CHANGES

Amy's little fist felt warm and soft in Catherine's hand as they walked along companionably through the mild Sunday evening. The toddler loved these outings, although they always had to take place in the dark, never in the light of day. Catherine thought of Vincent and his own confinement to the dark, and her heart went out to the man who had come to mean so much to her.

Suddenly the child's hand was torn from her grasp, and brutal hands snaked around her waist and her mouth, forcing her to surrender to the movements of her tormentor. She was whisked around and could see Amy writhing and kicking in the huge arms of a grinning stranger.

"You'd better come along, lady," she heard a sneering voice behind her ear, "or he's gonna snap its neck."

"Look what we've got here," another voice exclaimed as Amy's face came free from the concealing scarf which she always wore when they went outside.

"What the hell is this?" the voice behind her ear ground out.

And then everything happened very fast. Catherine felt herself pushed through the shrubbery that lined the park. The fear for Amy all but numbed her, and her mind raced feverishly in search of something, anything, she might do to escape the iron grip around her waist. The ground was hard when she hit it, and instantly her captor was above her, tearing at her clothes. His foul breath made her stomach churn, and she fought with all her might to get her hands free, when a terrifying scream filled the night, followed by obscene curses and the sound of running feet. There was no time to think, for out of nowhere a blade flashed before Catherine's face.

"You'll pay for that, you bitch," she heard, and then there was only horror and pain. At that moment an overwhelming rage built inside her, filled with so much hatred that she longed for nothing more than tearing out the man's throat with her teeth. A roar filled the air and she felt like her bare hands were slashing through a body, again and again, in blind agony. Something solid hit her head and everything went dark.

*

Vincent tore his gaze from the two bodies at his feet and stumbled over to where Catherine was lying. There was blood on her face, and he bent quickly to check her vital signs. When he felt her soft breath against his cheek and the steady beat of her pulse, he straightened again to look around for Amy. One of the three men had escaped, but the only thing on his terrified mind had been flight, and Vincent was certain that he hadn't taken Amy with him. The child must be somewhere out there and he hoped that she hadn't run too far. At fourteen months, Amy was quite capable of toddling a larger distance at an amazing speed for someone that young. He knew he had to find her, but the thought of leaving Catherine, if only for a minute, was unbearable.

He sighed with relief when soft sniffling noises reached his acute sense of hearing. "Amy?" he called out softly, and the sobbing increased. With a desperate glance at Catherine's still form in the grass he followed the sound and bent to scoop up the terrified child. "It's all right," he soothed. "I'm here, little one. I'll take you home."

"Vint," she sobbed, and then, "Mama."

"Your Mama is over there," he said, pointing to the place where Catherine lay. "She needs our help and she wants you to be a brave little girl right now and stop crying. Do you think you can do that?"

The little head nodded eagerly while he carried her over to Catherine and carefully put her on her feet.

"I'm afraid you will have to walk, since your mother needs to be carried," he explained, and Amy nodded again, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Slowly, cautiously, he put his hands beneath Catherine's shoulders and knees and lifted her from the ground. Her precious weight felt sweet against his chest, and he briefly squeezed his eyes shut to gain control over the emotions warring inside him. He had not killed in a very long time, and never before had he held Catherine this close. Her head was tucked securely against the curve of his neck, her soft hair tickling his bare skin, and terror and bliss -- and shame -- were all but tearing him apart as he headed for the nearest access drain. He felt a tentative tug on his cloak and, looking down, he found the way the child was holding on to him and trailing behind him, strangely calming and steadying.

*

"Amy?" Catherine moaned and stirred restlessly on the cot in the hospital chamber.

Instantly, Vincent was at her side.

"Amy is safe and asleep in a chamber nearby," he quickly reassured her.

"Is she...?" Catherine inquired anxiously, struggling to focus her eyes and get a clear picture of his face before her.

"She escaped uninjured. Don't worry. Please, Catherine, you must rest. You have a slight concussion."

With a sigh of relief Catherine relaxed, and from the way her eyes widened as she looked around her, Vincent could tell that she was gradually becoming aware of her unusual surroundings.

"Where are we, Vincent? Is this where you live?"

He smiled indulgently. "Yes, we are in my world. You are safe now, but you must rest."

With wonderment she let her eyes roam the rocky chamber walls, the candles that flickered everywhere she looked, and the odd assembly of medical paraphernalia on a nearby table. The sight of them alarmed her, and she lifted a trembling hand to touch the bandages that covered part of her head.

"What happened? What did they do to me, Vincent?"

"You have a gash on your forehead and a cut on your left cheek, just below your ear. Both injuries required stitches, but Father said that you will be fine soon." When she tried to sit up, he eased her gently back against the pillow, shaking his head. "There are a few bruised ribs as well," he informed her, "but nothing is cracked or broken."

For a while Vincent watched in silence as a variety of emotions played across her features. Suddenly her hand came up and seized his where it rested on the blanket. "You saved my life," she stated. "But how...how did you know?"

He dropped his eyes before he responded, "I knew because I felt it. I sensed what you were feeling, and the intensity of your fear showed me the way to where you were."

Awed, she looked at him, barely able to believe, much less comprehend, what he was telling her. "You mean you could read my thoughts?"

He shook his head and looked up to meet her incredulous gaze. "Catherine, I would be at a loss to explain all of this. All I know is that there is..." He hesitated briefly before he went on, "...a connection between us that sometimes enables me to feel what you feel."

"Sometimes?"

Taking a deep breath, he nodded. "At times when you are emotionally involved in thoughts of me," he explained reluctantly, fighting the urge to avert his gaze.

She withdrew her hand and his heart sank.

"As a matter of fact, I was thinking about you before it happened," she conceded and, blushing, she added, "I was thinking of how much you've come to mean to me."

There was no time to savor the warmth in her eyes at her soft admission, for a commotion in the corridor outside the hospital chamber told Vincent that they wouldn't be alone for much longer.

"Peter!" Catherine gasped when the doctor entered the room, followed by Father.

"So, how are we doing this morning, Princess?" Peter said with a broad grin, and Vincent watched with amusement as Catherine's stunned expression was replaced by one of dawning comprehension.

"So that's how Vincent knew about Amy," she exclaimed, and it was clear that many more pieces of the puzzle fell into place at that moment. After automatically checking the bandages and feeling for Catherine's pulse, Peter sat down on the chair Vincent had vacated only moments ago.

"It would be perfectly understandable if you were angry with me, Catherine," he began, "but maybe one day you'll understand why these people had to be told about Amy."

"Don't worry, Peter, I do understand," she reassured him. "Had I known about them, I'd have told them myself," she added with a fond glance at Vincent that didn't go unnoticed by anyone in the room. "I guess I'll have a lot of thinking to do," she finally stated, "but first I do need some rest."

Peter rose from the chair and the three men turned to leave. When Vincent cast a last look at her from the entrance, she was already asleep.

*

Two hours later, on his way back to the hospital chamber, Vincent's thoughts revolved around the things Father, Peter, and he had discussed in the study. It was clear that Amy couldn't return Above after having been seen by the man who had been able to escape. Although no one could foretell what kind of a threat that man could possibly pose to the child, it was a risk that must not be taken. Not for a moment did Vincent doubt that Catherine would understand and agree with them that Amy had to remain Below, but his heart constricted with the pain he knew it would cause her to return to her life Above without the child. For return she must. He knew that. Someone who had a life Above, a family, and friends, could not very well simply drop off the face of the earth.

On arriving at the chamber entrance, Vincent paused, still uncertain as to how to approach the painful subject. He sensed that Catherine was awake, thinking. Her gaze met his when he finally entered. Reaching for his hand, she pulled him down to sit beside her on the bed.  

"Amy can't return Above with me," she said.

In response he just shook his head slowly, and when she leaned forward he drew her against his chest in a comforting embrace. Sensing that she fought to hold back her tears, he whispered, "Just cry, Catherine. It's all right."

With a resolute shake of her head, she drew back slightly. "I know that she is safe here, and she'll have you and others who'll be there for her."

"She will always have you as well, Catherine, for you may visit her as often as you like. You are her mother. Nothing will ever change that."

Now the tears did fall after all, and he gasped helplessly as her sadness washed over him.

Suddenly her emotions shifted and he sensed a wave of red hot anger blazing through her. She pulled away from him, her eyes smoldering with barely repressed rage. "How dare they," she tossed out. "How dare anybody intrude on others' lives in such a cruel way. They would have killed me, and God knows what they'd have done to Amy if you hadn't intervened. Oh, Vincent, I wish…I wish I could have killed them with my own hands.”

Dropping his gaze, but quickly forcing himself to meet her eyes again, he answered firmly, "You don't know what you are saying, Catherine. Taking a life is a horrible experience. Never believe that it takes away the wrath and the pain you are feeling. Killing won't ever make anything right again. It only leaves you bleeding deep inside. Dying..." His voice trailed off as he lost himself to the agonizing memories of the previous night. She took his hands into hers, then, and her sorrow jerked him from his somber thoughts.

"I'm so sorry, Vincent. That was thoughtless of me. It's just that...I must find a way to deal with it, but I don't know how. I don't have the strength."

"You have the strength. You do. I know you," he said with deep conviction, and the way her gaze clung to his brought tears to his eyes. She came into his arms again, and he dropped back his head, moaning softly under the electrifying contact of their bodies.

"Thank you, Vincent," she whispered against his chest, and the warmth and trust he felt from her finally dispelled the dark clouds of foreboding that hovered just around the edges of his mind.

EIGHT MONTHS LATER