Chapter Two

It happened suddenly. A shift in their bond as awareness returned. Disorientation, surprise as Vincent raised his head to stare into her eyes. Shock when he saw her nudity, turning into horror as he finally realized he was on her, inside her.

Catherine tried to hold on to him, but he pulled away from her body despite her resistance and jumped to his feet, retreating to the other side of the tunnel.

"Vincent, don't!" she pleaded.

The only answer came through their wide open connection. Shame, disgust, guilt, despair, mixed in a powerful wave that hit her almost physically as Vincent fell down on his knees, his back to her. Catherine tried to respond by sending a soothing, loving current, but his feelings were so strong that they overcame everything else. It was as if she tried to go through a wall. He was blocking her, she realized in anguish.

He rose, and she hastily stood up.

"Vincent! Please speak to me!"

He turned to her, but still avoided her eyes. Catherine saw he was staring at her breasts again, and gasped as a new surge of revulsion hit her. Following Vincent's horrified gaze, she looked down at herself to see a big, reddish-brown smudge near her left nipple, very visible on her pale skin.

She opened her mouth to tell Vincent that he hadn't hurt her, that it wasn't her blood, and shut it at the thought of where that blood came from, overwhelmed by his dark, wordless horror as he stared down at his bloodstained hands. Through the bond, she felt a sudden, bleak determination that frightened her, a door slamming shut in the deadly, almost tangible silence between them. His eyes finally met hers, but they were empty, lifeless. He took off his cloak and handed it to her, dropping it to the ground when she just threw it a puzzled look. He turned to go but she grasped his shoulder.

"Vincent!"

He shrugged off her hand as if it burned him and stepped away. His need to run away from her roared through the bond and Catherine fell to her knees, defeated, aware that nothing she could do or say would make him stay, now.

"I love you!" she cried in a last, desperate attempt.

A wave of stubborn, hopeless denial, and Vincent was gone.

Catherine crumpled on the floor in a boneless heap, sobbing in despair. Vincent had left her, and she knew he wouldn't come back. The grim hopelessness she felt in him was so strong it overwhelmed her for a moment, but soon a rebellious current arose from the deepest part of her, refusing to give up. There was hope, there had to be!

She sat up, fighting to get hold of her own thoughts, her own emotions, among the maelstrom of Vincent's feelings still flowing freely through the bond. At least he hadn't blocked that part of their connection, probably because he wasn't aware of it. What she felt in him frightened her, she knew he was going to do something terrible, something final, and her only chance to stop him was to think clearly and act fast. She was certain she could find him, she would only have to follow her heart. The strength of his despair burned deep inside her, urging her to him.

For a second she considered alerting the tunnel people by tapping on the pipes, then dismissed the idea. It would be no good. Vincent was moving away, fast, and he was not aiming toward the inhabited tunnels. They would never find him, she was the only one who could do it.

She stood up, discarding the pitiful remains of her underwear, and closed her jacket the best she could. She fumbled in its pocket and sighed with relief on discovering she hadn't lost the flashlight she always took with her when she went Below. Her shoes were certainly not the ones she would have chosen for a long trip on rocky ground, but at least they had low heels. They would have to do.

Vincent's cloak was on the floor, at her feet. Catherine picked it up, and her hand caressed its familiar texture as she threw it over her shoulders. It was heavy, and too long for her short stature, but she wrapped it gratefully around her chilled body, welcoming its warm, reassuring weight.

Immediately, she set on her way, following her sense of Vincent. She remained only a short time in the large, lighted tunnel, then lit her flashlight when taking a small, dark side tunnel on the left, then another one, even smaller. The insistent pull on her heart led her unerringly through a labyrinth of narrow winding corridors, that she guessed Vincent had chosen so as not to be seen by the sentries as he skirted the inhabited part of the tunnels. To her despair she felt the distance between them increase, Vincent moving at a faster pace than she could achieve, despite her efforts, but she stubbornly went on, almost running on the uneven floor.

She arrived at a larger tunnel, with a steep slope downwards and followed it, going down, and down for what seemed hours, and probably was. She had lost all sense of time and place, all her being focused on following the incessant inner scream that led her toward Vincent. Part of her knew that it might be a one way trip, that if she couldn't find Vincent she never would find her way back, but she didn't care. If she couldn't find Vincent, what reason would she have to go back?

On and on she went, seeking and finding support in their connection, as the steady current not only conveyed Vincent's feelings, but also seemed to let her share his deep knowledge of the tunnels, and even a little of his prodigious stamina, sustaining and helping her in her exhausting progression. The heavy, cumbersome cloak caused her to trip more than once, but Catherine never considered leaving it. It was a part of Vincent, it retained the unique scent of him and its warm weight reminded her of his body, of his arms around her. Wearing it linked her to the man she loved in a solid, reassuring way, a much needed comfort while she trudged forward in her anguished quest, driven by Vincent's despair.

She became aware that Vincent had stopped and quickened her steps, strengthened by the hope of catching up with him. Not very long after her flashlight began to flicker. Catherine cursed loudly. No, not now!

Feverishly, she searched the cloak's pockets, bringing out a number of various things she examined in the dimming light, helpless to restrain a smile despite the dramatic situation she was in. A clean, neatly ironed handkerchief, a small hairbrush, a ball of string, a quarter, a roll of duct tape, a candy bar (Vincent did have a taste for chocolate), a screwdriver, a pencil and a sheet of paper. One object brought tears to her eyes, a small, worn-out leather wallet, containing a picture of her, obviously cut from a newspaper. Oh, Vincent! And finally, in the last pocket, two candles, and an oversized, old-fashioned gas lighter. She put the rest back in the pockets, except the candy bar that she unwrapped and ate, not that she felt hungry, but she knew her body could use the energy.

Candlelight was not as good as her flashlight to see where she stepped, and she had to slow her pace to keep the drafts from extinguishing the candle, but she went on as fast as she could, as what came from Vincent was more and more frightening, a mixture of grim, bleak determination and hopeless renouncement. She had to reach him before it was too late! To her relief she soon felt him close, and realized there was some light ahead, and the tunnel was getting wider. She ran towards the light and finally arrived in a huge cavern. The high walls must have been phosphorescent in some way, for the place shone as if by moonlight, and in front of her, beyond a sandy beach, the dark water of a river shimmered.

A stronger light on her left attracted her attention. A torch was burning, stuck in the sand, and in its flickering halo, a tall figure was moving, unaware of her approach.

"Vincent!" she cried, running toward him.

He turned abruptly and stared at her, a strange mixture of emotions filling their connection. Bewilderment, awe, admiration…love, and for the first time in hours, the tiniest ray of hope. She wanted to run straight into his arms, feel the solid reality of him, but stopped a few steps away from him, panting from her long run, devouring him with hungry eyes.

"Vincent!" she repeated.

Vincent shook his head, not believing his eyes. He had been so sure he'd never see Catherine again, but here she was, in front of him, and he just could not stop looking at her. Her hair was hanging in disarray, her small frame lost in the folds of his cloak, and her tight face spoke of her exhaustion, but she'd never looked more beautiful. How had that tiny slip of a woman managed the long descent to the nameless river almost as quickly as he had? The answer was in the stubborn set of her jaw, in her eyes, alight with a fiery, unyielding will, and it puzzled Vincent even more. Why? Why would she want to follow him, after what he'd done?

"Catherine! How did you…?"

"Our bond led me." Her gaze wandered around and suddenly stopped on what he'd been busying himself at. A raft. Finished and loaded, ready to be pushed afloat.

"You were leaving!" she stated in an almost accusing tone.

To her terror, Catherine felt the current of Vincent's emotions shrink and fade until it disappeared from her heart, leaving it empty and cold.

"Don't!" she pleaded.

"I have to," he answered, his face and voice blank. "Catherine, you should not have come. I am leaving, it's best for both of us".

"No! You can't leave. Not now I've found you. Please stay!" she begged "It's going to be all right, Vincent. We can make it all right!"

He turned his back on her and before she could react, he pushed the raft into the water and jumped onto it to maneuver it to a small rock, a few yards away from the shore.

"No!" she screamed.

"Go back to your world, to your life, Catherine."

"I can't! I don't know how to go back!" she truthfully argued. "Without you I'll never find my way!"

Shaking his head, Vincent pointed to a wide gallery opening, different from the one she had arrived from. "Follow that tunnel for two miles or so, and you'll arrive to a way station where you'll find pipes. The torch will last long enough to get you there." He looked straight into her eyes. "Do that for me, Catherine, please! Someone has to tell Father."

"Why don't you tell him yourself?" she angrily retorted. "Don't you think you owe him and your family at least a proper goodbye?"

He shook his head again. "I can't go back there. I am not fit to live among humans. Tell them to forget me. And you, too, must forget me, Catherine. Be happy. Be well."

He turned away from her and maneuvered the raft into the current, which began to take it away.

"Noooooo!" Catherine's reaction was instantaneous, totally instinctive. In a single movement she shrugged off the cloak and, without hesitation, dove into the dark whirling water.

The cold was like an electric shock, piercing her body with thousands of icy needles, numbing her limbs. She fought with all her strength and swam toward the raft, her will focused on reaching Vincent. She was vaguely aware that he was shouting at her as she struggled in the current in a desperate effort to reduce the distance between them. But she didn't seem to get any closer, and the paralyzing cold was getting to her very core, slowing her movements and numbing her thoughts. She fought the drowsiness until the last of her energy was spent, trying to keep herself afloat in the fiercely whirling waters. The last thing she heard before dark depths engulfed her was Vincent's anguished howl.