Chapter Five
Tender Leaves of Hope
Catherine burst into the privacy of Father’s personal chamber. He was dressed for bed in a well-patched thin nightshirt and a worn bathrobe made out of an old blanket. Startled by her abrupt entrance, he turned to see her collapse into the chair he had just vacated.
"Father," she gasped, "I have news."
"Of Vincent?" he asked hopefully.
She nodded. Taking a few shaky breaths, she started to get her composure back.
"Then he is alive?"
"Yes. I’ve seen him." She leaned back in the chair, relaxing, still breathing a little heavy.
"Thank god," Father expostulated gratefully.
"It’s not all good news, Father. He doesn’t know me or remember you or your world. You were right though, the blow to his head caused amnesia, and the dark side has taken over but even his memory is sketchy."
"Dear god, what can we do?" Father collapsed on the edge of his bed, resting his chin on the top of his cane.
"I don’t know, but that’s not the worst of it. He was sent to kill me."
He stared at her in amazement. "To kill you? He could never do that."
She straightened up, crossing her arms across her chest and clasping her arms. "Not the Vincent we know, but we don’t know what this Vincent is capable of without the governing influence of our Vincent."
"That’s true, but who sent him to kill you? Who would do that?"
"The one who sent him to kill the crime lords: Paracelsus." She saw the dawning horror in his eyes. "Yes, the one who has wanted him all this time."
"John," he said in dismay. "He finally has what he wanted. This is my worst fear for my son."
"But he couldn’t kill me; he tried, but he just couldn’t do it. In his own way the darkness loves me too and that stayed his hand."
"Dear god, Catherine, what happens now."
"I don’t even know where Paracelsus is, do you?"
"We lost track of John a few months ago, but we’ll start looking for him right away."
She rose and went over to sit beside the distraught man and put her arms around him, hugging him close. He encircled her with his arms as she dropped her head on his shoulder. "We’ve got to do something," she said, "before we lose him completely, but I don’t know what it is."
"Maybe we have to wait for him to come to us," Father replied.
She nodded, sighed deeply, looking into Father’s sad eyes. "We must believe that our love will see us through."
He kissed her lovingly on the cheek; she had become his anchor in this time of despair, and he could see that she felt the same way about him. "It’s late. Will you stay Below tonight, Catherine?"
"I am tired, and I’d like to sleep in Vincent’s bed."
"Come, I’ll light your way."
Taking a lit candle from his desk, he took her by the arm, and they walked out into the darkened corridor. It was night below as it was above and most of the torches had been extinguished. Vincent’s room sprang into life as they entered; it was the first time she had ever seen it completely dark. Father lit a few candles, and the circle of light expanded to fall on the mementos that Vincent had collected throughout his life, on his many books, his table and chair, and his bed. She gazed around the room at all the things he loved, wishing he was the one standing beside her.
"Good night, Father." She kissed him softly on the cheek. "I’ll see you in the morning."
"Sleep well, my dear."
With a wan smile, she watched the tunnel patriarch leave then turned back to his bed. After blowing out all but the night candle, she stripped to her underwear and crawled under the covers. Snuggling down under the covers, she thought of Vincent. "Remember, Vincent, remember our love." She closed her eyes and slept better than she had since his disappearance.
*
Silently and with no little guilt, Vincent entered Father’s chamber. He was seated at his desk. For the first time since he had awakened, Vincent looked closely at the man, noting the cruel mouth, the harsh lines of his face, and the cold, calculating eyes. Why hadn’t he seen this before? He had no idea why this bothered him now, but it did. What had changed in him? Or more precisely who had changed him?
Glancing up, Father said with a cold smile, "Ah, Vincent, you’re back. You’re later than usual. Come, sit down, tell me. How did it go?"
Vincent hung his head as he took the chair indicated by Father. He stared at his hands, "Not good. I failed." He was unsure about how to proceed. He was a creature unused to deception. Everything about him was straight forward and to the point.
"Why?" Father demanded sharply, slamming shut the book he had been reading.
About to tell him what had happened, he heard Catherine’s last words, "Be careful. Don’t tell. He’s dangerous."
"She never came home. I waited all night," he lied, surreptitiously looking to see if Father believed him.
Visibly controlling his anger, Father said, "Never mind, we’ll get her another time. The next target is getting ready to leave town, and I want you to take care of him before he leaves."
Grateful that he had not been ordered to return and finish the deed, he was, nevertheless, not so eager to go on a hunt at this time. What he really wanted to do was to go back to his room and examine the feelings that were roiling through his consciousness. But realizing that Father depended on him to follow orders, he asked, "Who is it this time?"
"Guiseppi Pirelli, the last of the big three crime bosses. Go out tonight and find a good place to do the deed. Here is his address." Father handed him a folded piece of paper.
"Is this his home?" he asked after reading the address.
"Yes." Paracelsus inclined his head, smiling ingratiatingly at this pawn of his revenge against the man who had taken him away in the beginning. He was sure that Jacob would by now have figured out who was killing and mauling the leaders of the criminal world Above. Gleefully, he thought, Just wait until he comes for you, my old friend.
With a sharp nod of his head, Vincent said, "I’ll leave as soon as it is dark." On his way to his miserable bedroom, Vincent heard the woman’s voice again, "Remember, Vincent, remember our love." She had said the same words on her balcony. He shook his head in confusion as he entered the chamber.
*
The next night the bloody, brutal dreams returned but in a muted and softened state. She woke crying tears of frustration. Another death, she thought, sitting in the middle of her bed, head in her hands. She waited for the phone to ring but it never did. Puzzled, she went back to bed after having a cup of William’s special bedtime blend of tea. An hour later of tossing and turning, she finally fell into a fitful sleep filled with dreams of Vincent as she knew him then and now.
Leaning against the door frame of Joe’s office the following morning, she asked, "Anything go down last night?"
"How did you know?" he asked surprised.
"Oh, just a premonition. It was about time for something to happen again," she replied. "Then again maybe I heard it on the radio."
"Can’t keep anything secret in this town," he griped.
Yes, you can, she thought. There’s lots of secrets out there if you know where to look. "Who was it this time?"
"Guiseppi Pirelli. The last of the old crime bosses. I didn’t call you because this time there was no violence."
Her heart leaped with joy, maybe she had gotten to him after all. "Was he shot?" she asked hopefully.
"No, his neck was broken. God, Cathy, there were guards all over the place, and he was killed in his own library. No trace of anyone." Joe’s voice betrayed his frustration with the fact that almost no evidence was found. "There were scratch marks on one of the windows and some weird fingerprints but that was all."
"You don’t think this was done by the slasher?" Catherine asked, bringing him back to the present.
"The only thing that ties this murder to the others is that all of them were the last of the big-time bosses."
"Maybe we should assume that all three are tied together. Give me this case too. I’ll work on them as one. We might have something like a conspiracy going on here."
"Ok, Radcliffe, it’s yours. Keep me posted."
At her desk she sat thinking and doodling on a large yellow legal pad. If Vincent had done this, maybe the lack of violence meant that her Vincent was rousing and beginning to assert control. Horrified, she saw that she had scribbled his name as the suspect. Quickly erasing it, she plunged into her day’s work. Her main duty was to protect the man she loved and bring to justice the man behind the murders.
*
Father had been furious with Vincent when he found out how he had killed the old man. He had turned on him with blazing eyes and angry words. "No, no, no," he raged, stalking back and forth, "that is not how you do it. I wanted as much violence, blood and gore as possible. I want them quaking in their boots and starting at shadows. I want them scared to death. Do you understand me?" he roared.
Involuntarily, Vincent stepped back. "Yes, Father," he answered meekly, "I understand." Then in his own defense, he added, "But he was such an old man."
"Are you beginning to regret your ability to kill?" Paracelsus hissed through clenched teeth. "Are you?" he shouted.
"No, Father." Vincent hung his head. "I’m sorry, I just thought . . ."
"It is not your place to think, only to obey and follow my orders. Go to your chamber and remember my words," he ordered
Vincent turned, dejectedly, and left the chamber.
I may have to increase the dosage of the crystal dust I’ve been giving him. He might be developing a tolerance for it. Paracelsus watched the dejected figure leave.