Chapter Twelve
The Return
Her return Above evoked many questions from Joe. What happened? Where was she? Why hadn’t she called? She told him as much as she could without endangering her family; that she had been kidnapped, held in their hideout until she escaped, was found injured and cared for by some nameless street people. He wanted to know why they would kidnap her.
"I don’t know, Joe. I’m just lucky that I escaped when I did. I think they had some very unpleasant plans for me."
"You know, your luck is going to run out one of these days, kiddo," he said with a concerned shake of the head.
"I know. I’ve had too many close calls this past year. I intend to fix that."
"Oh god, you’re not going to quit, are you?" Dismay laced his words.
"No, Joe, nothing as drastic as all that," she said, a smile in her voice and on her face. "We’ll talk about it later."
*
Father had just nodded off over a dry medical paper from Peter about arthritis when his head jerked up and his eyes popped open. The pipes rang with the news: Vincent was back.
"Are you all right?" he asked, drawing back from the welcoming hug he had given his son and planted a kiss on his cheek.
"Yes, Father, I’m fine," he said, returning the embrace.
"No doubts, no questions?"
"None. I am content to be who and what I am. After all, Catherine loves me."
"Yes, she does, without a doubt. She has been a tower of strength throughout all of this."
Returning to his chair, Father asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Vincent sat opposite him, leaning his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. "I had so many thoughts and voices roiling around in my mind. They drove me like the Furies."
Father leaned forward and rested a comforting hand on Vincent’s clasped hands. "How did you sort them out?"
"I heard Catherine’s voice and I concentrated on that. I remembered her words, and I began to assign all the words and voices to their sources. I dismissed all of Paracelsus’ words. I banished them from my mind. They had no truth; they were as insubstantial as the air. Keeping Catherine’s words before me, I remembered all you have said. Some I disregarded, some are enshrined in my heart."
Father nodded. Some of his advice, while it seemed right at the time, had caused Vincent much pain and sorrow.
"Mouse, Pascal Jamie, Mary, all the rest, I sorted and saved their words. That left just one voice."
"Catherine’s," Father stated.
"Yes, her voice was the truest. Telling me what she knew, what she felt, and what is most important, what she expected of me. Telling me, I was worthy of love, that I was beautiful inside and out, that I was loved for who I am and what I am. When I fully realized that–some part of me has always been unable to believe that she could really love me as I am–when I came to believe that, then I was able to accept myself and find peace." Rising, he paced a few steps away then turned to Father with a look that he had never seen: utter contentment and acceptance. "Father, I am truly blessed among men."
"Ah Vincent, I’m glad you feel that way."
Bending down to kiss the top of Father’s head, Vincent said, "I must go to Catherine. She is tired and unhappy. I need to change that." He was gone with a swish of his cape and whispery soft footsteps.
*
Even though she had encouraged him to go on his quest of self-discovery, she had missed him more than she could say. The last week had seemed like forever, and she was getting frantic. Maybe this time it had been more than his sensitive nature could bear. She hoped with all her heart that he remembered all her words.
The night of Vincent’s return, weary and exhausted from the stress of her job and his absence, she had fallen asleep over some work she had brought home, when suddenly she felt someone standing over her. Her eyes snapped open to behold what she had waited so long to see: the man she loved. Regarding him closely, she was delighted to see that he was his old smiling, confident self.
"How beautiful you are when you’re asleep," he said, taking the hands she held up to him.
"Not nearly as beautiful as the sight I see standing before me," she replied. As customary, he ducked his head at her statement. Pulling her up from the love seat, he enfolded her in a loving embrace that ended in a long, slow kiss.
"Oh, I have missed you," she sighed as she snuggled against him.
"It has been a long and interesting two weeks."
She leaned back to look into his calm, peaceful eyes. "You’ve come to terms with what has happened?"
"Yes, I am at peace, at last. Paracelsus was the architect behind all the deaths and used the amnesia and drugs to get me to kill for him. I am only guilty of his death. I had no hand in any of the killings except for Paracelsus."
"Does his death bother you?"
"No, it was either him or you. He left me no choice."
"At last, his shadow is gone from your heart and our world."
"Yes," he agreed.
"Sit beside me?" she asked as she sank down on the love seat.
Carefully, he lowered himself beside her, ever mindful of his great bulk. She twisted around and laid back into his shoulder. Giving a contented sigh, she murmured, "I’ve waited a long time for this."
Gently, he enclosed her in his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head. Slowly he tightened his embrace until she was held tightly against him. Laughingly, she said, "Vincent! I’m not going anywhere. I’m here forever."
Reluctantly, he loosened his embrace somewhat, but he wanted never to let her go. Through their bond he could feel that she wished the same thing. They sat in silence, healing each others loneliness; there was no need for words. They were together again, and if Catherine had her way, they would never be apart again.
Finally, he turned her toward him, and raising her lips to his, he kissed her soundly. "I must go," he whispered.
"Must you? So soon?"
"I promised the children that I would tell them all that happened to me, and it is almost their bedtime."
"Of course," she instantly agreed, "but then the comfort of your arms is so addictive." Together they walked out onto the balcony. "Their fears need to be laid to rest. What will you tell them?"
"The truth. They deserve nothing less. They know what Paracelsus was capable of and what he has done." Taking her hand in his, he raised it to his lips and kissed the palm, sending a shiver of pure delight through her. "I love you," he said, his eyes dark and unreadable. Then he disappeared into the darkness. She wondered: was it he or the other one that declared his love? She shrugged her shoulders; she didn’t really care. It was enough to know that all of him loved her.
All her weariness and exhaustion had evaporated. She gathered her papers together, ready to work through the night. She made a cup of instant coffee and took it and the papers to her desk. Almost immediately, she was hit by a fit of yawning, and she realized how tired and sleepy she was. She went into her bedroom, undressed, donned a nightgown and was asleep before her head hit the pillow. For the first night since Vincent had disappeared, she slept soundly and dreamlessly.
*
Entering into his chamber, Vincent found a sea of eager, young faces turned to him like sunflowers turn to the sun. As he had approached his chamber, he had heard their boisterous teasing and fighting, but they parted easily, giving him a clear path to his large, ornately carved chair. He sat down and gazed around him. Surrounding him were healthy, happy youngsters who would grow into productive citizens of this world or the world Above with no shadow of death hanging over them.
Zach was the first one to speak. "Tell us what happened, Vincent?"
Expectantly, they hushed at his first words, "As you know I had gone to the River with No Name . . ." He told them everything.
"And Paracelsus is gone for good?" Geoffrey asked.
"Yes, he will never bother us again."
"Good, I’m glad he’s gone," Kipper said vehemently. The other children chimed in with their feelings of relief.
"But," Vincent admonished them, "it is sad to think of a wasted life, a good man gone bad."
"Yeah, you’re right," Zach said. Chastened, they all agreed.
"It’s past your bedtime. Now off with you," he said in mock seriousness.
With a chorus of ‘good nights’ and ‘thank yous,’ they were gone to their beds.
Suddenly, he was very tired. It had been a very demanding day, and he was mentally as well as physically drained. His bed looked so inviting that, not waiting to undress, he laid across it and was soon fast asleep.
*
The following day was one of those sparkling autumn days where the air glittered with diamonds and the leaves gleamed in the sunlight, matching Catherine’s feelings. She glowed with an inner happiness like the day glowed with the sunshine.
"Well, aren’t we the picture of happiness this morning," Joe greeted her cheerfully as she almost floated through the office. "It’s good to see you smiling," he said, unable to resist returning her smile.
"It’s a beautiful day, Joe," she chirped.
"Yeah, and so were yesterday and the day before that. What makes this day so special?"
She followed him into his office. "Remember that friend I told you about whose son was missing and how we found him and how ill he was?"
"Sure."
"Well, he’s better. I think he’s over the worst part of it."
"That’s great, Radcliffe," he commented as he slid into his chair and swung around to face her.
"Yeah," she said softly.
The quietly intense emotion in that simple word told him that she had nearly lost someone very special to her, making the reason for the intensity of her emotions clear to him. "You love him, don’t you?"
"Yes, I do, Joe. So much that sometimes it scares me."
"Well, I’m glad. You need someone. Bring him around sometime. I’d like to meet him."
"I’m afraid that would be impossible."
"Why? You said that he’s better."
"He is, but he never goes out into the world."
"Is something wrong with him? Is he disfigured or crippled?"
"Something like that," she said.
"Well, I’d still like to meet him. He must be a hell of a guy if you love him."
"He is, Joe. More special than you can imagine."
With a raised eyebrow, he watched her leave his office.
After she returned from lunch with Jenny, who was just barely satisfied with her story about why she was suddenly so happy, Joe called her into his office. Captain Deering sat on the imitation leather couch. He moved over making room for her. "How are you, Cathy?"
"I’m fine. You?"
"Well, I’d feel a damn sight better if we could wrap up this slasher case. You don’t know where you were when you were kidnapped? Do you think it was the slasher that nabbed you?"
"I don’t think so, Paul. These were some very weird characters. They kept me in a large room chained to the wall. And they kept me in the dark so I never got to see their faces."
"How did you get away? Tell me again?" He sounded as if he couldn’t quite believe what she had told him.
"Someone came in and released me. You know that I learned how to protect myself from Isaac Stubbs?"
"He’s a good man," Deering agreed.
"I fought them and was stabbed in the side as I made my escape. I think, but I’m not sure that it was one of the kidnappers that helped me escape. I overheard them arguing about how it wasn’t very wise to use an Assistant DA in the ritual." She shivered as she thought of what Paracelsus had planned for her and Vincent. For some reason, the shiver added credibility to her story. "Then some homeless street people found me and cared for me until I was able to go home."
"You don’t know who they were?"
"No, they were very careful about using any names around me."
"Why didn’t they take you to the hospital?" He kept on digging into her story. She wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t believe her, or if it was that he wanted to make sure that her story was coherent.
"Probably because they were afraid of the people who did this or afraid that they’d be accused of it."
Deering shook his head and looked over at Joe for confirmation, "That’s an amazing story, Cathy."
"I know, but that’s what happened." She shifted uncomfortably, straightening her skirt.
"I don’t doubt your story. It’s just that you’ve been very lucky. Someday that luck may play out."
She glanced quickly at Joe who was innocently looking off into space. Just as she thought, he had said something to Deering about her luck. "I know, Paul. I’m going to change all that." Now Joe looked very uneasy, not knowing what she was going to do.
Changing the direction of the conversation, Paul said, "There have been no slashings in almost a month. I wonder what they’re waiting for."
"Yeah, I’ve been waiting for another one, myself," Joe said.
"It’s tough justifying a task force when there’s nothing happening. We just keep investigating the same old evidence and still keep coming up with nothing. Who or what this guy is has me baffled."
"I don’t think there will be any more killings," Catherine interjected quietly.
"What makes you say that?" Joe asked, leaning forward, resting his arms on the desk.
"I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have. That it’s over. This new power broker, Gabriel, has moved into the power vacuum left by the deaths of those three men, and he’s too powerful and has too many connections to be brought down without a lengthy fight. There will be no more slashings," she stated confidently.
"I hope you’re right about that. Gabriel is another story. But, God, I hate unsolved cases."
"Me, too," Joe agreed.
Paul stood up and extended a hand to Joe. "You’ll be the first to get any information, Joe."
"Thanks, Paul."
"See ya, Cathy," he said as he left the room.
"Bye." She started to follow him out of the office.
"Before you go, Cathy, I want to ask you something."
She turned back to him with a sinking feeling. "What is it?"
He came around the desk and sat on a corner, dangling his right foot. "What makes you so certain there will be no more slashings?"
"The homeless. They seem to feel that the person behind the murders is dead, but I have no proof."
"I don’t mean to sound biased, but how did a woman with your background get in so good with them?"
"I learned early on, when I came to work here, that they were the best source of information around. They hear things . . . see things. So, I began to help them in anyway I could. I even work at a soup kitchen when I can. Slowly I earned their friendship and trust. They are really marvelous people."
"That’s it?"
Shrugging, she answered, "That’s it. Anything more?"
After she left, Joe leaned back in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head. Why did he always have the feeling that she was holding something back? Not telling him the whole truth. It was as if he was being tested, and if he passed the test, she would tell him all. He hoped it would be soon, as he believed that it would explain her. He had known several wealthy people during his tenure as Deputy DA and liked none of them. She was different. She had developed a genuine empathy with those who were less fortunate than she, and it was not merely a facade. She truly cared. Somewhere, somehow she had learned this, and he had a feeling that the secret that she carried was what made her the person she had become.