OTHERWISE
Elke

---

Chapter One

"Come and play with me," suggested the little prince. "I am terribly sad."
"I can't play with you," said the fox. "I am not tame."
"Oh! I beg your pardon," said the little prince.
Then, after a moment's thought, he added: "What does `tame' mean?"
"Something that is frequently neglected," said the fox. "It means `to create ties'."
"To create ties?"
"Precisely," said the fox. "To me, you are still only a small boy,
just like a hundred thousand other small boys. And
I have no need of you. And you in turn have no need of me. To you,
I'm just a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes.
But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me,
you shall be unique in the world. To you, I shall be unique in the world..."

*

Walk on! Walk! You risk being seen. You know what they'll do with you if they get you. Surely - you wouldn't make it easy for them. You know how to fight, you know how to kill. Sweet is the smell of blood, their cries sound like poetry to you, their last groans like the only music you've ever heard; their pain is your delight. They wouldn't get you alive...never... But maybe in death you'll be just as lonesome as in your life.

Why are you still standing here, staring down at her? Leave her lying in her blood. She's only one of them who live amongst glittering lights without wasting any thought on the vagabonds of the dark. Those who did this to her are more like you than she could ever be.

Her ravaged face still shows a glimpse of beauty? The smooth curves of her body arouse the man in you?

There are others - unscathed ones. You can have them all - any of them! Their resistance never lasts long for mostly they faint while you become intoxicated with the taste and the scent of their immaculate bodies. This has always been good enough for you. Are you suddenly turning pretentious?

Listen to the wailing sirens! They're coming closer. They're searching for you. Don't wait any longer, hide! You've had your pleasure tonight.

He didn't offer you resistance either; he didn't even think of doing so. Your hatred paralysed him. Hatred - the only feeling he has ever taught you to feel. He nurtured it through all the years, not realizing that one day it might turn against himself. And you have hated...

Paracelsus is dead. The instrument has conquered its master - now the Beast is the ruler! The power is yours - feel it, enjoy it - let it flow through your body and soul! Turn away, mind your own business and don't care about the woman lying lifelessly before you. What is she to you?

For the feeling rising so warmly inside your breast is only a hazy picture of memory; the vague recollection of a time when someone was rocking you on his knees and tenderly stroking your hair...in those days, when you, too, had a name...

Sleep well, dearest Vincent...faded away...buried in the past...

No! Don't you bend down! Fool, don't take her in your arms! Ignore those feelings which you've never learned to name. You had no words for them when John took you with him, and your tears never  touched his heart.

Why should your heart be touched by her? Walk away while you're still able to...

*

"Idiot! Damned idiot!" he snarled at himself. He must have been mad to drag her along though this would only be asking for trouble! And now what?

Enraged, he kicked a stone against the rocky wall of the corridor he was pacing through. Although he was furious with himself the elegance of his movements showed an astonishing dignity. But his clothing... Dirty knee-straps, worn out boots, his black leather trousers almost falling apart if there hadn't been so many studs to hold the fabric together. The grey pullover covering the remarkably brawny upper part of his body had been patched many times, and the frayed hem of his cloak brushed along the dusty ground.

On entering the world Below he pulled down the hood and shook out his hair. Shampooed and brushed carefully, the more than shoulder-length wealth of amber hair would have been an irresistible invitation to caress, yet at the moment it only looked like the disheveled mane of a wild animal...of a muddy animal.

He stopped at the next branch, his lionlike features reflecting his desperate inner fight. In his sapphire-blue eyes a hint of helplessness appeared, but was immediately covered with boiling rage when he realized that this strange sensation prevented him from doing what he wanted to do.

Since the moment he had nearly stumbled on this woman, it had been inside him. He didn't know exactly what it was, only that he had never felt anything like this before and that it was extremely disturbing. And it drove him furious: with her for causing it, and with himself because he was unable to resist. If there hadn't been this curiously pleasant pain, which not only filled his heart but also made him choke, he would have left her to her fate without wasting a second thought on her and wouldn't be doing something he had always previously avoided.

He turned to the left and reluctantly headed for a tunnel that directly led to a section of the subterranean world where he had forbidden himself to go a long time ago.

A suppressed growl vibrated in his throat. Sniffing, he drew a deep breath. He could hardly believe that he was taking such a risk to save the life of a stranger.

Desperately fighting his feelings, he stopped again, but went on a few seconds later. Never before - never! - had he cared about anybody. He didn't run to anyone's aid! He took what he desired and did what he  wanted to do - and the last thing he wanted, was to take her to the people who had always been Paracelsus' enemies and therefore his, too.  Jacob Wells and his pack...

Making sure that nobody was around, he peered into the darkness. Possibly he would be attacked if he dared go that far into their territory. In fact, most of them were only wretched creatures who preferred to avoid any friction and would rather hide away in fear than face him, but the exception always proved the rule. All too well did he remember the iron arrowhead that had to be extracted from his upper arm after the fair-haired girl had shot at him with her crossbow.

He had wanted her just for fun; he'd been in a good mood that evening, and he was sure that he wouldn't have done her too much harm.

A furious growl rumbled in his chest. One day that little bitch would cross his path again, and then he would make her pay for his pain! The local anaesthetic with which Paracelsus had injected him, hadn't worked, and they hadn't had anything else to try. Oh, she would have to suffer dearly for each second she had caused him pain!

The woman in his arms whimpered faintly, and he stopped plotting his revenge. To wait for it wouldn't make it less satisfying. When he looked down at his unwelcome burden, her eyes opened for an instant. She gave him a confused glance, then her eyelids closed again.

Hastily, he passed the next corridor. She was in urgent need of aid; without it she wouldn't survive the night. His knowledge of medical matters wasn't too good, but sufficient to make him understand that her condition was more than bad. He could see it and - he sensed it! He sensed her pulse growing lower, sensed her heartbeat growing weaker. He sensed it, unable to do anything about it.

What the hell was this about? What was happening to him?

Cursing and swearing he started to run, hastened through silent corridors - until he nearly collided with a middle-aged woman who unexpectedly crossed his path.

He gave a start and, for one short moment, stood as though petrified. Then, coming to his senses again, he barked at her, "I must see Jacob! NOW!"

The woman's eyes widened fearfully. Distraught, she stared at him, obviously lost in the horror of this unexpected encounter. It was then that his anger at her hesitation boiled over.

Why the devil should he beware of them? They did well to live in fear of him!

"Go on!" he growled impatiently, as she still didn't react. "Hurry, woman!"

Now she moved on. Trembling with fear she led him through passageways and tunnels flooded with soft light, to a roomy study where an old man was reading a book. When he became aware of their footsteps he looked up toward the entrance.

"Yes, Mary, what..." Recognizing the huge shadow that filled the whole doorway behind the terrified woman he fell silent. Growing pale, he rose from his chair, groping helplessly for his cane when the ragged shape crossed the room as if that were a natural thing for him to do.

Dear God! What shall I do? flashed through Jacob Wells' mind. The confrontation with the one they all feared was more than he could stand at the moment. For so many years he had longed for this - though simultaneously he had feared it - and now...

"Vincent...you..." he stammered and was interrupted harshly.

"You will treat her injuries!" Clearing the table with one swipe of his forearm, the blond giant gently laid down a fragile woman.

"And be warned, old man," he went on threateningly, "if she dies, you will have to pay for it! I'll be back!"

Without deigning to look at them once more, he turned and disappeared.

"Father..." Only now did Mary dare to come closer. Bending over the young woman, she took a deep breath. "Oh God! Do you think he did this to her?"

"I don't know!" Confused, Jacob Wells ran his fingers through his hair. He was still shocked, but in view of the deep lesions on the unconscious woman's pale face he forced himself to calmness. If he wanted to keep her from bleeding to death, he would have to act immediately.

For her sake - not for him who had brought her. Though, that he had brought her was almost unbelievable... Should this mean that somewhere in the deepest parts of his soul there was still a bit of humanity left?

Vincent - John Pater's most efficient weapon; a warrior without fear or feelings, following only his instincts...a beast...

Perhaps Vincent would have been able to conquer the inhuman part of his being if he hadn't been kidnapped when he was a toddler... Again the old man felt a familiar bitterness; the same bitterness and the same pain he had thought dead and forgotten over years.

Once he had loved Vincent dearly: the delicate little person he had been then, a fluffy-haired baby that mostly enjoyed sleeping in his cradling arms. He had already begun to call him 'Fafer'...

Further memories appeared: tiny, clumsy fingers tousling his beard and grabbing for his glasses...clear, shining blue eyes meeting his and attentively following all of his motions with great intelligence. And then... One morning an empty cot...fruitless discussions with John, once his best friend, followed by despairing supplications and failed efforts to get the child back. He had tried it again and again - until a member of the community was killed and he had to accept that it was too late. A grown-up man had been killed by a boy of fourteen years...

No. Too early had the seed of hatred begun to grow. Nothing human could be left in Vincent...

*

Dazed and puzzled, she tried to open her eyes and felt how her entire body stiffened with terror. The pain in her face became unimportant. Her eyes! What had happened to her eyes?

Beneath her fingers she felt cotton bandages - her head was swathed in them completely. A sudden panic made her choke; she tried to sit up, but was pressed down softly.

"Lie down, please! You mustn't move!"

The woman's voice sounded comforting; Catherine Chandler surrendered to her weakness. "My eyes...," she whispered; the few words exhausted her completely. "Am I...am I..."

"No! Your eyes aren't hurt. But you're badly injured."

The woman rose.

"I'll bring Father," she murmured, then her footsteps faded away.

Alone, Catherine listened in the darkness. From high above she heard a remote rattling, as if there were an elevated train passing by...and from somewhere, she could not localize, a strange tapping and hammering sounded. Again she was seized with fear, but then she noticed that somebody was moving at her side.

"Where...am I?" she pleaded, her hands clutching the hem of the blanket. "Please...I'm scared..."

A warm hand comfortingly touched hers and a male voice spoke kindly to her. First simply to understand his words seemed impossible, but gradually her mind cleared and some memories returned. The party...the quarrel with Tom; then she was lying in the van... Threats against somebody called 'Carol'...the cold, metallic flash of a knife in front of her eyes....no, please no!...and the pain turned into darkness...

And later... She had found herself lying in somebody's arms; darkly and vaguely a face appeared before her inner eye. Incredulously, she shook her head, scarcely noticing that this caused her still more pain. Surely it had only been a dream - such faces didn't exist in reality. She felt herself falling back into unconsciousness but did not fight against it. His eyes... Where had she seen those unbelievably expressive eyes before? Those wonderful deep-blue eyes...

*

Seven days had to be enough. He was losing his patience, because last week had been like hell on earth. Yes, hell must be like this.

Haunted by confusing and unfamiliar sensations, he hadn't been able to find peace, and when he had finally been overcome by exhaustion, sleep had been uneasy and full of chaotic dreams. Feelings that he could neither fight nor bear, had driven him out of his safe cavern and made him roam his enemies' territory, only to be closer to her.

And then - continuously pervading every fiber of his being - this unfamiliar warmth, her heartbeat which tortured him so badly because he was not able to escape.

With a thundering bang his fist thumped down on the coarse wooden table. A candle stump bounced and fell, its flame dying on the floor, and when he abruptly jumped to his feet the chair tipped backwards.

He had to get her! Now! Those soft-hearted fools had to be prevented from taking her Above. She was deeply indebted to him, for he had saved her life. From now on her life belonged to him. She was his now. His alone! He wouldn't wait one more second.

*

Again Catherine touched her face gingerly, and this time the hardly healed wounds were not covered by several layers of bandages. The fresh scars felt rough...frighteningly rough...

She hadn't been given a mirror when she had asked for it, and her scared questions about the condition of her face had been answered evasively - just as she was still left in ignorance regarding her rescuer and her whereabouts.

Wondering what the rocky walls could mean, she crossed the room, and after a few minutes she found what she was looking for: a small silver-bowl, which would serve as a mirror.

With shaking hands she lifted the bowl to her eyes and, almost paralyzed with horror, stared at her disfigured face. A heartbeat later the terror became unbearable, and whirling around, she hurled the bowl at the other face that suddenly had been reflected next to hers.

She didn't hear her own scream of horror. Completely stunned, she could only stare at the creature that, hissing furiously, had nimbly ducked his head.

His face! It...it hadn't been a dream! Or was she dreaming now? He was...he looked like a wild animal, and suddenly the air seemed impregnated with something indefinable coming from him.

He was surrounded by a strange aura of darkness, power and almost tangible threat. His demeanor didn't augur well - and yet... Once the same blue eyes had looked at her quite differently.

But at the very next moment, when he growled, "Get ready! You will come with me!" this thought was forgotten, and she retreated to the wall, trembling.

"Vincent!"

Jacob Wells' voice pierced the silence. He had called the name like a command, hoping that would conceal his uncertainty..

"You mustn't do that!" he went on, in a soothing tone now. Cautiously he tried to get past the gigantic man-beast, hoping desperately that he would reach Catherine first. "I cannot permit this! She's been wounded and she still needs medical care!"

"Indeed...?" The giant only turned his head. He looked down on the older and smaller man, and for a moment it looked as if he were on the verge of laughing.

Then his eyes darkened, and the chilly calmness of his voice was just as frightening as his aggression. "How could you stop me? Tell me, old man!" Slowly coming closer, he reached for Catherine, ordering, "Come now! I've been waiting long enough!"

Catherine didn't know whether it had been the gesture, the peremptory tone of his voice or his bearing - but for a split second he had reminded her of Tom Gunther and a grain of defiance was added to her fear. Rising from deep inside her, a blend of anger and bitterness almost let her forget in front of whom she was standing.

Men! Whether they were good-looking and dressed in made-to-measure suits, whether they wore jeans and leather-jackets while waving with their knives, or whether they looked as ragged and terrifying as this...monster - it didn't make any difference. Basically they all were the same. They were exclusively interested in ruling others, commanding others and possessing others - especially if those `others' were females.

For that reason she hadn't married her college-love, Steven Bass. She'd almost been smothered under his possessive way of loving her...

First Steven and then Tom... Though in a more subtle manner he manipulated her, too.

And this one...Although he was no real man the only difference between him and them was that his demands were announced with still more self-righteousness and aggression.

Looking at him firmly, she took a deep breath. "I surely won't go anywhere with you!"

An oppressive silence filled the room as Catherine tensely awaited his reaction. He stared at her in visible amazement, then his eyes flashed with burning rage. His furred nose wrinkled and a furious snarl bared his glistening fangs as he advanced upon her.

Catherine restrained a frightened cry, though never before in her life had she been scared so badly. Good Lord... She'd have done better to keep her mouth shut...

"No!" Holding his cane across his body, Jacob Wells resolutely stepped in the other man's way, but it was in vain.

The man-beast's expression became fiercer, his snarl even more threatening. He raised his hand, showing his sharp, terrifying claws...

"Father! Mary said you..."

A brown-haired girl appeared in the doorway, and Catherine recognized little Samantha who had brought her breakfast and a mug with warm water in the morning.

Quickly taking in the situation, the girl gave a scream, whirled around and was just about to disappear when she was grasped by the beast, who had only needed two long steps to reach her.

Holding the girl with a firm grasp, he looked down on Catherine triumphantly. "Now...," again his bared fangs gave him an expression of cold cruelty, "it's your turn, woman!" He touched the child's throat with his forefinger, running the tip of his claw over her soft skin. "Life..." the expression of his eyes grew chilly, "or death... The decision is yours..."

Helplessly staring into Samantha's fearfully widened eyes, Catherine bit down on her lower lip. Whatever happened - she alone would be the one to blame. She had acted without thought. She should have known that he wasn't accustomed to contradiction. Now, in his fury, he wouldn't hesitate at killing a defenseless child to get his own way. She had no choice...

"Let her go! Please!" she exclaimed despairingly. "I'll do everything you want me to..."

"No!" Having recovered from her initial shock, Samantha was squirming in his grip. "Don't go! He won't hurt me! I know he won't!"

"I must..." Catherine whispered. Automatically reaching for the shawl she'd been given a few days ago, she prepared to go. Apparently the child didn't understand the danger they all were in. Never would she be so selfish as to endanger anybody's life - not even to save her own...

*

With all her strength Catherine suppressed her sobbing. Weeping was pointless. Her tears wouldn't touch this heartless brute whose prisoner she was. After having pushed her into a narrow, bare cave and locking the entrance with stable iron-bars, he'd gone away, leaving her alone in this horrible place.

Wiping her eyes with her hand, she forced herself to gather all her strength. Yes, she was at his mercy - but she wouldn't let him triumph over her despair.

At least he had let her keep the candle...

Staring into the flickering light, she felt the bitter cold piercing through her gown and shawl, making her shiver more than fear had done before. She was in a hopeless situation - he would never let her go. First she had wondered what his plans for her might be, but then decided it was better not to know.

Not a single word had passed his lips as they traveled, not even when she'd been too exhausted to walk farther. Still remaining silent, he'd taken her in his arms and had carried her the last distance. That she took for a good sign. Obviously he wasn't interested in her death...at least not at the moment.

What disconcerted her much more, though, was the thought that it had not been unpleasant to lie in his strong arms...

Vehemently she fought the almost tangible recollection. It didn't mean anything. She had just been exhausted and relieved when she didn't have to walk herself any longer...

She wondered why he had locked her up this way. If he had thought about it he would have known that even if she managed to escape from here she could never find the way back.

Perhaps he was not able to think...

No. He was extremely aggressive and had to fight hard for self-control, but he had never given the impression of being unintelligent.

Sighing, Catherine huddled up on the chilly clay soil, pulling the shawl tightly around her shoulders, though she knew the thin material wouldn't protect her from the cold. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, she still felt weak and was chilled to the bone. Moreover, hundreds of questions were whirling through her mind and she couldn't find a single answer. Again she felt her eyes filling with tears, and this time she didn't keep them back.

Within a few days her carefree, well-regulated life had gone to pieces. She'd been maltreated badly and now she was held prisoner in a dark and terrifying place. She was imprisoned in an endless nightmare. She had every reason to weep...