After

Part III "Curiouser and Curiouser"

Lewis Carroll Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

ACT I

It was just after five o’clock Monday morning when Catherine crossed the basement threshold and climbed the ladder that led to the lower level of her building. Her weekend below had been glorious. She and Vincent were closer than ever, her tunnel family had surprised her with delightful gifts to welcome the baby, and she had been able to rest and restore her tired body and mind.

Floating on a cloud of contentment, she left the stairwell and entered the hallway outside her apartment. It took her several seconds to process the fact that Joe and two uniformed officers were vigorously pounding on the door to apartment 21E--her apartment.

"What are you doing?" she demanded above the din.

Turning at the sound of her voice, relief flooded Joe’s face. Stepping toward her, he enveloped her in a rough bear hug, but released her almost as quickly to hold her at arm’s length. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

"I was away for the weekend. What happened?"

Not a bit sheepish, he thanked the officers, and then followed her in as she unlocked the door. "John Moreno is dead," he said coldly. "Security guards found him in his car an hour ago. When I couldn’t get a hold of you, I called the cops." His panic ebbing, he gave her a weak smile. "I was just about to break down your door...again."

Tossing her keys and bag aside, she headed for the couch and sat down hard. "Moreno’s dead?"

Joe nodded. "And it was no accident--one bullet to the back of the skull."

Catherine was incredulous. "That makes no sense."

"Tell me about it. All hell is about to break loose."

******

Vincent had never been so happy--but he was not without worry. A helper sent word before noon that Catherine’s boss, the district attorney, had been murdered. Given their history, violence in close proximity to Catherine wasn’t a new experience for him. Her world was dangerous, and she was often involved in investigations stemming from brutal circumstances. He knew that their bond had helped him protect her, but since his illness, that link had been slow in returning. He forced himself to remember that Catherine was extremely competent and did her job very well, but that did little to allay his fears.

He dwelled on the situation most of the day. When darkness finally fell and he made his way to her balcony, he found her apartment empty. This only added to his anxiety, and he paced incessantly until he heard her key in the door.

She saw his silhouette the moment she walked in and quickly went to the terrace.

"What happened?" he asked without preamble. "Do they know who is responsible?"

Catherine shook her head. "But there are a lot of people working this case." She put a hand on his arm. "Don’t worry, Vincent. It has nothing to do with me. I’m just one of dozens of Assistant DA’s. No one is interested in me."

Vincent sighed, releasing some of the tension that had been building throughout the day. "I’m interested in you," he assured her, his tone not the least bit flippant.

"That’s good to know," she smiled, "but the list of criminals that John Moreno put away during his career is staggering. There’s no shortage of suspects."

Her ready answer unsettled him. She was holding something back. "You have your own idea, don’t you?" he asked quietly.

He knew her too well. Joe and she certainly did have an idea of their own, and it wasn’t good. Unable to look Vincent in the eye, she moved away to lean against the balcony edge, focusing on the lights spread out before her. "Nothing is certain," she said. "But we have a theory."

"It’s more than a theory, Catherine. What aren’t you telling me?"

Turning away from the city, she suddenly felt cold even though the night was warm. "Joe and I think it may have something to do with the Hanlon case. We turned over all the evidence to Moreno, expecting him to take action, but he didn’t. In fact, he forced us to drop the case." Catherine hugged herself as if warding off a chill. "That information made reference to several top ranking government officials, and we think Moreno may have been killed because of it."

Vincent sat down heavily on the bench beside the wall. "You uncovered this information. That puts you directly in the path of Hanlon’s killer."

Catherine didn’t know how to respond in a way that would portray the situation any better than it was. She had, in fact, spent most of the afternoon discussing that very thing with Joe. If they were right, and Moreno was killed because of his knowledge of this man "Gabriel," they might be next in line. In addition, because they had discovered corruption at very high levels of government, they didn’t know who to trust. In the end, they agreed to trust no one, including the police. "It’s only a theory, Vincent."

"One grounded in fact, Catherine. You’re not safe." He rose from the bench to stand in front of her. He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders.

Catherine looked up into his worried blue eyes. "Everything will be okay. The person responsible will be caught and that will be the end of it." The words sounded hollow to her ears, let alone to his.

He pulled her into his arms. "I hope you’re right," he murmured into the top of her head, turning to nuzzle his cheek against her hair. "I will not sit back and let you get hurt." This last was said with an intensity that took Catherine aback. It was very clear he meant every word.

*****

Catherine went to work in the DA’s office the next day, as expected, and she continued to do so the day after that and the day after that. As Deputy District Attorney, Joe took over the administration duties of the office until a new District Attorney could be elected, and a police task force was formed to investigate Moreno’s murder. Joe and Catherine kept their own investigation off the books, sharing nothing from the Hanlon case and not discussing it in or around the office, not even with Rita. They waited for any repercussions stemming from Moreno’s death, but none came. On the surface, it looked like an isolated incident that had nothing to do with Joe and Catherine’s investigation in any way. But one thing was certain--the evidence they had once fought so hard to obtain was nowhere to be found. Patrick Hanlon’s black book and the scrap of paper that held the key were gone.

*****

ACT II

Weeks, and then months, slipped by without a single new development in the case. Time marched on, the world kept turning, and new cases flooded the District Attorney’s office--all of which justifiably pulled Joe and Catherine away from Moreno’s murder.

At nearly eight months along, Catherine’s pregnancy was now common knowledge; even people she hardly knew offered their congratulations—and too frequently—their advice. Jenny had given her a shower right after Thanksgiving, and Rita had given her an office baby shower just before the Christmas holiday. While Catherine was sure gossip flourished among both her friends and her colleagues, at this point no one asked too many questions about the baby’s paternity, for which she was grateful. Her friends knew she was involved with someone who did not live in the city, and times were changing. It was becoming common for a single woman to have a baby without the benefit of marriage, and it was generally assumed that Catherine was simply one of that growing number.

Oddly, the one person who hadn’t contacted her regarding her condition was Elliot Burch. Elliot had been out of the country a great deal since the death of his father, and Catherine knew he was grieving in the only way he knew how; he threw himself into his work with even more determined ferocity than ever. His most recent project was a Pan-American venture based in Buenos Aires, which, by all accounts, was one of the most successful joint ventures between North and South American interests in recent history. She’d only spoken to him handful of times since his father’s murder, and all those conversations had taken place before she knew she was pregnant.

The day that changed was characteristic of her entire relationship with Elliot. She had just finished an early dinner with Jenny, who was now on her way to a late meeting with a client. Catherine was headed out of the little Italian place near her office, looking forward to going home and getting things organized for a weekend below. Tucking a soft, hand knit scarf inside the collar of her coat with one hand and reaching for the door with the other, a gust of mid-December wind nearly wrenched the door from her grasp, tipping her off balance and sending her staggering. Before she ended up fanny over funny bone on the pavement, a well-dressed man in a midnight blue cashmere overcoat stepped forward to grab both the door and her elbow, saving her from disaster. She glanced up to offer her sincere thanks to the helpful stranger and found herself looking into the tanned face and pale eyes of Elliot Burch.

"Elliot!" she cried, stepping back into the restaurant vestibule, pulling him with her. "It’s so good to see you!"

Noticing her very obvious condition instantly, the hint of a sad shadow passed over his eyes. "Cathy!" he stepped forward to give her a warm hug. "Then it’s true," he said, stepping back to take in the full picture of a very pregnant Cathy Chandler.

She unconsciously put a hand on her belly. "You’ve been away," she said by way of feeble explanation. "I wanted to see you...to tell you...in person."

"I just returned from Argentina yesterday." His eyes softened. "You look wonderful," he said quietly, "almost ethereal. Your ‘someone else’ is very lucky."

"You’d like him, Elliot."

Elliot doubted that. Whoever her man was, he was responsible for the loss of the only woman he ever truly loved. How could he ever feel anything but envy for this man? "Are you happy?" he asked her, honestly wanting to know.

"I am." She nodded slowly. "I truly am."

"Then I’m happy for you," he replied, surprising himself by realizing that he actually was. "I love you," he said simply, then added softly, "that certainly hasn’t changed. If you’re happy, how can I not be happy for you?" He met her eyes and gave her a half smile.

"I’m glad you’re back." She reached for his hand, giving it a warm squeeze. "I’ll always feel close to you, Elliot," she said sincerely. "That won’t change either."

"Ah, there’s the rub." He shrugged, his smile becoming wistful. "’We can still be friends’ never cut quite so deep."

"Don’t be silly," she chided and stepped forward to give him a heart-felt hug. "You know it’s not like that at all. I care for you very much." For all his faults and failings, Elliot Burch was a good man, and she considered her relationship with him a loving one.

He nodded, taking heart in the fact that he knew she meant it. She may not be in his life in the way he would have liked, but it warmed him to know she was at least still a part of his life. He’d have to be content with that, and for him, that was an evolutionary leap forward, helping to rectify too many years of getting whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. Trust Cathy Chandler to continue to bring that lesson home.

After catching up with him over a cup of espresso, Catherine accepted his offer of a ride and shared a warm good-bye as he dropped her in front of her building. She was glad he finally knew about the baby. It eased her mind to know she could let go of one more secret.

Because of the unexpected meeting, however, she was later than usual getting home. Hurrying to enter her dark apartment, her foot landed on something just over the threshold. Flipping on the light, she bent down to retrieve a cheap, plain white envelope from the floor.

She assumed a helper must have slipped it under her door. She knew immediately it wasn’t from Vincent. He had a strong, fluid hand, used good stationery, and wrote with a fountain pen. Her name had been scrawled across the outside of a dime store envelope in ballpoint, the script a rushed combination of print and cursive. Sliding a finger beneath the flap, she expected to find perhaps an invitation from the children below to attend some celebration or special event. Instead, she was stunned to discover it was a letter addressed to her and signed by, of all people, Teresa Hanlon, Patrick Hanlon’s widow.

Dear Ms. Chandler,

You don’t know me, but I was Patrick Hanlon’s wife. I know Pat left something with Joe Maxwell and that you were helping Mr. Maxwell investigate Pat’s death. I need to talk to you both as soon as possible to discuss that item. I believe my son and I are in extreme danger, and I have no one else to turn to. I will be at the Alice in Wonderland monument in Central Park Sunday at noon. I beg you, please meet me; our lives depend on it.

Teresa Hanlon

The hair on the back of Catherine’s neck rose and gooseflesh covered her arms. She didn’t like the sound of that at all. She locked the door behind her and immediately headed for the phone to call Joe.

He answered on the first ring.

"It’s me," she said without greeting. "I just got home and found a note under my door from Teresa Hanlon."

"Me, too. I’m sending over a unit to sit outside your apartment. I don’t like this one bit." Joe’s agitation was evident.

"We’ve got to meet with her, Joe--" Catherine insisted, but Joe interrupted her before she could continue.

"No way, Radcliffe. You’re like five minutes away from delivering a baby. You’re not going anywhere. I’ll meet with her myself."

"Not a chance," Catherine countered. "I’m in just as deep as you are."

"Don’t argue with me about this, Cathy," his voice rose with anger. "It’s too risky."

"It’s my risk, not yours. Besides, if you don’t let me come with you then I’ll just have to get there on my own... alone." She wasn’t giving an inch on this. Joe had already been blown up once in relation to Patrick Hanlon. She wasn’t about to let him go off without someone to watch his back, even if that someone was her.

Joe continued to sputter uselessly, but she was adamant. Finally, after doing everything but threatening to have her arrested, he relented.

"And you can call off the unit," she added. "I’m staying with friends tonight and won’t be in my apartment."

Relieved to hear that, Joe conceded. He agreed to meet her Sunday at eleven o’clock to make their way to the meeting site together.

Catherine hung up the phone, ridiculously triumphant considering the actual outcome. There was absolutely no reason to be happy about being part of what could turn out to be a prelude to disaster. Moving back toward to door to double check that the dead bolt was engaged, a slight movement caught her eye. Whirling, her heart leaping from her chest, she saw Vincent standing in the open French doors, his broad arms folded and a scowl clouding his face. "Vincent!" she exclaimed, breathless. "I didn’t know you were here."

"Obviously," he said quietly, but his voice was steely beneath the softness. "Would you care to share exactly what you are doing that involves risk and meeting people in the park in the middle of January?"

As her heart settled back to a normal rhythm, she approached him, holding out the folded note. "This was waiting for me when I got home."

Vincent stepped down into the living room, reading the brief appeal. "I assume you were on the phone with Joe Maxwell?"

Catherine nodded.

"I also assume he insisted you not take part in this meeting?"

She nodded again.

"I agree with him, Catherine. You have no idea if this note is really from Patrick Hanlon’s widow. It could just as easily be from his killer, luring you into a trap."

"It could," Catherine agreed. "But it could also be a desperate plea from a woman whose husband was brutally murdered. How can I ignore the possibility that she and her son really are in danger?"

Vincent sighed heavily. "I don’t like it."

"Neither do I," Catherine agreed, "but I can’t ignore it. Joe and I can’t trust anyone, not even the police, and I won’t let him go alone."

"I know that place. There’s a small drainage grate that the children use less than forty yards off the path. I’ll wait there while you meet with this woman."

"And if something goes wrong, what will you do? Leap out of the drainage tunnel surrounded by tourists and dog walkers?"

"If I have to," Vincent snapped, his temper flaring.

"I know you don’t like it, but this meeting is in the middle of the day in a very public park. It’s a safe place for her, and it’s a safe place for us. If anything looks the least bit suspicious, I promise, we’ll run."

Vincent raised an eyebrow, looking down at her very prominent belly. "Run?"

"You know what I mean," she retorted.

After restating the case she’d just related to Joe nearly word for word, Vincent, too, had to assent. Also like Joe, he realized it was useless to fight with her. After all, she was a lawyer. Beyond that, however, he knew she’d never let such a request go unanswered. And she was right about something else, too--he didn’t like it, not one bit. Let her think she won her argument. Despite any danger of being discovered, he’d be in that tunnel Sunday morning whether she liked it or not.

The brief argument ended, Catherine began to gather her things for the weekend. In less than fifteen minutes, she was ready to go below. Vincent left her balcony while she made her way down to the tunnel entrance beneath her building to meet up with him again.

Ever since the horrible night she was grabbed by a fanatical stalker, she approached the basement egress to the tunnels with mild trepidation. Looking over her shoulder and homing in on every ping, whoosh, and creak of the building, she couldn’t deny that she was spooked more than usual--receiving that note had been deeply disturbing.

When she finally made it to the metal ladder and began to descend--no easy task at nearly eight months pregnant--she was immensely relieved that Vincent was right there to help her.

Her feet safely on the ground, she reached for him. "Don’t be angry with me," she murmured, turning her face into his chest.

He held her close. "If anything happened to you—"he began, unable to finish.

"I know. I feel the same way." She looked up at him. "But if it is Patrick Hanlon’s widow, she needs our help."

"I know," he reluctantly agreed, wrapping his arms more tightly around her.

After a moment, they broke the embrace. He lifted the overnight bag from her shoulder, transferring it to his own, and began to lead her down the tunnel.

Catherine sighed as she tucked her arm through his. "This has been an exhausting day," she admitted, looking up at him. "And I haven’t even told you who I ran into."

Vincent looked down into upturned face. "Who’s that?" he asked.

"Elliot," she declared, smiling.

*****

Catherine wasn’t exaggerating when she said she was tired. She hadn’t been below for more than an hour when Vincent noticed her eyelids drooping even as she tried valiantly to stay awake. They were sitting on his bed with their backs against the ledge in front of the stained glass window that ran the length of his bed. He’d been reading to her from a new book she had purchased for him, Adrienne Rich’s Time’s Power. Catherine had been taken by Rich’s idea of revisiting the poetry of one’s past and thought Vincent and she might enjoy this poet together. Unfortunately, Catherine’s long, emotional day was catching up to her fast.

As Vincent closed the book, Catherine’s eyes fluttered open. "Don’t stop," she said, stifling a yawn. "I’m still listening."

"You, my love, are way beyond ‘driving old roads again," he said, quoting a line from the last poem he’d read to her.

Catherine conceded, and allowed Vincent to help her get up. In less than five minutes she had changed into her night clothes and was back in bed, this time stretched out and neatly tucked under the covers.

Vincent bent down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I’ll be to bed soon," he assured her.

She nodded, already drifting off. "Don’t be long," she murmured.

Satisfied that Catherine was asleep, Vincent made his way through the tunnels in search of Mouse and Jamie. He knew he’d need stealth, agility, and a good set of eyes and ears above if he was going to make his plan work. Catherine would not be alone and unprotected in the park, despite how it might appear on the surface. He knew without a doubt that if he had to make a choice between protecting her and remaining hidden, he’d run stark naked through Times Square. He just had to hope it wouldn’t come to that.

It was long after midnight when Vincent returned to his chamber. A sense of wonder and gratitude flooded through him as he gazed at Catherine sleeping so soundly in his bed. To have his love there, with him, was more than he ever dreamed possible. Not a day went by that he wasn’t grateful beyond measure.

As he got into bed and stretched out beside her, he brushed the hair away from her face. She stirred, but didn’t wake. He leaned down. "I love you," he whispered beside her ear.

She responded by sighing deeply and relaxing against him.

His hand on her belly, he felt their child stir. Finally, he lay down his head. Worry kept him awake for a while, but the delightful warmth of Catherine’s body pressed against his eventually lulled him into a deep and dreamless sleep.

*****

Act III

The world below literally hummed with activity, and directly or indirectly, Catherine and the impending birth of the baby were responsible. Vincent’s tunnel dwelling family rejoiced in his happiness, and all sorts of plans and schemes were in the air. Everyone seemed to view the advent of Vincent’s child as a sign to take their world to new levels, and everyone wanted to help.

When Jacob sought out Vincent and Catherine that particular Saturday morning, they, like everyone else, were discussing the future.

"I know several people who home school their children, Vincent, and I’ve seen living proof that the education the children receive below is far superior to what is provided in most schools above. Look at Michael, for heaven’s sake. I would feel very comfortable having our child educated by the teachers below—which, by the way, often includes you." Catherine was seated across from Vincent, finishing her breakfast and sipping a cup of tea.

"We can’t forget that our child will be part of your world, as well. Going to a fine school above might be more enriching," Vincent countered. "Your world can be an exciting and beautiful place filled with museums and concert halls and living history. I don’t want our child to miss out on anything."

Jacob couldn’t help but shake his head ruefully as he stood at the entrance to what he now viewed as their chamber rather than just Vincent’s alone. "I can hardly believe my ears," he said half to himself. "This conversation is almost surreal."

Catherine looked up and smiled. "Tell him, Father. The educational systems above are not all they’re cracked up to be."

Jacob held up a protesting hand, leaning heavily on his cane. "Keep me out of this argument," he good-naturedly grimaced. "I’ve got Mouse volunteering to teach your child about explosives--safely, he assures me--and Cullen is all set to turn him or her into a master carpenter. Even William has made it known he can impart just as much to a budding chef as the Cordon Bleu." He straightened. "Everyone, it seems, wants to share in the responsibilities of educating your child."

"See? That’s what I’m talking about." Catherine nodded toward Vincent. "What child could ask for more?"

Noticing Jacob’s slight sway, Vincent rose and pulled out a chair for him. Jacob smiled his thanks and sat down heavily, setting his cane beside the chair.

Catherine also recognized that Jacob was moving stiffly as if in more pain than usual. "Are you not well, Father?" she asked, her disquiet ending their good-natured banter.

He kindly waved away her concern, patting her hand. "I’m just a little tired this morning, that’s all."

Catherine caught Vincent’s eye, their glances reflecting shared worry. "How long has it been since Peter’s last visit?" she asked, trying--and failing--to sound offhand.

"He was just here to give the children their booster shots," Jacob insisted.

"That was in September, Father. We haven’t seen Peter in months," Vincent clarified.

"I have an appointment with him Tuesday," Catherine interjected. "I’ll ask him to come and see you."

"That’s not necessary," Jacob protested. "I’m fine."

"If you’re well, then that’s all the better. You two can have a nice long medical chat." Catherine’s tone brooked no argument, but she lightened the mood by adding, "When I saw him last month he was very excited about research breakthroughs in organ rejection drugs for transplant patients. The entire conversation was lost on me. I’m sure you’ll appreciate his enthusiasm far more than I."

Jacob had been sitting with the couple less than fifteen minutes before Mary came in search of him. "There you are!" she cried when she spotted him. "I’ve been looking all over for you. We may have a slight problem." Vincent rose to offer Mary his chair, but she shook her head. "Thank you, Vincent, but I can’t stay long." She turned her attention back to Jacob. "It seems Mouse is determined to find a way to give Jeffrey a live monkey for his birthday. Could you speak to him please? We’re all very familiar with Jeffrey’s love of animals and have agreed that a cat or a dog would be perfectly acceptable. A monkey, of course, is ridiculous. Unfortunately, Mouse has a way of ‘finding’ things, and it is not beyond reason that he could ‘find’ his way into the primate exhibit at the zoo!"

Jacob stood. Sighing, he placed a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. "I’ll catch up with you later," he assured his son.

Vincent nodded, watching him totter down the tunnel after Mary. Once Jacob reached the bend and was out of earshot, Vincent turned to Catherine. "Something is bothering him," he said softly. "He’s troubled, but I can’t think why."

"I sense it, too," Catherine agreed. "And I meant what I said about having Peter come down to check on him. He seems to be pushing himself too hard lately."

Again, Vincent nodded, uneasiness written all over his face. "I think the future worries him," he said softly, "more so now than ever."

"He’s always been Father, the one, the strongest pillar. Now he faces being Grandfather. That’s an entirely new role for him. One, I might add, he didn’t anticipate."

"That’s true enough." A gentle smile lit Vincent’s eyes then faded. "Birth and death are intimately connected here, and change is inevitable. No one knows that more clearly than Father."

"And this baby will change things," Catherine said pensively, "whether we’re ready or not. Perhaps Father is simply trying to prepare."

*****

When Catherine stirred Sunday morning, the chamber was cold. Opening her eyes, she looked around the room--Vincent wasn’t there. Foreboding crept into her consciousness. Below, it was extremely rare for her to wake alone after a night with Vincent. The small intimacy of sharing the morning together was one they both relished. She got up and dressed quickly—at least as quickly as a very pregnant woman can dress.

After only a few moments in the tunnels, she met Vincent heading toward her just before she reached Jacob’s chamber. "There you are," she said with relief. Realizing he was exiting Jacob’s chamber, she asked, "Is Father all right?"

Vincent nodded. "He had some kind of episode early this morning. Mary found him unresponsive when she came to bring him a cup of tea. It seems he hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. Once Mary got him to take a few bites of food, he recovered fairly quickly."

After her relative dash down the tunnel, Catherine was winded and her back ached. She braced a hand against the tunnel wall. "Thank goodness. What possessed him not to eat?"

"He said he simply forgot. This has happened before," Vincent sighed. "He gets so wrapped up in caring for others he forgets to take care of himself. I’ve asked him to rest today, and he agreed. Mary assured me that she will make sure he doesn’t leave his chamber." For the first time that morning, Vincent looked closely at Catherine. Although he knew she slept peacefully all night, she had deep, purple circles under her eyes. "Come," he said to her, putting an arm around her shoulders to guide her back toward his chamber, "this tunnel is cold. If we’re not careful, you’ll be next."

"I’m fine," Catherine insisted. "And don’t think this is as an excuse for me not to meet with Joe and Teresa Hanlon today."

Vincent did have a hope, albeit a slim one, that he could still talk her out of meeting this woman, but Catherine’s next request put an end to that speculation.

"In fact," she began, "I’d like you to walk me back to my basement. I need to change my clothes before heading out to the park."

"Don’t do this," Vincent entreated softly.

Catherine stopped and looked up into his worried face. Gently, she placed a hand against his cheek. "I have to. You taught me that. If I have the power to help this woman, I must. She has a child, and she’s alone."

"She may not be alone. There may be others in her life, others she can turn to," he insisted.

Catherine shook her head. "For whatever reason, she’s asked me to help. Knowing what she’s already lived through, knowing what her son has already lived through, I can’t refuse."

Finally, he nodded. Without another word, he led her back to his chamber and then back to her basement entrance. Once she was safely up the metal ladder and on her way to her apartment, he flew back through the tunnels. He had plans of his own to enact.

*****

Act IV

Dressed for the January weather in a heavy winter coat, mittens, hat, scarf, and deliciously warm fleece lined boots, Catherine felt a bit like a child bundled up to go sledding. Her mobility already impeded by her pregnancy, she realized with chagrin that she wobbled more than she walked. Pressing on despite her swaddled state, she left her building and headed up the street. The day was cold, but the sky was a clear, cornflower blue, and the sun was bright. Catherine took it as a good sign.

Trying to keep their surroundings as open as possible, she arranged to meet Joe outside the Metropolitan Club, which was on a busy corner just a short walk from her building. Crossing over from Grand Army Plaza, Catherine spotted Joe almost immediately.

"Hey, Radcliffe," he greeted as she approached. "You look like the Stay Puft marshmallow man."

"Thanks," she rejoined, straightening her hat, "but a few insults aren’t going to make me change my mind. I’m coming with you, so get over it."

"Okay, okay."He held up both hands in surrender. Hailing a cab, be helped her into the backseat then went around to the other side. "Here’s what we’re gonna do…" he began as soon as he slid in beside her.

Joe had been able to find a picture of Teresa and Pat from their published engagement announcement six years before. As they drove up 5^th Avenue, he kept his eyes out for any kind of a tail while Catherine studied the photo. The dark-haired, dark-eyed woman in the newspaper clipping was very attractive. Sitting for the standard couples’ portrait, the woman gazed into the eyes of her future husband in the same manner of engagement announcement photos all over the world. Catherine could tell immediately, however, that although the picture might be posed, there was nothing artificial about the look in the woman’s eyes. Her genuine smile infused her face with a loving glow that was impossible to fake. They didn’t have a picture of the boy, but Catherine suspected he would be with his mother. If Teresa really didn’t have anyone else to turn to, it would be unlikely she’d leave the boy with strangers. They would approach Teresa together, making sure to stay in the most public area surrounding the statue.

As they neared the French Consulate, Joe asked the driver to pull over. They’d cross 5^th Avenue there and walk beside the model boat pond to the Alice in Wonderland statue at the pond’s north end just before the stroke of noon.

It wasn’t a long walk, but combined with her walk out of the tunnels earlier that morning, Catherine was beginning to feel the strain. She was glad when the statue came into view, and she immediately started to scan the crowd. Less than two minutes later, Joe and she simultaneously spotted Teresa Hanlon and her son. The boy, who looked about five years old, was dark-haired and dressed in a non-descript navy parka. He dropped his mother’s hand and darted away to climb atop a toadstool, plopping down right beside Alice.

"There she is," Catherine motioned with her head.

"I’ve got her," Joe nodded, and the two of them made their way toward the statue.

As they approached, Teresa Hanlon caught Joe’s eye, then shifted her gaze to openly stare at Catherine. She obviously hadn’t been expecting one of her saviors to be, well, expecting. The woman took a step back.

Joe held up his hand. "Relax."

"It’s all right," Catherine assured her. "We’re here to help."

"I didn’t know," Teresa Hanlon began, nodding toward Catherine. "I never would have—"

Just then, a small chunk of granite about the size of a golf ball silently kicked up from the wide, circular base around the statue inches from Catherine’s feet. Joe was unaware of the strange event and continued to approach Teresa. Catherine, however, stared down at the mysterious divot in the granite. In seconds, another divot appeared, this time materializing inches from where Teresa Hanlon was standing.

Realizing in horror that the divots were the result of a high-powered rifle miraculously missing its mark not once but twice, Catherine shouted to Joe, "Gun!"

Joe reacted instinctively, drawing his gun and raising it as he shoved the two women behind him. While he scanned the crowd around the statue, Catherine and Teresa scrambled toward the unprotected little boy. Reaching him, Teresa grabbed the boy off the statue and pulled him into her arms, terror blanching her face as she and Catherine ducked behind the bronze Wonderland characters.

In that same instant, a loud "whump" echoed though the park. Catherine’s head whipped in the direction of the sound just as a trash can about twenty yards from the statue shot into flames. This caused a minor panic among the tourists, which was then drastically compounded by a second "whump" preceding another exploding trash can from the opposite direction. Serious pandemonium now took over as tourists and locals alike screamed and scrambled to get away from the flaming receptacles. This, of course, made it impossible for whoever had been shooting at them to get off a clear shot.

Joe joined the two women still tucked behind the statue. "I don’t know what’s going on, Radcliffe, but we need to get them out of here." He nodded toward Teresa Hanlon and her now petrified little boy. "Slip out of here with the crowd. Don’t go home. Check into a hotel—and don’t try to contact me at the office. By now the whole park will be crawling with cops—and we don’t know who the bad guys are."

Catherine nodded. "I’ll find a way to get a message to you."

Joe put a hand on her arm. "Cathy… Be careful." Deep concern radiated from his dark eyes.

She squeezed his hand on her arm. "Don’t worry," she assured him. "We’ll be okay." And with that she and Teresa Hanlon swam into the rush of people heading out of the park.

People were running out of the park with exactly the same fervor as the cops and firemen running into the park. The two women and the little boy hadn’t moved very far when Catherine felt a tap on her shoulder. Catherine turned, and Jamie appeared at her side.

"Follow me," the young woman whispered, motioning Catherine to subtly change direction and angle into the park instead of out toward the city. Catherine didn’t hesitate, dragging Teresa Hanlon with her.

It only took a few moments for Teresa to realize they were no longer following the crowd. When she did, she resisted Catherine’s pull. "Where are we going? she demanded in alarm. "Shouldn’t we be heading out of the park?"

"Trust me," Catherine implored, continuing to tow the woman along. "We’ll be safe very soon, I promise."

Jamie led them to a small copse of trees away from the main path. Hidden on the other side of the little grove and protected from the gaze of any passersby, a drainage grate had been lifted. As they approached, Mouse’s head popped up out of the opening. He waved, encouraging them to hurry. Jamie hopped down the opening first and called up to Teresa to do the same.

In shock, Teresa looked back at Catherine. "You must be kidding. We can’t go down there."

"It’s okay," Catherine assured her. "They’re taking you to a safe place. You’ve got to believe me."

Teresa shook her head. "This can’t be right."

The little boy squirmed in her arms. "Mommy, I’m scared."

Mouse’s head popped back up out of the opening. "It’s okay, boy," he said. "Like the white rabbit. I’ll show you. But you’ve got to come. The only way," Mouse insisted.

The boy looked at Mouse then back to his mother. "Like the white rabbit," the boy said, "down the hole."

Teresa’s terrified eyes met Catherine’s steady gaze. She must have seen what she needed to see there because she made the leap of faith and lifted her little boy down first, and then she, like Alice herself, dropped down into the tunnel.

With both of them safely down, Catherine eyed the narrow entrance and the metal ladder that disappeared deep into the shadows. She didn’t want to think what might happen to her or the baby if she fell from this height. What on earth had possessed her to take such a ridiculous risk?

"I’m here, Catherine," she heard from below. "I’ll help you." Moments later, she saw the top of Vincent’s head. He looked up, his face a study of at least twelve different kinds of worry. "Hurry--it isn’t safe there," he encouraged. Rising a few more feet, he waited for her as she bent awkwardly to sit on the edge of the tunnel.

Leaning over, she grasped the top rung of the metal ladder and kicked out her legs until she felt the rungs below. Her feet securely on a rung, she began to make her way down. Almost immediately, Vincent came up behind her. "I’ll make sure you don’t slip," he assured her, putting one arm securely around her middle, anchoring her as he had done when he helped her climb the ladder leading to her basement.

Moments later, her feet felt the ground, and she let go of the ladder. Once she was safely down, Vincent dashed back up the metal ladder and replaced the grate, locking it into place.

The tunnel was empty. Catherine assumed Mouse and Jamie had quickly led Teresa Hanlon and her son down the passage toward safety—and away from Vincent.

Jumping down the last few feet, Vincent landed lightly beside her. "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.

She launched herself into his arms. "I am now," she said into his chest. "I’m so sorry."

Vincent pulled her close. "You did the right thing, Catherine. That woman and her child are most certainly in danger. All of you could have been killed."

Catherine leaned back to look up at him. "You had a plan."

"I told you—I wasn’t about to sit by and let you get hurt."

"The trash cans?" she asked.

"We needed a diversion. The explosions were Mouse’s idea."

Catherine hugged her to him once more. "I love Mouse."

*****

Act V

They hadn’t gone more than a few yards down the passageway before Catherine was nearly brought to her knees by a searing pain. Caught off guard, she clutched at Vincent’s cloak with both hands.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching out to keep her on her feet. "What’s wrong?"

Doubled over, she couldn’t speak. When the pain subsided a bit, she looked up at him, panicked. "I don’t know. I’ve never felt this before. Something isn’t right."

Getting his bearings, Vincent realized they were at least an hour’s walk from even the very outskirts of their underground community. "We’re a long way from home, Catherine. Can you walk?"

The pain diminished enough that Catherine nodded, and they continued to make their way slowly down the passage, but less than ten minutes later, another wave of pain began to roll over her. Holding on to him for support, her terrified eyes sought his. "Vincent," she sobbed once the pain began to pass, "I think I’m in labor. These pains are contractions."

Vincent had been present at many births below, and although he didn’t want to believe it, he recognized the signs. He reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It’s your first time, Catherine. You could be in labor for many hours before the baby comes." He did his best to sound confident.

As the pain subsided again, Catherine concurred. "That’s what all the books say."

Pressing on, they inched down the damp tunnel. This time, they had traveled only about five minutes before the next contraction began to build. Catherine reached for Vincent again and swayed into the pain. At the contraction’s apex, she felt warm wetness soak her wool slacks. When she could speak again, she panted, "My water’s broken." But before they had a chance to deal with that, another contraction began to build. "Vincent, this isn’t normal," she gasped. "Something is wrong. These contractions are too close together."

Terror suddenly seized Vincent as he once again recalled the evil fabrication Paracelsus had spun about his own birth. The thought of Catherine being torn apart by his progeny nearly did him in. It took every ounce of strength he could muster to keep the imagined horror of a tortured birth by violence from clouding his vision.

Even in her pain, Catherine could see the dread twisting his face. "Stay with me, Vincent," she said firmly, reaching out to him. "I can’t do this alone. We’ve got to do this together."

He nodded resolutely, shaking off the black mist of lies. Carefully, he eased her down to the passage floor. They removed her heavy coat and placed it beneath her. After removing her boots, Vincent helped pull off her sodden slacks, and both were relieved that it was clear fluid that had soaked them and not blood. It was at that moment that they heard someone coming up the passage.

"Come on, you guys. What’s keeping you? Mrs. Hanlon is getting pretty nervous." It was Jamie. Surprised to see them on the floor, it took her a second or two to process the scene in front of her. "Oh, no way," she exclaimed, realizing what was going on. "Tell me Catherine isn’t having her baby right now!"

"I’m afraid she is," Vincent replied. "We need Mary—and Father—now!"

"I’ll get them, Vincent. Right away!"

"Jamie," Catherine called out, stopping the girl in her tracks. "Please help Teresa and her little boy," she begged. "I’m sure they’re very afraid."

Jamie nodded. "I’ll help them, Catherine. Don’t worry." And with that, the girl was off like a shot.

Catherine was thrown into another strong contraction and Vincent did his best to ease her pain. "Breathe, Catherine. Don’t hold your breath. You have to breathe through the pain."

Catherine did her best to follow his advice and consciously moved the oxygen through her body. "It’s too early," she said when she could talk again, giving voice to her deepest worry. "The baby isn’t due for another four weeks."

"We have to listen to your body and do the best we can," Vincent tried to comfort her. "This labor is moving much faster than average; maybe gestation is a bit shorter, too."

There were no precedents to follow here. Right or wrong, it was what it was.

In between contractions, Vincent stripped of his cloak and the quilted vest beneath. Pulling his white linen shirt from the waistband of his pants, he ripped off a wide strip of material. The baby would need to be dried quickly to prevent hypothermia and then wrapped in something warm.

"Vincent!" Catherine’s next scream was a mix of pain and fear. "I think the baby is coming right now!"

Vincent rushed to her side. The top of the baby’s head was just visible. "Wait! You can’t push yet, Catherine. We have to be sure the cord isn’t wrapped around the baby’s neck."

She nodded her understanding, panting heavily to forestall the urge to push. With the next contraction, Vincent made sure he could feel all around the baby’s neck. "There’s no cord," he assured her, relieved. "I think it’s safe to push. Lean forward, grab your knees, and bear down with the next contraction."

Catherine did as he instructed. With the next contraction, she bore down. The pain was excruciating and she cried out in agony. When that contraction eased, she barely had time to catch her breath before the next one began.

With one hand supporting the partially exposed head of his child and the other helping to brace Catherine, the next contraction rolled over her. He knew the most difficult part of the delivery was imminent. The shoulders had to pass, and Catherine’s unearthly shriek of pain as they moved their way down the birth canal tore his heart and soul. Thankfully, the shoulders passed without incident, and in literal seconds their child slipped right into his strong hands. Reacting quickly, he turned the baby over so any fluid from the mouth and nose could be expelled and then reached for the piece of linen, massaging the infant’s reddish-blue skin. Within the next heartbeat, the baby took a deep breath and let out a noisy, vigorous cry.

That most primal sound made Catherine sob with relief, but then she began to shiver violently in uncontrollable spasms.

Vincent immediately brought the baby to Catherine’s chest. "It’s a boy, Catherine. A fine boy," he cried, tears streaming down his face. He moved her shirt aside to place the baby directly on her warm skin and positioned the quilted vest over them both. He then threw his warm black cloak over them, as well. "The shivering will stop in a minute," he assured it. "I’ve seen it before."

Shivering or not, the joy Catherine felt sang through her veins. Their child, this very special child, was here, in her arms, at last.

Vincent drew in a sharp breath. "I feel that," he marveled.

"What?" Catherine asked, worrying that something was wrong.

Vincent touched her hair, then the head of his child. "Your immense joy...your relief. I can feel it deep within me. Our bond...Catherine...my connection to you..." he said in awe.

"The pregnancy," she said in wonder. "Maybe it was the pregnancy all along." She reached up and touched his face. "I love you," she whispered.

He bent and kissed the top of her head. "I love you, too."

In the distance they heard a commotion heading toward them. Daniel and Eli, two of the sentries assigned to the area nearest this tunnel, came running down the passage carrying a foldable stretcher between them.

"Jamie sent us," Daniel gasped, breathing hard from his run. "Mary and Father are on their way, but we can--" He stopped mid-sentence, noticing the baby squirming on Catherine’s chest. "Oh, my--"

*****

Preparing to leave, Peter removed the stethoscope from around his neck and tucked it back into his well-worn black bag. "Everything looks fine, Cathy. I don’t see any reason to worry."

Vincent’s shoulders sagged with relief. During the seemingly interminable trek back to their home tunnels, he was terrified the rough delivery caused either Catherine or the baby some kind of serious damage.

Once Jamie and Mouse alerted Jacob and Mary, a messenger had been sent to retrieve Peter. Miraculously, by the time they got Catherine back to Jacob’s infirmary, he was there, waiting. Together, Peter, Jacob, and Mary worked like a single medical entity as they expertly examined both patients. Every possible complication was discussed, investigated, and ruled out until the trio officially proclaimed both mother and son safe and well.

Preparing to leave, Peter bent to give Catherine a gentle kiss on the forehead. "You take care of yourself young lady." Straightening, he added, "Unless anything comes up, I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on the two of you."

Catherine smiled tiredly. "Thank you, Peter."

To Vincent he said, "You see to it that she gets some rest. Keep the visitors to a minimum for a few days."

Vincent nodded and extended his hand, his voice deep with emotion. "Thank you."

Peter shook his hand firmly. "Congratulations, Vincent," he said solemnly. "You have a beautiful family."

Family, Vincent thought, the reality of the word was almost more than he could bear.

Jacob stepped forward then, clapping Peter on the back. "It’s good to know we’re still a good team, my friend," he said affectionately.

"Who knew back when we spent all those nights studying for our med school exams that I’d be around to help you welcome a grandson?" Peter gave a short laugh, but his tone took on a slightly more serious note. "Will you walk with me part of the way, Jacob?"

Father nodded, and the two lifelong friends made their way down the tunnel.

Vincent knelt beside the infirmary bed, their son sleeping peacefully in a bassinet nearby. Reaching out, he brushed at the loose wisps of hair framing Catherine’s face. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

Looking up into his tired, but finally relaxed face, she replied. "You tell me."

He closed his eyes. "Happy..." He paused. "Sore..." he chuckled softly. "Grateful..." He opened his eyes. "And filled with love." He sighed. "I can feel it all, Catherine."

Behind Vincent, a discrete cough interrupted them. Rising from beside Catherine’s bed, Vincent turned.

Mary had returned after sharing the good news of Catherine’s condition with the rest of the community. "I don’t mean to intrude..." she began.

"Not at all--please, come in." Catherine invited warmly.

Mary entered the chamber and went straight to the bassinet, leaning down to fuss over the newest addition to the world below.

"Thank you, Mary" Catherine said earnestly. "I’m afraid I’ll be saying that quite a bit in the near future."

Mary looked up, smiling. "Don’t be silly. I’ve watched you with the children. They love you—and you can’t fool children. You’ll do just fine," she assured her. She smoothed the baby’s blankets, her smile fading. "Mrs. Hanlon would like to come and see you."

Catherine looked to Vincent. "I need to talk to her."

He nodded. "I understand, but please don’t tire yourself."

"I won’t," she promised.

"I’ll go and see to things in our chamber. You’ll be more comfortable there, I’m sure."

They both knew it was unwise to reveal Vincent’s presence to Teresa Hanlon just yet. After all, they didn’t really know the woman they so recently rescued. Coming below for brief sanctuary was one thing, but exposing Vincent was quite another.

Still aching, Catherine winced in her attempt to sit up. "I need to get word to Joe," she said. "Can you arrange for a helper to deliver a message?"

"I will," Vincent agreed, and then he Mary ducked out.

*****

When Mary returned a few minutes later, she checked on the sleeping baby, and then quietly slipped out. Teresa Hanlon hesitated at the entrance to the hospital chamber.

Catherine saw her standing in the shadows and motioned for her to come in. "It’s all right, Mrs. Hanlon," Catherine encouraged.

As Teresa stepped out of the darkness, Catherine could see she was exhausted. Dark circles ringed her coffee colored eyes, and her lips were drawn into a colorless line. "Call me Teresa," she said softly.

"My friends call me Cathy."

"I never would have contacted you if I knew you were pregnant," Teresa began in a rush.

"Please, sit down," Catherine said, nodding toward the chair Vincent had recently vacated. "You look like you’re about to drop."

Teresa sat down, fretfully folding and unfolding her hands in her lap. "I haven’t really slept in days."

"You’re safe now," Catherine promised. "You can rest as long as you like here."

"Everyone has been very kind, but I had to speak to you—to explain."

Catherine waited for her to go on, giving her time to collect her thoughts.

"I loved my husband very much," she began. "We were happy—or at least we were happy until he became involved with Hanover Norton Trust. That changed everything." She ran a shaky hand through her dark hair. "Working for them was a mistake from the very beginning. Patrick got in over his head and couldn’t figure a way out. For over two years he kept the details from me, but I could tell that he was more than just unhappy with his work. It wasn’t until weeks after he died that I found a letter he’d hidden." She raised her eyes to meet Catherine’s. "I had no idea what he was going through. The letter said that Hanover Norton Trust was being manipulated by a very dangerous man he knew only as ‘Gabriel.’ Patrick had proof that this man owned powerful politicians and law enforcement people at every level. He said that he put it all down in a book--the book he gave to Joe Maxwell. After I read the letter, I was too afraid to do anything but run away. It wasn’t too long after that, however, that I started to get the feeling that I was being watched. I panicked and came back to New York. I went to the District Attorney’s office, but I couldn’t go through with it. I didn’t know who I could trust. If I approached the wrong person, I might do more harm than good. I learned that you and Joe Maxwell were the ones most deeply involved in investigating Patrick’s murder, so I took the chance and contacted you away from the office." Her shoulders slumped.

"What did you think we would be able to do for you?"

"The book," she said simply. "You have the book. If you could just give it to me, I’d find a way to get it back to this man Gabriel and he’d leave my son and me alone."

"We had the book," Catherine corrected sadly. "We gave it to John Moreno, the District Attorney, and we don’t know what he did with it."

"But he was killed months ago."

Catherine nodded.

Visibly shaken, Teresa asked, "Did you find the key before you turned the book over to Mr. Moreno? Patrick said in his letter that the book would be useless without the key."

"It’s gone, too."

Teresa rose from the chair. Pacing now, she turned back to Catherine. "I need that book to buy our freedom. The man who killed Patrick and your District Attorney will not stop until all the obstacles are out of his way. And we," she said resolutely, "are obstacles."

From the bassinet beside Catherine’s bed, the baby began to make mewling sounds. Catherine reached toward him, unable to hide the grimace of pain as her aching muscled protested.

Teresa caught Catherine’s wince and stepped forward. Lifting the baby from his bed, she handed him to Catherine.

Catherine looked down into the now alert eyes of her newborn son. "Hello," she said softly. "My guess is you need one of two things, but I’m really new at this."

Without Mary there to guide her, Catherine wasn’t sure what to do. She lay the baby down beside her. Testing the diaper, she felt a warm dampness. That she could remedy.

Teresa spotted fresh diapers and some moistened squares of cloth on a table beside the bassinet and handed them to Catherine. "No disposables down here, eh?" Teresa smiled weakly.

Catherine shook her head ruefully. "Not hardly."

Fumbling with inexperience, Catherine unwrapped the baby from his blankets and carefully removed the pins from his absorbent cloth diaper. She muddled through removing the diaper Mary had expertly applied and replaced it with a slightly askew a new one. At least it was dry. For her first attempt, she told herself, it wasn’t too horrible. Re-tucking the baby securely in his blankets, Catherine picked him up and held him in her arms.

Teresa sat on the edge of the bed. Looking down at Catherine, she fought back a sob. "I don’t know what to do, Cathy. I thought if I could get the book back and give it to this Gabriel person, Anthony and I would be safe, but if you don’t have it..."

Catherine reached out and put a hand on her arm. "Don’t worry. We’ll figure out what to do. For the time being, you and your son are protected. No one can find you here--not even this mysterious Gabriel."

Teresa shook her head sadly. "You don’t know Gabriel."

"That’s true, but you don’t know my family and friends, either. They’ve protected their world down here for a long time. They have a lot of experience keeping people safe and sound."

Teresa looked around the rough-edged, but reasonably outfitted hospital chamber. "I have to admit—this place is pretty amazing."

"How is your son holding up?" Catherine asked, not wanting to divulge any more about the world below than she had to. "You said his name was Anthony?"

At the mention of her son, Teresa’s eyes lost some of their sorrow and light replaced the fear. "Yes. He seems to be doing okay. He likes the boy who helped us—Mouse, I think he’s called."

Catherine smiled. "Children love Mouse. His gentle spirit and playful nature make him a wonderful first friend."

"Once all the commotion was over, Anthony fell fast asleep. Mouse agreed to sit with him while I met with you."

"You should join him," Catherine suggested. "We can talk more tomorrow."

As if on cue, Mary returned to the hospital chamber carrying a tray covered by a napkin. Samantha, carrying a pitcher of water, was hot on her heels.

"Your little boy is awake, Mrs. Hanlon. He’s looking for you," Mary said as she put down the tray. "He won’t eat until you come back."

Teresa rose from Catherine’s bed.

Unable to contain herself once she put the pitcher down, Samantha whispered, "Hi, Catherine. I came to walk Mrs. Hanlon back to the guest chamber. Mary said if I was very quiet I could see the baby."

Catherine smiled at the anxious little girl. "Here he is," she said, looking down at her sleeping son. "Besides, Mouse, Jamie, Mary, and Father, you’re the first to see him." She moved the blankets away from the baby’s face so Samantha could see him clearly.

Filled with delight, the little girl rushed toward the bed, but Mary’s hand shot out to still her. "Not too near, Samantha," she reminded her.

"Oh, yeah." Samantha stopped in her tracks, but strained to get a better look. "Germs."

"That’s right," Mary nodded.

Teresa leaned down to touch Catherine’s shoulder. "Thank you again, Cathy."

Catherine placed her fingers over Teresa’s. "Please don’t worry," she reassured her.

Teresa nodded, but it was obvious Catherine’s urging wasn’t enough to alleviate her fears, and a worried shadow continued to darken her weary eyes.

Mary gently impelled Samantha toward Teresa, and the little girl reached for the tired woman’s elbow, preparing to lead her out. When they reached the threshold she turned to wave. "Bye, Catherine," she called cheerily.

With a warm smile, Catherine lifted her hand and returned the gesture.

With everyone finally gone, Mary got down to business. "Now, no more interruptions," she demanded, gently taking the baby. "I brought you some dinner, and then you need to rest."

*****

A few hours later, Catherine was judged well enough to leave the hospital chamber. She felt immeasurably better in familiar surroundings, safely tucked into the bed she shared with Vincent. Finally, everyone was gone, the tunnels were quiet, and she and Vincent were alone, looking down in amazement at their peacefully sleeping son.

"He’s beautiful," Catherine whispered.

"He is," Vincent agreed.

Catherine couldn’t resist and pulled the blankets away from the sleeping child and studied his body--ten fingers, ten toes, and a little bow of a mouth that made suckling motions while he peacefully slept. "He must certainly be the most beautiful baby in the world," she said solemnly.

Vincent smiled. "Spoken like a true mother." He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. Reaching out, he picked up his son and cradled him tenderly against his chest. "But I quite agree," he said softly. "He is the most beautiful baby in the world."

"Vincent..." Catherine began, her voice catching in her throat.

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t speak. Her conflicted emotions raced along Vincent’s nerve endings like a short circuiting electric current. Anxiety radiated from her in a palpable wave, and he knew what troubled her.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, looking up to meet his eyes as a single tear slid down her cheek.

Until that very moment, their world had been a marvelous, romantic dream. Even the pregnancy had an unreal quality about it that prevented them from looking beyond one day, one moment really, at a time. Now, with the baby here, the reality of their situation hit home in a way neither one expected. How on earth was she going to be able to keep her two lives separate? And how on earth would he be able to say good bye, day after day, night after night, to the two people he loved most in all the world? It had been complicated but not impossible when it was just the two of them. This was something else altogether.

Catherine never anticipated feeling the way she did now. She didn’t want to raise her baby alone, separated from Vincent’s love and support. The thought of going back to her cold apartment in an even colder world was unthinkable. She didn’t want their child to know even one day without him. And yet, how could she turn her back on the people who deeply cared about her above?

The thought of being away from the two of them tore at Vincent in a way he never believed possible. He assumed he’d be able to let them go as he had done Catherine, mustering the same resigned strength he’d called on for the last three years. Holding his son next to his beating heart, and looking down at the remarkable woman who trusted and loved him enough to give him the most precious gift a woman can give a man, he didn’t think he’d be able to live through it.

"I don’t know, Catherine," he replied, meeting her tear-filled eyes with his own. "I honestly don’t know."