Chapter Six
Searches and Dreams
Jacob Wells or Vincent’s real father convened a community meeting about his son and what he and Catherine feared. "In order to find Vincent, we must find John first, but I emphasize this, we must be extremely careful. Many of his followers are vicious and reprehensible."
"Mouse knows tunnels better than Vincent," the excitable young man said.
Catherine arrived, harried and breathless, "Sorry, I’m late. I couldn’t break away."
"Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters," Father said. Turning to the resident mechanical genius, he said, "Mouse, I know you know the tunnels, but this must be a careful systematic search because we don’t want John to know we are looking for him." Disappointed that he could not run out and start looking, Mouse slumped into his chair beside Jamie.
"We can divide into groups," Pascal chimed in.
"I think a group is too large," Catherine said. "We need parties of two or three. That way we can cover more of the tunnels in a shorter time. Those who can’t search can co-ordinate and keep track on the maps."
"I agree with Catherine," Father said. "William, Mary, and Sarah can take charge of the maps. Mouse and Jamie can coordinate the search parties." Mouse perked up when he heard this; he was not going to be excluded from searching for his friend.
"What about the children?" Mary asked.
"They are part of the community," Father answered, "and can help with the search."
"But is that wise, Father?"
"Mary, they have lived here most of their lives. They know these tunnels better than we do."
"All right," William shouted above the hubbub, "pick your partners and we’ll get started."
*
The sound of happy children’s laughter pulled him through the dim, misty corridors. Searching, he turned corner after corner. Something in him yearned to find these children. He hungered . . . no, he craved to find them. He turned one last corner, and there they were with a kindly-faced old man with smiling eyes. "There you are, Vincent. Where have you been?" he asked. A young man with tousled blond hair, bouncing energetically on his toes stood next to him. He ducked his head and said, "Missing you." Behind them was a group of children of all ages, toddlers and up. Suddenly, a pretty dark haired girl broke loose from the group and, running up to him, threw her arms around his waist. Looking up at him with laughing brown eyes, she said, "We have to finish the last chapter of ‘Treasure Island.’"
"‘Treasure Island?’" he questioned. With that they were gone. He spun around, seeking them, but they were no longer there. He could still hear the sound of their laughter, and he followed it until he was completely lost. "Father," he cried, "help me."
Paracelsus appeared. "What are you doing? I have someone for you to hunt."
"No," he retorted "it’s not right."
"Not right?" Paracelsus sneered. A mirror appeared in his hand. "What do you see here?" he asked as he handed the mirror to Vincent who looked deeply into it. What he saw brought despair to his heart: a beast walking on two legs. He started awake, tossing his head in denial.
*
After tossing and turning for well over an hour, puzzling over the dream, he found himself standing on her balcony, gazing at her through the French doors. He had come many times to her balcony since the time that Paracelsus had sent him to kill her. Somehow, she was always aware of his presence. Awake, she would rush out to confront him, but he would be gone before she was out the door. Asleep, she would turn restlessly, calling his name. She had some powerful hold over him that he had no desire to break, regardless of what Father said. Father had to be wrong. His fascination with her opposed his belief in the man who claimed to be his father.
How beautiful she was. Opening her eyes, she looked directly into his. A shiver of apprehension flowed through him. Smiling happily, she leapt out of bed and ran toward him. Confused by his feelings, he fled once again. She ran to the parapet, calling, "Vincent! Don’t go. Talk with me," but he was disappearing into the darkness. Dejected, she returned to her room and sat on the edge of her bed, shoulders slumped. One day he would stay; she had to believe that.
*
Early the next morning, Catherine entered Father’s chamber.
"Catherine, it’s so good to see you. We’ve missed you."
"I know, Father. I’m sorry that I haven’t been here more often. My only excuse is that I’m working intensively to protect Vincent, but what a conflict it creates in me. I know he’s responsible, but I also know he isn’t. It’s Paracelsus. I’ve got to get the one without involving the other."
"It’s a terrible dilemma, but we both know that if he was in his right mind this would not be happening."
Unhappily, she nodded in agreement. "How is the search for Paracelsus coming along? I wish I could help more often than I do, but the weekends are the only time I can spare. Any progress at all?"
"We’ve eliminated all the tunnels close by and are expanding into the lower tunnels farther east. We have to make sure that we don’t accidentally run into any of his sentries. So far we haven’t found any."
"If he should find out we are searching for him, he’ll disappear with Vincent, and we may never find them."
"I know," Father said wearily, "it’s slow work."
Brightening a little, she said, "Anyway, that’s not the only reason I came down. Father, I think our Vincent is beginning to stir. He can’t seem to stay away from my balcony. I’ve seen him twice this week and felt him at least twice when I was asleep. Even as thin as the bond is, I can sense him when he is close to me. I haven’t been able to get him to stay yet and talk to me, but I know he will eventually."
"Let’s pray that he comes back soon before there are any more disasters."
Cullen entered laden with lengths of wood shelving and his tools. Glad to see her, he said, "Hi, Catherine. It’s good to see you."
"Hi, Cullen. Looks like you’re making more bookcases for Father."
"The way he keeps accumulating books I can never keep up," he groused teasingly.
"One can never have too many books, Cullen," Father pontificated.
Smiling to herself, Catherine left them gently arguing about where and how to build the bookcases.
*
"Are you trying to tell us that you think there is more than one person behind these murders?" Captain Deering demanded.
Wincing at the word murder, Catherine said, "Yes, from my contacts that seems to be the idea." She was seated at a large round table with Joe, Captain Paul Deering, and Lt. Imogene Jones, liaison to the DA’s office.
"Contacts?" Deering scoffed.
"Look, Paul, you’re going to have to give up this idea that I’m still a wimpy little rich girl. I’ve paid my dues, and my contacts may not be the usual ones, but they are reliable," she said pointedly. "I don’t deserve this."
"Yeah, you’re right, Cathy. I’m sorry."
"Ok, ok. I want to hear her theory," Joe cut in. "Just what are you saying?"
"What I mean is that it’s a possibility we have a new kid in town, and he’s behind all the sudden violence against the old-timers."
"How do you figure?" Lt. Jones asked, her face screwed up into a thoughtful frown.
"We have this guy who wants to take over the rackets, but he has no organization behind him. He finds men who are willing to do anything for a chance at big money and big power. He organizes them into a type of death squad and goes after the big boys first, then the seconds-in-command and so forth. Then when there’s a power vacuum he moves in. Voila! Fait accompli."
"There is a new power broker in town," Jones said, "someone named Gabriel."
"True, but that’s not his style. Not now, anyway, he has so much money that he just buys the right people," Joe said.
"It’s an ingenious idea, Cathy, but I’m not sure about it."
"It’s just a theory, Paul. I have no proof," she replied.
"Anything else? Anything new?" Deering asked.
"Nothing since the last murder. Maybe it’s over, and now we can see how the laundry shakes out," Jones answered.
"It’s not over," Cathy said, "not by a long shot."
"Well, we didn’t accomplish much, but let’s keep after our snitches and contacts, and then maybe we can solve this case before too many people get killed," Deering said with a resigned shrug of his shoulder.
*
Marching through the tunnels, Vincent was accosted by Scooter, one of the men who served Paracelsus, "Hey, Vincent, his lordship wants to see you, pronto."
With a reproving look, Vincent said, "Don’t let him hear you say that."
Suddenly frightened, Scooter pleaded, "Don’t tell, Vincent. Ok? Please. I gotta family."
"I’ll let it pass this time but not again."
"Thanks, Vincent. I owe you one." He scampered off into the darkness, wondering why Paracelsus’ favorite pet had let him off so easy.
The powerful figure continued down the tunnel to Father’s chamber, wondering, himself, why he had just done that. Ordinarily, he would have delighted in reporting this infraction to Father, anticipating the consequences but not this time. He had given his word and suddenly that was very important to him. But he wasn’t at all sure that he liked this change coming over him. He was changing, mellowing but why? Was it the woman? She was constantly in his thoughts and dreams. Her influence was all pervasive.
"Ah, Vincent, there you are. Where have you been all this time?" Paracelsus asked.
Dissembling, he replied, "Walking the city streets and alleys as usual."
"You know the city well, don’t you?"
"Yes." He settled in the chair reserved for him and him alone opposite that of Paracelsus.
"I wanted to tell you more of your forgotten life," the other man said as he leaned comfortably back in his throne-like chair.
"Tell me of Catherine Chandler instead."
Giving him a sharp look, Paracelsus asked, "Why do you want to know about her? It is sufficient that you know that she is a stumbling block for us."
"All the others I have killed are men. Why kill a woman?"
Taking a deep exasperated breath, his purported father said, "She is a crusader. She believes in truth and justice, that everyone should have a good life." That’s not what you told me before, Vincent thought. Paracelsus continued, "She believes in truth and love. She will do her best to stop me, and she is in my way. I want her removed," he sneered at all she believed in.
Vincent sat staring at his hands, thinking how could what she believed in be so wrong.
Paracelsus added, "You, of course, are above all that. You are an elemental force that owes allegiance to nothing, only to me. You can become a god."
"Yes," Vincent seemed to agree, but he was thinking, I don’t want to be a god. I just want to be me. I just want to love Catherine. Without being aware of it, the ability to love had been growing in him since the night he had first gone to her balcony. She had started a spark of love that even the beast was able to feel. In an attempt to change the direction of the conversation, he asked, "Tell me of my childhood, again."
Paracelsus leaned back in his chair, an air of importance enveloping him. "After you survived your first difficult day, I took over your training. I taught you everything: how to read, to reason, the use of logic, everything except how to kill. That you were born with. People have been afraid of you since you were five. That’s when you killed your first man. You have killed thirty or more since that time. You have been and are my enforcer. None will stand up to you."
He knew that Father was lying because he knew of one person who stood up to him unafraid: Catherine.