SHADOWS

Catherine was still tingling all over as she unlocked the door of her apartment and switched on the light, closing the door behind her. Had it really happened? She shed her coat, feeling so deliriously happy that she wanted to dance and laugh and shout it from the rooftops. Vincent and she were lovers. Lovers! In every sense of the word. And to top it all, she was able to feel him now within her, almost as clearly as he could sense her. She dropped onto the sofa and closed her eyes to test her newfound ability, finding she was far too excited to perceive anything but pure, unadulterated joy. Maybe that was it, she mused. Maybe that was exactly what he felt right now. There was so much yet to find out about that bond of theirs, but at least from now on she would have her own experiences to draw from.

A strange noise from her bedroom startled her into immediate alertness, and she reached for her purse which lay on the glass table in front of her. There it was again. Someone was opening and closing drawers. Pulling her gun from the bag, she rose to her feet in slow motion and felt her way over to the phone without taking her eyes from the louvered door. But before she could lift the receiver, someone pushed her forcefully from behind, and she fell.

"Is that her, Rick?" a male voice inquired loudly, pressing the mouth of his gun against her temple. "That's a cute one, for a change."

She looked up in time to see the door to her bedroom being shoved aside, revealing Rick's familiar frame to her terrified eyes.

"Yeah," he snorted, staring down at her coldly. "That's her. Good evening, Ms. Chandler. Ain't you glad to see me again?"

Momentarily, Catherine was too stunned to respond at all. So, Rick had been the one who'd escaped. Swallowing down her fear, she managed to find her voice at last. "What do you want?" she asked apprehensively.

"Think!" he demanded sharply. "What could I want?"

"Money?" she offered hesitantly.

"Damn right, lady. And you'll see to it that I get it."

"So you're going to blackmail me," she murmured bleakly, shuddering at the thought of what his knowledge might do to Vincent and Johannes.

"Wrong, although I must admit that the thought had occurred to me," he grinned. "You see, that guy must have a real good hiding place or we would have found him long ago. So, who would believe me? You see, I have to get that freak personally. That way I'll have the proof and get all the money I want. I'm pretty sure Leo is with him anyway. There are lots of rich guys out there who'd pay a fortune for them without asking where I got them from."

He was sadly right on that, Catherine thought dismally. Any moment Rick would demand that she take him to Vincent. She had to come up with something. If she only had a little more time to think!

"Take her gun, Ben," Rick ordered. "She won't need it. We'll take good care of her, won't we? Now, let's not waste any more time. Ms. Chandler, you lead the way."

The only thing Catherine's strained brain could come up with was leading the two men into the park. At least there, Vincent would be able to come to her help. They rode the elevator down to the ground floor, and Catherine waved a hand in greeting at the night porter to indicate that everything was all right. He dipped his cap and smiled as they passed. When they left the building, they were joined by another two men who tried to follow them inconspicuously.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, Rick suddenly grabbed Catherine's upper arm and jerked her around. "Don't you play any tricks on me, lady," he warned. "You think you can gain time by luring us away from him, but you forget something: if I can't get him, I still have you." Tracing her cheek with his gun, he added suggestively, "I bet that will get me everything I want -- in the end."

Catherine swallowed in disgust. She knew Vincent was close; she could feel him. So her fear was more for him than of being actually raped or beaten. 'Vincent, please wait,' she pleaded inwardly, although she knew that he couldn't perceive concrete thoughts, but only the accompanying emotions. So she willed herself to be as calm as possible. She would simply lead those thugs a little deeper into the shrubbery; that would get Vincent all the advantage he needed to.... She didn't finish the thought, not wanting to face the implications yet. Knowing that Vincent had never killed anyone in cold blood, she would just have to wait for Rick to make a false move. From the way he let his body brush against her as he walked closely behind her, it wouldn't be much longer, she realized grimly.

*

From the shadows of a grove Vincent's eyes followed the small group of people who wandered off into the depths of the night-darkened park. Catherine's emotions had quieted. All he could feel from her was her resolve and fierce determination, so he decided to wait and watch a little longer. Once again he marveled at her courage. How could she remain so quiet in such a dangerous situation?

Suddenly a sharp stab of pain pierced the side of Vincent's neck, spurring him into immediate action as a wave of hatred and disgust surged through him. Without thinking twice he sped down the slope toward the source of the pain and terror throbbing within him. With a deafening roar Vincent threw himself directly against the men who were standing around Catherine as if to watch some performance. With one powerful sweep of his arm he ripped out the throat of the man kneeling above Catherine, threatening her with a knife. The next moment Vincent whirled around to drive his claws deeply into the guts of the man next to him. Although he couldn't see Catherine's face, he sensed her relief and satisfaction. Killing had never been sweeter than now when he did it for her sake. No one should ever touch her like this again. Heedless of the gunfire that tore through the night, heedless of the pain in his side, heedless of everything but Catherine's excitement, Vincent launched himself at the rest of the group. One of them threw his gun away, turning to flee, but Vincent caught his leg, dragging him back down the slope. There was no shred of rational thinking left, only rage and the dark urge to finish this, to make Catherine feel safe again.

When it was done, when he sensed nothing but Catherine's fatigue, he dragged himself over to where she was sitting. With an impatient tug he removed a small dart from his chest and cast it aside before he slumped down beside her. "Are you...hurt?" he asked raggedly, panting with exertion, but he never heard her reply. The last thing he saw was his own bloody hand, hovering in suspense above her pale face as if to caress it. At that moment sanity slammed back into him, shedding its incorruptible light on the carnage around him. The anguish and pain that hit him in its wake drove the air from his lungs and all consciousness from his mind.

"No," Catherine heard her own strangled gasp as Vincent collapsed at her side. She bent over him, still numb and unable to face what she had just received through the bond in the aftermath of his rage. Of their shared rage, she amended, shaking with the impact of the realization. She pushed aside his cloak, feeling for the source of the ever widening bloodstain at his side. He'd been shot, and as she carefully probed for the wound, she detected yet another dart in his upper arm and another one dangling from a leather patch of his cloak. She hoped that the tranquilizer they had injected him with would wear off as quickly as the one they'd used with Johannes back in the cage in the Doctor's basement. There was no way she could get Vincent back to the Tunnels without his support, and she dared not even think of the possibility of leaving him alone while she went to send an emergency signal Below. She surveyed the area, trying to avoid looking at the eerie shadows cast by the bodies in the stale light of a distant park lamp. There was probably someone out there who had heard the shots. Someone might be here any moment. A rustling in the bushes snapped her attention away from the horrible sight before her, and involuntarily she threw herself across Vincent's chest in a gesture of protectiveness.

"Catherine," someone called softly, and from the heavy accent she could tell that it had to be Johannes.

The next moment he was at her side, reaching for the dart in Vincent's arm and pulling it out. Frowning in recognition before he cast the dart aside, Johannes said, "Die anderen werden gleich hier sein." After a brief moment of consideration, he added, "Winslow, Pascal, Cullen, coming."

"Great," Catherine sighed with relief. "Thank you, Johannes." Silently she blessed his psychic powers that must have enabled him to find them so quickly.

Vincent stirred beneath her, and by the time Cullen came running down the slope, closely followed by the others, Vincent was already struggling to push himself up. With the help and support of his friends he managed to gain his feet, and they set off for home.

Leaning heavily on Johannes' supporting arm, Catherine was still too stunned to grasp fully what had just happened. All she felt was a swirling vortex of blackness before her inner eye, ready to suck her in, and for a fleeting instant of weakness she wondered if that wouldn't be for the best.

Johannes stopped in his tracks, spinning her around. "Don't!" he ordered sharply, piercing her with his eyes.

Catherine pulled herself together, but at the same moment the memory of the unutterable pain and self-loathing Vincent had felt in the wake of his rage, returned to her full force. "I have done that to him," she stammered voicelessly.

"No," Johannes insisted, shaking her gently. "No."

She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath to steady herself. Then she set into motion again, declining Johannes' arm as he reached out to brace her. "Thank you," she murmured. "I can manage now."

*

Vincent awoke from heavy, fitful sleep and looked around the hospital chamber disorientedly. "Where's Catherine?" he asked, terrified that he couldn't see her and seized by panic when he noticed that he couldn't sense her either.

"She is all right," Father tried to reassure him. "She told me she had to return Above urgently."

"She didn't...go out there...alone?" Vincent inquired, shuddering at the thought.

"Cullen took her to her basement," Father replied. "Vincent, you must lie still or you will tear open the stitches I had to apply to the wound in your side."

But Vincent was already swinging his legs over the edge of the cot. "I must go to her, Father. Something is terribly wrong."

With surprising strength, Father pushed him back onto the bed. "Something is very wrong, indeed," the older man said, his patience clearly wearing thin. "From what Winslow told me, there are four bodies out there in the park, practically at the threshold of our world. Right now, several men of our community are busy removing as many traces as possible that might point to us. Not a pretty task, I tell you. So, now lie still and stop thinking only of Catherine. Catherine is safe, but you are not. And neither are we."

Obediently Vincent rested his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. It wasn't Father's fault that he had misunderstood what Vincent had meant. Father knew next to nothing about the bond. How could he understand what Vincent had felt from Catherine out there in the park earlier? She had stood on the verge of the abyss and looked down into the blackness. Now she knew! Catherine had seen the beast, had been touched by it through the bond, and had left. What was he to do? How was he to bear it? If only she would not block the bond! How like her that she would spare him even now. With a strangled sob Vincent turned his head to hide his face in the soft folds of the pillow.

"I told you to lie still," Father admonished, misinterpreting Vincent's sound of anguish for physical pain.

Vincent hoped that Father wouldn't notice, or at least not comment on, the tears that trickled down onto the bed. All he could do was pray, although his dizzy mind could hardly decide what to pray for in the first place. Everything that had ever counted in his life was at stake now. And it was his fault, because he hadn't been able to rein in the beast.

*

"Are you sure you'll be O.K.?" Cullen asked as they arrived at the basement beneath Catherine's apartment building.

"Yes, I'm sure, Cullen," she reassured him. Fumbling with the chain of her necklace, she pulled it over her head and handed it to him. "Please give this to Vincent," she said. "And tell him that I know it was meant for the light. And that I am sorry."

"But..." Cullen tried helplessly, as she closed his fist over the crystal.

"Go," she implored him. "Please."

With a shrug, Cullen left. Catherine looked after him as he disappeared in the darkness; then she turned and climbed up the ladder.

*

The following morning, Vincent insisted on walking the brief distance to Father's study where an emergency counsel was to take place. He allowed himself to be helped into a chair and let his eyes wander across the drawn and dirty faces of his friends.

"Fire was the only possibility," William pointed out, and Winslow nodded.

"We can't be sure that we've erased every trace that might lead to us," Pascal said. "But since we removed the bodies, they won't have much to go on."

Vincent felt sick to his stomach. How could he live with his guilt and his debt to his friends? The burden he'd forced on their shoulders was unbearable. Although he hadn't asked for it, they had erased the traces of his crime. Yes, they had done it in protection of their community, their world, but it was still his fault. Nothing could change that.

Heads turned when Cullen entered the study. He was fidgeting uneasily as he stood before Vincent, holding out the crystal to him. "Catherine told me to give you this," he said dutifully. "She asked me to tell you that...she knew it was meant for the light. And that she was sorry."

A hush fell over the room as Vincent extended his hand, and Cullen relinquished the chain into his palm. Slowly Vincent's fingers curled around the crystal, forming a taut fist. Heedless of the tears that coursed freely down his face now, heedless of the gazes on him, he rose on shaky legs and left the room.

Once in his chamber, he crawled into his bed, not even caring to pull up the covers, and shut his eyes. He knew that sleep would not come. There would be no such relief. The crystal was meant for the light, but she didn't want to keep it there any longer. She had returned it to the darkness from where it had come. At some point there were no more tears left to be cried, but when sleep claimed him at last, it brought no release, no oblivion; just dark and haunted dreams.

*

Two days had passed by, and Catherine's shame and guilt was still undiminished. Finding that the bodies had mysteriously vanished and that no one investigated the unexplained fire that had broken out in the park did nothing to restore her inner peace. She knew that Vincent was healing. At times when she lay in her bed and tried to find some sleep, she could sense his confusion and his fear for her. Shortly after the incident in the park she had also felt his unrest, his urge to seek her out; but now there was a calm acceptance in him that made it easier for her to stay away and try to sort things out. And now was the time for the first step in that direction.

"Come in," Joe called out as she knocked on the door of his office. "You look like hell," he remarked matter-of-factly as she approached his desk.

"Thanks a lot, Joe," she replied meekly. "But I'm only here to hand in my resignation."

"Your what?" he exploded, jumping from his chair and rounding the table. "What on earth are you talking about, Cathy?" He advanced another step toward her. "You're good. You've thrown yourself into this work with courage and enthusiasm. And you've made a hell of a difference, kiddo. You've been pretty successful."

She gave a helpless shrug. "Maybe so, but I've gotten myself into a conflict of interest."

"How's that?" Joe inquired, raising his brows.

"Just remember what I confided to you recently. Yet I haven't been able to tell you the whole truth. There are things I'll always have to keep a secret; and thus I will compromise the truth -- and sometimes even the law." Joe wanted to interject something, but she stopped him by raising her hands in a plea to hear her out. "Just think back to how you felt when I dumped my burden on your shoulders, Joe. That wasn't pretty, was it? You see, I feel like that so many times that I'm afraid I might grow a thick skin against it, one day. That must not happen, Joe, because it would make me numb inside. And one day I might not even be able to discern right from wrong any longer. When I took this job, I thought that I'd be able to make a difference. I had no idea back then just how different my life was going to be."

Finally closing the distance between them, Joe grasped her by the shoulders. "Now I'm going to tell you something, Cathy. Nobody is perfect. Ever hear that? Don't tell me what you achieved is worth nothing because there are secrets in your life. You have to make compromises. So what? That happens to all of us from time to time. After all, we're only human."

Only human. With a sob, Catherine dissolved into Joe's arms. "I'm sorry," she murmured, "but you'll just have to accept my decision. Staying with the DA's office would be irresponsible." Pulling away from him, she took the tissue he handed her and wiped her nose. "Thanks, Joe," she said, giving his arm a squeeze. "I'd better be going."

He nodded resignedly. "You have a friend here, kiddo," he reminded her. "Don't forget that."

"I won't," she promised, giving him a tremulous smile.

*

"And you can't feel anything from her at all?" Daniel asked one evening, as they were sitting in Vincent's chamber, talking.

Vincent shifted in his chair, listening along the bond yet again. "Sometimes there are flickers of emotions, but it seems that Catherine is intent on hiding them from me. As soon as she becomes aware of it -- of me -- she distracts herself from her feelings by concentrating her mind on something else. From the glimpses I managed to get I know that she is distraught and sad. She struggles for some kind of decision. I don't know what to make of all this."

"Why don't you go to her and ask her?" Daniel inquired.

"Because I can feel her wish to be away from me now and I must respect that," Vincent replied, rising from the chair in sudden unrest.

"But how can you be so sure that she wishes to be apart from you, if you don't give her the chance to explain?" Daniel persisted.

"Her silence explains...more than I can bear already," Vincent said quietly, his fingers stealing around the pouch which now held both Catherine's crystal and his rose.

Daniel shook his head. "I'm sorry but I don't believe that mere silence does explain very much, Vincent."

"Then what do you believe?"

"That she just needs time to find herself, to sort things out. I'm sure she'll come back. You'll see."

Vincent's heart constricted painfully in his chest as the numbness in his soul was touched by a sudden ray of hope. But he was quick to clamp down on it. "Maybe it would be better for both of us if she didn't," he answered dismally, starting to pace the rug in front of his bed. He glanced in Daniel's direction repeatedly, feeling guilty for his sudden wish that the other man would go and leave him to his thoughts.

Daniel leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him and thinking. "My mother told me a story of when she was still a little girl and her father took her for a walk in the woods. They were attacked by two armed strangers, and she stood by and watched as Ahab fought and killed them. She told me that, no matter how much she loved her father, she was a little afraid of him from that day on. She knew how much that hurt him, but she couldn't help it. Until her dying breath she blamed herself for it. She had never talked about the incident with her mother, because she thought it might hurt her, nor did she ever discuss it with Ahab himself. If they had talked, they might have found a way to sort things out; but then, my mother was still a child then, frightened and unable to understand what she had witnessed. I just wish that Ahab had found the courage to confront it, but he didn't."

Vincent had long stopped his pacing, listening attentively, trying to put himself in Ahab's place and then in the child's. Both concepts made his stomach churn, and he felt cold sweat beading his brow.

"My mother was not only frightened," Daniel continued. "She felt guilty as well, because what she had seen had happened in protection of her."

Vincent slumped down on his bed, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts and images as he groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"You see," Daniel added quietly, "Silences can do more damage than spoken truths that may cut deeply at the moment but prove healing in the end."

STARLIGHT