Part 13
There was wisdom in Vincent's conviction that they must move slowly. She knew it was the only condition under which he would be willing to go as far as they had. His fears for her, his distrust of his own darker nature, threatened his peace of mind, as surely as her unknown persecutor threatened hers. He would insist that they monitor their progress, ever wary of any sign that there was something destructive at work.
If last night was any indication, they had no reason to be fearful. Nothing had been destroyed. In fact, there had been some amazingly creative forces in evidence. Safe in the seemingly limitless boundaries of their bond, they had constructed something together, something of intricate but but indestructible design, woven of learning to give and to accept, of tenderness and passion. It had wound its way upward, at the same time spiritual and carnal, like some mystical tower formed from all the elements they shared. The height had been breathtaking, dizzying, the urge to fly from it almost irresistible, but he had been there to keep her from falling. He would be there when they reached the pinnacle together. She must try to take her share of the responsibility, to make sure no reckless step allowed anything to happen that might convince him the journey was a mistake.
She finished dressing and stopped to check her appearance in the mirror. The puffiness had left her lips, and she felt a twinge of sadness at the loss, knowing full well that the proof of how she'd enjoyed her evening would have meant nothing but trouble if Joe had noticed. The teasing would have been bad enough, but under the circumstances, the consequences could have been very serious. The policemen who watched over her reported to him. They would have told him she had spent the time alone, and wouldn't that have set his investigative nose twitching? No, it was better this way. She went to the bed and removed her necklace from under the pillow. The jewel neck of the blouse she wore would hide the crystal. Its secret touch would bring him closer to her all day long.
When she emerged from the apartment, Officer Brody was waiting along with his replacement, a heavy-set, older man called Clemens. He accompanied her on the ride downtown and into her office, where Joe was waiting at her desk.
“Oh, good,” he grinned, rubbing his hands together, “a special delivery."
Catherine smiled at him. “In that case you better give the man a tip, Joe.”
“What - and get arrested for bribing a public official? No way, Cathy. You're not gonna get rid of me that easily.”
“I wouldn't want to get rid of you, Joe,” she said, sitting down at her desk.“ Your smile makes my day begin.”
“Whoa - what happened to you last night?”
She'd been putting her purse in the drawer, but she paused, looking at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you give me nothing but grief yesterday over this bodyguard thing, and now you come in here all sweetness and light. Do you know something I don't know?”
“Not a thing. I just decided to stop fighting you on this. You were right; I was being stubborn, and I apologize.”
“Oh, well, that's okay. I know you value your independence, Radcliffe, but sometimes you get just a little too pushy, you know?”
For a moment she was back on the moonlit balcony. “You're right. Joe,” she said, letting her hair fall forward to hide a blush. “Sometimes I do."
He approached her again after lunch, but there was nothing of his usual good-humor in his expression. He tossed a clear, plastic bag. containing a single sheet of paper on her desk. “This came while you were at lunch."
She picked it up and read the two short lines: “Catherine Chandler, don't think I can't get to you, because I can. Do you wonder when it will happen? I know.”
“I'm sorry, Cathy, but I had to show it to you. Any chance the handwriting looks familiar?”
She examined it, frowning. “No. Where did this come from, Joe?”
“One of the secretaries found it. Said it was under something on the lunch cart, but we questioned the guy who brought the cart up today, and he didn't know how it got there. Anybody could have done it, anywhere in the building. We'll get it dusted, but five will get you ten, there's nothing on it.”
“I don't know, Joe. He may not be very smart. I mean, what's the point of calling and sending notes? If he can really get to me, why doesn't he Just do it?"
“Maybe he wants to see you squirm. This could be some kind of nut case who likes to prove he's smarter than we are.” He picked up the note. “We'll see what we can get off of this - who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky."
“Okay. Let me know what you find out.”
He left, and she thought his final statement had been more an effort to keep her optimistic than a possibility in which he put much hope. It had been weird to hold such tangible proof of the danger in her hand. Up till now, it had seemed little more than a rumor. At least having the guards on duty the last few days had not been entirely frivolous. Nothing had really changed; it had only become impossible to pretend that the threat wasn't real, but she still felt there was a distinct possibility that it was only that; a threat from someone with no real power to act. She did not let it get to her.
It was too much to hope that Vincent would come to her again tonight. He took a chance every time he ventured into her world, and doubly so now, but Eric appeared shortly after dinner. She ws grateful for the turnover in the policemen who guarded her. None of them questioned the little boy who came to her door or thought to mention it to anyone else. Had there been one person on duty all the time, he might have wondered at the regularity of these visits.
She was glad to have his company, to ask about the people below. He told her Mouse had been spending a lot of time away from his chamber, but no one knew where.
“Jamie says he's got a neat idea. She says it's going to be a big surprise for Father."
“No kidding,” she laughed, “and how is Father?”
“He's fine. He's going to teach me how to play chess.”
'That's wonderful, Eric. I hope you'll let him win once in a while.”
“I will,” he promised earnestly. He told her about his studies, and she read him a story from one of her favorite childhood books. She knew she shouldn't keep him here too late, but fortunately, the summer brought a lingering daylight. When at last she took him to the door, she reminded him to be careful crossing the street and to be sure no one saw him enter the drainage tunnel. “One of the grownups always meets me in the park,” he told her. “We're real careful not to go inside till everybody's gone.”
She was touched by this cooperative effort to see that she and Vincent remained in communication, and she closed the door behind him in regret. The note he carried to Vincent said he shouldn't allow the boy to come again. If someone was really watching the building, they might have discovered Eric's destination, and he could be in danger. It was impossible to guess how sick a mind might lie behind the threats; even a little boy could become a victim of his game.
At eleven the guard knocked to let her catch a glimpse of his successor, a wiry black man who told her to sleep well. She thought she would, despite the circumstances. Dressed for bed, she brought the contents of the patchwork bag Eric had been carrying into the bedroom. The glass jar with its multi-colored raffia top she sat on the nightstand. It had taken her only a minute to guess the secret of the clear liquid it contained. She opened Vincent's note and reread the first line: “I think the sunlight still sparkles in it.” She smiled; it was water from the pond in the cavern where they'd kissed. The thought of him going there, remembering, made her feel the warmth of the place all over again. The next words read: “It's best we do not meet just yet. The danger of two nights in a row would be too great. She wondered exactly which danger he was referring to, but decided it was the possibility of discovery. She read the last line again, before turning out the light: “I forgot to tell you something last night. I will tell you next time.” She kissed the “V' at the end of the letter and slipped it under her pillow. “No, you didn't, Vincent,” she whispered dreamily. “You told me very clearly.”
The next morning she dressed in a lemon yellow skirt. Its cheerfulness suited her resolve not to let the dark cloud hanging over her shadow her happiness. The white silk blouse she chose was tailored, the neck just high enough to hide the crystal.
She opened the front door to find the changing of the guard had already taken place this morning. The officer had his back to her, busy with something he held in his hands, but she could see from the pale skin above his collar that he was not the same man who had bid her good-night.
“Good morning,” she greeted him, and he turned, but she didn't see his face, didn't see anything, as a hand covered her eyes, and a cloth wet with some reeking liquid assaulted, her nose. She felt herself pushed violently against the door, but before her body could react, the smothering fumes had plunged her Into blackness.