OTHERWISE|
Elke Prietl

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Chapter Four

He was burning...was being burned alive in an odd darkness in which he was hovering. Demonic grimaces were coming closer and closer... They disappeared as he shot forward with a furious hiss - but the next moment invisible hands grabbed him and dragged him even deeper into the sweltering blackness.

Roaring he lashed around, in a desperate struggle to get free. He was melting...was dissolving in the heat...

A murmuring voice, words he was unable to understand, and a gentle touch on his chest made him relax, then something cool caressed his face. He sank back - and ground his teeth with pain.

Again hands touched him - yet this time they felt soft and tender. Instinctively he surrendered to them, rolled onto his side, and the pain in his shoulder eased.

The moist coolness returned, was wrapped around his chest. First he shivered with cold, but then it felt so good that he gave up his fight and almost instantly fell into a sound and dreamless sleep.

He wasn't alone. Somebody was with him and wouldn't let him burn to death...

The next time he became aware of himself, his mind was clearer. He could hear remote sounds, and measured footfalls that were coming closer. Hesitantly he opened his eyes - and closed them again.

It couldn't be her! It was only another delusion of his confused senses. He wouldn't expose himself one more time to the disappointment of watching how she disappeared before his eyes.

"How is he?"

Jacob Wells' voice! Vincent didn't move. Still holding his eyes closed, he tried to find out what had happened. What was this man doing in his cavern?

"He's still asleep! But his fever subsided in the morning. He isn't delirious any longer!"

His hair was smoothed back and a cool hand touched his forehead. Involuntarily he held his breath. Could it be that he wasn't dreaming? Was it really her hand?

"Catherine...?" The muffled noise he uttered scarcely resembled her name, but was answered with a softly spoken "Yes?" before her hand lightly stroked his cheek. The pleasant feeling that ran through him made him moan faintly. She...she...caressed him... Caressed him!

"Th...th...thirsty..."

She drew back her hand, then his head was lifted and a glass was held to his lips.

"Here you are! Do you feel better? Vincent - can you hear me?"

He managed a weak nod before he drank greedily. The juice was cool and refreshing, and he wanted to empty the glass in one go, but Catherine forced him to take small sips. This was frustrating, and he was too weak to reach for the glass himself. Groaning he opened his eyes - looked directly into Catherine's and was immediately calm.

She was here. She was with him. He could see her face. She smiled and didn't vanish into thin air.

"Slowly! You must drink slowly or you will vomit again."

Vomit again? Apparently some things had happened that he couldn't remember. He only knew that he had fought with Erlik... He gazed around as best he could without moving his head and realized that he wasn't in his cavern.

"You're in our hospital chamber!" Jacob Wells appeared behind Catherine. "You were lying at the entrance of your cavern," he said. "That you survived is due to Catherine and her feeling that you were in danger."

When Jacob reached for his wrist, Vincent drew back his hand. Weakly he tried to hit out at the older man, but a faint hiss was all he could manage. Resignedly, he allowed Jacob Wells to take his pulse.

"Am I...sick?" he whispered after some time. He was ashamed of his weakness; never before had he felt so helpless...

"Some of your ribs are broken, you have a concussion and a bad wound-infection from the knife point that stuck in your shoulder. Three days ago, when we found you, you were closer to death than to life," Jacob Wells answered. "If Catherine had come only half a day later..."

Three days. Three days...and they hadn't killed him... They hadn't locked him in a cage as John had always predicted. Quite the reverse - they nursed him and had saved his life...

"Have you...been here all the...time?" He clung to Catherine's eyes...her shape became hazy again.

"Almost all the time!" She smiled - yes! - smiled at him once more. What had he done to deserve this sweet smile?

He would have willingly abandoned himself to the sleep that was again enveloping his senses softly. But first he had to make sure...

"You will ... stay...?" he whispered and didn't notice that what should be a question passed his lips as a plea.

Catherine's nod gave him the peace he needed. Sighing, he closed his eyes and didn't hear her whisper, "He's fallen asleep again..."

*

Catherine kept her promise, and now she was quite thankful to be the 'boss's daughter'. A telephone-call and her explanation that `a friend needed help' had been enough, and her father, without asking too much, had excused her from all her obligations as long as it would be necessary.

During the following days she spent Below she found the opportunity to become familiar with the tunnelfolk, and she came to the conclusion that she liked their way of living. Although they had to manage without many things she had always taken for granted, they were all content with what they had. All comforts they possibly could have missed were more than offset by the warmth, love and support they gave each other.

Most of the time, though, Catherine was with Vincent. Although he still spent much time sleeping, he was without doubt on the road to recovery.

Not only was he free of fever and had regained his appetite - he was becoming increasingly displeased and ill-humored, too. He detested having to lie in bed, but the conscientious doctor, Jacob Wells, remained relentless. Calmly but very firmly the old man had explained to Vincent that even he had to obey his orders as long as he stayed as his patient in this room.

Vincent had accepted that with bad grace - mainly because the outcome of his first attempt to leave the bed had been an attack of dizziness and a bad fall to the ground. Very wisely he hadn't recounted anything about that, but afterwards the pain in his broken ribs had been worse again, and he'd been forced to see that his strength, too, was limited.

He answered Catherine's efforts to make his situation as pleasurable as possible with bad moods, and muttered remarks as `I'm not a little child! I'm quite capable of doing that myself!' On the other hand he brazenly took advantage of her helpfulness by sending her round to fetch this and take away that.

With a hidden smile Catherine ignored his bad temper. He reminded her too much of a child that wanted to make sure of his mother's love. Certainly he'd never been pampered and therefore simply didn't know how to deal with the care he was experiencing now, just as it was very difficult for him to submit to the necessary treatment.

He hated being touched, yet this was adequately explained by the countless scars everywhere on his body.

In a quiet hour, Catherine and Jacob Wells had talked about Vincent, and the old man had told her all he knew about him. It was not very much, but enough to make her understand that Vincent's life had been without love and warmth, and that most of his scars probably stemmed from cruelties he had endured in his childhood.

Only when she touched him he couldn't hide how much he enjoyed it. Then, for a brief time, he showed again a touch of the softness that had vanished as the fever had gone down. And sometimes he even appeared a little happy...

In the evening of the third day Catherine said goodbye to him. She had to see that everything was okay in her apartment, she needed a change of clothes...and a breather, too. Besides, if she didn't want to wear thin her father's generosity she would do better to be at work tomorrow. Vincent was well; there was no need to worry about him any longer. It was just a matter of a few days until he would be able to go on his own way again.

She had promised him to return on Saturday. So she would have time to think about everything and, possibly, clarify her feelings for him.

During the last days when she'd mainly been concentrating on Vincent, she had learned a lot about him. Although he hardly ever talked about himself, and his rough behavior concealed his feelings, Catherine was sure that being so different caused him great pain. Certainly, he was no `Prince Charming' - but he wasn't insensitive...

Most of his views were astonishingly sensible, and talking to him, she'd been amazed by his enormous general knowledge that he had surely acquired on his own initiative. Catherine couldn't help admiring him for that. As Jacob Wells had described his former friend, John Pater had always been exclusively interested in making Vincent a cruel, unfeeling fighting-machine.

Her first impression of him hadn't misled her. Vincent was intelligent - even highly intelligent - and the fact he had preserved his self-esteem without becoming completely brutalized after all he had endured, indicated a great strength of character.

Whatever had made her search for him and stay by his side for six days - it hadn't only been compassion and the knowledge that she owed him her life.

Frankly, she had to admit that she liked him, and again she had felt his extraordinarily strong erotic attraction. His golden face, his expressive blue eyes, his husky voice, his muscular body, even his indefinable charisma, evoked feelings in her that she confessed only reluctantly even to herself.

She had watched him while he'd been asleep. She had looked at his hands, had touched them hesitantly and then held them in hers. She'd been surprised. At first glance they looked terrifying, and Catherine didn't wish to come into contact with his claws when he was out of control. But his well-shaped hands might have been the hands of an artist as well...

When she remembered that she had been sitting, holding his hands in hers, imagining how it would feel when he caressed her, her cheeks started to burn once more.

The cause of all this had been a situation on the previous evening...

In his reawakening stubbornness Vincent had insisted on eating without her help. Hardly had he sat upright, though, when an attack of dizziness made him reflexively cling to Catherine, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. And she - trying to keep him from falling backwards on his still hurting wound - had quickly put her arms around him.

At that moment she had forgotten that his bandages had been changed just a few minutes before and that Vincent was still stripped to the waist.

She scarcely dared to remember what the unsuspected contact with his warm, velvety skin had done to her nor how it had felt when he had slightly leaned against her and his head suddenly had lain on her shoulder. For some seconds she had forgotten to breathe.

Thank God, Vincent hadn't noticed the trembling of her hands when she fed him with soup afterwards...

*

She was gone, and, although with some reluctance, he had to admit that he already missed her; not only because the room suddenly appeared so silent and somehow colder than before. He hadn't been alone for the whole evening, though. Jacob Wells had looked after him, and for a while he had sat in a chair next to the bed. The old man had even tried to start a conversation, but had given up shrugging his shoulders when he had received no reply.

Then the woman named Mary had come. She had brought tea and donuts though he had eaten just before. Beside the tray she had laid a book, and against his order to take it away she had left it lying there.

He reached for the volume. Looking at the cover, he gave a snort of contempt. Poems! What the hell should he do with poems? He was not one of those soft-headed romantic fools! He didn't read such rubbish!

Nevertheless he opened the book and started to read...

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety...

What utter nonsense! Just as he had expected! Snarling, he flung the book into a corner where he didn't have to see it any longer.

My heart leaps up... His heart didn't leap! There was no reason for it to leap.

Rainbow... Damn it! He hadn't seen any rainbow yet. And when his life had begun there hadn't been any goddamn rainbow in the sky!

And piety...! How was piety to be interpreted? Gentleness perhaps? Grumbling, he threw himself around, regardless of the new pain in his broken ribs. Gentle! He wasn't gentle! He didn't want to be gentle! Humans might be gentle - but he wasn't a human! He was a beast - he loved to be a beast! This was his destiny...

The Child is father of the Man... At least that was right. What the child had been then the man was now. A beast.

Why had Catherine gone away... It would have been so easy for her to stay with him until he could go on his own way again. But perhaps it was better this way. He was used to being on his own and it should be left at that.

He felt tired but still couldn't sleep. Finally he sat up and found his clean clothes hanging over the chair. He hadn't demanded that they be washed and mended...

This time he didn't black out when he rose. The waistband of his jeans was almost too tight - no wonder, as they had stuffed him with food during the last days. Four chocolate-donuts after dinner...

The corridors were still and peaceful as they had always been when he had come here at night. He had been right to get up at last. This was much more to his taste. To roam the sleeping tunnel-world like Orion, the hunter, wandered across the sky...

Shaking his head in wonderment, he stopped. It hadn't been good for him to lie in bed that long and to eat so much, otherwise he wouldn't be carried away into making such comparisons. It was high time to return where he belonged, before he came to like such a life. Yet he would wait till Saturday for he wanted to see Catherine again... He wouldn't become estranged from himself in these few days...

Voices became audible from another corridor. So, not all had repaired to their beds... It could be interesting to find out what gentle weaklings were talking about at such a late hour. Perhaps about poems...?

Stopping at the fork, he listened. Apparently the tunnel-kids were having a night meeting. Their voices sounded so natural, but the topic of their conversation made him so furious that he was hardly able to control the towering rage that burned through him like liquid fire.

"Father will be against it!" This was the voice of the belligerent girl with the crossbow. "He always says that..."

"Are you sure?" a young man cut in. "It would be wrong if we let him run free, but if we tie him up he cannot cause any damage."

The others murmured in agreement - then another boy spoke. "We'll take one of the chains the men use when they put up joists in a new tunnel. I know where they are. He won't be able to get free..."

He had heard enough! Clenching his fists, he hastened through the corridors, half crazed with rage and hatred.

Peaceable? Oh, what a fool he had been to think these people peaceable! To trust them though...he should have known that they were nothing but an insidious and hostile lot! Paracelsus had been right to warn him about them! Feigning helpfulness and kindness, they had intended only one thing: to chain him, to show him what he had already known for a long time.

Do you recognize now what you are?

John Pater's voice; words that had carved themselves on his mind a long time ago.

Again he felt the cold irons round his wrists, felt the heavy chains fettering his feet to the ground. The jangling sound of the shutting iron-bars echoed in his mind.

Only beasts are locked in cages! You'd do better never to forget this again!

He hadn't forgotten. He still felt the humiliation, the pain - and he felt the hatred that had developed from that at last.

He would teach them to put him in chains!

*

Saturday afternoon, as Catherine was on her way Below, she was happy with herself and the world. On the tape of her answering machine she had found a brief message from D. A. Moreno, inviting her to attend a job interview. She'd been there yesterday - and just forty-five minutes later she had left his office as an employee of the District Attorney.

Her new boss, Joe Maxwell, she assessed to be an open and co-operative man, though he had appeared a little skeptical, too. Well, she would get her chance to show him that his skepticism was misplaced. She would have the first opportunity for that next Monday...

Because of all that, though, she had scarcely found time to analyze her feelings for Vincent. She had put it off; anyway it was better to get a little closer to him first. But she hadn't forgotten him. Her success had to be celebrated. With this aim in view, Catherine was carrying a small cool-box with her, inside a family pack of ice-cream, which she planned to share with Vincent. Tortured by the fever, he had let himself get carried away into telling her that he'd been dreaming of eating ice-cream since his childhood but had never done it.

Smiling, she climbed down the ladder and wended her way to the place where she knew Matthew was waiting for her. The knowledge that she was the one who would make Vincent's long-cherished wish come true, filled her with happy anticipation. She hoped that she had chosen the ice-cream not only to her own taste but also to Vincent's so that he would enjoy it as much as she wanted him to...

Completely absorbed in her thoughts, she almost missed Matthew. When he called her name, she stopped and turned in order to say hello, but seeing his grim gaze she fell silent.

"What's wrong?" she asked then. Her first thought was for Vincent. Was he worse again?

She couldn't make out the strange look Matthew cast her. "Father will tell you," he answered. "He's waiting for you, otherwise I wouldn't be here!"

He turned to go and remained silent despite all her questions. He appeared so angry that finally Catherine, too, fell silent, tortured by all sorts of assumptions, each one more frightening than the next.

Jacob Wells was expecting her in the library, and his face, too, didn't bode well.

"Father!" Catherine didn't wait until he started to speak; she didn't even notice what she had called him. "What about Vincent? Is he well?"

"Oh, of course, he is!" the old man answered. "I'm tempted to say he's too well!" He rose and went around the table to meet her. "Gratitude was the last thing I expected from him, but I had no idea that he would repay us for our kindness in such a way..."

"What has he done?" Confused, Catherine looked in his eyes. On the way down she had prepared herself for all sorts of trouble, but apparently her ideas hadn't come even close to what had happened during her absence.

"Last night he decided to leave us, but first he devastated our hospital chamber and attacked some teenagers who were returning from the mirror pool."

The ground beneath Catherine's feet felt as if it was rocking slightly. "No...," she breathed. "Has he...has he ki... injured anybody...?"

"Thank God, no! Jamie and Brooke were able to escape, but he caught Stephen. He tied him hand and foot and bound him in the whispering gallery. The poor boy hung right over the abyss for almost an hour and was all but scared to death before we heard his screams and freed him."

"I'm so sorry...," Catherine whispered. "But...it's so hard to believe. Why should he do such terrible things...?"

"Well, I assume that he gets his...pleasure from tormenting other people. I can't find another explanation." Resignedly, Jacob Wells adjusted his glasses. "John has really done a good job. Vincent is what he always wanted him to be..." He broke off, unable to hide his disappointment any longer. "And I was close to believing that there is still hope for him..."

"So was I..." Catherine murmured, but then she suddenly exclaimed, "And I still believe it! I'll go and find him and I'll talk to him!"

Hastily stammering something about 'ice-cream for the kids', she slipped the cool-box into the baffled man's hand and had disappeared before he was able to react at all.