Chapter Four
Love of a Woman
Slouching, restless and disgruntled, Vincent sat at the right hand of Paracelsus, one leg over the arm of his chair, swinging it idly up and down. Paracelsus was holding court for his followers. The first of the accused was a little seedy man who was charged with stealing from the group.
"You have broken one of the cardinal laws of my world," the despot intoned. "You may steal from anyone but not from the group."
"I didn’t mean to," the little man pleaded. "I won’t do it again," he promised.
"I’m sure you won’t," Paracelsus agreed, a nasty gleam in his eyes. "But to be sure you won’t forget . . . cut off his left hand."
"No, no," the man babbled. "Please." His voice dwindled as he was taken from the chamber.
Paracelsus was a harsh, stern, and an unforgiving taskmaster.
Bored with the proceedings, Vincent smothered a huge yawn. He sat up when Paracelsus transfixed him with a pointed glare. He swung his leg off the arm rest to settle it on the floor in an unsuccessful attempt to wake up, but he was tired. He hadn’t been sleeping well. The dream woman haunted him. He felt he should know her; he should know her face. She had been in his dreams since the night he had killed Levinsky, returned to watch the police search the area, and had seen the woman kneeling beside a body, studying the wounds he had made. She had suddenly stopped and looked directly at his hiding place. She had the face of an angel. He had pulled back into the shadows, but she stared in his direction for several seconds then went back to her examination of the body. Since then the angel woman wore her face and haunted him day and night.
"If you’re not interested in the proceedings, Vincent, I suggest you go to your chamber and get some sleep. I will speak with you later," Father said sharply.
With ill-concealed temerity, he moseyed from the judgement chamber and back to his room. On his way, he wandered through the tunnels past frightened, groveling, unkempt members of Paracelsus’ world. They would scuttle out of his way, eyeing him covertly, fearing he would lash out at them. None of them were worth his notice. He continued on to his chamber and laid down on his bed, his hands locked behind his head. He stared into space, soon falling to sleep to dream of the angel-faced woman again.
*
Immersed in her work, Catherine was working well past quitting time. She had been pulling many long days these past two weeks, trying to keep at bay the worry and fear about Vincent. The Borgatta brief had kept her busy all day, and she was almost done. She finished the last paragraph, dotted her last i, crossed her last t, and took it to Joe.
"Thanks, Cathy," he said wearily. "You’ve been putting in some long hours lately."
"So have you," she commented.
"Yeah, we’re so snowed under that I can’t seem to find any free time."
"I know. I have that trouble myself."
"Anything new on the witness to the Levinsky murder?"
"Yeah, I have his name, Stanley Omansky, and where he can be found. I’m going to talk with him on my way home," she said, leaning against the door jamb.
"You continue to amaze me, Radcliffe," he grinned at her.
Shrugging her shoulders at his honest compliment, she added, "You know, it’s been over two weeks since the murder. Whoever did it, may be laying low, waiting for things to settle down and for people to become careless again."
"God, I hope not. Let’s hope there’s no more."
"I"ll go along with that," she agreed fervently.
*
Vincent woke to the sense of a presence in his chamber. "Vincent, are you awake?" someone whispered whom he recognized as Spider.
Stretching mightily, he answered, "Yes, Spider, I’m awake."
"Paracelsus wants to see ya,"
"Tell him I’ll be right there."
Spider scuttled out, leaving Vincent to hope that Father was going to send him on another hunt.
When he entered the chamber of the self-styled emperor of the tunnels, Paracelsus was enthroned in his massive ornately carved chair. Leaning an elbow on the faded red well-padded arm of his chair, he motioned Vincent into the chamber. "Come in, Vincent. Did you rest well? You seem to be very tired lately," he asked, solicitously and fatherly.
"Yes, I slept very well." For some reason he still didn’t want to tell Father about the dream woman.
Father smiled, his eyes glittering coldly. "Does the thought of killing a woman bother you?"
Shaking his head, the leonine being answered, "No, why? Should it?"
"It shouldn’t. I have a new project for you. There is a woman."
"I assumed that," Vincent nodded in anticipation.
"A woman who could cause us a great deal of trouble in our current endeavor. Her name is Catherine Chandler."
"Catherine." Vincent liked the sound of that name. It was comforting. He was jolted back to the present when Father continued. "She works for the District Attorney."
"What can she do?" Vincent snorted in derision.
"Don’t underestimate her. She’s smart, she has good instincts, and she knows about you."
Surprised he asked, "How does she know about me?"
"She’s allied with our old enemy, Jacob Wells." Paracelsus stared commandingly into the bright, feral eyes of the creature before him. "Vincent, listen to me carefully. She has the face of an angel, but behind that beautiful face is a mind as devious and cunning as any I have ever met. She will lie to you, try to trick you, but you must not listen to her. Don’t let her beauty blind you. Dispose of her quickly before she can tell you any of her lies."
"I will. She won’t get to me. Where does she live?"
"In an apartment on the eighteenth floor of the Westchester Apartments."
"When do you want me to do this?"
"Whenever you are ready."
Vincent nodded. With a cruel and vindictive smile, Paracelsus watched him leave the chamber. When Vincent killed the one person he valued more than his own life, it would be the ultimate act of betrayal that would destroy the other Vincent completely, leaving Paracelsus in control of the Beast.
*
She was bone weary when she finally got home. She had stopped for Chinese on the way and deposited the containers on the dining room table. After fixing a pot of coffee, she sat down and began to pick at her food. She really wasn’t all that hungry. Gathering the paper containers together, she put them in the refrigerator. Maybe a nice, long hot soak would pick up her spirits. There had been no word of Vincent for over two weeks.
Lying in the hot scented water, she thought back to the night that they met and how he had changed, enlarged her life. He had taught her love, compassion, courage and responsibility. Not that she didn’t already have those qualities, it was just that he had known they were there and had shown her how to use them. Through him she had found the well-spring of strength that existed in her and her life would be incomplete without him. "Please, Vincent, come back to me," she silently prayed.
Once again the voice of the woman sounded in his ear. This time he knew she was someone from his deeply hidden past and he shook her words from him mind. He would not listen to her; he had a task to perform.
Toweling off, Catherine donned a nightgown and peignoir–one of his favorites–and sat on her bed, attempting to finish the work she had brought home when she thought she heard a noise out of the balcony. How she wanted to rush out there in the hope that it was Vincent, but as she was afraid that he would not be there, she hesitantly rose and went out. Leaning over the wall, she looked out into the night. A few brave stars glowed against the black canopy of the sky. Something made her look to the spot where he had appeared on the first night he had come to her balcony. He was there just as she remembered. For a second she thought he was a dream then she rushed to embrace him. "Vincent," she cried joyously as she threw her arms around him. Slowly, she realized that he was not responding. She stepped back to look into his eyes, and as she did, he roughly pushed her away. She stumbled and almost fell as she reeled backward. What she saw in his eyes brought a gasp of despair from her. There was no recognition in his eyes. He didn’t know her!
"Who are you that you haunt my dreams day and night?" he hissed as he stepped menacingly toward her.
Leaning backwards on the railing, she faced this man, this stranger, her love. "I’m the woman who loves you. I’m Catherine . . ."
He shook his head. "Mustn’t listen to her, mustn’t look on her. She lies; she deceives," he muttered to himself like a litany. "Father said so."
"Father? When did you last see him?"
"Half an hour ago." He turned away from her, but her haunting eyes followed him.
"Why would Father send you to me?" A horrible idea was forming in her mind.
"To dispose of you," he answered flatly.
"To kill me? Why? Father would never do that."
"You are getting in his way. Causing him problems."
"Ah, I see. And what is Father’s name?"
"John Pater."
"Paracelsus," she intoned sadly. "He finally has you in his grasp." She raised her hands pleadingly, "Vincent, I don’t know if you will believe me, but I’m not what he claims I am. I am not your enemy. It was you who taught me to be strong, to love with a whole heart. I’ve never lied to you and I never will. You’ve got to believe me."
"Father said you would try to deceive me with honeyed words and loving looks."
"Vincent, look at me." Cautiously, she placed a hand on his tense arm to turn him to face her. "Search your heart then remember my words. I love you, I will love you forever, and if it must be by your hands that I die then do it now and do it quickly. I don’t want to live without you."
Quickly, he raised his hand, but then as he took a step toward her, he stopped. She braced herself, looking at him with eyes of love. Even he knew what love looked like and he lowered his hand. Confused, he rushed away. Her last words were, "Be careful, my love. Don’t tell Paracelsus you failed. He’s dangerous. Remember love."
*
Her words followed him, echoing in his mind, as he ran from her as Phineus ran from the harpies. He climbed over the roof wall and crouched in a corner, hugging his knees, thinking of what she had said. Somewhere in the deep recessed of his mind, he heard the words, "I love you," being repeated by this woman to him on the shores of a dark lake in mid-April. Why couldn’t he remember more? Something in her called to him. He had been ready to do Father’s bidding, yet something stayed his hand. He remembered her look of complete and utter trust and love in him. It shook him to the core. He huddled further into that dark corner, going over everything that had happened again and again, finding no answers. How could he face Father? How could he explain? What could he say to him?
The deed should be done by now. This would be the final blow that would send Vincent over the edge into madness. A madness that he, Paracelsus, could control and use for his benefit. Vincent would finally be freed of that part of him that kept him from attaining his true state. Impatiently, he waited for Vincent’s return.
The object of his anticipation was still sitting on the roof of Catherine’s building, still confused and unsure about his feelings. He would have to return below soon. Father was waiting for him to hear a detailed account of this evening. Reluctantly, he climbed to his feet and set out for the tunnels, taking as long as possible to get there.