After
Part IV "Hesper Stayed"
Alfred Lord Tennyson "Leonine Elegiacs"
ACT I
An old man, stooped with age and a lifetime of hard work, swung a heavy floor buffer along the hall outside the DA’s office. It was Sunday evening, and Joe and the old man had the entire floor to themselves. A television in the outer office competed with the sound of the machine polishing the terrazzo. Joe stood before the TV; he focused on the evening news as the old man left the machine to idle nosily while he emptied waste baskets.
The exploding trash cans in the park were all over the news. After the initial shock, the media began to make jokes about the situation, which, for once, was a good thing. No one had been hurt, and although the explosions had been very dramatic, the idea of Central Park trash cans catching fire wasn’t exactly a novelty. Joe couldn’t believe their luck. That serendipitous distraction undoubtedly saved Teresa Hanlon’s life. But, if the same person who killed Patrick Hanlon and John Moreno was now targeting Hanlon’s wife, he doubted that would be the last attempt. Not to mention, he and Cathy were now in this thing up to their eyeballs. For the moment, there was no mention of any shots rocketing through the park fired from a high powered rifle, and no bullet-riddled bodies were found in the park vicinity, so he tried to keep his frantic worry for Cathy, Mrs. Hanlon, and her boy under control as best he could. As far as his own safety was concerned, he thought the offices of the District Attorney were as safe as anywhere else.
A couple of minutes ticked by before it dawned on Joe that it was late—and it was Sunday. None of the cleaning crew worked on Sunday, let alone this late in the day. Suddenly, he also realized that the sound of the buffer had stopped. The old man was gone.
Joe turned away from the television and headed toward his office. Standing at the threshold, he paused mid-stride. Sitting on the desk blotter was what looked like a neatly wrapped sandwich. Joe eyed it suspiciously. Lifting a pen from his pocket, he used it to carefully unfold the heavy white butcher paper in which the sandwich was wrapped. After careful examination, Joe realized that the old guy had actually left him a perfectly safe and delicious looking pastrami on rye. Instead of the usual pickle spear on the side, however, Joe discovered that this sandwich had come with a tightly rolled piece of paper nestled beside it. Cautiously, he unrolled the mustard-stained scroll.
Cathy’s note was simple:
"We’re all safe and can stay where we are indefinitely. Tell everyone I had a complication and went on maternity leave early, which is actually true. (You have a nephew. We’re fine--more later.) I’ll try to get a message to Jenny telling her the same thing so she doesn’t come into the office looking for me. Don’t trust ANYONE. We’ll figure out a way to meet up in a day or two. Don’t worry."
Relief made him weak at the knees, and he sank down into the nearest chair. Hands still shaking, he read the note again. Thank God. Cathy was safe.
*****
The grey-eyed man known only as Gabriel paced his penthouse office. Gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling expanse of glass, he overlooked the city. A sharp knock drew him back to the moment.
"Come in" he called, turning away from the windows.
Sikes, his beefy lieutenant, shut the door behind him. "The Hanlon woman slipped away."
"So I gathered," Gabriel replied tersely.
"There was a commotion in the park. Andrews couldn’t get a clean shot."
"Where is she now?"
"We don’t know."
"How could you not know? Didn’t Andrews pursue her?"
"He did, but she disappeared. He couldn’t find any trace of her beyond the Alice in Wonderland statue. No signs, no tracks, no nothing."
"And the two that were with her?"
"Maxwell’s on the job, but the other woman, Catherine Chandler, she’s gone, too. My guess is she and the Hanlon woman are together."
"You guess?" Gabriel snapped.
"There’s no sign of her, either. Andrews has her apartment staked out, but she hasn’t come back. It’s like they dropped off the face of the earth."
"That is unacceptable. Find them."
"What about Maxwell?"
"Leave him for now, but watch him. If Chandler got Teresa Hanlon to a safe house, she may make contact with Maxwell. When she does, tell Andrews to pull in Markam and track her back to the woman and the boy. Make sure Andrews and Markam know that when they find them, this problem is to be permanently eliminated."
Sikes nodded and left.
Gabriel walked along the windows. He didn’t like it when his men--very expensive men--were out smarted. This setback from the district attorney’s office was an unexpected impediment--one he wanted dealt with as quickly as possible.
*****
Vincent found himself in an unfamiliar chamber. A smoky mist surrounded him, making it difficult to separate substance from shadow. A sound, somewhere far off, made him whirl in search of its origin, but it was gone before he could pinpoint it. Ahead of him, the shape of a man stepped forward in the fog, his features indistinct.
"They’re mine now." The man’s voice was deep, cultured, silken.
Behind the silhouette of the man, Catherine appeared out of the gloom bathed in white light, the baby cradled in her arms. The man took a step back into the shadows, and then all three of them were gone in a hazy swirl.
"Catherine!" Vincent shouted, rushing blindly forward, reaching out to where Catherine and the baby had been only to find black emptiness. "Catherine!" he roared again, his heart breaking as he dropped to his knees.
"Vincent!" Catherine called sharply. "Wake up!" Sitting up in bed beside him, she tried to shake him awake. "You’re dreaming."
Coming back to himself, Vincent swung his legs over the side of the bed.
Behind him, Catherine put a hand on his shoulder. "Was it..."
"Nightmare." He stopped her. "Same one."
Catherine moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside him, reaching for his hand. "There is nothing or no one that could ever take me away from you," she assured him.
"I know," he said, squeezing her fingers lightly, but on the heels of their reality check the night before, Vincent wasn’t comforted in the least.
As if sensing his parents’ disquiet, their newborn son suddenly began to fuss.
Vincent motioned for Catherine to stay where she was. Safely tucked into the wooden cradle Vincent had so lovingly crafted many months before, the baby squirmed, his blankets all awry. Gently, Vincent picked up his son and held him to his chest. "Sorry to wake you, little man," he said softly, looking down into eyes as deep and clear as the mirror pool. "That’s no way to greet your first full day."
With an ease that spoke of experience, Vincent lay the baby down gently on top of the wide dresser they outfitted as a changing table, deftly changing the baby’s diaper and re-adjusting the sleeper. Because of the way the community below was organized, all the children learned from a very early age to take care of those younger than themselves, and Vincent had been no exception. He knew quite well how to give a baby a bottle, convince a toddler to eat a few vegetables, and break up a squabble over a shared toy. The simple acts he performed now, familiar and new at the same time, calmed him as the remnants of the dream dissolved and finally evaporated.
"You’re wonderful with him," Catherine marveled. "I never knew you had so much skill with babies."
Vincent smiled. "Below, we had no choice. The children here are raised as siblings, and like any large family, the big ones take care of the little ones. More often than not--and to our serious dismay--Devin and I were frequently "the big ones." That meant we regularly had to babysit, managing all the duties and responsibilities that entails--including changing diapers."
The baby began to softly nuzzle against Vincent’s chest. "Ahh," he said knowingly. "For that, only your mother will do."
Catherine had risen from the bed and moved to sit in Vincent’s sturdy chair. She loosened the ties at the front of her nightgown and took the baby from Vincent. Still very new to this, she eased the nightgown aside, helped the baby find what he was looking for, and settled back into the chair as he began to suckle. She looked up at Vincent. "Mary says my real milk won’t be in for a day or so yet, but he doesn’t seem to mind."
Vincent couldn’t respond. The sight of Catherine nursing their son overwhelmed him. The powerful, primal urge to protect and provide, especially in the stark afterglow of the recurring nightmare, coursed through his veins like no other feeling he’d ever experienced. His love for Catherine had always been profound, but this new layer, the reality that she was the mother of his child, truly his mate, generated something new, something different.
"Vincent?" she prompted when he didn’t respond. "Are you all right?"
He knelt down beside the chair, intensity burning behind in his eyes. "I will never let any harm come to you or our child," he vowed.
She reached out a hand and laid it against his face. "I know that," she said, brushing his cheek with the pad of her thumb. "But no one is going to harm us," she insisted.
He caught her hand and pressed her palm to his lips. Despite her conviction, he knew if anyone tried to come between him and his family in any way, there would be only one outcome.
The rest of the morning was marked by a steady stream of visitors anxious to both pass on their congratulations and get a look at the newest member of their underground community. Just before noon, Father finally put a stop the parade and demanded that Catherine get some rest.
The baby had fallen asleep in Catherine’s arms, so Vincent gently took him from her and put him down for his own nap. With equal tenderness, he then helped Catherine get back into bed and settled the warm comforters around her.
Catherine’s eyes were closed, "Have you told Father yet?" she murmured, her voice already tinged with sleep.
Sitting beside her on the bed, he brushed a few loose wisps of hair away from her face. "No. I want it to be a surprise."
"I’ve been very careful not to slip." A sleepy smile curved the corners of her mouth. "But it’s getting more and more difficult."
Vincent agreed with a chuckle, "It is. Our son’s naming ceremony can’t come soon enough."
"Do you think it’s safe to get some things from my apartment?" she asked, wandering onto a new subject.
"The latest report from above says it is still under surveillance and not safe."
"I’d like to see Jenny," she added wistfully, bouncing to yet another thought.
"I know this isn’t what you had planned," Vincent apologized. "But we have to be careful. Give yourself another day or two to rest, and then we’ll start working on a better solution."
Catherine nodded, and then drifted off into a much deserved nap.
*****
Much later that evening, Catherine was glad she’d had a rest earlier in the day. The baby was fussy, and she patted him gently on the back as she paced the chamber. She refused Vincent’s offer to help, knowing he’d had far less sleep than she had in the last forty-eight hours, but she agreed to wake him when she tired.
"What’s the matter, little guy?" she crooned softly to the baby, "You’re dry, you’re warm, you’re fed." As she walked the length and breadth of the chamber, she began the instinctive locomotion that was every mother’s version of automatic pilot. Soon, like most babies, the motion began to calm her son. As long as she kept moving, he settled quietly against her shoulder.
And as she walked, she thought. Like the current of a river, her mind bubbled and eddied, flowing with thoughts of Teresa Hanlon, and Joe, and the mysterious Gabriel, and how on earth she and Vincent were going to reconcile their dilemma.
In the quiet of the tunnel night, she thought deeply about her life and the new path she knew she must somehow find the courage to take. One hour slipped by, and then two. By the time the baby was well and truly asleep, and she herself was ready to drop, she had come to terms with what she must do. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she believed she’d found a way to merge the conflicting components of her life. Now she just had to sell her idea to all those who loved her, both above and below.
First, however, she had to deal with the immediate problem of getting Teresa Hanlon to permanent safety and she and Joe off the deadly radar of the enigmatic Gabriel—which might be the most difficult task she’d ever face.
*****
ACT II
Catherine waited until the next morning to reveal the first part of her plan to Vincent. They were seated around the table, finishing the last of their breakfast tea. The baby had happily dozed off after his own breakfast and slept peacefully in his cradle.
"You can’t be serious." Vincent was incredulous. "It’s far too dangerous." He rose from his chair, frustrated by Catherine’s impervious resolve.
"It’ll work, Vincent. I know it will," Catherine insisted.
"The risk is too great. You could be killed!" His anger rose in equal measure to her doggedness.
"And I could be killed if we do nothing. Don’t forget--it’s not just me we need to protect. What if this man finds us and discovers the world below? We have to put an end to it once and for all." She moved to stand beside him, placing a hand on his arm. "No one will be safe until we do."
In his mind, Vincent had to concede she was right. They had to do something. He’d known it from the very beginning of this mess. His heart, however, refused to willingly accept putting her in danger. "What about our son?" His tone was uncharacteristically sharp and accusatory. "What about him?"
"What about Teresa Hanlon’s son?" Catherine shot back. "What about his life and his future?" Her eyes now flashed with frustration and anger, too. "My son has a father and a loving family. Teresa Hanlon has no one." She forced herself to take a deep breath. Finally, she said quietly, "Vincent, if we don’t deal with this now, I won’t know a day without dread." She dropped her hand from his arm and turned away.
"But you just had a baby!" he implored.
"Women all over the world get up and go back to work with less rest than I’ve had." She returned to stand in front of him. "If we ever hope to raise our son with a free heart and an open spirit, we have to do this."
Overcome, he didn’t know what to do, so he stepped toward her, reaching out to pull her close. "Please don’t."
She hugged him back. "We have to see it through," she said resolutely, her cheek against his chest. "It will be okay; I promise." Pulling him even closer, she silently prayed that she was right.
*****
It was close to four in the afternoon when she left the baby below with Mary and covertly emerged alone from the tunnels to catch a cab. Going directly to her building, she walked in the front door, stopping to say hello to Albert, the doorman. She then paused at the bank of mailboxes and retrieved her mail. Finally, she stepped into the elevator and selected her floor. No one watching could have missed her. She practically hung a sign around her neck announcing, "Here I am. Come and get me."
She unlocked the door to 21E with more trepidation than she would ever admit. She fervently hoped that all the members of this life-and-death performance were in place, ready, and able to play their part.
She didn’t have long to wait. She hadn’t even taken off her coat when there was a knock at the door. She turned and peeked through the peep hole. A man she did not recognize stood on the other side. He wore the unmistakable brown uniform of a UPS deliveryman, and he held a large, rectangular box under his arm.
"Delivery for Catherine Chandler," the man called out, knocking again.
Keeping the safety chain engaged, Catherine cracked open the door. "Can I help you?"
"I’ve got a package, Ma’am."
The second she began to unlatch the chain, the pseudo UPS man pushed through the door, dropping the package to the floor and raising a handgun in the same motion. "We’ve been looking for you," he smirked, waving the gun.
Just then, Peter and Cullen rushed out from her bedroom. Momentarily stunned by their sudden appearance, the gunman’s hesitation was just enough to allow Cullen’s strong, wiry arms to shoot out, bear-hugging the stranger’s arms to his sides. In the same moment, Peter, whose sharp reflexes belied his age, expertly injected the man with a hypodermic syringe filled with a potent anesthetic. In seconds, Catherine’s assailant dropped to the floor, out cold.
"One down," Cullen said, quickly tying the man’s hands behind his back and dragging him out of sight. "How long do you figure we’ll have to wait for his pal?"
By all accounts from the many helpers who had been watching the watchers, Catherine’s apartment was under surveillance by two men. They were diligent in their duty and had kept a strict vigil over Catherine’s apartment since the incident in the park---from the outside, at least. They had no idea her apartment could be accessed undetected from below. Cullen and Peter had slipped into her apartment unnoticed and set the trap more than an hour before Catherine arrived. Now all they had to do was wait for Sleeping Beauty’s partner to show up for act two.
Again, they didn’t have long to wait. Barely thirty minutes passed before there was another knock on her door. Looking out once again through the peep hole, Catherine spied another uniformed visitor. This time, a patch on the front of his brick red uniform identified him as "Nick" from Metro Plumbing.
The man rapped his knuckles against the door again. "Plumber, Ma’am. We got a report of some kind of leak coming from your apartment. It’s dripping down through the ceiling of the apartment below. It’s kind of an emergency."
Once again, Catherine had hardly slipped the chain from its latch when the door flew open. This guy was a bit more aggressive and actually got his hands on Catherine before Cullen and Peter delivered their version of wham-bam-out-go-the-lights.
Cullen wheeled out a canvas utility basket from where they’d hidden it in Catherine’s bedroom. He and Peter then hoisted the two men into the cart and covered them with packing blankets.
"Get what you need quickly, Catherine," Peter cautioned. "They won’t stay out forever."
Catherine went to her bedroom and hastily threw a bag together. In less than five minutes, Peter, Cullen, and she were headed toward the service elevator and the basement entrance to the tunnels.
Once they got to the ladder leading below, Mouse and Jamie appeared and helped them muscle the men down. When the two men awoke, they were gagged and securely restrained. Peter took out a Polaroid instamatic camera he’d brought down with him. Quickly, he snapped a few shots of the gunmen. Folding the camera and stowing it and the photographs in his jacket pocket, he joined Catherine by the metal ladder leading above.
"Thank you," Catherine said, giving Peter a warm hug. "Be careful on your way out."
"Between your unexpected delivery and today’s events, I haven’t had this much excitement in years." Peter smiled down at her. "But you’re the one who needs to be careful," he warned.
"I will," she replied, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek as she handed him an envelope. "Make sure Joe gets this and the pictures."
"Will do." Peter nodded, "You’ve had enough for one day. Get back to your son," he ordered. And with that, he disappeared back up the metal ladder.
*****
Joe finally went home late Monday evening. A shower, a shave, and clean clothes, he told himself, and then I’m going back in. Standing under the hot spray of the shower, however, had been his undoing. It felt so good to let the steaming water pound away at his aching muscles. Five minutes turned into fifteen and fifteen into twenty-five.
When he eventually emerged, clean and refreshed (albeit wrinkled), he realized he was starving. Wracked with worry, he hadn’t eaten anything substantial in more than twenty-four hours. The irony of Catherine’s note being stuffed into that delicious-looking pastrami on rye wasn’t lost on him--too bad he hadn’t saved it. Going to the refrigerator, he began poking around, hoping to find something to eat that was this side of a science experiment.
He was reaching all the way to the back of the refrigerator for a half a loaf of bread he was pretty sure was stale when the peal of his doorbell startled him. Jerking his head up, he smacked it hard against the top of the refrigerator. "Damn it," he cursed, pulling his head out and rubbing at the emerging knot. "Who is it?" he snarled.
No response.
He went to the door and looked through the peep hole. Nothing.
He opened the door and found a plain white envelope on the floor. The envelope was addressed to him, and he instantly recognized Cathy’s handwriting.
As he tore open the envelope, two pictures fell out. He let them stay where they landed and read the note first. With every word, his blood pressure shot higher and higher. Cramming the note roughly into his pocket, he bent and scooped up the pictures. Retrieving his service revolver from the top drawer of the nightstand beside his bed, he angrily stowed it in the waistband of his slacks. "If we live through this," he grumbled, shrugging on his suit coat and stuffing the pictures into his breast pocket, "I may kill her myself."
****
ACT III
Mouse wheeled the flat bed cart they used to haul groceries to Catherine’s basement entrance. Jamie, Catherine, and he stacked the two gunmen onto the cart like cord wood. Pushing Catherine’s assailants through the tunnels wasn’t easy, but they didn’t have far to go. Once Vincent arrived, things moved very quickly.
"This is far enough. You should head back." Vincent told them when he reached a fork in the tunnel.
Catherine nodded, putting a hand on his arm. "Please be careful."
Vincent returned her nod and reached out to cup the back of her neck, gently pulling her toward him. "You were right, Catherine," he said softly, his lips beside her ear. "This has to end now."
She leaned into him. "I know," she replied.
They parted, and Vincent took up the handle of the cart, pushing the men down the dark tunnel ahead.
*****
Long before Catherine could physically hear her baby’s cries, she heard them in her head. They echoed painfully in her ears as she hurried down the tunnel. It was a plaintive, longing sound that cut through her heart like a scythe. Both she and Vincent were gone, and even though he was only a few days old, their son sensed their absence. Her heart began to race, and her breasts began to tingle and feel heavy as they filled with what she had to assume was the true mother’s milk Mary had told her about. All Catherine could think about was getting to her child. When she got close enough to actually hear her son’s cries, she began to walk faster, and then, despite her sore muscles and aching body, she broke into a run.
When she finally entered their chamber, Mary was pacing the floor with her unhappy son, gently patting his back and softly comforting him. "They’ll be back, little one," Mary crooned. "I know you miss them."
"I’m here," Catherine called out, breathless.
Mary met her eyes, giving her an encouraging smile. "He’s fine," she said, handing her the baby.
Catherine took her son from Mary’s arms and sat down in Vincent’s chair. Unbuttoning her blouse, she brought the baby to her breast. With one last woeful hiccup and a sigh, he nuzzled against her and began to nurse. Calming herself, as well, Catherine took several deep breaths and forced herself to relax. "I’ve grown accustomed to my connection to Vincent," Catherine admitted, "but this is something entirely different."
"Of course it is." Mary gave her a knowing nod. "But unlike your bond with Vincent, this is not unusual at all. Parents often develop a sort of sixth-sense with their babies."
"They do?"
"Most certainly," Mary confirmed with confidence. "Many, many mothers have felt exactly the same way."
Catherine looked down at her son and gently brushed her fingers against the downy, golden hair on his head. "There’s so much I don’t know."
"You’ll learn," Mary assured her, patting Catherine’s shoulder in much the same way she had reassured the baby only moments before.
Catherine raised her eyes to the kind, older woman, grateful for such loving and knowledgeable support. How will I ever do this alone? she thought.
*****
Vincent parked the cart deep in the shadows of the half-lit tunnel. Standing behind the two men and out of their line of sight, he removed the gags silencing the two men.
"Where the hell are we?" the fake UPS man asked the moment his gag was removed. "What is this place?"
"I don’t know," replied the man dressed as Nick-the-plumber, struggling against the ropes that held him fast, "but when we get outta here, that Chandler woman is dead, and she ain’t goin’ quick and easy, that’s for damn sure. She’ll be screamin’ for me to kill her before I’m through."
Vincent stepped around from behind them into the hazy light.
The two men looked up--way up--as he approached.
An ominous growl began deep in Vincent’s chest.
"W-Who are you?" the UPS imposter asked, his voice now thin with fear.
Vincent did not reply. Instead, he bent down on one knee in front of the now terrified men. The light was weak, but they could see well enough to know Vincent was unlike anyone or anything they had ever seen before.
"What are you?" asked Nick-the-plumber.
Vincent’s lip curled, and he snarled, baring his teeth.
At that, the UPS man thrashed like a wild thing, straining against his bindings in panic. "Somebody, help!" he cried, his voice echoing dimly through the empty tunnel.
Vincent reached beyond the terrified UPS man and wrapped one hand around the other gunman’s neck. Pulling him forward, Vincent lowered his head so that he could meet Nick-the-Plumber’s eyes. His voice was dangerously calm as he began to squeeze the man’s meaty throat. "You will never touch Catherine Chandler." He said each word slowly, deliberately, and with an intensity that chilled the already icy air.
Nick-the-plumber’s first reaction was a kind of disbelieving shock. Monsters didn’t talk—in every movie he had ever seen, monsters ripped people to shreds without a word. A split second later, panic overwhelmed him as Vincent’s hand closed off his windpipe. "Please--" he croaked. "D-Don’t."
Vincent released his grip a fraction, allowing the man to breath. "I won’t kill you," he stated flatly. "I won’t have to. Your boss will do that for me. He’s already had his own lawyer and a district attorney murdered. He won’t hesitate to get rid of you, too."
It only took a moment for the truth of Vincent’s words to register in both gunmen’s eyes.
"You have a choice," Vincent continued, "which is more than you deserve. The deputy district attorney is waiting outside this tunnel. If you go to him and tell him everything you know about your boss and confess your attack on Teresa Hanlon and Catherine Chandler, he will take you into custody. You’ll be arrested for the assaults, but you’ll be alive. If you run, those pictures will find their way to every news channel in this city. You’ll be dead before morning."
Both Nick-the-plumber and the fake UPS man knew this was an accurate prediction. If their pictures were broadcast, Gabriel would have them erased.
"If by some chance you aren’t killed by your boss," Vincent went on with deadly intent, constricting the man’s airway once again, "I will find you." He held the man’s life in his clenched fist for several seconds. "Believe it." Struggling to control his anger, he thrust the man away. "Your boss has no power here. If he finds his way into these tunnels looking for me, he will die."
Terrifying the men even further, Vincent raised his arm as if to strike, but when his arm fell, he merely slashed through the ropes that bound the gunmen’s wrists and ankles.
Like a pair of scuttling crabs, the two men scurried away, heading toward the dim glow spilling in from a utility light at the mouth of the tunnel.
Vincent turned on his heel and strode the other way. Passing through to another tunnel, he paused only long enough to engage the thick metal plate that sealed the connecting section. He knew Catherine hoped the men would choose jail over death, but it made little difference to him. Either way, they would never reach her or the tunnels again. As for Gabriel, Vincent was certain his threat would be enough to draw him out, which is exactly what he wanted to do.
*****
Joe saw the two men stagger out of the tunnel right where Catherine’s note said they’d be. "Hey!" he called to them. "Over here."
The man in the brown UPS uniform, his face an ashen mask of terror, turned and strode quickly toward Joe, but the man in the brick red plumber’s coveralls hesitated.
Noticing that his companion wasn’t following, the fake UPS man pleaded over his shoulder, "Come on, Andrews. You’re a dead man if you don’t."
Andrews/AKA Nick-the-plumber looked at Joe, and then looked past him to the street beyond. Sealing his fate, he skirted the other two men and began to run.
*****
Vincent felt Catherine’s anxiety as sharply as his own. She was so conflicted, so distraught, it rippled through him like a dark tide. He raced through the tunnels to get to her, and then, just as suddenly, he felt her unrest fall away. He slowed his pace, confused, yet relieved her turmoil was abating.
When he reached their chamber, he called out, "Catherine?"
"I’m here," she replied, moving out of the shadowy niche where the baby’s cradle rested. "Our son tired himself out missing us."
"He missed us?" Vincent asked in wonder.
"He did," Catherine nodded.
Vincent joined her and they stood beside the cradle. "I have a sense of him," Vincent spoke quietly. "It’s subtle, not nearly as strong as my sense of you--but it’s there."
"Me, too," Catherine admitted, reaching for Vincent’s hand. This connection, this new layer of love realized in the bond they shared with their son was amazing. She only wished it didn’t make what she knew she must tell him that much more difficult. But that could wait. Right now she just wanted to be surrounded by him, to lose herself in him.
Vincent lifted his head, sensing her need. "Catherine. What is it?"
She just looked at him. No words. Everything she felt was written on her face.
He opened his arms, and she stepped into his sheltering embrace.
Enveloped, her cheek resting against his noble heart, she could not speak. Unbidden, tears began to fill her eyes and spill down her cheeks.
Realizing that she was crying, he held her away from him, startled by her tears. "What’s wrong?"
She gave him a weak smile, shaking her head as the tears continued to flow.
Vincent could do nothing but pull her close and run a comforting hand down her back. Resting his chin against the top of her head he said tenderly, "Tell me, Catherine. What’s the matter?"
The warmth of his body and the soothing tone of his voice calmed her, and after a few moments, the tears began to subside. She lifted her head to meet his anxious eyes. "Please don’t worry. It’s nothing. Really. It’s just been a long night."
He didn’t believe her, but he nodded slowly anyway. "You’re exhausted."
"I am" she agreed.
In bed, hours later, Catherine still clung to him. She truly was exhausted and had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. As she curled into him, Vincent wrapped his arms around her, protectively holding her against his body.
While she slept, he brooded. He knew something was very wrong, but he also knew Catherine would first have to come to terms with whatever was bothering her before she came to him. At the moment, he was powerless to alleviate her pain, which, for him, was the worst kind of torment.
ACT IV
According to plan, Joe released adapted drawings of the pictures of the two bound suspects-- minus the gags, of course. They were both wanted in connection to--as one late night anchorman quipped--"taking out the trash" in Central Park. The media release also included the fact that while one suspect was in custody, the other "Trash Man" was still on the loose.
The first part of Catherine’s idea had worked perfectly. They had at least one of the men involved with the attack on Teresa Hanlon in custody. However, the fact that the man Joe collared outside tunnel would only identify himself as Ronald Markam and refused to give up any more information about Gabriel was where things began to go south. Markam categorically refused to talk about his boss and, and unlike most perps, was more than happy to cop to any charge Joe wanted to throw at him and take his chances in jail.
To be honest, Joe knew it had been a long shot that Markam would roll over on his boss in the first place. With no new information to go on, he was no further ahead than he was before.
Joe knew he had to make one more run at Markam that night. If he could get this guy to crack, maybe they had a chance at Gabriel. If he couldn’t, all of Catherine’s plans were for nothing, and she and Teresa Hanlon would be in more danger than they were before.
With jail time obviously no threat, Joe played the only trump card he had left. He’d use the threat of freedom against Markam instead. If he got nothing new, he’d kick Markam loose and apologize for the grave error made by the city of New York, which they both knew, whether Markam admitted it or not, squarely painted a target on his back. While trying to save his own skin from his boss, Markam just might lead Joe to Gabriel without even trying. It wasn’t much, but it was all Joe could do.
*****
As predicted, Gabriel had been enraged when the pictures of Andrews and Markam appeared on the late news broadcasts. He called in Sikes, and in less than an hour, Andrews sat before him still dressed as Nick-the-plumber, terror making his hands shake and his mouth as dry as a Texas July.
"You don’t understand," Andrews began to babble. "There’s a monster— a monster that’s part man—in the sewers. He’s deformed. I saw him, and so did Markam--"
"You’ve lost your edge, Andrews—making you no longer useful." Gabriel’s tone was icy. "Suddenly, you’re seeing monsters, and two women and a little boy are too much for you handle." He turned his back on him.
"Please. I’m begging you," Andrews implored. "Go see for yourself. The monster knows the Chandler woman, and he knows all about you, too. He knew you were behind the Hanlon thing and that you had the DA killed."
Gabriel slowly turned to face him. "Explain this."
"It talked. It said her name--threatened to kill us if we came back to hurt her. The Chandler woman is connected to it somehow."
Gabriel smirked. "The monster talks?"
Andrews nodded nervously. "It knew all about you. It told me that you have no power beneath the city. "
Gabriel was suddenly intrigued. "A monster who is connected to an assistant district attorney? Now, this is an unusual turn of events. You say it lives in the sewers and was smart enough to stop both you and Markam in your tracks? He paused, obviously mulling over the novelty. "And it made disparaging remarks about me?"
Andrews nodded again. "Right before he cut us loose."
Gabriel folded his hands. This was new, and new was something he experienced very rarely these days. Perhaps hunting down and eliminating this mysterious man below the city who held him in such contempt would be enough to pull him out of the doldrums in which he’d found himself lately. At the very least, it was a dramatic break from his routine. "Sikes," he said with resolve. "I believe we are going on a monster hunt."
Andrews let out a sigh of relief, running a trembling hand through his hair. "I knew you’d believe me."
Gabriel ignored him and headed toward the door. His hand on the polished nickel handle, he hesitated for a brief moment, turning to give Andrews a steely smile. Then, as if the decision was no more meaningful than ordering in lunch, he nodded at Sikes. Tilting his head toward Andrews, he blithely enjoined, "Get the information we need...then kill him."
*****
"You’re sure you can’t tell me anything that might help you out?" Joe asked one last time.
Markam shook his head, and even gave Joe a bit of a smile. "I’m sorry. Like I said, I don’t know what came over me. I planned that attack on Mrs. Hanlon because her lawyer husband got me into some real bad trouble. Then, I went after Miss Chandler because I figured she was helping out Mrs. Hanlon, and it just pissed me off. It was rage...yeah...blind rage, and I wasn’t thinking straight. I admit it. I’ll also admit to the trash can thing under oath, even though I wasn’t there. Face it, Mr. Maxwell—you’ve got me."
"We can protect you, Markam. All you’ve gotta do is tell us who’s behind the Hanlon thing. He won’t be able to get to you, I promise," Joe tried again, working hard not to lose his patience.
At that, Markam’s smile slipped a bit. "You have no idea what you’re asking," he said quietly, shaking his head. "No idea at all." He paused for a moment, then restated, "It was all me. No one else was involved."
Joe had had enough. "I’m sorry to hear that, Markam," he grabbed up a manila file folder sitting on the desk in the interrogation room and headed toward the door. "It seems we’ve made a serious error here. You’ve been cleared of all charges. You’re free to go." Without looking back, Joe opened the door. "Process him out of here," he ordered the officer outside the door. "We’re cutting him loose."
Ronald Markam had never been more terrified, not even when he faced the monster in the sewer. Being released by the cops and ushered out the door of police headquarters in the middle of the night was no different than throwing him into a lion’s cage. Afraid to go home, knowing Gabriel would have men looking for him, Markam wandered the streets, panic making him sweat and shake as he tried to find somewhere, anywhere, to hide.
The irony of his situation wasn’t lost on him. As he moved from one darkened corner to the next, he realized that when he’d been down below the city, he faced a monster who was more like a man. Up here in the middle of the city, he faced a man who was more like a monster. There had been something amazing as well as terrifying about the monster/man that he couldn’t shake. The monster spoke, for one, and seemed only to want to protect Catherine Chandler. The monster could have easily killed them both, and Markam sensed he actually wanted to do just that, but he held himself back. Suddenly, the terrified man realized that if what the monster said was true and Gabriel really didn’t have any power below, perhaps that’s where he should go, at least for a little while. He thought he might be better off facing the strange monster/man he didn’t’ know rather than facing the evil man/monster he knew far too well. With nothing to lose, Markam stopped stumbling around from alley to alley and headed back to the entrance to the tunnel where Joe Maxwell had picked him up only hours before.
Joe, who had never let Markam out of his sight for a second, soon realized the man’s movements were changing and were no longer random. Markam was finally headed somewhere specific, and Joe’s heart began to race.
So far, Joe had been able to follow Markam through the city undetected. However, once Markam entered the tunnel where he and Andrews had emerged earlier in the day, it wasn’t going to be so easy. At the very least Joe would have to be able to hear Markam in order to track his movements. Fortunately for Joe, once Markam entered the tunnel, he wasn’t worried about stealth. Markam was huffing and puffing, moving noisily along the passage while dragging his hand along the wall.
After nearly an hour of panicked wandering, Markam abruptly stopped. Joe was perhaps fifty feet behind him and could only see the beam of his flashlight moving up and down the tunnel walls. The spot where Markam stopped looked different; the wall wasn’t cement or stone but smooth, as if a metal plate of some kind had been embedded in the concrete.
"Is anybody in there?" Markam shouted, pounding on the metal plate with the end of his flashlight. "I need help!"
Joe had no idea what to think. Did Gabriel have some kind of safe house down here that Markam knew about? Still hanging back in the shadows, Joe watched as Markam sank to the floor, his flashlight shining straight up like a lantern.
"Please," he heard Markam beg. "If I go out there again, I’m a dead man."
*****
Dawn had yet to break over New York City as Gabriel finished making his final preparations. Dressed in black from head to toe, he loaded a black backpack with ammunition and a flashlight. Night vision goggles and a Glock 17 with a laser sight, neither of which would be available to the general public for quite some time, were the last two items added to the bag. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he felt just like he had when he went on his first African safari decades earlier. Since that time, he’d hunted and killed all the most dangerous animals on the earth, including man. Now, after all this time, he was provided with a new challenge. The thought invigorated him, and he felt more alive than he had in years.
Sikes, dressed in identical black slacks and black turtle neck, simultaneously finished stowing his gear in a matching black backpack.
"Let’s go," Gabriel ordered.
Without a word, Sikes nodded and followed Gabriel out the door.
Gabriel and Sikes made their way into the tunnel entrance Andrews described. Equipped with their state of the art night vision goggles, they had no difficulty finding their way. There were fresh tracks to follow, and although they had no idea to whom they belonged, Gabriel didn’t care. This man/monster Andrews described had captured his imagination more than anything else had in a very long time. He was in the mood to hunt, and it really didn’t matter who or what the prey turned out to be.
****
ACT V
Vincent awoke with a start, but this time it wasn’t because of his recurring nightmare. He heard someone running, heading directly toward their chamber and coming fast. Alert and up in seconds, he startled Catherine in the process.
"What is it?" she asked, fear straining her voice. "What’s the matter?"
"I don’t know," Vincent managed just as Mouse stumbled over the threshold.
"Vincent!" Mouse called, out of breath. "Intruders in the tunnels!"
Vincent was already up and pulling on his boots. "Where Mouse?"
"Near where you left the bad guys." Mouse shook his head. "Not good, Vincent. Not fine."
"How many?"
The boy held up both hands, two fingers raised on each. "Two and two,"
Vincent gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"
Mouse raised one hand a bit higher, wiggling a finger. "First, one man alone—one of the bad guys from before." He wiggled the finger next to it. "Then Catherine’s Joe Maxwell, alone, following after. " Now he raised the other hand, holding up two fingers. "Then two more—strangers—with face thingies and guns. Very scary."
Vincent met Catherine’s eyes. "Gabriel," he said softly.
"And Joe," she added. "He must have tracked one of the gunmen down here. We’ve got to help him, Vincent. He’s all alone."
"I’ll find him," Vincent assured her.
She reached for her clothes. "I can help," she insisted.
Vincent emphatically shook his head. "No."
Catherine’s eyes flashed fire and she was ready to launch into an argument when the baby, also awakened by the commotion, suddenly began to cry. Roughly yanked back to the here and now by that innocent and most vulnerable of sounds, the reality of her new role as mother hit Catherine full force. She couldn’t go with Vincent. She swallowed hard, wanting to be at his side, but knowing she had to remain behind.
Vincent stepped forward, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Don’t worry," he said softly. He turned toward Mouse. "Mouse, go tell Father what’s happened and have him call everyone together."
In a flash, Mouse took off down the tunnel.
"This won’t go on," Vincent said resolutely.
Catherine nodded gravely, knowing what Vincent meant. This saddened her, but not because she felt any pity for the man who had so recently tried to kill her. She was distraught because she knew how this action would affect Vincent, and she was troubled, too, by the irretrievable losses already suffered at Gabriel’s hands. The death of Gabriel wouldn’t bring Patrick Hanlon and John Moreno back, it wouldn’t erase the pain suffered by Teresa and Anthony Hanlon, and it wouldn’t expunge every other evil deed Gabriel had perpetrated over his lifetime. Those losses were irrevocable. What it would do, she knew, was stop the path of wanton destruction at its source once and for all. After all she’d seen, she could live with that. "Be careful," she said to Vincent as she pulled him close.
"Take care of our son," he whispered.
"I will," she assured him.
With that, he left her, striding purposefully down the tunnel toward the inevitable confrontation he had hoped to avoid but was determined to meet head on.
Once dressed, Catherine scooped up the baby and joined the rest of the underground community in the Great Hall. Although Jacob presided over the emergency in the same competent manner as always, the tunnel dwellers’ patriarch looked exhausted. A prickling sense of alarm spread through Catherine as she realized how haggard Jacob’s face had become. Looking around at the anxious people now gathering here and there in small, frightened groups, she prayed for this nightmare to pass quickly.
Set apart from the dozens of people milling about, Teresa Hanlon and her son Anthony stood away from the rest of the group. Catherine could almost feel the fear radiating from Teresa as she held Anthony’s hand in white knuckled terror. Determined to help, Catherine moved across the hall to join the frightened woman. Shifting the baby, she reached out and put a hand on Teresa’s shoulder. "Please don’t worry."
"Is it true what they say?" Teresa sought Catherine’s eyes, her voice shaky. "Is Gabriel in the tunnels?"
"We don’t know for sure," Catherine replied truthfully. "But if he is, Vincent and the sentries will find him."
"And then what?" Teresa’s eyes were dark with fear. "He’ll kill your Vincent, and anyone else who stands in the way."
"He won’t," Catherine assured her. "I told you. These people have been protecting their world from outsiders for a long time. It is highly unlikely anyone could find the special tunnels that lead here, let alone get close enough to do any harm."
Teresa was not convinced. "He’ll find us, Catherine. And when he does, he’ll kill us and all of you, too."
*****
Vincent met Daniel, one of the advance sentries, coming down a side tunnel.
"Vincent!" the young man called out. "We’ve spotted groups in separate areas. They’re not together."
"Good."
"Joe Maxwell and the other man have moved up to the north edge. The other two men are headed that way too, but they’re still a ways behind them. What do you want us to do?"
"Follow Joe Maxwell. Make sure he and the other man don’t get anywhere near the inner tunnels and open only the hidden doors that lead out. Once they’re headed in the right direction away from the community, close the doors and seal them off from the men behind them."
Daniel grinned in understanding. "Like a reverse Hansel and Gretel."
Vincent nodded. "Also tell Jamie to go and get Sam. Have her ask him to wear his sanitation worker uniform. Joe Maxwell will be less likely to suspect Sam if he’s the one who finds them and guides them out."
"What about the other two?"
Vincent set his jaw. "I’ll take care of them." He reached out and put a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. "Do not follow me, Daniel," he ordered. "If I’m not back in an hour, two at the most, seal up all the inner tunnels and wait at least forty-eight hours before sending out a scout."
"But Vincent--" Daniel protested.
"Promise me. I want your word. Two hours."
Despite his misgivings, Daniel nodded.
"Now go."
Daniel turned and began a ground covering trot in the same direction he had come.
Vincent pushed on ahead.
*****
Markam had all but given up. He was lost, of that he was certain, but that was almost a comfort rather than a concern. At least if he was lost, Gabriel would never be able to find him. Maybe he’d live another day. He was starting to think he dreamed up the monster/man when he heard the scuffle of feet behind him. Jumping to his feet, he pointed his flashlight toward the sound. "Who’s there? I can hear you."
The blackness seemed to shift as a shape moved closer to the light. When a person finally stepped into the beam, Markam dropped the light and swore. "What are you doing here?"
Joe Maxwell shrugged. "Following you."
"This is harassment," Markam ridiculously pointed out.
Joe looked around the empty tunnel. "So call a cop." Nodding toward the darkness ahead, Joe added, "I sure hope you know where we’re going."
Markam gave a derisive laugh. "Not a clue."
Joe’s chin dropped to his chest. "I don’t know who’s the bigger idiot—you or me." He lifted his head. "Why the hell are you in here?"
Markam leaned back against the curved tunnel wall and slid down to the damp earth. "I came down here looking for...protection."
"Yeah, I get that." Joe joined him on the floor. "But if you’d have come clean with me in the first place you’d be tucked up nice and cozy in some safe house in Midtown instead of wandering around lost in a cold, wet sewer."
Markam shook his head. "Maxwell, for a smart guy, you don’t know jack."
"So enlighten me. I deserve it after following your panicky ass all over this city."
There was a long pause before Markam began to talk.
"Back in the day, being an enforcer was different. The bosses were no good bastards, but the targets were usually equally no good bastards trying to muscle in on either goods or territory. Taking out guys like that was a pleasure—and I was good at it." He looked over at Joe. "Real good at it." Absently, he picked up a handful of dirt and let it sift through his fingers. "This guy Gabriel--he’s something different."
"Tell me about it," Joe said under his breath.
"I’m no good at killing innocent women and kids. It’s not a part of my skill set. I may be a killer," Markam shook his head, "but I’m no murderer."
The ability of criminals to compartmentalize their crimes wasn’t a new one for Joe. He saw it all the time. He believed this supposed "code of honor" was really just a bunch of bullshit, but he let Markam go on.
"When Gabriel sent us on the job to kill Teresa Hanlon and her kid, and then to take out Catherine Chandler, too, I had enough." He picked up another handful of dirt. "The problem is you don’t quit Gabriel. The people who try end up dead."
"Like Patrick."
"And your District Attorney, and an assistant prosecutor in Orange County, California, and a building inspector in Philly—I made a very good living."
"So what did you hope to find down here?"
"Somebody who might be able out-monster a monster--" was Markam’s enigmatic response, but before he could explain further, the sound of metal sliding against metal echoed through the tunnels, and a square of light appeared where the metal door Markam had pounded on earlier had been.
On their feet, Joe and Markam cautiously approached the opening in the tunnel wall. Looking through the opening, they saw a battery powered lantern placed on the floor of a side tunnel about ten yards away. Warily, they stepped forward into the lighted tunnel and headed toward the lantern. They were only a few feet from the threshold when the solid steel plate slid closed behind them with a heavy clang, effectively blocking them off from the way they had come. The two whirled and began to pound on the steel door, but it was no use.
Joe turned to Markam. "Whoever you came looking for, I think he knows we’re here."
*****
Vincent had been following Gabriel and his partner for a little over an hour. He easily identified which was Gabriel by the way the other man’s body language telegraphed his lack of dominance.
Although he stayed well back into the darkness of the tunnel, Vincent knew that if either intruder turned around he would be discovered. He could tell by the way they followed the tracks on the tunnel floor that the instruments they wore on their heads most certainly allowed them to see in the dark. He had counted on it, in fact. When the more submissive man turned to look over his shoulder, Vincent was not surprised to hear the man’s sharp intake of breath.
"Oh my God! He’s right behind us," Sikes called out, spinning around and raising his gun to aim unerringly at Vincent’s head.
"Put that away," Gabriel ordered sharply, knocking Sikes’ arm down. Adjusting the goggles, he looked Vincent in the eye. "What do we have here?"
Goose bumps crawled over Vincent’s skin as he looked at Gabriel full in the face. Cold, dead, grey eyes stared back at him. Those eyes most certainly belonged to the man who had haunted his dreams. Vincent said nothing. There was nothing to say.
"What do you suppose the diminutive Ms. Chandler sees in this hulking brute, eh? He’s as ugly as she is beautiful." Gabriel’s tone was confident, implying he’d already won this fight now that he had his prize in his sights. "I suppose we’ll just have to seek her out and ask her," he went on. "Maybe she just likes it rough. We can certainly accommodate her there, can’t we, Sikes?" he leered.
The thought of this man touching Catherine elicited a low rumble deep in Vincent’s chest. Every muscle in his body was tensed to spring, but he knew he must be patient. Both men were heavily armed, and he’d only get one shot to take them by surprise.
Vincent’s eerie growl unsettled Sikes. "Let’s kill him and get out of here," he said. "I don’t like the looks of him--and maybe there’s more like him down here."
"Don’t be such a coward, Sikes. It isn’t like you."
"I’m no coward. I just want to get this done and move on."
"And end the hunt so soon?" Gabriel took a step forward to get a better look. "That’s no sport at all." He took in Vincent slowly from head to toe. "Who are you?" he asked.
Vincent continued to stand his ground and remained silent.
Sikes stepped forward now, too. "What do you suppose happened to him? Is it some kind of birth defect?"
"A mutation is my guess," Gabriel offered.
"The result of somebody’s chemistry set gone bad?"
"Most likely."
The fact that Vincent didn’t respond lulled them into the misguided perception that he didn’t understand them--which was their first mistake.
"Maybe we should capture him instead of kill him," Sikes proposed. "Sell him off to some genetic research facility. I bet they’d have a field day dissecting him."
Gabriel turned his head and smiled at his partner with admiration. "You’re a man after my own heart, Sikes. I think I’ll give the Chandler woman to you as a gift--after I’m finished with her first, of course."
Sikes nodded and returned the smile.
Taking their eyes off Vincent was their second mistake.
In a flash Vincent brought his hands out from behind his back and struck a brilliant phosphorus torch. The incandescent chemicals instantly sparked into a brilliant burst of white light, effectively blinding the men in the night vision goggles and causing them both to raise their hands to their ruined eyes.
In seconds Vincent ended their suffering and completed the task he’d set out to accomplish. His fragile world, as well as the world above, would no longer be threatened by the specter of Gabriel. It was over before either man knew what hit him.
The deed done, Vincent hung his head.
An eerie buzzing filled his ears. Lost in the horror of his actions, however necessary, he blocked out everything else around him. He had no idea how much time passed before he began to sense the presence of other people. Mouse, Jamie, Cullen, Daniel, Ben, Levi, Hannah, and Joseph--the strongest tunnel-dwellers charged with protecting their home--silently stepped out of the darkness. Daniel had not kept his promise.
Shame washed over Vincent. They had been witness to his actions against the two men, and he was humiliated by the graphic evidence of his violence.
Jamie, seeing the hurt look on Vincent’s face, stepped forward first. "Thank you, Vincent," she said, her eyes shining. "Thank you for protecting us."
Mouse came forward next, meekly touching Vincent’s shoulder. His voice quivered, "Friends take care of friends."
One by one, the small group of men and women who were responsible for the most dangerous aspects of protecting their world came forward, offering support, knowing that it was their responsibility to do exactly the same thing Vincent had done if circumstances required it. This overwhelming show of understanding and gratitude helped to temper Vincent’s guilt, but it did not erase it. He’d never feel right about what he’d done, but he also knew that he wouldn’t hesitate--couldn’t hesitate--to do it again. Full contrition would never be possible for him, but he did not shoulder this burden alone. When he finally stepped away from the somber little group to deal with the bodies of the intruders, Cullen and Daniel had already taken that task upon themselves.
*****
Back in the main hall, Jacob continued to helm the crisis in the same calm manner as always. Things were moving smoothly, and everyone was working together to ensure the safety of the group. Perhaps that was why Jacob’s sudden collapse was so dramatic and unexpected. One minute he was talking to William about breakfast, and the next minute he had crumpled to the floor.
"Father!" Mary was at his side in seconds.
Catherine saw the commotion and rushed forward, her sleeping son still in her arms. "What is it?"
Flat on his back on the damp chamber floor, Jacob’s eyelids fluttered as he slowly came to.
"Be still," Mary said softly, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Don’t try to get up." She looked up at Catherine. "He needs to be in a hospital."
"No hospital," Jacob croaked. "I’m fine."
"You’re sick," Mary begged. "You’ve been sick for months now. You need to be treated."
"Nonsense," Jacob coughed.
Catherine dropped down beside him. "At least let us get Peter."
His breath was ragged and he looked anything but fine, but his refusal brooked no argument. "Later. Until we’re sure it’s safe, we can’t take the risk."
Despite Jacob’s condition, they’d have to wait until the sentries came back with news before they could send someone up to retrieve Peter. The sentries would know where the intruders were and how to avoid them. If anyone else tried to leave the community right now, he or she might inadvertently draw the intruders right to heart of the tunnels.
"Let’s make him comfortable," Catherine suggested, and Mary set about getting blankets and making up a bed while William and the others built a fire and cleared a spot near the cooking hearth, the warmest area of the main hall.
Catherine rose to help, too, but Jacob put a hand on her arm. "Wait a moment, please."
She did, and everyone else moved away.
Jacob dropped his trembling hand from her arm to touch a tiny, uncovered foot that had come free of the blankets wrapped around the baby. "He’s a fine, strong boy, isn’t he?"
"He is," Catherine agreed, looking down on her son with a smile. "Like his father."
"I never thought I’d live to see it." Jacob nodded tenderly toward the baby. "To see Vincent grow into a man in love and with a family of his own. I never believed it possible." He looked up to meet Catherine’s eyes. "You gave him more than a dream, Cathy. You gave Vincent a life."
Catherine wistfully shook her head. "You’re wrong, Father. Vincent gave me a life. Without him, without all of you, my life would have been empty, without any kind of true purpose or depth." She ran a knuckle gently against her son’s soft cheek. "It was Vincent who helped me learn who I really was, and who I really wanted to be. He made me a better person, someone my son--our son--can be proud of."
Jacob said nothing, but reached for her hand. After a long moment he murmured quietly, "I’m dying, Cathy."
Her immediate reaction was a vehement denial, but Jacob squeezed her hand, stilling her. "I doubt it will be today, but if it’s not, the time is coming very soon."
Tears sprang to her eyes as grief flooded through her. "We’ll take you above, get you into a hospital. There are specialists--"
"Surely you must know that I want to die here, with my family, in the one place where I truly belong."
"But treatment might help--"
"Dear Cathy--" he soothed.
"Or a new medication --" she tried.
"I couldn’t love you more if you were my own daughter," he went on, calmly ignoring her pleas. "I am comforted beyond measure to know that Vincent has you in his life. You are our miracle among miracles. I need to tell you this now, before everyone else, so that you can help Vincent. He’ll need your strength."
"You know I’ll always be there for him, no matter what happens, but Father, please--"
"Yes, thank God, I do know that." He patted her hand. "But when Vincent becomes the leader of this community--" Jacob paused then, dropping his eyes from hers. "Things will change."
What Jacob was saying wasn’t a new realization for her. She’d been thinking about what her life was to become almost nonstop since the moment the baby was born. Her life both with and without Vincent would never be the same. She would have to make difficult decisions that would have painful consequences for the people she loved. Knowing that time was at hand, and unable to find any words, she could only nod.
Jacob could see the understanding in her eyes and grasped her hand tightly with both of his.
Just then, Mary bustled back to Jacob’s side. "We have a comfortable spot all pre--" She stopped mid-sentence, sensing something wasn’t right. "What’s the matter?" Her eyes zeroed in on Catherine’s tear stained face. "Jacob?"
"I’m fine," Jacob lied. "Just a bit tired." Meeting Catherine’s eyes again, he gave her a weak smile.
Catherine swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "Me, too," she said softly, nodding slightly to Jacob. She’d keep his secret from the community for now, but if their deep connection had truly returned to Vincent, she was certain that he already knew.
*****
Catherine’s grief hit Vincent with such force that he actually staggered, going down hard on one knee.
"Vincent!" Mouse called out in alarm.
Currents of pain washed over Vincent in swirling waves. Fighting through it, he picked himself up as the echoes of Catherine’s bereavement cascaded along their bond. "I must get to Catherine," he said roughly, leaving the small band of warriors behind as he raced ahead.
*****
It became quite obvious to Joe and Markam that they were being led through the tunnels by an unseen force. Deciding they had nothing to lose by trusting this mysterious guide, they slowly made their way through the labyrinth that was the New York City underground. They had been walking for more than an hour when they finally found Sam, or more precisely, Sam finally found them. An aging, grizzled, city worker from way back, Sam cursed them up one side and down the other for fooling around in places where they did not belong. Despite his colorful diatribe, it took him less than twenty minutes to lead them directly out into the sunlight.
During their long walk out, Joe had convinced Markam to come in and do what he could to identify Gabriel. He’d confess to the assault charges and take his chances with protective custody. Once they emerged from beneath the city, they holed up in a diner, and Joe called Greg Hughes. Hughes was the one detective Joe felt he could take a chance on, and Greg arrived alone in an unmarked car at the diner on 73rd and 3rd.
What none of them knew was that while Markam was making an airtight confession guaranteeing that he served time and thus protecting him from his former boss, the as-of-yet unidentified bodies of Gabriel and Sikes had already been discovered by construction workers in the basement of a brownstone being renovated near 5th Avenue and West 128th Street. John Doe #452 and John Doe #453 were cooling their heels, so to speak, in the morgue.
No good deed goes unpunished.
*****
ACT VI
When Vincent arrived at the Great Hall and threw open the doors, the entire room full of people en masse rushed toward him. Scanning over their heads he saw Catherine standing at the very back of the crowd, the baby in her arms. When he searched her eyes and their clear depths told him that she was okay, he became confused. Her grief had been so strong it had brought him to his knees, of that there was no doubt, yet she seemed fine. When she looked over toward Jacob, who was still lying beside the fire, it suddenly became clear to him.
Catherine watched as the community peppered Vincent for details of what had happened. A true leader, he calmed their fears, assured them that the intruders were no longer in the tunnels and that all was well. A few moments later, when the other sentries returned and everyone was accounted for, the tunnel dwellers began to drift out of the Great Hall, relieved and anxious to put things right in their world once again.
Catherine stayed where she was, waiting for Vincent to speak to Teresa Hanlon, who stared up at him in subdued shock. It was almost too much for her to take in. This very strange man was telling her that she could go home. For the first time since the day her husband was murdered, Teresa and her son were completely free.
Vincent then spoke to Mary, and then, finally, to Jacob. He oversaw Jacob’s transfer to a stretcher and made it clear that he would be along in moment. It wasn’t until then that he eventually turned to Catherine. Even though he hadn’t immediately reached for her, hadn’t touched her or even talked to her, the moment their eyes met when he came through those doors told her all she needed to know. She could feel his love for her ripple like a current as he walked toward her.
First, he took his sleeping son from her arms and held him close. After a moment, he gently placed him in the makeshift crib Catherine had made, bending to place a soft kiss on the baby’s forehead. When he finally pulled her into his arms at last, he didn’t say a word.
She felt his shoulders shake beneath her arms, and she gripped him tighter. When he ultimately lifted his head, his face was wet with tears. "At first, I thought something had happened to you or the baby," he said softly. "That it was Father never occurred to me."
"Vincent," she began haltingly.
He put a finger to her lips. "I know he is dying, Catherine."
She met his eyes. "Are you...all right?"
His gaze said it all.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she hugged him to her as close as she possibly could. Burying her face beneath his chin, she wished she could somehow pull the pain from him and take it into herself.
They stood like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, for a long time. It wasn’t until they realized that the torches were beginning to sputter that they broke the embrace. Vincent picked up his son and reached for Catherine’s hand. Together, they walked hand-in-hand back to join the rest of the community.
*****
Vincent arranged to hold the naming ceremony for the baby the very next afternoon. Although Jacob was still weak and took part in the ceremony seated in a chair, he positively beamed when Vincent announced that his son was to be named Jacob.
"However, in order to avoid confusion and to commemorate the very unusual way he came into this world," Vincent amended, "Catherine and I have decided to call him Pip."
"That’s wonderful!" Jacob clapped, taking the crowd by surprise. "Vincent, did you know that we almost called you Pip?"
Vincent shook his head. "I had no idea."
Jacob nodded. "Pip was Lou’s choice, but he was voted down."
"You mean I was named by committee?" Vincent asked, dumbfounded, which caused the entire chamber to erupt in laughter.
"Certainly not," Jacob chuckled, "To me, you were Vincent from the start. But there were several other suggestions at the time."
As the laughter died down, Catherine stepped forward. "I have one more surprise."
Vincent raised a quizzical eyebrow, but Catherine only smiled.
Peter stepped out of the circle to stand beside her. "I had to register the baby’s birth, of course, so I pulled some strings and got it rushed through." He handed Catherine an envelope. "Catherine was very clear about what she wanted done."
Catherine slipped the contents out of its envelope and read it silently. Smiling, she handed the paper to Vincent.
He met her eyes, and then looked down at the document. He read out loud, "Mother: Catherine Chandler," he paused, his voice catching in his throat, "Father," he continued, "Vincent...Wells." He looked up and met Father’s eyes. "The baby’s full name is Jacob Chandler Wells."
Vincent handed the paper to Jacob, who read the document himself before passing it back to Vincent with a shaky hand. In a lifetime full of proud moments, this was undoubtedly the proudest of Jacob’s life.
Catherine hated to see the ceremony end, but she couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. It was time for her to return Teresa Hanlon above and to deal with her own life.
*****
Standing at the ladder below the basement entrance to Catherine’s building, Vincent slipped Catherine’s overnight bag from his shoulder. "Are you ready?" he asked.
She nodded, teary-eyed. "As ready as I’ll ever be."
He handed her bag up to Anthony, who was already waiting with his mother and little Pip at the basement level above.
"I have to do this," she said, looking up into his clear, blue eyes.
"I know." His smile was sad. "I’ve always known," he added with a soft whisper, then bent to kiss her tenderly.
The kiss was almost her undoing. How could she leave him for an hour, much less the time she knew would pass before she saw him again? She pulled him to her tightly, a sob escaping her constricted throat.
After a moment, he brought his hands up to cup her face. "We can do this."
She hugged him one last time, and then hurried up the metal ladder to rejoin the world above.
*****
Joe made it to Catherine’s in record time. His race to her apartment after her phone call would humble even the most daring New York cabbie. Bursting from the elevator, and dashing to her door, he banged. "Radcliffe!" he shouted. "Open up, it’s me!"
Catherine opened the door and was nearly knocked off her feet by Joe’s giant bear hug.
Stepping away from her, he scanned her from head to toe. "Are you okay? What happened? Do you need a doctor?" He didn’t give her time to answer one question let alone the twenty or so he fired at her.
"Yes. A lot. And no," she laughed, returning his hug. "If you give me a second to breathe, I’ll fill you in." And she did...mostly.
Joe greeted Teresa Hanlon and her son warmly and, like a good district attorney pro tem, he assured her that she and her son would be safe. An anonymous tip had been phoned in regarding the two bodies found in the brownstone basement, and Markam was able to identify Gabriel and Sikes. It turned out that Sikes had a record with the military, so his ID was positive, but Gabriel’s true identity remained a mystery. Regardless of who Gabriel really was, Teresa Hanlon’s nightmare was finally over. However, just to be on the safe side, Joe was fast-tracking placement in the Federal Witness Protection Program. An agent was on the way to pick up Teresa and Anthony, and soon they would be able to begin a brand new life.
"It was a bonehead stunt to grab those two guys alone," Joe admonished Catherine. "I couldn’t believe you were going to try to pull that off on your own."
"I wasn’t alone. I had a lot of help," Catherine assured him. "I’m just glad it worked. We didn’t really have any choice."
Joe bent down to Anthony. "You must be pretty strong to help you mom out the way you did. I don’t know too many kids who could have done that."
The little boy shrugged. "It was scary at first, but Mouse made things a lot better. He’s my new best friend."
Joe looked up at Catherine. "Mouse?"
"A friend," Catherine explained, "just like Anthony said." And she left it at that. As time went on, she knew Joe would have many more questions, but she wasn’t ready to deal with them today.
Joe peeked in on the baby, who was blissfully unaware of all the commotion surrounding his mother’s safe return to the world above. Looking down at the peacefully sleeping infant, Joe couldn’t believe Catherine had actually given birth. "Are you sure you’re okay, Radcliffe? I mean, shouldn’t you be in a hospital or something?"
"I’m fine," she assured him again. "We’ve both been checked out and pronounced healthy and fit." She didn’t tell him that those examinations took place deep beneath the ground in a hospital chamber hewn from solid rock, but what Joe didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Jenny arrived shortly thereafter, and the round of explanations began all over again. Once she knew Catherine was home and safe, she made arrangements to take the entire following week off. Although Catherine knew she would have been perfectly fine on her own, she didn’t argue with Jenny’s plan. The upcoming week was destined to be one of the hardest Catherine would have to endure, and she would be grateful for the help.
Before Joe left, Catherine pulled him aside into her tiny kitchen. "Joe," she began, more nervous to face to him at that moment than she had been to face down the gunmen. "Before you go...I need to tell you something."
Joe’s eyes darkened with concern. "What is it? Are you okay?" He shook his head. "I knew something was wrong with you or the baby. I knew it."
She put a hand on his arm. "Nothing is wrong with me or the baby." She looked away, unsure. "I don’t know any other way to do this than to just say it."
"So say it," Joe said flatly, preparing himself for the worst.
"I’m not coming back to work."
Relief flooded through him and he actually laughed. "Is that all?" His face lit up. "No sweat. I figured you’d be taking some maternity leave--hell, you deserve it--no problem."
She shook her head. "No, Joe. I don’t mean I’m taking time off. I mean I’m not coming back at all. Ever."
Immediate arguments sprang to his lips--but he didn’t give them voice. Instead, he just looked at her. There was no sense denying it. He had loved Catherine Chandler since the day she walked into Moreno’s office, all Park Avenue polish oddly mixed with a burning desire for more. He could have fallen for her hard, and some part of him did just that, but right from the start he could tell her heart belonged to someone else. Over the years, they had formed a partnership like no other he had ever known. If she needed to move on, to leave their office behind, he knew he’d still have a friend for life. His quiet understanding didn’t need any words. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled her into a warm hug. "I will always be there for you, Cathy" he said softly. "No matter what."
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she hugged him back fiercely. "I know. And I’ll always be there for you."
It was a promise that would last a lifetime.
*****
Epilogue
Catherine had been right. That first week put into motion the biggest changes of her life. In the space of a month she officially resigned from the district attorney’s office, bought a small abandoned warehouse, and moved out of her apartment and into that warehouse. She immediately began renovations and the design was very specific. Dividing the building in half, the front portion would house what was soon to become the Chandler Wells Foundation. Under Catherine’s direction, this nonprofit organization would supply free legal help and address any and all other advocacy needs for those who had nowhere else to turn. Community members who had already agreed to sit on her board of directors were an eclectic group of civic leaders, business leaders, artists, engineers, teachers, and average citizens. All of them, with one exception, were trusted helpers to the world below. The only member of Catherine’s board who was not a helper was Elliot Burch, and she believed that with a little more time, Elliot would prove to be trustworthy enough to share in that responsibility. As it was, he served as the CFO, and as the lead financial officer, he was already using his extensive financial acumen to ensure that Catherine’s funding was secure.
The back portion of the warehouse was something else entirely. This was devoted to Catherine’s home. Built like a fortress, many assumed that Catherine’s design reflected her desire for safety and security in one of the most dangerous cities in the country. Of course, that had nothing to do with Catherine’s plan. Like her old apartment building, the residential portion of the warehouse could be accessed from below. Protected from the outside world, Vincent and Catherine could come and go, above or below, at their convenience without the worry of discovery. This allowed them to raise their son in a world that included them both on an almost daily basis. This measure of freedom was something they had only dreamed possible. The realization of their life together was beyond anything they could have hoped for.
That life, however, was not without sacrifice. Catherine knew her destiny was to work above and to raise their son to thrive in both worlds. Part of that knowledge was accepting the responsibility to take the ideals of generosity and kindness from the world below and spread those gifts to those who were so desperately in need of them above. Vincent’s destiny was to take over for Jacob, who passed quietly in his sleep less than six weeks after Pip was born. The continuity of the world below rested squarely on his shoulders, and Jacob’s legacy was now in his hands. It was up to him to lead and protect the tunnel-dwellers who had been rejected by the world above, giving them the kind of sanctuary and support that they could find nowhere else.
Together, Catherine and Vincent set about finding ways to bridge the gap between above and below. In the process, they would begin to create a new world, a place where all people could lead lives of dignity and compassion for themselves, for their children, and for all those they loved.
Ω