BEGINNINGS

"I'm sorry, Tom, but I can't." With a sigh of exasperation the young woman listened to the insistent voice on the other end of the phone.

"Catherine, you promised to accompany me to the party," Tom all but shouted into the receiver. "I told you not to make any appointments for April 12th. It's important."

"And I am telling you now that I can't," Catherine replied impatiently. "I'm sorry, but for once you'll just have to accept the fact that..." Staring at the suddenly quiet receiver, she shrugged and put it back on its cradle. It was not for the first time that Tom Gunther had hung up on her, but for the first time she felt relieved rather than annoyed.

"...I do have another appointment tonight," she finished quietly to herself, glancing over to the basket where her tiny "appointment" was fast asleep. Pensively, she walked over to the makeshift crib and gently adjusted the blanket over the baby's softly heaving shoulders.

"You're turning my life upside down, little one," Catherine whispered with a tender smile as she looked down at the sleeping infant, still marveling that something as unique as this could possibly exist. The hard thing was that she couldn't tell anybody about it. If she could only tell her father why he'd hardly been seeing her at the office lately. But the less people knew about her unusual foundling, the bigger the chance to keep her from being harmed. It was not that she thought her father would pose any threat to the baby, but he would definitely try to persuade her to go the legal way and surrender the poor little mite to the proper authorities. That would be bad enough for a normal child, but for this one it would mean hell. Catherine could just imagine the public reaction to someone like her. It was not even certain that they would regard her as human, although one only had to look into those amazing gray eyes to know. They would point at the cleft upper lip, the unusual nose, the tipped nails, and the soft amber down that covered the tiny body and put those differences above everything else which was normal about the child.

Catherine remembered her own initial reaction when she had unwrapped the face of the whimpering bundle after finding it in the shrubbery lining the park. She had been absolutely dumbfounded, staring down into delicate, catlike features that crumpled and wrinkled comically as they were touched by the light of the street lamp overhead. And then the tiny creature had opened its eyes, blinking at her with an astonishing degree of intelligence and vulnerability that instantly captured her heart. Looking about her furtively to make sure she hadn't been watched, Catherine had tucked the quivering infant inside her coat and hurriedly headed for her apartment.

 The first few days had been hard, and she had constantly had to fight her doubts and weigh her anxieties against the love she felt for the small being. Love had won out, and once she had made up her mind to keep the baby, Catherine had decided that only as few people as possible should know about the child.

Although not being able to confide in her father made her sad, Catherine did have two confidants after all. Dr. Peter Alcott, an old friend of the family, because she needed a physician to make sure that everything was all right with the baby; and then there was Emily, the elderly woman who cleaned the apartment and stayed with little Amy as often as Catherine needed her to. Both were sworn to secrecy, and she trusted them implicitly.

She didn't recall when and why she had begun to call the baby Amy. At some point it had just happened, and Amy it had been.

"Don't worry," she said softly to the small baby girl who stirred slightly, clutching her pillow with one tiny fist. "No one will hurt you, darling. You're safe with me."

*

"I feel badly about this, Jacob. I gave my word that I wouldn't tell anybody," Peter Alcott said, pacing restlessly in front of the huge desk behind which the other man was seated. Suddenly he stopped and, bracing his hands against the tabletop, searched for Jacob's eyes. "For heaven's sake, the child looks like Vincent! I didn't quite trust my eyes when Cathy handed me the small, squirming bundle. I felt like I had suddenly jumped back 35 years. You must know that I've known Catherine practically all her life. Her parents were good friends of mine. Her father still is. Cathy has a kind heart and wants the best for the baby, but I'm afraid that she's not aware of what she's gotten herself into. She made me promise that I tell nobody, and she is right to be careful, for we both know what would happen to the child should she be discovered."

Jacob winced and nodded with a heavy sigh. "Of course I know, Peter. As well as you know that her secret is safe with me."

"You won't tell Vincent, will you?" Peter asked softly, and it was more of a statement than an actual question.

Jacob shook his head. "No. It would only drive him Above in search of the baby. Which would be perfectly understandable, considering that he believes himself to be the only one of his kind. But I hate to think of the dangers he might encounter up there."

"And the dangers it could mean for your world down here," Peter added sympathetically.

Nodding, Jacob dropped his eyes to study his hands. "This is the only place where Vincent can live, Peter. We must not take any risks."

Peter extended one hand and squeezed his friend's shoulder affectionately. "I know that," he said quietly. "I just thought it might be the only safe place for the little girl as well. Eventually."

Jacob looked up doubtfully. "From what you told me, the young woman seems bent on keeping her little foundling. What makes you think she would surrender it to us?"

"She won't," Peter replied, "not anytime soon. But she may realize, one day, that it's for the best."

"So you leave me enough time to sleep it over," Jacob teased wryly.

Relieved, Peter straightened and smiled down at his old friend. "She is a perfectly healthy baby girl, about six weeks old, although very tiny. Remember Vincent as he was a few weeks after he'd been brought to you. That's about what she looks like."

Neither of them noticed the silent shadow outside the chamber entrance that retreated soundlessly into the tunnel.

*

Back in his chamber, Vincent dropped heavily into the chair in front of his desk. He had not meant to overhear the conversation between Father and Peter. He knew he should have announced his presence, but Peter's words that there was someone who looked like him had stunned him into silence before he had been able to even consider it.

His mind reeled at the implications of what he had just learned, and secretly it annoyed him that Father didn't intend to tell him about something this important. His heart went out to the little girl who bore the same fate as he did; who had to be hidden from the world above in order to be able to live some kind of life at all. For being regarded as an abnormality, a monstrosity, was no life at all.

He marveled at the courage of the woman who had taken in the child and cared for her, very much as Father had done with him. And silently he blessed her kind and loving heart.

Maybe Peter was right and it would be best for the little girl if she came to live Below. He wondered briefly how he would cope with looking daily into the mirror image of himself and see his own childhood repeated before his eyes. Quickly pushing the thought aside, he rose and retrieved his cloak. Father was certainly right about one thing: He would go Above to find the child and try to watch over her as best he could.

*

Catherine cradled the crying infant against her chest, rocking her gently and humming a lullaby in order to soothe her. But the child resisted her attempts with flailing arms and kicking legs, apparently trying to fight off something very disturbing.

"There, there," Catherine breathed against her ear. "Uncle Peter will be here shortly. He'll know what to do."

Usually a rather complacent child, sleeping a lot and when awake contentedly playing with her own chubby fingers, Amy had been restless and upset for two days in a row now. And for two nights, Catherine added ruefully. She was at a loss as to what to do. Amy had been living with her for almost three months now, and Catherine had had enough time to adjust to taking care of a baby. She'd have liked to think that she'd become quite accomplished at it. Until two days ago...

First Catherine had thought that it was just a recurring case of colic. That, she would have been able to handle, though. She'd had enough practice at that. But nothing she tried met with any success. So she finally contacted Peter, although she was loathe to appear the hysterical mother who called the doctor every time the baby suffered from wind.

Amy let out an accusing wail and Catherine shifted her to an upright position, patting the small back reassuringly. When at last the doorbell rang, Catherine hurried to answer it, casting Peter a look of utmost relief.

"How's our little sunshine today?" Peter inquired cheerfully.

Sure enough, Amy had stopped crying the moment Catherine opened the door. Now she was looking up at Peter with huge eyes, obviously assessing the situation and deciding that the distraction was a pleasant one. Catherine sighed and handed the little tormentor to Peter who carried her over to her crib and unwrapped her carefully in order to examine her. Needless to say, little Amy endured the whole procedure with stoic silence, occasionally trying to grab the fascinating things Uncle Peter produced from his bag with her lively clawed fists.

"I can't find anything wrong with her," he said finally.

"I'm so sorry for calling you unnecessarily, Peter, but she had me quite worried when she wouldn't stop crying, no matter what I tried."

"They do have times like that," the doctor explained. "It means that they are growing either physically or mentally. Babies don't grow continuously. Sometimes they awake and the whole world seems strange to them, because something happened within them practically overnight. No wonder they react in such a disoriented manner. But it was right of you to call me, Catherine. Never hesitate to do that.”

"Thank you, Peter, that was very reassuring, but what do I do when she reacts like that?"

"Do whatever you know she finds soothing, and if nothing works then it may even be best to let her cry herself out."

"But what if she's really sick and I don't realize it? Imagine if I let her cry and cry while there is something wrong with her and..."

"If something's wrong with her," Peter interrupted her by gently squeezing her hand, "you will know. Believe me. Now give her a warm bath and maybe something to drink, and you'll see how tired she'll become. Babies can't cry forever. They do sleep eventually, even though sometimes one would doubt it."

Catherine nodded gratefully and cast a disbelieving look at the child who had finally fallen soundly asleep.

"I don't believe it. Now I know whom I must call to send her to sleep," she said with a teasing smile.

Peter laughed. "But now you go and get some sleep yourself, young lady," he demanded while he was packing away his things. "Doctor's orders. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir, and thanks again," Catherine replied when she let him out of the apartment.

From across the street Vincent watched the building Peter Alcott had just entered. So this must be the one where Peter's friend lived. Maybe tonight he would finally get a glimpse of the child. Throughout the last months, Vincent had worked diligently and persistently at finding the woman Peter had spoken about to Father. Sneaking into Peter's office and gathering the information he needed was not an easy task, although he was familiar with the place. There had been several hopeful moments, and just as many disappointments. But tonight the note on Peter's calendar had been particularly promising. His assistant had only noted a name, C. Chandler, no address. Obviously a familiar patient then. C. could mean "Catherine", so all Vincent had to do was look it up. By now some of the helpers were quite accustomed to Vincent's occasional visits in order to borrow a phone book and study it furtively. Of course there were several Catherine Chandlers, but this once, luck had been on his side.  Apartment 18E. That sounded like a long climb. With a sigh, Vincent pulled his hood over his face and made his way across the street.

*

After a last loving look into the crib Catherine prepared for bed. Slipping under the covers, she was just turning out the light when she heard an unusual sound from the balcony. It was a grating noise as if someone shoved an earthen pot across the rough tiles of the terrace floor. She froze momentarily, listening intently into the ensuing silence. When nothing else happened, she stood up and walked quietly over to the balcony door, looking out into the night.

She didn't really expect someone to be out there, it was just that one became quite protective when responsible for such a small life. Smiling to herself, she remembered the woman she had been only a few months ago. Her life encompassed her work in her father's firm, her friends and the social activities she was involved with. Although she'd lived only for herself, she'd never been alone, never allowed herself to be. A part of her had known very well that that wasn't the life she really wanted to live, but she had pushed the thought away, telling herself that she didn't have too much of a choice anyway.

Finding little Amy in the early days of spring, wrapped in a dirty sheet and left to die behind some bushes at the edge of Central Park, was probably the greatest miracle in her whole life. Everything had changed since then. Catherine had hardly had any time to herself. She'd taken off time from work a lot. No parties, though, no shopping, no opera...and yet she was strangely happy. The only thing that bothered her deeply was that her father thought something was profoundly wrong with her. She knew he was worried, but she was at a loss as to what to do about it.

Peter had been a great help in that regard as well. He had defended her, reassuring her father that what happened with her might be an important step to a new level of her personality. And wasn't that true after all? Smiling, she had to admit that Amy had indeed brought her to a new level of existence.

Stifling a yawn she tore her gaze from the glittering skyline across the vast space that was Central Park and turned to take a last look at the baby before going to sleep. Such a lovely picture. Amy lay on her back, head turned to one side, and her dimpled, down-covered fists rested peacefully beside her on the flat pillow. Even now at the age of about four months those little claws could wreak quite a lot of havoc, Catherine thought with a sigh. This was not a good time to ponder Amy's differences and what was to become of her once she was older and not so easy to hide. But trying to cross a bridge before they reached it wouldn't do any good, and there was nothing Catherine could do about it tonight.

Shivering in her thin gown, Catherine turned quietly and slipped into bed, falling instantly asleep.

*

A soft, whimpering noise from the crib at the foot of her bed intruded into Catherine's dream and gradually pulled her back to wakefulness. Opening her eyes, she needed a little time to clear her sleep-clouded mind. She even yielded to the temptation of letting her lids droop again, when the picture she had just seen made her eyes fly open and stare at the now empty pane of her terrace door. There had been a face, a profile clearly highlighted by the reflections of the city lights.

Catherine swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rose to her feet, inexorably drawn by the unlikely picture that had presented itself to her sleep-drugged eyes only moments before.

The baby was wailing now, impatient that it took Mommy so long to tend to its pressing needs. Catherine took her out of the crib, changed her diaper and fed her a nightbottle. While Amy was dozing off again, Catherine tried to digest the unsettling perception that should have frightened her under normal circumstances. Since Amy had come into her life, her definitions of "normal" had certainly shifted, though. The face Catherine had seen, very fleetingly but nonetheless clearly, was a face like Amy's. Of course there was always the possibility that Catherine had only dreamed it, but she didn't really believe that. There had been someone outside on her balcony. Someone like Amy. Someone who...

The realization cut through her heart like a knife. Someone who had come to get her. To get her back. Yes, she decided, it must have been Amy's mother, or father, outside. Dimly she remembered a silvery strand of long loose hair falling across the strange features.

The pain in her heart turned to anger. What kind of parents must they be to first abandon the helpless infant and then come to pick her up again like nothing had happened. She knew one thing for certain. She wouldn't give up the child so easily. She would make damn sure that whoever came to claim Amy was able to take proper care of the baby. Of her baby.

Cradling the sleeping child against her breast, Catherine wept quietly.

*

Silently reprimanding himself for having taken such a risk, Vincent headed for the park. Of course, he went Above regularly, but usually he avoided the houses, except those where helpers lived. This time, though, he had done something inexcusable, something that went against some of the most important principles he lived by. He had intruded upon someone's privacy, and thus endangered himself and the secrets of his world.

Entering the park, he had no ears for the familiar sounds of small animals bustling to get out of his way and the summer breeze rustling in the foliage overhead, nor did he see the starry night sky. In his thoughts he replayed what had happened back on the terrace over and over again. He would have preferred to think that the woman hadn't seen him, but he knew that she had. If only the baby hadn't begun crying! He might have been able to stand there just a little longer, watching over their sleep and savoring the warmth he felt at the fact that someone cared enough to take in a lost and abandoned little soul, sheltering, nourishing, and even loving her.

The woman, Catherine, had been sleeping on her side, her face turned toward him, and he had allowed himself briefly to admire not only her courage but her beauty as well.

Unfortunately all those mellow feelings had made him lower his guard, and when the woman had awoken at the sudden whimpers of the baby, for an instant her eyes met his, and he froze. Fortunately she had closed her eyes again, and he hoped against hope that she would think of him as a dream. Just before withdrawing from the window, though, he had briefly seen her face, wide-eyed and alert.

Before entering the drainage pipe that served as an access to his world, he paused and turned to look back toward Catherine's apartment building, remembering the expression on her face when she had bent over the crib and regarded the child. That look of pure love wove itself around his heart, caressing it in a way he'd have been helpless to describe. He never noticed the sigh that escaped him when he averted his brimming eyes and ducked into the tunnel.

*

"These are for you, Vincent," the little girl said, dumping a heap of colored autumn leaves on Vincent's writing table and dashing off again as quickly as she had appeared.

Putting aside the book he had been studying, Vincent smiled indulgently and took one leaf to hold it closer to the candle. Even in the dim light of the flame its russet and golden hues did not fail to delight him.

"Thank you, Samantha," he said quietly to himself, touched that the child had thought of him during her trip to the park. Throughout the hot months of summer the children rarely went Above, but now that the weather was cooler again they enjoyed the fresh air and the sunshine.

His own nightly visits to Catherine's terrace had been restricted, too, by the hot and humid summer nights, since even the lightest of his cloaks was an unbearable burden. That was just as well, because he had sworn not to go there too often anyway. Now that the nights were clear and fresh again it had become a little harder to keep that vow.

Sometimes he would go there only to find another woman with the child. And although he kept telling himself that he came mainly to see little Amy, he was strangely disappointed when Catherine was not there.

The baby was able to crawl now, and once she had still been up when he arrived at the balcony soon after dusk. Amy had been creeping across the carpet, giggling delightedly, while Catherine pretended to try and catch her…

The leaf was crumpled between trembling fingers when Vincent recalled Catherine's happy laughter as she'd scooped the baby up, swinging her around playfully. Beautiful. She was so beautiful.

He shook his head, hoping to alter the direction his thoughts had taken. Carefully shoving the leaves aside, he retrieved the book he had been reading and searched for the line where he had left off. But it was a futile attempt. His mind kept wandering, returning to the woman and the child that had come to mean so much to him.

Against his better judgment never to go Above in an emotionally charged state of mind, Vincent rose and grabbed his cloak. Swinging it across his shoulders with the easy practice of many years, he headed for the park.

*

With a sigh of relief Catherine leaned back on the couch, closing her eyes. Tonight it had been particularly straining to put the active little girl to bed. After the office hours, she'd had to attend a meeting, which meant having had to leave Amy with Emily for the most part of the day. Emily loved the little girl dearly, it was just that she tended to spoil her a little too much, and that was something Catherine always felt when she returned. The child used to be hyperactive and irritable every time Catherine was away longer than the usual hours she had to spend at the office.

Maybe, Catherine mused, some part deep within Amy's soul remembered being abandoned and left alone in the cold and dark, fearing that it might happen again. Besides, Amy did not have as many people in her life as most other children had. So she was probably more dependent on the one person that had come to be the center of her life.

Suddenly eager to get some fresh air, Catherine rose and walked to her balcony door, quickly pushing it open and taking a deep breath of the crisp evening breeze. A movement in the shadows to her left made her whirl around.

"Who's there?" she exclaimed automatically, although on second thought she was not sure that she really wanted to know.

A heavy silence answered her, and it would have been easy to retreat into the apartment, thinking that there was only the wind stirring the twigs of her balcony plants. But Catherine's natural curiosity and persistence, and something else which she could not name, drove her to gain certainty on the matter.

"Who is there?" she repeated, switching on the terrace lamps and scanning the balcony for any sign of a possible intruder.

*

And there he was, emerging from the shadows at the farthest corner of her terrace. The man with a face like Amy's. His appearance, his size, the way he moved, everything about him was male. Except the long strands of hair that escaped his hood.

It had not been a dream then, as she had kept telling herself when no one had ever come to claim Amy.

"Please don't be afraid," a soft voice said. It was throaty and even a little hoarse. "I will do you no harm." He paused, and Catherine had the fleeting impression that he assessed her frame of mind in order to choose a way of talking to her without frightening her too much. It was only then that she realized she was not frightened at all. She knew she should have been, but all she could feel was concern whether he was here to get Amy.

"You've come for the child, haven't you?" she began.

He advanced a few steps and halted again, apparently at a loss as to how to answer.

"Is she yours? I mean, are you her father? How could anyone leave a helpless child out here and..."

"No!" he cut in sharply. And then, more softly, he repeated, "No, I'm not her father. Don't worry, I'm in no position to take the child away from you. Nor am I the one who left her out there wherever you found her."

Catherine was mystified. "But you look like her. You must know where she comes from."

He shook his head, and she wondered if she only imagined the sadness she saw in the gesture.

"I don't even know about my own origins," he said finally.

Catherine's puzzlement increased by the minute. Then how did he know about her? He must have watched her the evening she found Amy, and followed her when she took her home. Although she could hardly believe all this was possible without his knowing more about the baby, she did not have the feeling that he was lying to her either.

"Please won't you come in?" she suggested spontaneously. "Maybe we could talk."

But he shook his head vigorously. "I should go now. I'm sorry. I should never have come here."

That was the moment little Amy chose to join in their conversation. She let out a plaintive wail that demanded immediate attention.

Turning to go to her, Catherine briefly grasped his arm. "Please don't leave yet. I have a feeling that the two of you would like being introduced to one another."

Hoping he wouldn't flee, she quickly went to fetch the child. Wrapping her in a blanket to protect her from the evening chill, she brought the baby out on the terrace, noting gladly that he was still there, a tall shadow against the lights of the buildings across the park. She shifted the baby in order for her to get a good look at their visitor. At first Amy was completely and utterly stunned. Her eyes widened in surprise, and just when Catherine began asking herself if her actions had been wise after all, Amy's face broke into a delighted grin and she extended one chubby hand to gingerly grasp a piece of the enormous dark cloak their visitor was wearing.

"May I introduce," Catherine said with mock formality, "Amy, this is..."

"Vincent," he provided softly, never taking his eyes from the small being that resembled him so much.

"...Vincent," she repeated, and watched in awe as he pulled back the hood from his face. She was touched by the quiet tenderness that shone from his eyes and warmed his unusual features.

"Vincent," she completed her introduction, "this is Amy."

Suddenly the child leaned forward in Catherine's arms, her whole body begging that he take her. Without hesitation, and with the secure movements of someone accustomed to holding children, Vincent reached for her, affording her a closer look at his face. Tentatively, and to Catherine's relief quite gently, little Amy patted Vincent's cheek, leaning her forehead against his for a moment. Then she smiled at him shyly and slowly leaned back in his arms to be taken up by Catherine again.

He handed her over, his eyes still luminous, and Catherine's heart constricted with the emotions she saw reflected there.

"You never saw anyone like her before," she stated, immediately sorry for having broken the spell.

"No," he confirmed and turned to look out at the illuminated skyline as if to hide what his eyes had already betrayed. There was an air of loneliness around him, the aloneness of someone who was the only one of his kind. Or had been for a long time. And maybe it was the knowledge that this wasn't so any longer which brought forth the tears that she glimpsed glittering on his cheeks.

Long after he had gone, and Amy had fallen asleep again, Catherine lay still awake, marveling at the exquisite intensity Vincent exuded. Obviously the child had felt it, too. Or maybe it was simply the kinship that had drawn the two of them together right from the start. But strangely she had felt some sort of kinship between Vincent and herself as well.

Must be because I feel so close to Amy, she mused before she finally fell asleep.

*

The first frost of the approaching winter was slowly seeping into the Tunnels, and staying warm had become one of the uppermost priorities for the people living Below. Although the rocky caverns offered a solid shelter from the cold outside, the draughts that constantly swept the chambers and provided them with vital fresh air had grown rather chilly. Heavy curtains and quilts were hung across the entrances to keep as much warmth in the living areas as possible. The thick layers of clothing everyone wore Below had become even thicker these days.

Wrapped in a quilted robe, Vincent sat at his writing table and fought against the inhibitions he felt each time he tried to entrust a deep and private thought to his journal. Reading those entries after a while made them appear small and meaningless, sometimes even outright ridiculous. Yet he knew that in order to maintain his inner balance he had to do it. In a way, writing helped him to focus on the brighter side of his personality, and if there was something like a "higher self", writing was a way of approaching it. Reading old journals wasn't always bad, though. Sometimes it was like reading letters someone he had been some time ago had written to the one he was now. Over the years he had found that what he wrote down at times of inner control lent him strength at times when he was too restless and distraught to even hold his pen properly.

Although it would have been easier to leave out the sadder and more unpleasant thoughts, he knew he had to record them nonetheless, for whenever he felt inwardly lost, it was of great help to read how he had dealt with a similar situation in the past.

Matters of the soul were the hardest to put into words, and although poetic pictures and phrases often sounded odd even to himself with the passing of time, they were sometimes the only possible way of describing complex feelings at all.

So, with a sigh, he began writing.

"The wings of my soul are heavy, these days. Although in my dreams I am capable of flying, it only occurs at moments I am driven to flee. What makes me fly, laboriously and desperately, is the fear of something, and never hopeful longing or joy."

Recapping his pen, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Images of a beautiful woman swinging a laughing little girl in her arms rose before him; the deep concern on her face when she had thought he'd come to take the baby away from her; her pleading eyes when she had implored him to stay a little longer; the wide-eyed gaze of a very special child; Amy's outstretched arms when she had reached for him; her precious weight against his chest as he had held her; the feel of her small hands on his face. And always, always Catherine's presence, her nearness, her warmth, her acceptance.

There was danger in those memories, he knew. That was why he had never gone there again. He had seen the child who was like him, had even held her, which was more he would ever have expected. He had seen that Amy was cared for and loved. There was nothing he could add to that. Not without putting her at risk, or his world, or his inner peace. If it wasn't too late for the latter anyway.

Not liking the direction his thoughts were taking, he pushed himself out of the chair and strode over to the shelf above his bed in search of a book to distract himself. But before choosing a volume, he realized that it was probably better to wear himself out physically. Physical activity might not exactly soothe the pain that lurked around the edges of his soul, but maybe it would keep the sadness at bay and put off the darkness just a little longer.

He had just donned his cloak and was about to leave his chamber when he almost collided with someone who was obviously on his way to see him.

"I'm sorry, Father," he said, putting a steadying arm around the old man's shoulder. "I didn't hear
you come.”

"I hope I am not keeping you from something important," Father said and allowed himself to be led into the chamber where he took a seat on the bed.

"No, I just thought I should take a walk before going to bed. What brings you here at this late
hour, Father?”

"Do I have to have a reason for wanting to see you?" Father asked quietly and in an almost
offended tone.

For a moment, Vincent felt rather awkward. Father and he had always been very close, and with a sudden twinge of guilt he realized that there was a distance between them now; a distance that had been growing ever since the day when Vincent had overheard the conversation between Father and Peter and learned that Father wanted to keep the truth from him. Although he understood Father's reasons all too well, it hurt nonetheless. And keeping the truth of his own forays Above from Father had certainly done nothing to diminish that distance.

"Maybe we should talk," he heard Father suggest softly.

Inhaling briefly, Vincent nodded and went to sit down beside him. "What do you know about the child, Father?" he opened their conversation without preamble. "What did Peter tell you aside from the fact that it's a healthy girl who resembles me and lives with a woman named Catherine Chandler?"

If Father was surprised, or even startled, he gave no indication. " I don't know much beyond that," he replied after a barely noticeable pause. "She must be about nine months old by now and is properly taken care of. Peter is worried, though, what will become of the child when she grows older and people will begin to take notice of Catherine Chandler's child. And, frankly, so am I."

"Where do you think she came from?" Vincent persisted.

Father shrugged and twisted the knob of his cane between his hands, suddenly unable to meet Vincent's eyes. "I honestly have no idea. You could have asked just as well if I knew where you came from."

"I believe in a way I did," Vincent murmured more to himself than to Father.

"Vincent, there is no reason to believe that she is related to you in any way. Please..."

"There is not? Father, you cannot be serious. You just have to look into her face to know that there is a connection, that we are both of one kind."

Father looked up abruptly. "Look into her face? Vincent, are you telling me that you..."

With a tired wave of his hand Vincent cut him off. "Yes, I've been there, Father. I saw the child. She even let me hold her for a few moments."

"She?"

"Catherine."

Vincent hadn't meant for his voice to betray so much. And yet, from Father's heavy silence he could tell that everything he had wanted to hide so desperately, even from himself, had been there in one small word. Her name.

"I see," Father said at last, and Vincent had no doubt that he did. Bracing himself for a lecture, he rose from the bed and walked over to the armoire where he stopped with his back to Father, waiting.

The rustling of cloth and the tapping of the cane interspersed with the soft noise of furboots told Vincent that Father was following him to where he was standing. Instinctively he squared his shoulders and briefly closed his eyes before he turned to face whatever was about to come.

"I did not mean to imply that the child has got nothing to do with you, Vincent. But most likely it's not the past that is of importance to both of you, but the future. We can't change who you both are, and where you came from matters very little. What we'll have to think about is how we can help. And I hope you won't hold it against me, my son, that I am worried about you, about how all of this may affect you and test your balance."

Releasing his breath, Vincent seized the older man's arm affectionately. "Thank you, Father," was all he could say at the moment. He simply trusted that Father would know what was in his heart.

*

Once on the balcony, Vincent wasn't so certain any longer that coming here had been such a good idea. After his conversation with Father he had spent the entire day thinking of a way how to help Catherine Chandler with the increasing problems she would have to face, now that Amy was a little older. Finally he decided that the one who knew best what would help was Catherine herself. Briefly he considered consulting Peter on it. Peter was a friend of Catherine's, and her confidant. But then he dismissed the thought. Peter was already doing all he could do. He couldn't solve little Amy's problems. Vincent wasn't sure that Peter was even able to fathom all of the difficulties being different implied.

Vincent's heart went out to the child, knowing that to simply hide her from the cold eyes of the world didn't solve all of her problems. All the hurts, doubts, and countless questions were still there. He knew that all too well. That was why he was here, he reminded himself. He knew that he could probably help little Amy in ways no one else could.

Once his decision had been made, nothing, not even the heavy snowfall, could keep him from carrying it out. It had been a treacherous climb, though. The wind had torn at his cloak and the familiar hand- and footholds were wet and slippery, but it had not been really hazardous.

Without taking his eyes from the apricot light filtering through the sheer drapes in Catherine's apartment, Vincent shook his hood and cloak free from snow. Slowly, and still rather uncertain as to how she would react to his impulsive visit, he walked over to one of the terrace doors -- the one that led to her living room -- and shyly peered inside.

He swallowed at the heart-stopping picture Catherine presented. Curled up on her couch, she had obviously fallen asleep over a magazine she'd been reading, and which had dropped to the carpet in the process. His innate sense of courtesy told him that he should leave quickly, that standing here and watching her sleep somehow bordered on voyeurism.

An errant strand of hair grazed her cheek and she reached up to wipe it from her face. The movement woke her and she sat up, looking around disorientedly. Finally she stooped to pick up the magazine, returning it to the stack of reading material on the table.

That was the moment Vincent chose to tap one pointed claw lightly against the glass. Her head came up slowly, and when she turned toward him, he saw her features brighten with an expectancy akin to joy. There was little time for him to savor the stunning realization that she seemed to welcome his appearance, for she was there in an instant, pushing the doors open and seizing one of his hands to pull him toward the threshold.

"You came," she said, releasing his hand when she felt his instinctive resistance. Arms wrapped tightly around her body to ward off the chill, she continued, "I hoped that you would. I've been wanting to talk to you so badly.”

He nodded. "I, too, felt that we should talk."

"Do you think we could go inside?" she asked, shivering, and smiled with obvious relief when, reluctantly, he nodded again. Uncertain how to fight off the strong sense of being trapped that he always felt in the homes of people who lived Above, even if they were helpers and trusted friends, he followed her into the living room. It could not be helped. They had to talk, and it was definitely too cold to do it out there on her balcony. Even back in the warmth of her apartment, Catherine still trembled.

He couldn't remember removing his cloak, but he still stood there holding it in his hands, when she came to take it from him and drape it over the back of a chair.

"Your hands are as cold as ice," she observed, lifting her gaze to meet his. "I almost dread the answer, but how did you get up here?"

For a second he dropped his eyes, and then glanced up at her from under his bangs. "I don't think that you would want to know," he said simply, and the tug of the smile he felt at the corners of his mouth finally eased the tension between them a little. He stepped forward to take the proffered seat on one of the small couches and watched her disappear into her sleeping area through panel doors that had been pushed aside and left open. He saw her bend over the crib and adjust the blanket. She tucked it more securely around the baby's small body, and when she straightened again, he could see her profile as she looked down at the sleeping child. The expression on her face was pensive and a little sad, and he would have given everything to be able to hold and comfort her and tell her that he would be there for her, for both of them, always. But then she turned, and he forced his hands to unclench again. She drew the panel doors shut and came over to sit down opposite him.

"Amy's sleeping peacefully," she said, and he found himself wishing he could reach out and touch the warmth that shone from her eyes. "She is growing by leaps and bounds," Catherine went on, and the tenderness in her voice wrapped itself around his heart. "She's developing new skills every day. Sometimes I wonder if what I have to offer to her will be enough."

"And you are worried about what may happen once she is old enough to demand to go outside, to understand that she is not like other children, and to ask questions."

For an instant he saw desperation in her eyes, and a silent plea that pierced his soul. "I guess I needn't ask how you could possibly know," she said, and he was still trying to think of a reply to that when she added, " I'm so glad you came back."

"I hoped there might be some way I could help," he managed, swallowing down the lump that was suddenly in his throat. "You are taking such good care of little Amy. She was incredibly fortunate to be found by someone who really loves her and has given her a home."

That brought a smile from her. "She is such a delight to have around. You know she enriched my life in ways I'd never have thought possible. She gave me purpose and strength, and if you think she's the one who's lucky, I can only tell you that I gained just as much." And in a low voice, almost as if she were speaking to herself, she admitted, "It's just that sometimes I feel like I bit off more than I can chew."

"That is perfectly understandable," Vincent reassured her. "You should hear my father when he talks about my childhood."

"Your father?"

With everyone else he probably would have taken offence at the incredulity in her voice. But with Catherine it made him smile. "The man who found me, took me in, and reared me. Someone with a heart as great as yours."

"I had already been wondering where you may have come from," she said.

"But you did not dare to ask?"

She dropped her eyes, avoiding his gaze. "I was not sure...I didn't want...I mean..."

"It's all right. You may ask me everything, Catherine."

"Are you sure?"

The way she said it made him wonder if he was, but he nodded anyway.

"Then how did you find out about Amy and me? How did you find us? And how come you know my name?"

Throwing back his head, he groaned softly. "Now, that is something I cannot tell you without breaking a vow that I gave in order to ensure many good people's safety."

To his surprise, and vast relief, she smiled. "That's all right, Vincent. You didn't say you'd answer my questions. Did you?"

He must have looked rather stunned at her remark, for she laughed, and he couldn't help but join in.

Suddenly she exclaimed, "Where are my good manners? Would you like to have a drink? Or maybe some tea or coffee?"

After thinking briefly of the long and cold climb ahead of him, he heard himself say, "Tea would be wonderful. Thank you."

*

It was almost morning when Vincent finally left. Fortunately the snowfall had ceased. Still Catherine had a hard time imagining how Vincent managed to climb up her building -- and down again, for that matter. But there were so many mysteries about him that she decided not to dwell on that particular one too persistently.

Vincent's visit, and their talk which had lasted long into the night, had left her feeling better than she'd felt in quite a long time. While Peter and Emily were of invaluable help, she'd had no one to talk to about Amy and all the problems, and joys, the little girl had brought into her life. It was a vast relief to know that there was someone who truly understood, who was willing to listen and give his insightful advice regarding things that wouldn't even have occurred to her. Little things like why Amy refused to drink from a cup. Her canine teeth had begun to show, and not only were the gums surrounding them particularly tender, the prolonged teeth were simply in the way, grating against the rim of the cup. Vincent had pointed out that it might get even worse.

She remembered him drinking his tea. He'd appeared a little uneasy about it, and now she knew why. It must indeed be quite complicated to manage with those teeth. Yet he had acquired a method of talking, and even smiling, without showing his canines. It had only been when he'd laughed that she’d gotten a glimpse of them.

Vincent had told her a little about his own childhood, mentioning a large community of people who basically accepted him. There had been playmates as well, and she suspected that the thoughtless cruelty of children had made him feel his differentness quite thoroughly. At least he'd had playmates. She simply couldn't imagine how Amy was to lead a relatively normal life, isolated as she was from other children. She wondered if there were still children in the place where Vincent lived, but she'd been shy to ask him about it, not wanting to compromise the secrets he had obviously sworn to keep. As it was, his own safety would be the first one at stake if his secret place were to be discovered. She knew that he would always tell her as much as he could. She trusted him implicitly and hoped that one day she would gain his trust, and that of his community, as well. As long as he kept returning to her, she was willing to wait, no matter how long it took.

*

Vincent found springtime to be a relief after the hardships of winter. Many things became easier when the weather grew warmer. Like climbing buildings, he thought with a wry smile. The increasing temperature also meant an increased number of leaking pipes, though; damage caused by the frost and becoming apparent only now.

The evening draught that wafted through the dimly lit corridor outside Vincent's chamber carried the faint scent of damp earth and fresh grass, and he sniffed the air appreciatively. Having just returned from repairing a minor leakage in the upper tunnels, he was ready for a bath and a change of clothes, when Father's voice reached him.

"Vincent, are you planning on going Above tonight?"

Vincent paused and waited for the older man to catch up with him. "As a matter of fact, yes I am. I promised Catherine to stay with little Amy while she'll be attending some social event with her father."

Although Vincent knew that Father had long ago given up protesting against his regular visits at Catherine's apartment, he was surprised to see a smile play across the wrinkled face.

"So, you will be baby sitting," the older man commented dryly.

Smiling in return, Vincent raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. "I have to hurry. If you don't mind..."

"No, no, you go on and keep your appointment," Father said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

*

Amy was already tucked in and sound asleep when Vincent arrived at the apartment. There was just enough time for Catherine to give him a list of possible emergencies and how to handle them, including the phone number and address of where she could be reached if necessary. Before she left she gave his hand a small squeeze. "Thank you, Vincent. I wouldn't know what to do without you. I'll try to be back soon after midnight." And then she was gone, leaving him staring at the door speechlessly, and a little short of breath. He had never seen her in clothes like that. With him, she'd always been dressed casually, comfortably, as everyone would do at home. But the dress she wore tonight...he had never seen anyone dressed like that, at least not from such a close distance. Her hair fell in soft curls down to her shoulders, and the make up she wore enhanced her natural beauty perfectly. And the dress...

He swallowed as he tried not to think of the elegant curve of her neck, the small hollow at its base, and the soft swell of her breasts beneath. Those were pictures he had banished from his mind a long time ago, when he was still a young boy, about to realize just how different he really was. Too different to hope for all that life might offer a normal man. Too different for a woman's love.

Staring at the crumpled sheet of paper in his hand, he took a deep breath and clamped down on his dismal thoughts. After all, this evening was supposed to be a peaceful one, with the child sleeping nearby and some time on his hands to spend as he pleased. Catherine had shown him how to operate the CD player and insisted that he use it. Although, throughout the last few months, he had managed to overcome some of his inhibitions, he still felt a little awkward at the thought of touching her things, especially when she was not here.

He walked over to one of the small couches and sat down, smoothing out the list Catherine had given him, against his thigh. Frowning at the variety of possible emergencies she had come up with, he traced the telephone number and address with one pointed nail. That was where she was now, moving among people, wearing a dress that...

A sudden wail from the bedroom brought him instantly to his feet and to Amy's side. The little girl sat in her crib, sobbing and rubbing her puffy eyes. "Mama," she demanded plaintively.

What a promising start for our evening together, Vincent thought wryly, extending his arms to pick Amy up.

"Mama," she reiterated, but her little hands came up anyway, begging to be taken.

"Your mother will be back soon," he soothed, rubbing the small back reassuringly. "In the meantime my company will have to do."

"Vint," she finally acknowledged his presence, and pointing toward the living room, she suggested, "P’ay."

"No, little one, now is not the time for playing," he explained patiently, knowing very well that she would be even more wakeful after that. "Your mother wants you to be a good girl and sleep."

"Mama," Amy remembered, and from her quivering chin Vincent could tell that mentioning Catherine had not been such a good idea. He gently cradled Amy's head against his shoulder and walked over to where he'd left his emergency list.

"P’ay?" Amy offered once more, and he quickly scanned Catherine's lines in search of a possible reply to that. Obviously Catherine's interpretation of the term "emergency" didn't include a child that was just wide awake when she should be asleep, so he decided to do what he had seen Catherine do on occasions like this. He shifted Amy slightly, so that she could sit on his hip, and carried her over to the kitchen area where he switched on the bottle warmer which held a bottle with yellow tea.

"Dink," Amy observed solemnly.

"Yes, that's right," Vincent said, glancing at the clock above the sink and wondering just how long the bottle might take to be ready. While he waited, Amy drew him into a game of pointing at things which he had to name, and very much to his dismay he realized that Catherine's kitchen contained quite a few objects that were beyond his knowledge.

The orange control lamp on the bottle warmer went out, and he walked over to retrieve the tea. But Amy pushed the bottle away, making it very clear that drinking was out of the question. With a sigh Vincent put the bottle down, knowing that, if Amy did get thirsty after all, he'd have to prepare fresh tea for her. But he decided that he would worry about where to find the proper ingredients when the necessity arose.

So what was there to do next? Amy's head rested against his cheek, and he couldn't see whether her eyes were closed or not, so he decided to keep walking in the hope that the gentle sway of his gait would eventually send her to sleep. He was used to pacing, but not with such an unaccustomed weight against his neck, and so he felt a little cramped after a while. Hoping against hope that Amy was finally asleep, he headed for the sleeping area to put her back into her crib. Just at that moment she lifted her head, casting him her brightest smile.

"What about if you lay down in your bed and I read to you?" he offered, remembering that this was what Father had done with him when he had been little. Amy watched with great interest as he laid her down, tucked her in, and went to fetch a book. By the time he returned, Amy stood in her crib, merrily bouncing up and down and waving eager little hands at him.
"Look," she demanded, indicating the colorful picture on the cover.

"On second thought," he said, "maybe we should listen to some music."

*

A warm weight was lifted from his chest and he awoke. "Catherine?" he breathed.

"It's all right, Vincent," Catherine whispered. "I'm just going to put her to bed."

Embarrassed, he sat up and watched as Catherine carried the sleeping child over to her crib. So music was the proper remedy after all. He would have to remember that.

"I'm sorry," he murmured when Catherine returned, but she just smiled at him warmly and sat down next to him.

"Thank you, Vincent," she said, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I hope she didn't give you too hard a time?"

Catherine still wore that dress, and suddenly her warm body so close to his was more than his drowsy mind could bear. "I should go now," he managed and rose to his feet in order to retrieve his cloak. She followed him across the room, and when he turned around to face her, a fleeting image flashed through his head. Of the two of them standing together in a tight embrace. His huge body dwarfing her slender one. His furred hands mocking her beauty as he caressed her face. Her face...

He pivoted and fled into the night.

*

A little while later, when Catherine was preparing for bed, she was still puzzled at Vincent's sudden departure. He'd probably just been tired, she mused. Amy had a way of wearing you out, if she put her mind to it. With a smile she remembered the picture the two of them had presented on her return. Both fast asleep on the couch, Amy's head tucked beneath Vincent's chin, his large hands holding her securely against his softly heaving chest. Their hair was almost the same shade of russet and gold, Amy's silky curls just slightly brighter than his coarser strands. Never before had Catherine seen his features so relaxed, so unguarded, and suddenly a rush of tenderness engulfed her heart. She would have loved to touch him then, to run a gentle hand over his cheek and through his hair, but didn't dare. At last she had just picked up the sleeping child, returning her to her crib, and when she'd come back he'd been awake, sleep tousled and a little confused. She wished he'd stayed a little longer. The whole evening she'd been looking forward to coming home, knowing he'd be there, her heart even beating a little faster at the thought of him. It almost felt like...She put down the hairbrush and stared at the mirror image before her. It felt like being in love.

The thought was surprising and even a little disquieting. But why? What had she been thinking all these months they had been seeing each other once or twice a week, growing closer, becoming friends? Reluctantly she admitted to herself that she hadn't been thinking too much, soon taking his comforting presence for granted. She thought she'd come to know him quite well, and yet she had been completely ignoring the fact that he was...a man.

She rose from the dressing table and walked over to the window, looking out into the night and wondering just how many more complications her life could take.

*

Finally arriving at his chamber, Vincent fought for breath. He had run the whole distance through the park and back to the Home Tunnels as fast as he could in the hope of wearing himself out and be finally too tired to think. Bracing his hands against his thighs, he leaned slightly forward and drew some much needed air into his aching lungs. He doubted that he would find any sleep tonight, but physical exertion at least increased the possibility. When the pain subsided at last and his breathing calmed, he freed himself from his cloak and dropped into a chair.

He was deeply disturbed -- and ashamed. Thoughts and feelings that should never have surfaced had touched Catherine in a way he had been helpless to suppress. Was his self control crumbling? Was he -- he shuddered at the thought -- gradually losing himself? That must not happen. Never.

With great effort he forced all thoughts from his mind and imagined the quiet surface of a pond which reflected a full moon. This was an exercise that always helped to calm him in times of distress. Every time a thought would threaten to ripple across the water and distort the perfection of the picture, he concentrated on his even breathing, waiting for the image to restore itself. After some time of practicing he couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was beginning to change. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. A faint tune floated across the water and wove itself around his heart. Or was it a fragrance? Something incredibly soft and tender reached for his nerves and made them tingle with anticipation. There was a whisper inside his soul, a small voice asking a question he could not understand, but the answer was exceedingly sweet.

Vincent's hands clenched around the armrests of the chair and his eyes flew open.

Catherine! That was how it felt when he was with her and she looked at him, casually touched him, smiled at him. He could feel her then within himself, but only when she was physically close. Never before had it occurred across such a great distance. His mind reeled as he struggled to grasp the implications of his discovery. She must have been thinking of him. No -- more than thinking -- she must have been feeling something. For him!

It was still there. He could feel it like a faint caress from within. Moaning softly, Vincent leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes again.

"Oh, Catherine," he breathed, "I never meant to tie you to me like this. I never thought that this could ever happen." For in his heart he knew that a bond, like the one forming between them at this very moment, was something that went both ways, something that was irrevocable...and forever.

Catherine was a fragrant breeze within his heart, stirring his soul in a joyful way, but he shuddered to think how he would appear to her, once she became aware of him inside herself. That must never happen, he resolved. He must find a way to protect her. To shield her from himself.

A quiet sob shook his body, and he hid his face in his hands.

CHANGES