By
Debbie Ristick
The last strains of
Mozart’s "Magic Flute" reverberated off the tunnel walls, and closing
his eyes in appreciation, Vincent lifted his chin. He stood in silence, lost in
thought upon the bridge spanning the Whispering Gallery’s splendor, a copy of
Byron clutched in his strong hands. His best thinking was done in this vast
chamber, and he had sought the solitude of the voices on many occasions in the
past.
Walking slowly across the
much repaired bridge, he sighed heavily as the emphasis of this perplexity
forced its attention on him. Catherine had been a part of him for so long now,
yet there was a miserable emptiness inside of her that she refused to
acknowledge. He felt it acutely—as though the never ending distress she
experienced originated from inside of him. Yet when he asked her about it, or told
her of the feelings he sensed in her, she denied she lacked anything and
insisted his love and companionship was enough for her. But the enigma of her
unspoken longing remained with him, denying him sleep, disturbing his work, and
affecting him strongly in everything he did.
"Catherine," he
whispered her name softly, listening as the word echoed throughout the
magnificent chamber. Her affection was like a beacon, drawing him close, urging
him to feel, to touch, to experience. But he would not, he should not
think of her in "that" way. Inside himself, he was certain that
avoidance of her yearning for him was the answer.
A sigh touched his lips and
Vincent paced across the bridge once again. How could he tell her of his
desires? How could he even think them? But he did, and sometimes those needs
were so strong and devastating, that the suffering it caused him was
unbearable. The love that raged between them consumed them both, and it was all
he could do sometimes to stay in control and not allow himself to hurdle
headlong into the flames.
But what to do? How could
he put aside the teachings of a lifetime, the dread and anxieties that had been
formed in him? He could not effortlessly abandon those ideals. Yet a part of
him wanted desperately to cast that restrained part of him away. He dreamt of
holding her close, of allowing himself the liberty she would happily grant him,
to see reality in its most exquisite form. He wanted to love her, wanted to
touch the heat.
And besides that, his mind
insisted as he made his way to the inner chambers, he must think of
Catherine. She gave so much of herself, asking for so little in return. What
she wanted and needed now, was what he wanted and needed. Their happiness had
been put on hold for far too long and it gnawed at them both. It was for both
of them, he thought, the joy that awaited, but the decision fell to him for it
was his fear that held them back. Filled with worry and trepidation he forgot
about their dream. It was the definition of the dream they shared that gave
them strength, gave them the will to continue, and put aside the pain. In all
honestly, Vincent knew she deserved unconditional love, and his trust—for trust
there must be to go further as one.
Entering his chamber, a
long, troubled grimace pulled at the corners of his mouth. Did he not
"trust" Catherine? Could something deep inside himself not allow that
simple consideration?
"No," he
whispered tensely to the room, tossing the poor copy of Byron onto his bed. "It
is not possible." The affection, and truth be told, passion that he felt
towards Catherine was unquestionable. There was no going back.
His own words to her so
many months before replayed in his mind. "One either moves towards love or
away from it, Catherine," he had stated. "There is no other
direction."
Knowing what must be done,
Vincent scooped up the leather trimmed cloak that would protect him in the
world above. He placed the copy of Byron upon the shelf behind his bed and
smiled. "For us, there is no other direction," he whispered with
sudden conviction, "it must be."
* * *
Sitting at her desk,
Catherine Chandler found herself lost in a notion she thought was long since
buried and with an exasperated sigh she swore softly under her breath. No
wonder Vincent looked at her so strangely when they spent time together, no
wonder he asked so many times if she was all right! She was broadcasting her
need of him, not so much in words, but in the urges she allowed herself to
experience, the desire that sometimes crept slowly unheeded to the surface of
her mind. She tried to exercise self-control, for allowing him to feel what she
wanted would definitely be upsetting to him. But those eyes, the way they
caressed her! How could she not want him? All that was Vincent was
sensual. All he said sent shivers of longing flying up her spine. This was
insane!
"Calm down,
Chandler," she admonished softly, "no sense in getting out of control
now, just when Joe might let you go home."
Looking up, she spotted the
attractive figure of Joe Maxwell striding purposefully towards her, grinning,
his eyes alive with amusement. "Well now, Radcliffe, seems you’re all
packed up. Thinking about going home for the weekend maybe?" He sat back
on her desk, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Guilty as charged,
Counselor," she returned with a smile. "Now, if there are no
objections? You don’t have another deposition hidden under your shirt do
you?"
"No more work
Radcliffe and no objections," his tone changed to one of seriousness. "Cathy,
the report you filed on the Thompson case was terrific; Moreno is pleased as
punch. I just wanted you to know that your hard work paid off. You deserve the
time kiddo."
"Thompson deserves as
much as the courts will give him," her reply was soft as she lost herself
in the memory of all the children she had interviewed. "I’m sure the Grand
Jury will be more than accommodating."
"Sure thing,
Radcliffe," Maxwell patted her shoulder. "Now, get out of here before
I change my mind."
Grabbing her briefcase,
Catherine headed towards the exit, but turned back briefly to find Joe’s eyes
on her, a smile as bright as sunshine on his face. "You heard me, get
outta here, Radcliffe."
"Night, Joe," she
called, then disappeared into the hallway.
All the way to the
elevator, and subsequently to the parking structure, Catherine felt a stirring
in her heart that she knew was Vincent. He was on his way to her, the feeling
of his anticipation was very strong. It had been nearly three weeks since he
had been on her balcony, nearly three weeks since he had rescued her from
Elliott Burch’s would-be murderers. In the time since, she had gone over and
over that night, picking apart what he must have felt, what he must have
sensed. Yet, when she saw it in her mind, she remembered vividly only one
moment—her confession to him. "And I wished...it...was...you," she
had spoken with intense honesty, never taking her eyes from him. His reaction
was quiet and afterwards he had not spoken much. When she had left she had felt
him stronger than ever before. It was as though something in their bond had
blossomed and strengthened. This feeling had left her breathless as she hurried
towards her car.
* * *
He stood on her balcony,
lost in thought, his face passive, contented, and for a moment, Catherine did
not want to disrupt this peace in him. She knew how much in the past the
discussion she needed to have had hurt him, but these feelings could no longer
be put aside. They must realize the demons within them were not imaginary; and
they must come face to face with them, accept and ultimately deal with them in
the only way they could.
"Catherine..."
his voice broke her reverie and she turned, smiling into eyes that glowed a
brilliant blue in the darkness that surrounded him.
"I knew you were
here," she started softly, gliding through the french doors onto the
balcony. "I can feel you sometimes, your thoughts; it is quite comforting
to me. I can finally understand how it’s been for you."
"Yes," he smiled
and turned towards her, opening his arms.
"Vincent," she
whispered contentedly as she moved beside him, sighing as the solidity of his
body molded itself to hers. "There could never be enough time for us to
share, never enough hours. If only morning would never come, if only you could
stay with me."
"I know," he
whispered as the grip on her tightened possessively. "I too...am affected
by all that we feel, by the ghosts of passion we deny exist."
Tilting her head back,
Catherine gazed up at him, green eyes sparkling with emerald fire in the
moonlight. "You know then? You know what I need to discuss, what needs to
be said?"
"It disturbs us both,
Catherine. We fight this enemy collectively, without recognition of what it
is." His voice grew softer until it was hardly audible. "Yes, I know
what it is, and I accept that it must be discussed."
"And what can we
do?" The question was asked, the evidence understood by them both as they
stood there. "How can we go on, Vincent?"
Releasing her suddenly, he
turned, facing the obscurity of the night, seemingly lost in the magic of the
stars above them. "One either moves towards love or away from it,
Catherine." His head turned slightly, "there is no other direction,
now, or ever."
Intense emotion built
inside of her, and Catherine was first overjoyed, then terrified at his words. Did
he mean that he would leave her again? Or did he mean it was time to forge
ahead in their relationship? Could he accept his own enlightenment as well as
her awareness of the problem?
"Vincent," she
began slowly, her voice carefully measured to hide her nervousness. "There
have been times recently when you asked if I lacked anything, if I was unhappy
about something. I’ve always told you no, always told you that there was
nothing I needed." She turned towards the night, looking up at the brilliant
light beaming down upon them from the moon. "We always promised to share
the truth with one another, and I’m sorry, but I have been less than honest
with you in those moments."
Glancing into his eyes, she
saw only acceptance with her words, so after a moment, she continued. "I
have wanted to spare you pain, Vincent, wanted more than anything not to cause
you undo stress. I’ve seen how the slightest adversity affects you, how deeply
you are troubled by it. I do not want you to experience pain because of me, my
love. I want you to be happy, to know joy. I can hide nothing from you. I
realize that now, but I’ve hidden my feelings simply because I knew they would
cause you pain."
Listening to her
confession, Vincent felt his heart bursting with the intense love she felt for
him. She suffered greatly because of his fear, yet she feared to hurt
him with her pain!
"Catherine," he
began gently, taking a hesitant step towards her. "You must not fear my
reaction to your feelings for me. I understand them, accept them, and realize
that they are there. I too have feelings, desires for things I have never
before dreamt possible. I have buried them, denied they existed, and shut them
away. In so doing I have caused you great discomfort, and for that, I must beg
your forgiveness. I promised countless times...that I would never hurt you. But
I have, so I too, have been less than honest." At the conclusion of his
words, he moved to the end of the balcony, grabbing the trellis as though to
leave.
Hope for the future began
to edge its way into her mind and Catherine attempted a smile. "I see that
we both had things to discuss tonight. I’m glad you’ve decided to share those
things with me. I’m glad we know the truth. It is sometimes hard to live with,
Vincent, the secret we keep, but nothing means more to me than you. Please
believe that."
Hearing the anguish in her
voice, Vincent turned quickly, sensing more than seeing the intense trembling
of her body. Instantly, he was hypnotized by the magic in her eyes and lost in
the spell of her need. He was captured by the desire he celebrated in his own
soul.
Releasing the vine, he took
a step towards her, then another. Her eyes opened widely as she realized that
he was not leaving and she gasped loudly as she closed the distance between
them.
Finally, they were
together...with moans of surrender, muffled whispers of endearment, tears and
laughter. Their embrace was that of lovers, body to body, feeling the sparks of
a love long denied surface in all its glorious reality. He knew in that instant
that with her love, anything had always been possible. Without her, life had no
meaning, nor would it ever.
"Catherine," he
whispered her name reverently, "I...love you."
Through the bond, Vincent
was bombarded with feelings of joy so fierce that for a moment, he lost his
footing, and that lack of balance sent them both down, falling almost comically
to the balcony floor.
"Catherine!" He
was suddenly filled with fear for her. "Are you..."
His question was drowned
out by first giggles then outright laughter coming from her as she rolled a few
inches away from him, staring in wide-eyed wonder at his distress. "I’m
fine," she managed after a moment. "Really," she insisted. "I
love you, too."
With her assurance, Vincent
realized the humorous nature of their current predicament and he relaxed. Smiling
down at her indulgently, he whispered, "I know."
Without thought,
Catherine’s hand reached up to him, gently caressing his cheek, allowing her
fingertips to linger in a sensuous journey to his mouth. Her eyes closed as the
desire she knew began to build, and realizing what she was doing, pulled her
hand away as though his touch had scorched her.
But Vincent was quicker and
his hand snaked out to grab hers and pull it back to where it had rested. Applying
only slight pressure, her touch began to warm him, to fan the ever-present
flame of need in him and he pulled her to him suddenly, crushing her body
against his chest.
Catherine relaxed
immediately, for she was where she felt safest; on her balcony in Vincent’s
arms. She was in heaven. No other need was crucial now, nothing else held any
importance to either of them, except this certainty they had accepted.
After a moment, Vincent pulled back from her and allowed his gaze to linger on her face, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the dazed look in her eyes, and the slight opening of her mouth. He was attuned, in that instant, to her body as well. He felt her increased heartbeat, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and the grip on him that she refused to loosen. She wanted him now with a passion stronger than he had imagined possible. Inside he felt it was right, and knew that it was meant to be.
Trembling, he slowly lowered his head to hers. The resolve he had felt urged him on, and when their lips met he knew that all would be well. He lost himself in her kiss, allowed himself to experience all that it offered, all that love promised. The kiss deepened and he was dizzy, the world around him spinning as the surrender he so wished to make was forced to the surface of his mind.
Parting slowly, Catherine opened her eyes first and was touched by the look of awe on Vincent’s face. When he opened his eyes, she smiled at him and knew through their bond that he was no longer afraid.
"I love you," she whispered, dropping her head to his chest. "I don’t ever want you to go."
In that instant, Vincent knew without a doubt that he had been right, for he had decided that toward their love was the direction he must go and that was why he had come tonight. He understood in that span of time just what had driven their friend Demitri from Russia all those months ago, what drove him to climb eighteen stories, and what caused Catherine to constantly leave the city she loved and seek the sanctuary of the tunnels. It was love. In that moment, he understood Catherine’s words to him on the night she returned from Westport; "it’s worth everything."
Seeing her eyes still upon him, he smiled, and touched her chin tenderly. "Then, I will not go, Catherine, I will never leave you."
Their lips met again and they shut out the rest of the world from their lives for the night, cast aside the pain they had experienced and caused one another. It was time for words to be put aside, for yearning hearts to be completed. Souls that were spiritually joined at the dawn of time became one in love and dreams were allowed to be realized. A path was chosen for a future together, as the stars twinkled overhead, and the darkness of fear disappeared from their worlds...forever