again?" she asked desperately. He halted in his motion, and his eyes softened as they met hers. Catherine wished she knew what was going on inside him. There was something in his expression that triggered some inexplicable response deep within her. If she could only grasp it, begin to understand it somehow. If only he would stay a little longer.

His shoulders heaved with the effort to control the conflicting emotions she saw mirrored on his face. "Vincent," she pleaded, advancing a step toward him. His eyes focused on the hand she was about to extend as if to reach for him, and then darted back to her face.

"I must go," he breathed, but remained motionless for another precious moment before he finally averted his gaze and withdrew into the shadows to vanish from her sight.

Catherine shivered in the cold night air as she stood staring after him. "Be well, Vincent," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. She wondered what it was about him that spoke to her, called out to her so intensely. Realizing that there was no answer to that, not yet anyway, she returned to her apartment and closed the doors behind her.

*

On his way down the wall of the apartment building, Vincent froze and fought to anchor himself more securely as a wave of sadness and longing washed over him. This was quite an inconvenient moment for getting swept away by emotions, so he tried to empty his mind from everything but his concentration on the task at hand. Slowly, carefully he resumed his way to the ground, and only when his feet touched the solidity of the pavement, he dared to consider what had happened just now. Checking his blocks, he found them firmly in place. So what was it that had assailed him only a few minutes ago? Could what he had just felt have come from Catherine? The thought was unsettling, because never before had someone's presence been able to intrude upon him with his empathic barriers safely in place. What was happening? Was his control crumbling? He hardly dared ponder the consequences, should that be the case.

Ducking into a dark entryway, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Gently he reached out with his perception, cautiously feeling his way along the connection he had established between Catherine and himself. But all he received were muted impressions of her as she idly moved about her apartment, not indulging in any specific mood. So, if it had been she whom he'd sensed earlier, she had calmed by now. With a sigh he decided that it was better to hurry back home and postpone his attempt at solving this new and unexpected mystery.

*

"Ms. Chandler?" The male voice on the phone sounded familiar to Catherine, but she didn't recognize it immediately.

"Yes?" she replied, her fingers drumming the desk before her.

"It's Daniel. Ms. Chandler, I need to talk to you. I've something important to tell you. Please, it's urgent." His words left her mind in a whirl of conflicting emotions. She needed time to think, but he continued, "I'll be at the cafe all afternoon. Please come."

Staring at the now quiet receiver in her hand, Catherine tried to gauge Daniel's tone of voice. He'd sounded a little breathless, as if he had been in a hurry, but above all else he'd seemed very determined. Uncertain what to make of all this, Catherine wished she could talk to Vincent before she went to see Daniel. With a sigh she replaced the receiver on its cradle and tried to concentrate on the stack of folders Joe Maxwell had just dumped in her lap.

*

The late afternoon sun filtered in through the window of the small cafe and gilded the smooth surface of the locket Catherine held reverently in her hand. It was about the size of an eye, but oddly shaped, like one half of a heart.

"Open it," Daniel demanded softly. She complied and found that the two halves of the locket formed, indeed, a complete heart. Daniel reached across the table and turned the heart in her hands, so that her gaze fell upon two very small portraits, those of a woman and a man, now side by side, but facing each other when the locket was closed. At first sight the faces appeared normal to her, but as she took a closer look she could see that the features of the man were quite unusual, to say the least. Catherine had to strain her eyes to make out the tiny details of the painstakingly painted picture. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked at a broad, furred nose above a muzzle with a cleft upper lip. The man in the picture clearly had feline features, like Vincent, only this man's hair was shorter and of a darker shade than Vincent's. Twisting and turning the small piece of jewelry between her fingers, she wondered if Vincent knew of the existence of other ones of his kind.

"Where did this come from?" she inquired, unable to tear her eyes away from the face in the picture. She found the thought strangely exciting that these two people had obviously been a couple, lovers who had chosen this way to bestow a solid proof of their existence.

Her mind returned to Vincent who had become so dear to her, although she knew so little about him. Who were the people he lived with? Was there a woman in his life? Catherine scanned the portrait of the woman before her. There was nothing extraordinary about her. She was not particularly beautiful, but her eyes reflected warmth and kindness.

Only now did she notice that Daniel hadn't answered her question yet. She lifted her gaze and looked at him expectantly.

"My mother gave it to me," he said simply. "The people in there were her parents."

Catherine felt her eyes widen in surprise, and she had a hard time fighting back the enthusiastic curiosity that rose within her. When she thought that her breathing was fairly normal again, she demanded quietly, "Tell me more."

Daniel gave her a rueful smile. "Ms. Chandler, maybe you can imagine that it wasn't easy for me to tell you something as personal as this. Don't you think now it's your turn to tell me a little about your secret?"

Catherine studied the man before her intently. His was an honest face, and she wanted very much to believe him, but all she said was, "I don't have any secret, Daniel. And if I had, it wouldn't be mine to give away."

He pursed his lips, nodding slowly. "Will you at least talk to him about it?" he finally asked.

"Why haven't you talked to...him...yourself? You seem to know so much about your mysterious stranger. Why have you come to me with all this?" Before she could draw a much needed breath for yet another question, Daniel stilled her words by raising both hands in a gesture of defense.

"I can't go there anymore without endangering him. They have found me and might be following me, so I can't come here again to meet you, either. Please, I must talk to him before I leave New York."

"Who are they?" Catherine asked, by now thoroughly captivated by Daniel's story.

Daniel's voice was barely audible as he replied, "People like the ones who killed my grandfather. People who have only two ways of dealing with the extraordinary: exploit it or extinguish it."

There was no bitterness in his words, only hopelessness and defeat. Catherine reached out to cover his hands with her free one. "I'll talk to him," she said. "I promise."

With a tired smile he straightened and indicated the locket Catherine was still holding. "Please keep this for me," he told her. "Show it to him, and tell him...that I understand his reservations. He's got every reason to be cautious. If this weren't an emergency.... Well, I'd better be going. You'll hear from me, Ms. Chandler."

"Catherine," she offered. "Please call me Catherine."

He rose to his feet and looked down at her solemnly. "Thank you, Catherine," he said, extending his hand to take hers with a gentle squeeze. "And tell him that he's one lucky guy." Smiling warmly, Daniel released her hand and left.

*

Puzzled, Vincent sat on his bed, clutching his chest as if the gesture could help him grasp the disturbing signals he'd been receiving over the last few hours. At first, there had been apprehension, then excitement, even delight, with an underlying thrill. Then, suddenly, Catherine had felt sad, and at last there had been an intense wave of genuine affection. Now all he could sense was Catherine's urgent need to talk to him. Soon, he thought, fighting to calm his ragged breathing. It will be dark soon.

*

Hesitantly, Vincent closed his hand around the small piece of jewelry Catherine held out to him. Catherine's tale had left him speechless and with a tight feeling in his chest. Carefully he slid one long, tipped nail beneath the tiny clasp that kept the locket shut. It made a soft, clicking sound as it snapped open, and he brought it up to his eyes to study the portraits intently.

"Vincent?" Catherine's voice slowly penetrated his mind. "Vincent, are you all right?"

Inhaling deeply, he closed the locket and handed it back to her. "Maybe it is only a painting, a flight of fantasy," he said.

"Is that what you think?" she asked, and he was surprised to hear disappointment tingeing her voice.

"No, I don't," he replied honestly, "but -- just for an instant -- I wished that it were so."

"Why?" she inquired softly. "Does the thought that there might be somebody else like you frighten you?"

Vincent pondered her question carefully before he responded. "I believe that it does." When she continued to stare at him quizzically, he went on, "When I was young, the question of where I came from and if there were others of my kind was constantly on my mind. It became an obsession, and there were times when it drove me to distraction. I spun fantastic tales around the question of why I had been abandoned, because the thought that someone would simply cast you away is hard to bear. But at some point during my adolescence I decided that it was better to erase the issue from my mind. I hardly thought about it anymore, and I think the old wounds slowly became scars. But now...." He felt suddenly hesitant to continue and sought Catherine's eyes. She had been listening attentively, and when he fell silent, she stepped up to him and set her hand on his arm. The contact, even though it was small enough, made him tremble with the intensity of her emotions. How could it be that she felt so much for him? In the beginning he had told himself that she was just being curious. Then she had convinced him that she was a friend who could be trusted implicitly. But now that the connection between them was beginning to lead a life of its own, he had to admit to himself that there was something more to the way she felt about him. Catherine was beautiful, and part of him responded to her femininity on a very physical level. But that didn't really trouble him. He had come to terms with that part of his personality a long time ago. For him, there could be no way of pursuing thoughts like that, tempting as they may be. If there was one thing he was really good at, it was erecting blocks and barriers. And right now, with the warmth of her palm slowly seeping through the fabric of his sleeve and with her eyes on him, his ability to control his responses was very valuable. He wondered fleetingly whether or not she was doing this on purpose, but decided that she probably wasn't.

"I think I understand," she said at last. "The existence of this picture might tear open those wounds again."

He nodded, avoiding her gaze as he half turned to look out into the night. What unsettled him the most about what he had learned tonight was the fact that the man in the picture had taken a wife and fathered a child. How could he have done something as irresponsible and selfish as that? What if the girl had looked like him? But she hadn't, at least Vincent had every reason to assume that she hadn't, and neither did his grandson, Daniel.

"I think I should talk to Daniel," he said. "But, Catherine, I cannot do that anywhere near the tunnels."

"Then I'll invite him to my apartment," she offered without hesitation, adding hastily, "I'll leave the two of you alone, so you can talk privately."

He smiled at her effort to appear unobtrusive. "That won't be necessary. In fact, I think that your presence would be very helpful to both of us."

She lowered her gaze as if to hide her relief from him. "I have to wait until I hear from him. He said he'd contact me."

"Because of the men who are after him?"

"I suppose so. Vincent, do you have any idea why somebody should pursue him?"

Vincent nodded his head in concern. "Maybe because people fear what they don't understand," he said, fighting down the bitterness that threatened to grip his heart. "And people who are frightened are unpredictable and therefore dangerous."

Catherine frowned in dismay, and Vincent wondered if she was aware of the risk she was taking by involving herself in this. Moaning inwardly, he was thankful for the connection between them; that way he could be there for her if...the necessity arose.

*

"How can you even consider such a thing," Father yelled, his fist coming down forcefully on the table before him. "Have you gone completely mad? First that woman and now this!"

"That woman, Father, is someone to whom we all should be grateful. She knew about our world and kept it a secret. She saw me and did not betray me. I trust her with my life."

"Your life, Vincent, is worth nothing if you continue putting yourself at risk in this way. You are going to destroy yourself and everything we have created down here."

"That is not true! I am merely trying to find out the truth. I'm not going to jeopardize the tunnels."

"But you are still going to jeopardize yourself and the woman. I hope that satisfying your curiosity is worth all that."

Father's words cut deeply. Vincent knew that they contained more truth than he dared to admit. "I will see to it that she is safe," was all he said as he turned to leave.

But Father's hand snaked around his wrist with surprising strength. "Please," he implored, "think of all that we have down here. This world is a safe haven for those who need it. You need it, son. There is no other place where you can live."

Vincent's heart lurched in his chest. Father had always known how to manipulate him, but this was too much. Briefly gathering his thoughts, he began to speak. "You seem to believe that as long as you have control over my life, I will be safe. But, Father, that is not true. At least it is not the kind of safety I can accept."

Father's grip around his wrist slackened, and his hand fell away. "Is that how you perceive it?" he asked, his voice quivering slightly with the impact of the realization.

Softening his tone of voice, Vincent replied, "Please understand how important this is for me. I have to make my own choices in this. Please don't make me feel guilty for that. I won't endanger the tunnels. That much I promise you." A look of understanding and acceptance passed between them, and Vincent bent forward to place a small kiss on Father's brow.

"I still think you're making a mistake, Vincent," the older man insisted.

Inclining his head, Vincent smiled at him. "Good night, Father," he said before he left the room.

*

Leaving the tunnels, if only for a certain span of time, had not been an easy decision for Vincent. Somehow he needed to prove to Father that he could survive very well without the protection of the Tunnels. What was more important, though, was the fact that he had to remain close to Catherine; first, because he needed to be there when Daniel was ready to speak to him, and, second, because he had sworn to keep Catherine safe.

The nights were easy. He would follow his familiar routes through the alleys or the park, simply enjoying his freedom. During the daylight hours he would hide in abandoned buildings and basements that were inaccessible to others simply because they lacked his climbing skills. Living that way was neither comfortable nor really safe, and it did not solve his other problems, like getting thirsty, hungry, or dirty. Or being cold. But he clung to his decision stubbornly. He would not return Below unless this was over.

After two nights of roaming the streets, Vincent had come across an old, empty brownstone with a basement access to the tunnels. There he brought some of his clothes and personal things and kept them in a tiny storage room that could be locked with a small, rusty key. Vincent had never used a key before but, strangely, this one gave him some measure of safety and a sense of home. There was even a broken water pipe that he had been able to fix, so he had water to drink and to wash with, if quite unsatisfactorily. That left the matter of food. Scavenging food was the most difficult problem because there were so many hungry people out there on the streets. So, most of the time, Vincent simply ate nothing at all. He had fasted before, and over longer periods of time than this, so he knew what to do and how to preserve his strength as best he could. Fasting, at least during the first few days, had a welcome side effect on him. It cleared his mind and his emotions in a way that would allow him to see things from a more detached point of view, a fact that gave him new insights and helped him find solutions even for the most unusual problems.

The bond grew much clearer, too, and so he came to know Catherine more intimately than he would ever dare admit to her. More than anything, it was the familiar, steady flow of her emotions that helped to keep him warm and sane through all these lonely days and nights.

Vincent had been living on the streets for about five days when he received Catherine's urgent wish to talk to him. He hurried to return to his hiding place in the basement where he washed himself and changed his clothes before he headed for Catherine's apartment.

*

Catherine's heart skipped a beat when a soft tapping came from her terrace. She had so looked forward to seeing Vincent again. She'd even wondered whether or not Vincent was able to distinguish her wish to see him from her need to see him. But then, she didn't know nearly enough about that enigmatic ability of his. She crossed the room and pushed open the door, casting the tall, shadowy figure outside her brightest smile.

Only when he pushed back his hood to return her smile, did she notice that something was different about him. He looked tired, his complexion gaunt and drawn, and she detected dark circles beneath his eyes. Impulsively she reached for his hand and was even a little surprised that he didn't withdraw it. "Please come inside," she urged, noting how cold his fingers were. "It's safer, and it's warm."

He followed her invitation without contradiction and allowed himself to be led over to the fire. She lifted her hands to take his cloak, and he handed it to her wordlessly. "Daniel will be here shortly," she said. "He called me at the office this morning and said that he would come tonight."

Vincent's response was a brief inclination of his head, and Catherine began to wonder if there was something wrong with him. He really didn't look well. His forehead was coated with perspiration, and she noticed small shivers running through his body. "Vincent," she said softly. "Please sit down. I'll go and get you something to drink. What would you like to have?"

"Tea, please," he managed hoarsely as he lowered himself into the small love seat in front of the fireplace.

When Catherine returned with his tea, she found him almost asleep. His head was resting on the backrest of the chair as he sat, eyes closed and hands folded above his stomach. Her eyes were drawn to the strong curve of his neck, and she swallowed with the sudden urge to touch him there. He raised his head, and she looked away, setting the tray on the table beside him.

"Vincent, please tell me what's wrong with you," she demanded. "Are you feeling ill? If you are, you shouldn't have been climbing buildings on a cold December night. You should be in bed."

He straightened in his chair and smiled at her wearily. "I'm all right," he said, reaching for the cup she had poured for him. Catherine watched as he heaped two spoonfuls of sugar into his tea and stirred it absentmindedly. Only now did she notice that he had lost quite a bit of weight.

"Would you like a sandwich?" she offered carefully, not wanting to embarrass him.

He remained quiet for so long that she thought he would decline, but then she heard him say, "Yes, please."

She went to prepare a couple of sandwiches and then joined him to make him feel more comfortable. They ate in companionable silence. Watching furtively as he reached for his fourth sandwich, Catherine decided that he couldn't be too ill after all. She smiled inwardly with relief. But something must have kept him from sleeping and eating properly. She wished he would confide in her and tell her how she could help. Noticing that his eyes darted repeatedly to her door, she said, "Daniel should have arrived by now. I wonder what's keeping him."

After Vincent had finished the last sandwich, Catherine stood up to clear the table. She rinsed and put away the cups and plates, and as she returned from the kitchen, she found Vincent fast asleep. His position was a little awkward and he was probably going to have a cramped neck when he awoke, but she didn't have the heart to disturb him now. He really looked as if he needed some sleep, so she just went to fetch a blanket and spread it over him. Her heart went out to this unique man who lay before her, huddled in a chair that was actually too small for his large frame. She would have loved to touch him, stroke his unruly mass of hair, but she dared not. There was something about him that made her shy, so she contented herself with sitting opposite him and studying his relaxed features. Her eyes traced his brows and the deep furrows in his forehead and then wandered down his furred nose and along his high cheekbones and strong jaw line. At last her gaze came to rest on his mouth. His lips were slightly parted as he breathed softly in his sleep, and she wondered idly if his stubbled, cleft muzzle was as soft and mobile as a human upper lip. Finally she decided that her musings would embarrass him terribly, should he become aware of them, and so she rose and left him alone. There was time enough to wake him once Daniel arrived.

*

Vincent woke to the unaccustomed sensation of daylight filtering through his closed lids. Slowly he opened his eyes and lifted his head to look around him. It took him a while to take in his surroundings and recognize Catherine's living room. He made an effort to stand up, but his muscles were stiff from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position, so he stretched carefully and massaged his cramped neck before he rose to his feet. The louvered doors between Catherine's bedroom and living room stood ajar, and he approached them quietly to peer inside. From the soft waves of contentment he received he could tell that Catherine was still asleep. As he stood there indecisively, uncertain as to what he should do, she turned in her bed and sat up slowly.

"Ah, Vincent," she said as she caught sight of him. "Good morning."

There was a strange intimacy in the way she looked at him, and he had to struggle to find his voice. "He did not come, did he?" he finally heard himself say.

"No, I waited up for him, but he didn't even call. I must admit that he has me worried. That's not like Daniel. He would have come, or at least called, if he'd been able to."

Vincent nodded pensively. "Do you have any idea where we could start looking for him?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't," she replied, reaching for her robe as she stood up. He hastened to avert his gaze, but not before he had gotten a glimpse of the flimsy nightgown she wore. It astounded him that someone would wear a garment like that for sleeping. She might just as well have worn nothing at all. But there were other, more pressing things that had to be considered right now. It was full daylight outside and he would have to wait until nightfall before he would be able to leave.

As if she had read his mind, Catherine remarked, "It looks like you're stuck with me today. I hope you don't mind too much."

That made him smile. No, he didn't mind at all, and with wonderment he realized that only one week ago the thought alone would have paralyzed him. Five days, and nights, out there on the streets could change a person's view of things quite profoundly. If there was anything he had in abundance, it was time.

"Would you like me to notify your community?" she asked, disappearing into her bathroom.

He shook his head although she couldn't see it. "I don't live there right now," he said simply, instantly regretting it. Sure enough, she reappeared from the bathroom, astonishment clearly written across her face. He could literally see the pieces of the puzzle fall into place in her mind.

"I'm sorry, Vincent," she said. "What happened?"

Reluctantly he began to speak, telling her about his argument with Father and about his decision to stay away from the tunnels until the danger was over.

"So, where do you live now?" she asked, and when he remained silent, unable to give away the unpleasant details, she added, "Don't tell me you stayed Above all this time?"

"I had to," he confessed quietly. "But that is not the problem. What really worries me is that we don't know where to find Daniel."

"We should wait a little longer before we panic," Catherine suggested. "Let's take showers and breakfast, and then let's see what we can come up with."

She said all of that in such a matter-of-fact way that it sounded almost possible to him. He was not used to showers, since they were not customary Below, but the fact that he hadn't bathed in days quickly dispelled any misgivings he might have had.

Waiting, Vincent listened to the sounds of splashing water that came from the bathroom. The gentle hum of Catherine's emotions left no doubt as to what she was feeling for him. He'd never trusted any woman's interest in him. Over the years, there had been a few women who had tried to flirt with him, but the way they had looked at him, gauged him from head to toe, had repulsed him, and he had been offended by their curiosity and the thrill they got out of his exotic appearance. But then again, who was he to judge them? What did he expect after all? That they looked at him with love? He shook his head, smiling wryly. He had to admit, however, that with Catherine it was different. But although he'd have trusted her with his life, he didn't trust the attraction and desire he sensed in her.

Her voice, as she emerged from the bathroom, broke into his thoughts. "Your turn," she called out to him, vigorously toweling her hair. He hesitated, cautiously checking his inner connection to her once again. One of the remarkable things about Catherine was that she was aware of her feelings, accepted them, and yet didn't act upon them, always keeping her distance and giving him space, a fact he genuinely admired and appreciated. "Fresh towels are in the closet over there," she pointed out before disappearing into her kitchen area.

With a quick intake of breath, Vincent decided that the best thing he could do was act as casual as possible. He fetched a stack of thick towels from the top shelf and retreated into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him.

*

The ringing of the phone startled Catherine into action. She dropped her breakfast preparations and hurried to pick up the receiver. "Daniel!" she exclaimed as she recognized the voice on the other end of the line. "Where have you been? We've been worried to...What?"

She listened intently as Daniel relayed his story when the sound of Vincent's voice, unexpectedly close to her ear, made her flinch.

"Ask him where we can find him," he advised. Without looking up Catherine lifted her hand in a gesture that told him to be quiet.

When Daniel had finished, she hung up and slowly turned to face Vincent. The sight that greeted her momentarily drove all thought from her mind, and she knew with absolute certainty that the picture he presented would be ingrained in her memory forever. He'd slipped on his jeans and donned his quilted vest in obvious haste, but hadn't found the time to lace its front properly, which afforded her a glimpse of his hirsute, heaving chest. She could also see the soft throbbing of the pulse on the side of his neck as he looked at her expectantly. His long hair was dripping wet and cascaded down over his shoulders in unruly tendrils. Somehow she managed to clamp down on her irrational impulse to hug him to her, and remembered the message she had been about to relay.

"Daniel couldn't come because he was being watched and followed," she began. "He said as things were he wouldn't come to my apartment because that would jeopardize my safety. He said he'd prefer speaking to you elsewhere."

"He wants to keep you safe," Vincent cut in. "And he is right in that. But if those people know as much as Daniel says, enough to supervise his activities, you are already in great danger, Catherine."

"Vincent, I don't know enough to explain any of this, but I have a feeling that Daniel's life is at stake. We must do something, and quickly."

She watched Vincent's face as he fought for his decision. "There is a way," he said at last, "but it will only work out if you come with us."

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

"We could hide in the Tunnels," he said, "but in an uninhabited section where no one, not even the people of the community, will find us."

Wondering what might have happened that Vincent no longer trusted the people he had lived with all his life, Catherine nodded slowly. "I'm going to call the office and tell them I'm taking my remaining vacation now. Joe will be furious that it's on such short notice, but for once he'll simply have to accept it." After a brief pause of consideration she added, "I'll tell him I'll be going away to spend the Christmas holidays with friends out of town."

Her answer seemed to satisfy Vincent. "Did Daniel say where we can find him?" he inquired.

"He's going to call again later, so we'd better stay close to the phone," she answered, trying hard not to let her gaze travel lower than his jaw line. The way he suddenly clutched the open ends of his vest more securely against his chest told her that he had finally become self-conscious about his state of undress. "Okay, then," she said lightly, picking up the receiver. "I'm going to make my call, and you'd better go dry your hair before you catch a cold." She could hear him padding softly across the carpet as he headed for the bathroom and closed the door behind him again.

*

Catherine spent the remainder of the morning shopping for the supplies Vincent had listed for her. Since they didn't know how long they would have to hide, the bags she toted were quite heavy, although she had arranged for some of the larger things, like some basic camping equipment, to be delivered to her apartment. As she was riding the elevator to her apartment, she mentally chastised herself for feeling a little like a school girl before summer camp. Yet she couldn't help being thrilled at the prospect of spending so much time with Vincent.

She let herself into her apartment, gratefully relinquishing her heavy burden to Vincent. Watching as he carefully spread the contents of the bags on the carpet to check them, she smiled at the respect with which he handled each piece. It was obvious that he wasn't used to dealing with such a wealth of new things. The first aid kit particularly drew his interest. His gestures were almost reverent as he opened it to inspect each single item it contained.

They both spun around as the telephone rang and the answering machine took the call. "Catherine, it's Daniel."

Hurrying to pick up the receiver, she gasped, "Yes?"

She could tell that Daniel was fighting to keep his voice calm and even. "I'm talking from a phone booth," he said. "I think I was able to shake them off for now."

Vincent's hair brushed against Catherine's face as he bent close to listen in on their conversation. He gestured for her to hand the receiver to him. "Daniel," he said, "this is Vincent. I'm going to give you a phone number. If you think you can trust me, please call there for further information within half an hour."

"I do trust Catherine," came the smiling voice. "And she trusts you, so go ahead."

Stunned with surprise, Catherine could only listen as Vincent took matters into his own hands. When he finally hung up, she asked, "What was that all about?"

"If the people who are trying to get to Daniel are as powerful as he seems to believe, your phone might be tapped," he said simply.

"But then you're putting the one whose number you just gave to Daniel in danger," she remarked.

"That's a risk we must take to gain time, and Joshua is quite capable of handling it."

"Who's Joshua?" Catherine inquired.

"A friend," came the reply. "I'm going to talk to him. He will know what to do."

"You mean you're going to call him?" she asked incredulously. "But then..."

"If someone should listen in on our conversation, there will be no way for them to understand what I am going to say."

He picked up the phone again. After briefly filling Joshua in, Vincent gave him a location. It was not an address, but some sort of code which Joshua would have to explain to Daniel later. Vincent didn't tell Joshua a time either, but rather a sequence of events that were apparently part of the routine of the tunnel community.

"Now all we have to do is wait for dark," Vincent said after hanging up the receiver.

"Aren't you worried about what might happen to your friend?" Catherine asked.

"They won't find him," Vincent replied. "He uses a portable telephone and has no permanent place Above."

There was a knock on the door, and Vincent quickly disappeared into the bedroom before Catherine went to answer it. It was the delivery of supplies she had ordered, and as soon as the men had left, she set to work unwrapping the bags and packages.

"Let me help," Vincent's voice came from behind her and, starting yet again, she marveled at his ability to come upon her so soundlessly. "We'd better hurry and get everything ready before nightfall," he added, grabbing one of the knapsacks and starting to pack.

*

It was completely dark when Catherine paid the cabby and fished in her coat pocket for the small map Vincent had drawn for her. It was amazingly accurate, and she had no trouble following his directions and finding her way to the meeting place he had pointed out to her. As she stood there in the dark and empty doorway, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill of winter, she felt a sudden twinge of doubt. Why was she here? What was it Vincent needed her for? Why had he wanted her to come and stay with them? Dozens of what-if's whirled through her head, but a small voice in her heart whispered, 'He just wants to keep you safe. He can't do that if he's hiding below ground with Daniel.'

To busy her mind in a more useful way, she mentally went over the list of supplies and the equipment Vincent had asked her to purchase and store in the basement of her apartment building. She'd had to ride down several times to get the packs and bedrolls Below. She had used the freight elevator, grateful that she didn't encounter anybody on her way down. Vincent had told her to take the packs down a small iron ladder behind a door she hadn't even known existed, and she wondered yet again how it was that he had such a detailed knowledge of the building she lived in. Could it be that there was an entrance to his world directly below her building? If so, why hadn't he simply come for her there? Probably because it would have been too long a walk to where he planned on taking them, she assumed.

"Catherine," came a low, husky voice from behind her, and she noted with surprise that, this time, it hadn't startled her at all. Somehow it was as if she'd felt his approach before he'd called out to her. She turned just in time to see him emerge from the shadows at the far end of the hallway. Taking a few swift steps toward him, she hugged him impulsively, but let her arms drop to her sides as she felt him tense beneath her touch. She bit her tongue in order not to apologize, for that would have made the whole situation even more embarrassing. Suddenly his hand came up to give her shoulder a comforting squeeze. It was such a small gesture, but one that reassured her deeply, and, listening to the rapid pounding of her own heart, she wished fervently that she were able to see his eyes.

There was a noise in the alley outside. Instantly Vincent's arm snaked around her waist to pull her back from the entrance. Someone came running toward them, stopping...and running again.

"Let me see if it's him," Catherine urged breathlessly, but Vincent never got to respond to that. Gunfire reverberated through the night, followed by a series of bellowed commands.

"You stay here," Vincent demanded, and in an instant he was gone. There was yet another shot, followed by a low growl and a series of thumps and muted sounds she couldn't identify, and then -- only silence.

Suddenly she could hear footsteps again, and whoever it was that approached the doorway, he was dragging one foot behind him, limping badly. "In here," she heard Vincent's whispered voice, and the next moment Daniel appeared in the opening before her.

"It's good to see you at last," Catherine said with genuine relief. "Are you hurt? What happened out there?" She didn't get an answer to that, aside from the brief glance the two men exchanged before Vincent asked them to follow him.

Daniel insisted on walking, despite his obvious injury, so Vincent just supported him by putting an arm around his waist as he led them across a dirty backyard and down a broken staircase into a murky basement.

Catherine had long lost track of time as they walked on in silence, her flashlight the only illumination on their way. Suddenly Vincent stopped and told Daniel to sit down. Sweeping the small room with her lamp, Catherine took in the even ground and moist walls, before she directed the beam at Daniel's leg. "How bad is it?" she asked, concerned.

Daniel just shook his head, but Vincent squatted down in front of him and quickly checked the wound. "The bullet went through your calf, but fortunately missed the bone," he told Daniel, and Catherine wondered how he could be so sure in the dim light. "Let's hurry so he can lay down," Vincent said as he got to his feet and bent to lift Daniel up.

They resumed their silent trek that led them more deeply into the earth minute by minute. Catherine marveled at Vincent's strength, watching him shift Daniel effortlessly across his shoulders as they climbed down ladders and roughly hewn staircases. Luckily, down here it wasn't so cold anymore, and Catherine even opened her jacket and pulled off her gloves. Finally Vincent stopped again.

"We will rest in there," he said, pointing to an opening farther down the tunnel. They ducked through the entrance and Catherine noted with surprise that Vincent had already brought one of the packs to this cave. Obviously he had planned ahead for this much needed rest. The small chamber was dry, for which Catherine was grateful as she lowered herself to the floor and leaned her back against the wall. Vincent took the flashlight from her hand and placed it on the ground in front of Daniel's leg. Then he rummaged through the pack and produced the first aid kit. Catherine scrambled to her feet, intending to help, but he declined gently. "Please rest," he advised softly. "You are going to need your strength." She cast him a worried glance as he set to work, tearing open the blood-soaked leg of Daniel's trousers and wiping his own hands with sterile tissues. "Please," he urged once more, and finally she obeyed and closed her eyes.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Daniel remarked drily as Vincent began to clean the wound.

"Don't worry," Vincent reassured him. "Luckily, your calf was only grazed by the bullet. I don't think that it even needs to be sutured." After that he worked on in silence, and Catherine could only hear the rustling of bags that were torn open and the clicking of scissors.

"Thanks a lot," Daniel said finally. "And, Vincent -- glad to meet you at last."

Catherine opened her eyes in time to see the men exchange a solid handshake. Then Vincent concentrated on storing away the first aid kit and clearing the area.

"You know, it was quite a piece of work to find you," Daniel went on.

"You should rest now," Vincent said evasively. "There will be enough time for talking later. Are you in grave pain?"

"I've survived worse," Daniel replied with a snort, and Vincent looked up to study his face intently. Daniel reclined his head against the stony wall and closed his eyes before he went on. "They got me once and broke my shoulder as I tried to escape."

"Who's 'they'?" Vincent asked softly.

Reopening his eyes, Daniel straightened. "There is someone out there who's interested in my genes," he explained matter-of-factly. "And I have every reason to believe that he'd give years of his life for yours."

Alarmed, Catherine's eyes darted to Vincent. "The people who shot you," she began with a glance at Daniel, "what happened?"

Daniel shrugged. "I thought I'd gotten rid of them, but when I was on my way to our meeting point, they showed up again. I guess they just followed me to see where I was going."

"And now they know," Catherine said dejectedly. "Vincent, do you think they'll be able to find us down here?"

Again she saw an enigmatic look pass between the two men, and Daniel was just about to speak when Vincent cut in, "They're dead." Catherine swallowed and tried to remember exactly what she had heard back there on the street, but the urgency in Vincent's voice diverted her concentration. "We should go now. It is a long way."

*

When they finally arrived at what seemed to be their destination, none of them felt much like talking. Catherine was even too tired to scan her surroundings. She just noted gratefully that the bedrolls had already been brought there, and suddenly all she could think of was sleep. She never knew how she got into her sleeping bag. All she remembered before drifting to sleep were the muted voices of the men as they talked quietly with one another.

*

"I know it's none of my business, but I see that you haven't told her much about yourself yet, have you?" Daniel remarked while Vincent was busy removing the bandages and examining the wound.

"You're right in both regards," Vincent replied with a quick glance at Catherine's sleeping form before he returned to the task at hand. He wasn't usually this curt, but right now the last thing he wanted to deal with was a stranger's curiosity.

Surveying his surroundings, Daniel went on, "This is an amazing place. Do you live here?"

Resting back on his heels, Vincent searched Daniel's eyes and was reassured to find nothing but kind interest there. He was still uncertain as to whether or not he should drop his block and check Daniel's emotions toward him, but decided to save that for later. He did not think, however, that this was the time to tell Daniel too much about himself. Not yet. Daniel had come to talk to him, after all. Searching the pocket of his quilted vest, Vincent pulled out the small locket and gave it to Daniel. "I believe you would like to have this back." The reverence with which Daniel reached out to take the piece of jewelry was touching, and Vincent wondered why Daniel had parted with it in the first place.

As if the other had read his mind, he replied, "You know, I had to bait you somehow."

Despite Daniel's choice of words Vincent found himself smiling. "And quite effectively, I would say." After a small pause of consideration, Vincent broke the silence that had fallen between them. "Did you...know your grandfather personally?"

Daniel shook his head. "No, he disappeared long before I was born. My mother was only six or seven at that time."

"Did she remember him well enough to tell you about him?" Vincent pursued gently.

"Yes, all I know about the man Ahab was, comes from what she told me, but much of it was told to her by her own mother. Despite the fact that my mother hardly remembered him, she bore a deep love for him in her heart. It shone from her eyes every time she talked about him."

"Your grandmother must have loved him very much then," Vincent observed cautiously.

"Yes, my grandparents were connected by a deep love which joined them in ways that can hardly be explained. This locket," he raised his hand to hold it up before Vincent's face, "is a symbol of that love, of their unity. My grandmother painted those portraits so they could each wear the image of the other around their necks. You see," he pointed out, unhinging the two halves, "these can be worn separately."

"When your grandfather...disappeared, didn't he take his part of the locket with him?" Vincent inquired.

"Of course, he did. You must know that he had to flee from the village people who had decided that someone such as he was not to be allowed to live in their vicinity. They sought for a reason to blame him, and when one day the body of a stranger turned up, they were quick to say that it must have been he who'd killed the man. They planned to hang him without giving him the chance to speak in his own defense. So he left to gain time. My grandmother wanted to go with him, but he told her that what he'd have to face was no life for her, that he could move much faster if he were alone. Since she was the daughter of a respected citizen, my grandfather was certain that no harm would come to her, should she stay. My grandmother's father, though, was one of those who'd shouted the loudest that Ahab must die. He was the only one who knew that my mother, his granddaughter, was Ahab's child. He hoped that he would gain his daughter back once Ahab was out of the way."

"How did...Ahab...die?" Vincent asked finally.

"He was shot in his back. No one could say for sure who had fired that shot, although a couple of men boasted about it. Yet Ahab was able to return to the village and talk to Esther one last time. He returned his half of the locket to her and asked her to never take them apart again." Daniel's hands shook as he fastened the two portraits together again and snapped the locket shut, closing his fist over it. "He also left a letter for his daughter, to be read on her twenty-first birthday. And then he disappeared into the woods, and no one ever saw him again."

Vincent fought to regain his voice, despite the lump in his throat. "What happened to that letter?"

"My mother kept it locked in her journal. She read it to me when I was a child, but I can hardly remember the words. I guess I was too young. I'm not sure if it still exists. I've never found her journal either."

"And how..." Vincent began, suddenly hesitant to ask.

"How did I know you existed?" Daniel finished for him. "Newspapers. A couple of years ago my mother happened upon an article about mysterious killings that had occurred in New York. She recognized the MO and made the connection immediately. So, when she died a little more than two years ago, I came here to investigate further. Believe it or not, suddenly you'd become all the family I had."

Even with his blocks safely in place, Vincent could tell that Daniel spoke the truth. He could sense Daniel's exhaustion and, although he was dying to hear more, he rose to his feet and went to prepare a bed for him.

Long after Daniel had fallen asleep, Vincent lay still on his back, staring into the dark and thinking. All too clearly, he remembered the incident that had led to the article Daniel had mentioned. A gang of criminals had broken into the store of a helper and discovered the secret entrance in the man's basement. They had held the whole family hostage to force the man into helping them escape through the tunnels. One of the children had managed to send an emergency signal along the pipes, and Vincent had come to their rescue. He'd been much younger then, and unprepared for the overpowering rage that seized him as he was confronted with the malice and violence of those men. 'She recognized the MO,' Daniel had said. So Ahab had known those rages, too, and had killed...like he had...with his claws.

Suddenly Vincent perceived a wave of fear from Catherine and sat up hurriedly to light the lantern he had placed next to him. Calmed by the light, she leaned up on one elbow to look over at him. Her eyes were luminous and soft with sleep, and she blinked as she met his gaze. He watched as she sat up and hugged her knees to her body.

"What is it?" he asked, feeling that she wanted to say something but didn't quite dare.

She shrugged. "It's strange but I keep having those...bouts of anxiety when I awake from sleep during the night. I worry about things that I can handle easily during the day, but at night they won't let me fall asleep again."

He nodded sympathetically. "What is it that is troubling you now?"

She dropped her gaze. "Everything. The whole situation. It scares me that I don't know what we're dealing with."

"That is perfectly normal," he said, extricating himself from his sleeping bag. "I think I will prepare some tea for us. You'll see that will calm you."

"Let me help," she demanded eagerly, scrambling to her feet.

Smiling, he threw her a box of matches. "Then, please light the gas burner over there."

Catching the box with a swift reflex, she laughed, and he could sense that her apprehension and nervousness were already gone.

"How's Daniel?" she asked as they finally sat facing one another, each cradling a steaming mug between their palms.

"I gave him something for the pain. I think he will be fine, once he has rested."

"Did he tell you anything yet?" she wanted to know. Vincent didn't answer right away and she glanced at him uncertainly. "I'm sorry," she went on. "I didn't mean to pry. I was just wondering why he wanted so badly to meet you."

"The weight he carries on his shoulders, Catherine, is a burden even more heavy because it is such a lonely one. There is something within him that he doesn't understand, an unknown factor that deprives him of the control everyone wishes to have over their lives. And then there are those who hunt him; whether they perceive him as a threat or something that might prove profitable to them, I don't know. And I think neither does Daniel. When he learned that there was someone else, someone like his grandfather, he hoped that there might be a way to find out more about himself."

"But how did he find out about you?"

Vincent had dreaded this question; he had known from the beginning that it would come and that answering it was inevitable. He might just as well get it over with right away. Choosing his words carefully, he began to speak. "Look at me," he demanded softly. "What do you see?" The bond that tied him to her emotions flickered briefly as she searched for words.

"I see a man with an unusual face," she answered finally, her voice as calm and steady as her gaze. The simple response warmed him, but he knew that he must not dwell on it. He had to make her see.

"When you look at these," he pressed on, bringing up his hands before her face, "what do you feel?"

The bond tensed at his question, but Catherine regained her control very quickly. He watched helplessly as she put down her mug and took his hands in hers, regarding them bemusedly. "I don't know what you're aiming at with your questions, Vincent," she said, "but if you want to know if I'm afraid of you, the answer is no."

"I know that," he said quietly. "I knew that from the beginning."

"So, what's your point?" she asked, looking at him expectantly.

Gently withdrawing his hands, he quickly gathered his thoughts. "Catherine, I killed the men who shot Daniel. I've killed before, several times. Years ago, they wrote about unexplained killings in a newspaper which Daniel's mother happened to read. That's how he began to suspect that I existed." Unable to bear the intensity of her gaze on him, he pushed himself to his feet and took a few steps away from her. He knew that she would be all too ready to defend him, so he hurried to add, "Yes, I had my reasons for killing, but all people who kill think that they do and that their reasons justify their actions. That doesn't make any of it right. What sets me apart from others is that I don't need any weapons." He raised his hands again. "I was born with these."

Catherine hadn't said a word, nor had she taken her eyes off him while he spoke. Now she rose and crossed the distance he had put between them. "Vincent," she began entreatingly, "I can see that you are hurting and I don't know why you're asking me these questions. I don't know how to answer them, either. All I know is that I've never felt anything but safe with you."

On impulse, Vincent seized her hands, experiencing an instant flicker of doubt that he might be taking too great a liberty. But the sincerity and urgency of her voice had touched him, and, for a moment, he allowed his gaze to linger on her face before he began to speak. "Whatever I did to deserve your trust, please know that it honors me. But, Catherine, you mustn't deceive yourself. What you...seem to see in me, I am not."

"What do you think it is that I see in you?" she returned.

Heaving a sigh, Vincent released her hands. This was going to be far more difficult than he had thought. "Catherine, I cannot only sense things in you like your need to talk with me, but also...more complex feelings of yours."

"Like what?" she inquired softly.

"Like the beginning of desire," he replied, hastily averting his eyes.

"Oh," she said with a slight frown, and he felt the bond constrict with her embarrassment. He hadn't meant for that to happen, nor had he wanted to make her uncomfortable, and he perceived her hurt as clearly as if it were his own. But then, in a way it was. He had to do something, and quickly. She must understand that he hadn't meant to pry or intrude upon her privacy. Heaving a sigh, he began to explain. "Normally I'm able to control my awareness of other people's feelings. That is something I had to learn in order to establish a clearly defined sense of self, because in the beginning it wasn't always easy to distinguish my own feelings from those of others. For many years now I've been successfully blocking what comes to me from others, but from the moment I first made a deliberate effort to become aware of you...within myself, I've been constantly feeling the flow of your emotions as they surge against my mind. I cannot shut that gate anymore, Catherine. I am sorry. I don't know what happened or why everything is so different with you. At first, when I needed to know that you were safe, I didn't question it. I simply used it. But when I was with you in your apartment, it was no longer necessary to monitor you and so I tried to end it. I found that all I could do was concentrate very hard on something else intensely enough, so that it overlapped my being aware of your emotions. But when we talk, like now, and my attention is focused on you, I cannot help but feel what you feel."

Her eyes never left his face while he spoke, and as he fell silent, she mulled his words over carefully. He waited patiently for her to say something and was relieved when she finally asked, "How can you be so sure that you always interpret correctly what you sense within me?"

Smiling, he shook his head and took a mental note that he must never underestimate Catherine. "You're right," he conceded. "I cannot be entirely sure. All I have to draw from is the experience of many years. I'm sorry if I misinterpreted your feelings."

"No," she said hastily, and he wondered fleetingly if he noticed a faint blush playing across her features. "Maybe I do feel that way for you. I was probably just taken aback when you simply put a label on it."

"Catherine," he said in an attempt to assuage her discomfort, but she averted her face, avoiding his eyes. The bond throbbed with her disappointment, and something else Vincent never would have thought to find within a beautiful young woman like her: loneliness.

"Catherine," he tried again, "I'm sorry. I never meant to do that. It's just that I have a hard time believing that...you...would have feelings like that...for me. I think I just tried to protect both of us from being hurt."

She didn't move but continued to stare into the darkness. Yet he perceived an easing of the tension that had pulled the bond into a painfully taut string. When she finally looked at him again, he saw genuine concern in her eyes, and a soft intensity that made his heart ache with longing to draw her into his arms. Suddenly he wondered what he could have possibly hoped to achieve by simply addressing so delicate a matter head on. Had he meant to discourage her in order to assure his own emotional distance that allowed him to feel safe? But now, standing here with his gaze locked to hers, he doubted that he would ever want that kind of safety again. His heart pounded in his throat as she took a step towards him, and before he knew it, she was in his arms, pressing her cheek against his chest and hugging him impulsively. He returned her fervent embrace with a tenderness he hadn't been aware he possessed. Seemingly of its own volition, his hand came up to stroke her hair and cradle her head, and as she nestled closer still, he threw back his head, unable to suppress a low moan. She pulled back a little to look up at him. "Vincent," she whispered, but he silenced her with a touch of his finger across her trembling lips. So soft, he thought with awe, so incredibly tender and smooth. A stirring deep within him caused him to draw back and relinquish his hold on her, but he still couldn't tear his eyes away. What was this? What was happening to him? He knew that he should resist it, but he couldn't. He was lost in feelings he had never thought possible before. Not for him. The bond pulsed quietly between them, telling him something he would have refused to acknowledge if not for her steady reassurance that it was all true. With exquisite clarity he realized that he was -- deeply and irrevocably -- in love. Despair washed over him as he looked into her wide and trusting eyes. How could he make Catherine understand that he must never reach for the promise he could see in their gray-green depths?

*

Neither of them noticed the wistful smile that played across Daniel's face before he quickly closed his eyes again and nestled deeper into his sheets.

*

Catherine and Vincent worked in companionable silence, storing away their supplies in a small alcove at the far end of the chamber. They hadn't slept much after their talk, and now Catherine kept wondering what it was that affected her so deeply about Vincent. It had been one thing to think of him, even dream of him, and savor the feelings his image evoked. But being close to him was an entirely different matter. His mere presence did something to her that she was helpless to explain. It was like his very soul were brushing against hers, making her feel complete in a way she'd never experienced before. And when he'd held her in his arms, she'd been overwhelmed by the realization that he had been right. What she felt for him was desire, although that didn't even begin to describe it. Her yearning for him was so deep, so all-encompassing, that it transcended everything she'd ever desired in her life. It was as if being with him was the one thing she had been born for.

She tried to shake off those feelings, knowing that he'd pick up on them immediately, if he hadn't already.

Bending to lift a box of cans, she recalled his gaze as he'd looked at her after their first embrace. Why had there been such a sad expression on his face? She was certain that Vincent felt more for her than just kindness and concern, but she had no idea as to why he was fighting against his feelings so desperately.

She stooped again to retrieve another box, and as she straightened she caught Vincent's eyes on her. Placing the box on the stony ledge before her, she turned to face him. He would have averted his gaze, if not for the swift movement of her hand as she touched it to his cheek in order to prevent him from turning away. He did nothing to evade her touch, although she suspected that the flicker in his eyes meant that he'd briefly considered it. "Vincent," she whispered, her voice all but deserting her. "What is it?"

He didn't respond, but his hand came up to gently encircle her wrist. As he turned his face slightly, she got the impression that he was going to nuzzle into her palm. The mere thought sent a shiver down her spine. Instantly he released her, staring at her warily. She let her hand fall away, by now thoroughly confused by the mixed signals she was receiving from him. His features softened immediately and, reaching down for her hand, he pulled it gently against his chest. She flattened her palm against the coarse fabric of his sweater, marveling that she could feel his heartbeat so clearly through all those layers of cloth. Rising on tiptoes, she placed a small kiss on the underside of his chin and felt him swallow hard as her lips made contact with his skin. His heartbeat accelerated even further, and it briefly occurred to her that he might never have been touched this way before. The thought stirred a bittersweet sadness in her soul, but it was quickly surpassed by the reality of his head coming down and his warm breath grazing her cheek. Was she just imagining the silky feel of his lips against her temple? His low groan drove all thought away, and she was helpless to refrain from pressing into him more tightly. He tensed imperceptibly but didn't actually resist her. Encouraged, she burrowed her face against his throat, savoring the warmth of his skin and the steady throbbing of his pulse there. By now his breathing had become labored and irregular. She drew back a little, needing to see his eyes, and this small distance was obviously all it took for him to regain his self-control. Once more he watched her intently, and she had no doubt that he was perfectly aware of her disappointment. Desire. Yes, that was exactly what pulsed through her with undeniable force, and no matter if he liked it or not, it was there in his eyes as well. He lowered his gaze in an attempt to conceal it, and she knew that what he needed right now was space -- and time. Suddenly feeling a little shy with him, she cast him a tremulous smile. He did not move, just continued to gaze at her pensively. Finally his silence disconcerted her and she set to work again. Without a word he joined her, their shared task easing the tension between them somewhat.

"Hey, can anybody here show me the way to the bathroom?" Catherine started at the unexpected sound of Daniel's voice, but Vincent was quick to put a steadying hand on her shoulder before he crossed the chamber and reached down to help Daniel to his feet.

"Lean on me," he offered, encircling Daniel's waist with his arm. Catherine watched them disappear into a side-tunnel and decided that, regardless of the fact that she had no idea what time it was, it was definitely time for breakfast. She grabbed a box of teabags and the large canteen she'd seen Vincent refill earlier and went over to the camping stove, setting to work.

*

As they ate, the candles Vincent had set beside them on the floor flickered and sputtered in a sudden draft that swept through the cavern. Catherine would have liked to know where a wind like that might come from down here, but she was loathe to break the companionable silence that had settled between the three of them.

As she looked up, she saw Daniel's calm gaze wandering curiously from her to Vincent and back again.

"Did anything happen that I should know?" he inquired with a playful note to his voice.

"What makes you think so?" Catherine asked, giving him a puzzled smile.

"Nothing," Daniel said with a shake of his head and reached down to pick up his mug.

"How is your leg today?" Vincent asked abruptly, clearly unwilling to have Catherine and himself discussed any further.

"I'm not sure," Daniel replied. "It doesn't hurt quite as much as yesterday, but there's a throbbing there which I didn't notice before."

Catherine noted with concern that Vincent snapped up his head at Daniel's words, but he didn't respond to them directly. "We will have to wait and see," was all he said.

"Who were the men who shot you?" Catherine asked Daniel.

"They're Dr. Frankenstein's watchdogs," Daniel replied wryly, and at Catherine's raised eyebrow he added, "I don't know his name, only that he's some misguided fellow who thinks he can reign over mankind by manipulating its genetic pool and creating beings with superhuman strength and abilities. Unfortunately, he's got money and power which makes him seriously dangerous."

"You mean he's after you because of your grandfather and what you may have inherited of his traits?" Catherine asked, a knot forming in her stomach as it dawned on her what might happen to Vincent once that madman learned of his existence. If he hadn't already.

Daniel nodded affirmatively. "I hope with all my heart that I didn't draw his attention to the Tunnels and you," he said, looking at Vincent regretfully.

They fell silent, and Vincent pondered what he had just heard. His voice was deceptively even when he finally asked, "How did that man learn about your existence?"

"I'm not sure," Daniel replied. "My grandfather's existence was known to many people in the area where he lived. I guess he's even some kind of legend there. It would be easy to do some research, once one had heard about the legend."

"And how did you learn about this...'Dr. Frankenstein' ?" Catherine inquired.

"He made me an offer. I don't know how he knew where to find me, but a few weeks ago I received a letter. There was no return address on the envelope, and the note said that my cooperation was requested with a very important scientific project which had to remain confidential. I was offered money and asked to appear in the cafe where I'd met Ms. Chandler. There was a signature beneath the message, but I couldn't decipher it. Well, needless to say I didn't go there; at the same time I stopped coming to the park and meeting Catherine altogether. I guess you know the rest of the story." Daniel fell silent, drawing lines and circles on the sandy floor as he fought for a decision. "There's something else," he said without raising his eyes. "I wasn't sure if I should bring it up, but...well..." Pausing, he wiped off his hand against his jeans and raised his head to meet Vincent's concerned gaze. "The note also said that they already had the one I was looking for."

Catherine felt a brief jolt of panic rising within her, and one glance at Vincent told her that he felt the same.

"You can imagine my relief when I talked to you on the phone," Daniel said to Vincent. "So they probably told that lie in order to lure me. What still terrifies me is the fact that they know so much about me and my reason for being here in New York."

"The evening you missed our appointment in my apartment," Catherine began.

"That was when I noticed I was being followed. They caught me in a subway station, but I was finally able to escape by the skin of my teeth." Daniel shifted his weight in order to assume a more comfortable position. A groan of pain tore from his throat as he moved his leg. Vincent and Catherine were instantly at his side.

"What is it?" Catherine asked anxiously.

"My leg," Daniel moaned, flinching as Vincent started to remove the bandages.

By the look Vincent cast her, Catherine could tell that the wound didn't look good. Her eyes widened helplessly as she glanced a silent question at him.

"I'm going to change these," Vincent explained to Daniel in a level voice, indicating the soiled bandages, "and then I will give you something for the pain."

Catherine noticed that beads of perspiration were forming on Daniel's forehead. She touched her palm gently to his skin. "You're burning up," she observed, unable to conceal her concern. She went to fetch a mug of water and the painkillers Vincent had shown her.

"I guess I am," Daniel whispered hoarsely. "Maybe if I lay down a little..."

Catherine supported Daniel's back as he swallowed the pills and drank some water. Vincent finished redressing the wound and lifted Daniel effortlessly onto his arms. "You'd better keep your weight off your leg for a while," he advised. But Daniel's head had already sagged against Vincent's shoulder, and as he placed him carefully down on his sleeping bag, Daniel was fast asleep.

"I'm afraid we will have to get him to Father," Vincent said, stepping up to Catherine without taking his eyes off Daniel's sleeping form. "There isn't much that I can do for him...here."

Catherine could see that this was not an easy decision for Vincent to make. "If you think your father can help him better than you, why didn't you take him there right away?" She hadn't meant for it to sound so accusing and she started when his head snapped up and he whisked around. She thought she'd even seen a brief flicker of anger in his eyes before he quickly looked away again.

"You don't know what you're saying," Vincent said, his voice tense with pent-up emotion.

"No, I probably don't," she gave back, "but then, you haven't told me much that might help me understand." That had definitely been an accusation, and Catherine was aware that she was bracing herself for his response.

But he seemed to ignore her words, deliberately busying himself with storing away the medical supplies. Under normal circumstances, a behavior like that would have annoyed her, but with Vincent she knew that he was just trying to gain time to consider his answer thoroughly. Little though she knew, she had learned that the secret of the Tunnels wasn't his alone, and that he had to weigh his decision very carefully before he said anything which could not be taken back. So she reclined casually against the rough cavern wall and studied the tips of her boots, waiting. When she raised her eyes again, she caught him staring at her pensively. "What?" she asked, attempting a smile.

"Catherine," he began, rising to his feet and slowly advancing toward her. "Please know that I trust you implicitly. I didn't tell you everything about my reason for bringing you and Daniel here instead of home, because I didn't want to burden you more than necessary. And I hoped that I could keep any possible danger away from the tunnel community. But as things are now...it seems that I have no choice. Daniel needs a doctor. I must not take risks with him."

"Your father is a doctor?" Catherine asked.

"Yes. He is also the head of our community, and being responsible for so many lives can make a man quite...distant and inaccessible at times. Even to his family." Vincent fell silent again, and Catherine studied his profile furtively as he held his face averted.

"You and your father had a disagreement," she observed. "Is that why you left the Tunnels and lived on the streets before you came to me?"

Still not looking at her, Vincent heaved a sigh. "Father disapproved of my involvement with Daniel because he saw the risks above all else. He didn't understand..."

"...your need to learn more about Daniel's grandfather and thus probably about yourself," she finished for him.

He just nodded mutely, and she stepped up to him, ducking into his line of vision. That made him smile, and finally he met her eyes. "You know," he said huskily, "I do understand Father's apprehension all too well. He is right to be cautious. It is just that...I cannot..." A desperate sigh was wrenched from him. "I think this is neither the time nor the place to discuss this," he said at last.

Reflexively her hand came up to rest on his cheek before he could turn away. "Vincent," she whispered, "let me help. I think I understand what happened between your Father and you, and although I see that your case is quite...extraordinary, there are similarities to what happens in almost every parent and child relationship. I don't mean to lecture, but your father probably thinks he has the right to determine the course of your life because he wants to keep you safe and protect his family. He doesn't see, at least for now, that you are not a child anymore and that you have to make your own choices. That's what you did, Vincent, and I think you did the right thing. For what my opinion is worth, of course. I wouldn't tell you this if I hadn't gone through almost the same situation with my own father, last year. He thought he could shape my life, but he only imprisoned me and made my spirit weak. Believe it or not, Vincent, but it was you who gave me the strength to break free and live my own life. I left the safety of my father's law firm and joined the district attorney's office. I know it almost broke his heart, but now he understands and is able to concede that what I did was right...for me." Holding her breath, she withdrew her hand and waited for Vincent's response. She was surprised, and relieved, as he smiled.

"Thank you, Catherine," he said. "You cannot know what your words mean to me. I had no idea that I had such an influence on you at a time I didn't even know you existed."

She laughed softly, but he remained serious, gazing at her intently. Instantly she sobered and raised her hands to cup his face between her palms. "I don't know what it is about you that makes me feel so connected to you," she said quietly. "But I do know that I wouldn't want to lose that feeling for anything in the world. And I'm sorry that I've brought you so much trouble."

Slowly Vincent lowered his head until their foreheads touched. He swallowed, and Catherine could feel that he wanted to say something. "What is it?" she asked quietly. Very much to her regret, he pulled back and straightened.

"I wish that things were different," he said huskily, studying the sandy floor between them.

On impulse she reached out to capture one of his hands. "So do I," she replied. "I wish that Daniel hadn't been shot, and that there were no threats to you and your world. But I wouldn't want to change anything else."

Slowly he lifted his head, and Catherine's eyes misted with tears as she met his incredulous gaze. She tugged at his hand and brought it up to brush her cheek across its furred back. For a fraction of a moment she felt him resist and was relieved when he relaxed and finally surrendered to her caress. Encouraged, she stepped up to him and hugged him affectionately. She was just about to release him when she felt his arms tighten around her shoulders as he returned her embrace. His head came down to rest on top of hers, and she closed her eyes, savoring his warmth and the reassuring beat of his heart. His voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion as he whispered against her hair, "I wish that I were...different."

Catherine wanted to contradict, but as she looked up at him, the intensity in his eyes silenced her. She raised on tiptoes and placed a brief kiss on his bristled cheek. "Don't!" he gasped sharply, catching at her upper arms to hold her away from him. "You must not...play...with me."

His fingers dug painfully into her flesh, but she was hardly aware of it. His reaction alarmed her. What made him think she was playing? Hurting him was the last thing she wanted. All she wanted was....

He relinquished his hold on her so abruptly that she staggered and lost track of her thoughts. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed at his lack of control.

"Vincent," she said imploringly, "I am not playing. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I shouldn't..."

She fell silent as a tortured groan tore from him. He stared at her for a moment before averting his eyes. "Catherine, the way you make me feel frightens me, because you make me want...things...that I mustn't want."

"Because you look different? Vincent, do you honestly think that your looking different disturbs me in any way?"

He pierced her with his gaze. "It may not matter to you, but it does to me."

"Why?"

He lifted his hands and dropped them in a gesture of helplessness. "Because my looks are only the surface of something far more complex, and I cannot, must not allow you to be touched by it."

"You mean you won't allow yourself to touch me the way you want to?"

He froze, staring at her wordlessly, and the anguish she saw in his gaze made her heart constrict. She wanted so much to go to him and hold him. It was then that she realized she had never loved anybody as deeply as she loved the man who was standing before her with his soul in his eyes.

Daniel stirred, moaning weakly, and instantly Vincent was at his side, placing a soothing hand on his forehead.

Catherine lowered herself on her knees beside them. "How is he?"

"The fever is still high. I will have to get word to Pascal. Daniel needs help. I mustn't postpone this any longer. Please sit with him as long as I am gone. I won't be long."

She nodded and shifted her weight to sit down on the floor next to the sleeping man. "Where are you going?"

"I need pipes to send a message home," Vincent explained. "We are below the pipe levels, so I can't do it from here."

As Catherine watched him disappear into one of the corridors branching off the far side of the cavern, she felt apprehension stir within her. What would it be like to be confronted with Vincent's world and meet the people who'd known him all his life -- especially the man he referred to as 'Father'?

"I'm thirsty," Daniel moaned, and she rose to get him a cup of water.

CANDLELIGHT