CHAPTER FOUR

NOTES: Lyrics below are from the song "Shattered," by Jimmy Webb, sung by Linda Ronstadt in her album Cry Like A Rainstorm, Howl Like The Wind.

Shattered
Like a windowpane, broken by a stone
Each tiny piece of me lies alone
And scattered
Far beyond repair
All my shining dreams, just lying there . . .

"You should be going." Vincent's reflection appeared behind Father's in the tarnished glass.

"Yes." Reluctantly Father turned away from the mirror and reached for his cane. "I know." He took a couple of steps toward his son, put his hand on his arm. "Vincent, I don't like leaving you behind." His look was sorrowful and worried. On this day of all days, my son, you should not be alone.

"You must," Vincent replied; his voice was subdued and even huskier than normal. "To be there for me."

Father nodded then looked away. "I will," was all he could manage to say through his aching throat. Leaning on Vincent's arm he moved slowly toward the doorway.

"Father, there's something I . . . I couldn't tell you before."

The words sent a chill through the Tunnel patriarch; anything Vincent hesitated to say couldn't be good. He stopped, instinctively bracing himself. Vincent turned around and Father was stricken anew by the bottomless grief in the weary blue eyes. "Tell me now."

Vincent regarded him silently; then, "Catherine left me a child."

For a second Father was sure he'd misheard. The words made no sense, couldn't mean what they seemed to imply. "A . . . a child?" He groped for Vincent's meaning. Had Catherine adopted a child? But Father realized that was absurd; she would have told Vincent, if no one else. Then what ...?

Vincent nodded. "A son." His eyes met Father's, held his gaze steadily, with meaning. "She said he is beautiful."

Father gaped, his thoughts scattering in every direction. A son . . . Catherine had a son. . . . "Your son?" He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until Vincent answered, unmoved by his incredulity.

"Yes. Ours - mine and Catherine's."

"Vincent . . . dear God!" Father stammered, vainly searching for words.

"He was taken from her at his birth. I only know he is alive and I must find him - bring him home."

Father could find no reply, could only stare, stunned into speechlessness.

* * * * * * * *
The sunlight reflected brightly off the glossy white enamel of the closed casket. A huge spray of roses splashed their crimson accent across its top.

Father, sitting on an uncomfortable folding chair in the third row, was aware only peripherally of the minister's voice droning on . . . of Laura sitting beside him, Pascal and Mouse in the row behind him. He was too busy trying to assimilate the astonishing news Vincent had just handed him.

A child! Vincent, and Catherine . . . Catherine bore Vincent a son! My son has a child. I never thought of such a thing. His biochemistry is so different. I never thought it could be possible . . . to be honest, I assumed that the question would never arise.

He gazed at the small casket. Dearest Catherine, although it took this old fool far too long, I finally recognized and believed in your love for Vincent. But I never realized the full depth and commitment of that love until now. You gave my son not only the miracle of your love, you gave him the second miracle of a child. And I shall be eternally grateful to you for both these gifts.

CHAPTER FIVE

Alone in our secret
Together we sighed
For one smiling day to be free. . . .

The blast of the explosion flung Vincent headlong into the icy waters, tearing the wounded man from his hold. Dazed, Vincent struggled feebly. His flailing hands struck against something solid and somehow he managed to hook one arm around it and hang on for dear life. The next few minutes were a blur of retching and gasping for air, but finally Vincent realized that by some merciful chance he had ended up clinging to a buoy in the shadow of one of the large boats moored at the dock.

He searched the clammy darkness around him, but caught no sign of Elliot. Just then his sensitive hearing caught the sound of footsteps approaching along the dock. He became very still, scarcely breathing.

"We'll have no more problems with Burch, or with the other one. The Harbor Police'll be fishing them both out of the harbor for the next month." The man's voice rang with dry satisfaction.

Another voice spoke then, and at the sound of that low, expressionless tone, the calm chill of certainty settled around Vincent's heart. This was the one he sought, Catherine's killer and the abductor of their child. He knew it absolutely.

"Elliot Burch proved to be a fool after all. I have no use for fools. He served his purpose and now both my problems are over." The sound of their steps disappeared into the misty darkness.

Somehow Vincent found the strength to swim through the dark, frigid water, gasping from the pain each movement caused, to the safety of the next boat's shadow - and then to the next, and then the one after that. He rested several minutes at each refuge to gain enough strength to continue on down the line, until he believed he was far enough from the scene of the explosion to safely leave the water.

He swam over to the edge of the mooring dock and with a mighty heave pulled himself out of the water. The agony of this effort caused the night to spin sickeningly and darken around him. He lay shivering on the boards, gasping, waiting for the torment to subside. Vincent felt battered all over. Numerous cuts and burns and scrapes were making their presence known throughout his entire body, and breathing was torture.

Broken ribs, possibly internal injuries, flitted through one small part of his mind that was somehow staying aloof from his tortured body.

He struggled to his feet. Reeling with every step, Vincent staggered off the wharf. The side of his face felt raw and each step sent a fresh throb of agony through him. He could see only dimly - the blast must have affected his vision - but he didn't need his eyes to find his destination. He needed only to follow the beacon in his heart.

Slowly, agonizingly, Vincent made his way to the cemetery. He had only one wish, one desire. Catherine. Not a coherent thought but drawn from the deepest level of instinct. When he died, as he surely would from these severe injuries, he wanted to be close to where his love lay in the ground. Dimly through his mind ran the thought that perhaps he would find her waiting for him there.

Instinct alone told him when he reached his goal, for he could see nothing by that time. Vincent attempted to kneel down on the cold earth. The effort proved too much; he fell to the ground.

Catherine. Then blackness overwhelmed him, and he sank into merciful oblivion.

Pain. Pain and heat, burning through him, burning him. He was on fire! Vincent roused to half-wakefulness and snarled, striking out wildly, then fell again into his fever-dreams.

(He was walking through the Park, Catherine at his side, her hand clasped in his. The sun was shining on their faces and Catherine's happiness sang through their bond, filling him with joy. He turned his head to look at her, and his heart froze. Catherine was beside him still but something now separated them. A column of some transparent yet cloudy substance held her trapped within its confines. Vincent saw her mouth move and heard his name, faintly.)

("Catherine!" Vincent pushed at the wall - or whatever it was - with all his strength. He felt a faint give as though his hands were sinking into the surface of the barrier, the way they would if it were cushioned, but the structure itself remained unyielding. Rage erupted within him and he roared, flinging himself at the obstruction again and again in desperate attempts to batter it down.)

(Finally he ceased his futile efforts and fell, panting, to his knees. He raised his head and saw Catherine on her knees also, leaning against her side of the transparent wall.) Vincent matched his palms to Catherine's yearningly, feeling her warmth even through the barrier keeping them apart. Tears sparkled on Catherine's cheeks and Vincent felt a sob form in his throat. He touched his forehead to the cool surface and felt Catherine's nearness as she did the same.)

(Suddenly, as unexpectedly as it had appeared, the strange barrier was gone, and Catherine fell into his arms. She lifted her face and Vincent bent his head down. Their lips met; Vincent closed his eyes, cherishing the sweetness of their kiss.)

(Then Catherine vanished and he was alone. The anguish of that aloneness swept over him so that he cried out her name and struggled upward through smothering layers of unconsciousness.)

Vincent opened his eyes, but they refused to focus and he couldn't tell where he was. He raised up on one elbow, groaning at the burning pain of the movement. Dimly he perceived movement through the blur in front of his eyes and, squinting, managed to make out an indistinct form standing before him.

Dull hope began to blossom. "Catherine?"

A soft, cool voice spoke. "No, my name is Diana."

Teetering on the edge of consciousness, Vincent felt the darkness rise up again to surround him. Not Catherine. Never again Catherine. A despairing sound, half moan, half sob, came from deep in his throat, and Vincent slid gratefully once more into welcome forgetfulness.

 

CHAPTER SIX

In the dead of night
Do you hear me call?
Something's not quite right
No one's there at all . . .
(Jimmy Webb)

Vincent sat on the hard, dusty ground, his open journal propped up on his bent knees. He turned the pages til he found the previous entry, and read it over.

"In the hours before dawn the empty streets belong to me - but there is nowhere to go. The lights in Elliot's tower have gone off. A cold wind blows across the rooftop where Catherine died. The darkness weighs so heavily . . . A shadow has fallen across my soul. So much rage . . . where is the hope?"

Vincent raised his eyes and fixed them somberly on the carved rose in his palm. He smoothed his thumb over the rounded edges of the ivory petals. Slowly his fingers closed around it and he held it to his heart.

Catherine, for the first time since you . . . left, I now feel there is hope. He tenderly replaced Catherine's rose in its bag, which he kept around his neck on a leather thong, and took up his pen. Turning to a fresh page he began writing:

"I have taken the ring the Hunter gave me - Gabriel's ring - to Diana Bennett. She was right. If I continue alone in this I will fail. She has offered her help more than once but always I refused to accept it. How strange that it took Rolley to change my mind. As I stood listening to him play, I could feel the places in my heart that I'd closed opening once more. I wept, but the tears were healing ones.

"Catherine's death has left a gaping void where my heart used to be, and that emptiness will never be completely filled again. My love, my light in this world, is gone and nothing can erase that pain or replace that loss. But just as it is possible for a man to survive the loss of an arm or leg and go on living, so will I continue on, though my soul is ripped in half. I have my family and I have friends, both Below and Above - and there is my son. Our son, Catherine's and mine. I have been having strange dreams, visions in which I hear my child crying and see blood flowing and a silent, black-robed figure. I do not yet know the meaning of these visions, but I feel that time grows short. Somehow I know that my new friend, Diana, will be the means by which I find my son.

"Diana. The Huntress. Such a short time has passed since our first meeting, yet we do not feel as strangers to one another. I sense in her a power, a gift akin to my own as it used to be. She will find my son for me. I feel it."

Just then Vincent heard a message traveling through the pipes. VINCENT. WOMAN CALLING FOR YOU. UPPER LEVEL, CENTRAL PARK EXIT. HER NAME IS DIANA.

In a flash Vincent grabbed his cloak and was up and running.

* * * * * * *

Diana squirmed through the narrow, dusty pipe, fighting a crushing sense of claustrophobia. Not far to go - look, there's the end, that light up ahead, she encouraged herself. It's a million miles away! screamed another part of her mind. Ignoring it, she gritted her teeth and continued her torturous inching forward, picking up her pace, forcing herself to ignore the bruising and scraping from the rough metal surface.

I have to hurry; there's not much time. In her mind were a baby's cry and the distant roars of an enraged animal. Vincent! Hurry, Bennett!

Finally she emerged from the pipe. Luckily it had widened considerably at the end, so Diana was able to maneuver her way out without having to fall out head-first. She took only a second to orient herself, then she was running toward the exit as fast as she could.

Hurry, hurry! The chant repeated itself urgently over and over in her mind. Cautiously she poked her head through the door leading to Gabriel's basement - and froze, momentarily checked by the sight of a huge iron cage.

This is where he kept Vincent? She took in the bare stone floor, the door twisted loose from its hinges. A few sparks flared in the dimness.

Electrified bars. No bed, no blanket even. No sign of food. That bloody goddamned son of a BITCH!

For a moment sheer rage clouded her vision. Then Diana's head snapped around as though yanked. She was needed elsewhere - RIGHT NOW! Unerringly she followed the compulsion, vaguely aware of sounds of altercation in the grounds of the secluded estate. Police horns were blaring and shots were being fired. She ignored it all.

She ran up the elegant staircase and heard a terrifying growl from ahead. Diana burst into the nursery just in time to see Vincent, his hand poised for the kill, advancing on Gabriel, who sat sprawled on the floor. Three deep slashes on Gabriel's cheek dripped blood onto his immaculate suit. She shot a quick glance at Vincent, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose.

He was a truly terrifying sight. His clothes were dusty and tattered, smoldering here and there where sparks had landed. Matted hair stood out wildly from his face. His lips were drawn back, exposing to their fullest extent his long, extremely sharp fangs. A deep snarl sounded in his throat; his eyes were glittering sapphires of unrelenting, murderous hatred, and they were fixed on the man who had killed Catherine.

Suddenly Diana's mind burst into high gear. Events around her seemed to shift into slow motion while lightning-quick thoughts flashed through her mind. He mustn't attack Gabriel. We don't need more "animal" slayings to explain; the ones surrounding Catherine's career are more than enough.

"Vincent!" she called out desperately. Did he hear her? For one split second he seemed to hesitate.

"Vincent!" This time there was no doubt that he'd heard. Slowly his great head turned toward her. Their eyes met. Diana expelled the breath she'd unconsciously been holding. "Your child is crying. He needs you."

It took a few seconds but Vincent's eyes slowly lost their rage and regained awareness. He turned away, walked over to the crib. He lifted his son and held him close; already the frantic cries were ceasing.

"There's not much time. Please, just hurry." Diana's breaths came fast from tension. "Under the building. Father's waiting. Hurry!" The adrenaline that had kept her going the last few days was rapidly draining away. Diana could feel exhaustion at last settling on her in a thick, paralyzing fog. Determinedly she kept it at bay. Just a few minutes more.

"Thank you."

Diana turned to look at Gabriel. He was smiling, and his bright blue eyes contained no vestige of sanity.

"Do you know what prison is, Diana?" Gabriel shakily pulled himself up. "It's a place to grow stronger. No court will convict me. Jurors have families too." He stood leaning against the wall, looking at her, breathing in shallow gasps.

"And even if they did - you can rule the world from a prison cell." He gestured with clumsy emphasis. "I own nations, Diana! I'll have the child back." He was obviously in shock, his movements unsteady, weak, but there was no weakness in his words - or in his intent. "I always win!"

Diana heard her voice saying, "Not this time, Gabriel." Slowly she raised the arm holding the gun. She seemed to be standing back from herself, as though someone else had control of her body.

"This is Catherine Chandler's gun."

Her finger pulled the trigger and there was a flash. Gabriel jerked back as a small, neat hole appeared directly over his heart. Diana watched him slump to the floor, and lowered her arm. She stood gazing at the dark stream of blood trickling down his chest, while footsteps ran up the hall toward the room.

Joe appeared in the doorway, his gun drawn. Behind him were Greg Hughs and two policemen. "Diana!" Joe stared at her, stared at the body sprawled on the floor. "What went on in here?"

Diana turned and met Joe's eyes. "Gabriel is dead." She walked out of the room.