OTHERWISE|
Elke Prietl

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Chapter Eight

"Vincent!" The old man gestured him to come closer. The younger one, too, turned his head and strangely enough he appeared neither surprised nor frightened, though Vincent knew for sure that they had never met before.

"This is my son, Devin." Jacob Wells introduced. As he wanted to introduce Vincent, too, Devin rose.

"So that's Samantha's hero!" he smiled, stretching out his hand to Vincent. "For days, she's been talking about nothing but you, and her adventure in the cave!" His handshake was firm and without hesitancy. "And since everyone Below has already heard the story several times, she was absolutely delighted when I came and she could relate it down to the last detail once more."

Invitingly, he pointed at a chair. "Have a seat. You surely want to talk with Father, don't you? I won't take up too much more of his time." He smiled mischievously. "He doesn't know it yet but he's already lost this game."

Dumbfounded, Vincent sank into the chair. Never had he been accepted so readily. It took him some minutes to recover, but then he realized the desperate situation of Jacob Wells' game. When the older man reached for his rook, Vincent couldn't suppress a disparaging snort.

"You don't agree with this move?" Jacob Wells' eyes focused on him over the rim of the glasses, and though no word passed the old man's lips Vincent thought to hear him say, Do it better if you can!

With a shake of his head Vincent put the rook back to its former position and moved the knight instead.

Jacob Wells considered briefly, then he nodded in agreement. "Why don't you finish the game for me?" he suggested, rising. He sat down in a free chair and from there, visibly impressed, he observed the course the game took after Vincent had taken his place.

Nobody would have been capable of reversing the game, yet Vincent's clever strategies made it very hard for Devin to win.

"If Father hadn't played so badly before, I wouldn't have had a chance against you, would I?" Devin remarked finally. "Where did you learn to play chess so brilliantly?"

"I watched...," Vincent answered evasively. He had learned to play chess the same humiliating way as he had learned to read, and the recollection was still too painful to talk about it.

"At the mirror pool...," he then turned to Jacob Wells. "You remember what you offered...?"

"What I offered...?" For some seconds the old man obviously didn't understand, but then he smiled. "You mean there is something I can do for you?"

"Yes..." With an unexpectedly shy glance at Devin, Vincent bowed his head.

Devin understood. Rising, he threw a glance at his watch. "I promised Mary to call in on her before going Above. And if I want to be at the hospital in time I'd best be going now. I'm on duty tonight."

He hugged his father and gave Vincent a slight slap on his shoulder. "See you soon. Then you can take another crack at beating me."

Devin had already left the room, yet Vincent was still staring at the entrance. He couldn't make out this man who had treated him as he would have treated anybody else. Like a...man...like a very ordinary man!

Jacob Wells smiled at the complete bewilderment on Vincent's face. "That's typical Devin," he said. "He's always had a taste for adventure." He paused briefly before he continued, "When he was young, I was truly worried about him. He was so spontaneous and sometimes he seemed to lack any sense of responsibility. He and I, we went through some turbulent periods, but now I'm very proud of him. After all the trouble he's become an excellent surgeon..."

He turned his head, and with a hint of sadness in his smile, directed his eyes toward the man opposite him. Vincent and Devin were about the same age. They could have been friends...maybe even like brothers... And heaven only knows, he thought, what talents and abilities are hidden in you...

Then he called himself back to reality. "I'm sorry! With all this talking I quite forgot that you didn't come to listen to the melancholy gossip of an old man. Well, we're alone. Would you like to tell me now how I can help you?"

All his life Vincent had kept his thoughts and feelings to himself. He'd never had a friend or anybody else to trust in, and there had always been long periods of time when he hadn't talked to any living being. He hadn't expected that this talk with Jacob Wells would be easy for him, yet he was not prepared for the fact that words would be so difficult.

But Jacob Wells was a very patient and empathic listener, and he learned enough to know what was affecting Vincent so strongly that he had forced himself to confide in someone who was scarcely more than a stranger to him.

Scrutinizing Vincent very thoughtfully, he put his fingertips together. He was genuinely surprised. He hadn't expected such a wealth of feelings. Behind Vincent's rough behavior, sensitivity and vulnerability were hidden; there were lost hopes and deep wounds that had never healed, but the willingness to accept and to give love, too.

The old man wondered how Vincent had been able to preserve all that over so many years in which these feelings had received no response. He found no answer, but was aware that he had to pick his words very carefully. On no account must he lead Vincent to expect something that Catherine couldn't give, or wasn't willing to give.

"Vincent," he began, and cleared his throat in order to gain time. "I'm afraid nobody will be able to tell you definitely what you feel for Catherine. The feeling of love cannot be defined, it's much too difficult and complex. I know that people have always tried to put love into words, and many wonderful poems would never have been written without the inspiration of love. But only you can recognize whether or not you love somebody."

His eyes were resting on Vincent who had bowed his head and was listening with visible concentration.

"Listen to your heart, Vincent. That's the only advice I can give you. Your heart will tell you what to do, it won't betray you. And Catherine..." He rose and stepped behind Vincent's chair. When he put his hands on the broad shoulders in front of him, he felt Vincent's muscles tensing. "You told me that you're able to sense her heartbeat and her emotions," he continued, determinedly ignoring Vincent's growing tension. "What do her feelings tell you?"

"I don't know!" Vincent's tension increased, so Jacob Wells withdrew his hands. "I closed the bond when she returned to her world..."

"But then..." That put a different complexion on things. "How can you be so sure that she doesn't love you?" Amazed, the old man ran his fingers through his hair. "Vincent, your connection is something unique. It's a gift! I can't imagine what it's like, but if I were you I wouldn't hesitate to use it to determine Catherine's true feelings for you."

"I..." Vincent raised his head; the expression in his eyes making words needless. "I don't dare. I don't know what will happen if I learn that Catherine..."

Jacob Wells nodded. Unable to withstand any longer, he lifted his hand and gently stroked Vincent's hair. But instead of giving comfort, his touch made Vincent flinch. Obviously Catherine was the only one who could get close enough to Vincent to achieve something. What a tragedy if Vincent's assumption should be right. He needed nothing more than touch...soft caresses and the care of somebody whose love was strong enough to break down the barrier of unapproachability and violence that he had erected round his soul.

"You have the strength!" he encouraged Vincent, hoping he was doing the right thing. If his impression of Catherine proved to be wrong the consequences would be unforseeable.

Vincent didn't react for a long time. Then he nodded. His heart was pounding wildly, his hands were shaking, and he knew that it was from fear. Yes, he was afraid, terribly afraid of what would happen when he opened the bond, but he was also aware that he couldn't delay this moment forever. Because of Catherine, he had come here, and only because of her, had he bared his heart to the old man. Should all this be wasted just because now he acted like a...coward? No, he had to face Catherine's feelings - however deep they would plunge him back into darkness.

Hesitantly he opened the bond, closing his eyes with a suppressed groan when he felt Catherine's familiar warmth pulsing throughout him. Her heartbeat caressed him, comforted him, swept away his pain and called out to him, increasing his longing for her every second.

He jumped to his feet, heedless of the chair, which tipped backwards with a crash. Suddenly his heart overflowed with gratitude to the old man. The feeling was so intense that for some seconds he forgot his reserve and almost hugged Jacob Wells. He stopped at the last moment, his hands only inches away from the older man's shoulders.

"She...she's waiting for me!" he gasped. "She's waiting!"

A few seconds later, when he was rushing out of the study, he wasn't even aware that he hadn't thanked Jacob Wells.

"My goodness!" Shaking his head, William, the cook, stopped in the doorway, watching Vincent disappear around the next corner in a tremendous hurry. "What's bitten him? Why is he in such a rush?"

Father smiled; it was a satisfied smile. "He's just recognized that there is someone who loves him!"

*

Except for some trivial problems Catherine's first week at the District Attorney's office had passed quite happily. Her new job was demanding but very satisfying, not least because her investigations had been successful. She had found the woman for whom she'd been mistaken when she was attacked.

Carol Stabler, a call-girl, had been full of fear and resistance when Catherine had asked for her collaboration. The young woman had strictly refused to give evidence; obviously she was afraid that she might become the object of another attack. But the final decision hadn't been taken yet. Maybe she would change her mind after thinking about it once more.

Only Vincent had turned out to be a bitter disappointment. This evening, too, Catherine had waited for him for almost two hours; but again he hadn't come. Disappointed and tired, she returned to her apartment, and not even a long, hot shower could help her to get rid of her frustration and increasing anger. She had really thought him to be something special. And even though she didn't regret anything of what had happened between them, she recognized now that at heart he was no different from other men who had hurt her. He was even worse than other men, for he didn't even have the courage to tell her to her face, that his interest in her had died after he had got what he wanted.

With a book in her hand she made herself comfortable on her bed. The novella took her mind off Vincent, but after some pages Catherine grew too tired to continue. Closing her eyes she leaned back against the pillows, and after a few minutes she rolled over on her stomach and fell asleep.

Vincent found her lying in this position as he nimbly leaped over the balustrade about an hour later.

The mere sight of her - her slightly opened lips, some wisps of hair falling over her lovely face, and her gown that had almost slipped up to her hips, exposing her perfectly formed thighs to his eyes - made his heart overflow with tenderness and his body quiver with desire. But these feelings didn't keep him from snorting with frustration.

His eyes wandered to the red rose in his hand (he'd had to go to the other side of the park before he had found this perfect one) and focused on Catherine again.

Here he was, willing to lay his heart in her hands, and she was asleep!

But then he told himself that she had just taken up a new job and had probably worked very hard during the last week. She had every right to be asleep, just as she had every right to be angry with him. He had behaved like an idiot.

The longer he looked through the French doors the stronger the fight inside him grew.

His longing for her was gradually turning into pain; he was aching to pull her in his arms, to hold her, to touch her and, eventually, to lay his lips on hers. His mouth had touched her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks and the softness of her neck; he had explored her body and had savored the taste of her skin. And yet an inexplicable shyness had kept him from kissing her lips.

But at the same time he knew that he wouldn't have the heart to wake her from her sleep.

When he pushed the French doors open, Vincent was sure that he was only going to put the rose on the bedside table where Catherine would find it as soon as she opened her eyes. Soundlessly he moved to the side of her bed, put the flower down, and after tenderly looking at the beautiful woman who bore him love, he reached out to pull the quilt over Catherine. But instead of the covers, his hand touched Catherine's bare shoulder - and he was lost.

Sighing, quivering with delight, he ran his fingers over the smooth curve, over warm silken skin, knowing that nothing, absolutely nothing, could make him leave now. Oh, how he had missed her! Suddenly he could hardly believe that he had been without her for five long days and nights when now he didn't know how he should ever be able to exist without her even for one minute.

Without taking his hand from Catherine's shoulder, he sank down on his knees beside the bed and rested his other arm and his head on the covers.

Listen to your heart, the old man had told him. And his heart languished for her, every fiber of his being wanted to be with her.

Despite his uncomfortable stance, he felt as if he was floating within a soft, warm cloud of pure delight, and suddenly he didn't have to think about his feelings for Catherine any longer.

He loved her! He loved her more than his own life and he would love her forever: with all that he was, with all that he could ever become...

*

Day was dawning, and a cool breeze coming from outside made Catherine shiver slightly. Half asleep, she reached for the quilt and sat up with a start as her fingers touched something hairy instead; something that hadn't been lying there when she had gone to bed. Blinking drowsily, she turned her head and held her breath, realizing that this `something' was Vincent's head.

He was lying on his knees, sleeping; the upper part of his body was resting on the bed and his face was buried in his arms. He hadn't even taken off his cloak...

"Vincent...?" Catherine whispered, so softly that he couldn't wake. Only when her hands stroked his hair, his shoulders and his back did he open his eyes and reach for her, still half asleep.

"Come here! Come to me!" Taking him by the shoulders, Catherine tried to pull him onto the bed. "How long have you been here?"

Pulling himself up, he shook his mane and dropped down at Catherine's side with a low moan. His legs felt numb; he could neither feel them nor did they take his weight.

"Did I fall asleep...?" he whispered in utter confusion as he gazed around the room. The sky was already turning grey, the first pale light of morning chasing away the last shadows of the night. It was too late to reach the tunnel-world unseen.

Noticing the haunted expression in his eyes, Catherine soothingly traced the tip of her forefinger along his features. "You're safe here, Vincent. You're safe with me," she reassured him, smiling when he leaned back and closed his eyes.

"Where were you?" she asked. "I've waited for you every night..."

He opened his eyes, and Catherine lost herself in the crystal depths of his gaze until he put his arms around her and pulled her close to his body.

"Forgive me...," he whispered, "I didn't mean to hurt you! It just seems that I have a gift for misinterpretation. When you said you couldn't promise to come I thought..."

"You felt rejected?" Catherine asked as he made no move to continue. "But... The bond! Our connection! I was sure you felt that...," she drew a deep breath before whispering, "that I love you...!"

He didn't answer for a long time. Clasping her to his breast, he buried his nose in her hair. She had said the words he had yearned to hear all his life...

"Love...," he whispered then. "I've never experienced love. I didn't know how to recognize that you love me...or that I love you..." Trying to hide his embarrassment he wound a strand of her hair round his finger. "And then I didn't want to feel any more. I longed for your love, yet I was sure that at best I would find compassion..."

When Catherine raised her gaze, all the pain he had endured in the last days showed in his face, and she understood. He'd been confronted with his own vulnerability...

And as if he had read her mind Vincent admitted, "Never before have I felt so vulnerable...so exposed..."

"Oh, Vincent!" Softly, Catherine stroked his cheek. "I know these feelings. These feelings come from love. Everybody who loves becomes vulnerable because of love. To love each other means to trust each other. If you learn to trust me, these feelings won't disconcert you any longer. And I promise you: I'll never betray your trust."

Instead of an answer, he brought up his hands to her face and leaned forward to plant a soft, fleeting kiss on the corner of her mouth. Trust... She was right, so right! While Catherine had trusted him without reservation, he had only abandoned himself to his doubts and his self-pity.

Ashamed, he lowered his eyes; they suddenly stung with tears. "I love you," he breathed, knowing it was the truth. "But Catherine, there is so much I don't know, so much I have to learn about...love. Will you help me to understand? Will you forgive me if I do the wrong things?"

"Yes, I will," Catherine answered without hesitancy. "But promise me that you will do the same for me...?"

"I promise," he whispered. "And I will always trust you!" Gently wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her closer still. His kiss was soft, almost shy at first, yet when Catherine opened her lips and ran the tip of her tongue over his teeth, shivering with delight as she touched his fangs, he grew bolder, his hands and his mouth demanding more.

There was a way to show her...no, to let her feel his love and his trust. But he didn't want to merely open the bond. He wanted it to be something special - a celebration of their love.

"Vincent...," Catherine sighed breathlessly as his hands pulled open her robe, baring her skin to his caressing lips. His kisses inflamed her, his touch seemed to turn her body into liquid fire, sweeping away any conscious thought except the awareness that she wanted to become one with him. Now!

With shaking hands she freed him from his clothes, not realizing that he had already removed her gown before he rolled her onto her back and pinned her down with his weight. Again, his lips met hers, his passionate kiss growing almost possessive as his knees opened her thighs and he positioned himself to enter her.

This time he didn't try to hold back, and there was no need to do so. Hardly had he penetrated her when he sensed a wild surge of desire engulfing Catherine as well as him, swirling them both upwards right in the center of countless bursting stars.

Sharing one breath, they drifted through a dimension beyond time and space to a spot where her pleasure became his and his delight hers. Clinging to each other, they lost themselves in the sensations they were sharing - and found themselves again inside one another.

For some seconds Catherine felt like fainting, then the vision recurred. His golden circlet shimmered in the bright light of the sun, and the lion's sparkling sapphire-eyes looked down at her, bathing her in warmth and tenderness - until she recognized that it was Vincent's eyes.

Their hearts were beating in perfect harmony, and she didn't have to wonder about the feelings that were suddenly flowing through her as intensely as her own, and yet were not her own.

She knew. Knew that it had to be like this - that it always should have been like this.

From beside her Catherine heard a low, satisfied moan. Languidly sprawled on the bed, Vincent reached for her, his mane and the soft fur on his body shimmering softly in the warm light of the morning sun. Smiling, Catherine snuggled into his arms and slid her fingers through the golden wealth on his chest, delighted with the shiver that immediately ran through him. Now even the visions made sense to her...

He was the prince she'd seen in her dreams; in those dreams which she had dismissed as a childish reverie when she had grown older. The last time she'd had the dream, she'd been a college student and no longer believed that fairy tales might come true. Now she had found him, and she would never let him go. He belonged to her - he had always belonged to her.

Together they would create another dream; a dream that was new and yet as old as earth: the dream of a man and a woman in eternal love...their dream...

*

Epilogue

"It seems that Catherine is pretty bored with this story!" Screwing up her little nose, Samantha scrutinized the shape that was lying curled up on Vincent's bed. Vincent always read aloud in such a wonderful way, his voice transforming words into vivid pictures. The girl didn't understand how anybody could fall asleep with his reading!

"I don't think so." Soothingly, Vincent stroked the girl's hair. "Catherine has worked very hard in the last days. She's tired and needs to rest. I'll read this chapter to her another time."

His eyes rested on the face of the beloved woman; in his mind he caressed her cheeks with his lips. Soft warmth flowed through him as in response Catherine smiled in her sleep.

She's still dreaming, he thought, I'd really love to know what...

The last hour he had spent reading to the children in order to take their mind off the surprise party they were planning for Father, and from the moment Catherine had fallen asleep he had sensed all sorts of feelings coming through the bond. Fear, pain and despair as well as love and tenderness; and in between it had felt as if she were furious with him, as if they were fighting seriously. He smiled because such things didn't happen between them - and would never happen.

Yet some minutes later other feelings from her had confused him; feelings he would have loved to get to the bottom of.

Well, he would get his chance to attend to Catherine's desire. He only had to wait till they were on their own. Then - no, afterwards! - he would ask her about her dream. Tonight, after Father's birthday celebration...

For the central figure of this evening would be Father. Thinking of the older man, Vincent was overcome by a strong feeling of warmth, love and gratitude. He owed Father everything - his life, his home and his family. As long as he could remember, Father had been there for him: loving him, teaching him, comforting him, understanding him, guiding him...helping him to become what he was now.

Sometimes Vincent had wondered where his life might have gone without the old man's loving care. For instance if they had abandoned him to Paracelsus when he was a small child...

He had found no definite answer, yet he knew that in that case he wouldn't be sitting in his chamber now, reading to the children, feeling warm and secure. And Catherine... He shivered slightly, didn't dare to finish the thought.

A loud cry of protest called him back to reality, and he became aware of his closing the book unintentionally. Apologizing to the children with a soft smile, he opened the volume again and continued to read:

"And he went back to the fox: Goodbye, he said. Goodbye, said the fox.
Now here is my secret, very simply: you can only see things clearly with your heart.
What is essential is invisible to the eye..."

The End