Chapter 4Vincent fought his own demons, though, staring into the blackness where nothing waited, while behind his eyelids images fought to get out, images of him and Catherine together in that cage. They would come upon him suddenly, a flash of lips meeting, lightly, sweetly, replaced an instant later with an image that disturbed him deeply, of him crouching over her, his body holding her captive between muscled arms and taut thighs. He had taken her mouth completely with that kiss, the demanding thrust of his tongue a forerunner to what would happen just moments later. In the midst of that memory he heard her moan, a mewling gasp, muffled against his lips. He wondered now if she'd been trying to make him stop and at that horrendous thought buried his head against his knees and groaned as that image burned his mind, no way to undo it. The visions scrolled on and on. They plagued him for five hours, and finally, when he could stand it no longer, he woke the others, telling them it was time to leave.
They set off in much the same fashion as they'd arrived just hours before, with no fanfare and few words. Despite Jamie's protest, Vincent strapped on the pack she had carried down, and in no time they had left the area, the small chamber they'd slept in showing no trace of their presence. Their pace was not quite as fast as before, but it was aggressive, by mutual if silent assent. All of them were anxious to reach the home tunnels as quickly as possible. Their determination paid off, the time flying by as they focused on the rocky path before them. That terrain, so similar and yet ever-changing as shadows bounced off the uneven stone, was almost hypnotic, leading them onward with little conscious thought required.
* * *
In less than three hours they were stopped abruptly as a voice called out. Two sentries emerged from a hiding spot not in use just three short days ago, and greeted them warmly, obviously relieved to find them all safe and sound. Vincent questioned one about the changes made as the other sent a message of their arrival via the pipes nearby, then the four travelers were on their way once more. Several more sentries were encountered as they maneuvered their way through the outer perimeter, and fifteen minutes later, when they reached the inner hub, James stopped, informing them that he was going to check all the guard posts. Vincent nodded his approval, telling him he'd join him shortly, and only hesitated for a moment when Jamie informed him that she'd go along as well, before nodding to her, too. The two took off together, and Vincent led Catherine quickly toward Father's study, now just yards away. When they entered the chamber they found Father mounting the stairs, eager to greet them.
"Thank god you're all safe," he said, hugging his son, and then Catherine as they moved down the steps and into the main area of his study.
Vincent nodded, his hand still upon his father's shoulder in a comforting touch. Only Catherine recognized the meaning behind that ambiguous, silent response.
"Father, I must join Jamie and James, to check the security of the perimeter. It shouldn't take long, two hours at most."
"Yes, I knew you would need to see for yourself that the measures we've taken are adequate. Go, I'll take care of Catherine."
Vincent turned toward her then and pulled her aside, his words for her alone. "Catherine, I need you to promise me that you won't attempt to leave the hub, that you'll stay here, close to Father, until I return." For the first time since their escape his eyes met and held hers firmly. "Promise me," he insisted.
She nodded, then finally whispered her assent, "I promise."
Vincent kept his gaze pinned to hers for a moment longer, then finally nodded and turned toward the stairs, intent upon leaving. He paused beside his father once more, however, and spoke softly, "Don't let her leave the tunnels, Father. Keep her close."
Amidst the softness of the words, there was an intensity that spoke volumes, and Jacob's eyes widened with confusion and dismay. Glancing back toward Catherine, he could read nothing in her face, and returning his gaze toward his son, he suddenly took in his atypical appearance. His clothes were straightened a bit over what they had been before, but the missing ties of his vest and buttons on his shirt meant they gapped untidily, and the sleeves of his outer and thermal shirts were rolled up to form rough cuffs, exposing several inches of his wrist and beyond. All of this was simply unheard of for his son. He nodded, dazed, and Vincent turned on his heel, gone from the chamber in an instant, his cloak sweeping out behind him in his wake.
Father turned toward Catherine, silently perusing her as she moved restlessly about the chamber. "What happened, Catherine?" he asked quietly.
"Paracelsus had one of his men take me, just as he did before," she replied woodenly. "I can't believe I let it happen again." This time a tinge of bitterness crept into her voice. "Thank god no one was hurt this time," she continued, Jamie and James uppermost in her thoughts.
Father moved toward her and laid a comforting hand upon her shoulder. "You can't blame yourself, my dear. How could you possibly have anticipated such a thing? And even if you had, what could you do against John and his men?" He shook his head."No, you are not to blame, he is," the older man said with sudden vehemence. He looked at her again, his eyes narrowing in thought. Finally, noting the determined set of her jaw, he decided that she would say no more. "Come, you must be hungry. William has prepared a large kettle of stew, hearty but quick fare when we're on a heightened state of alert."
He led her out the chamber exit, through his own side tunnel, then a short way down the main passageway, until they arrived at the communal dining room. He ate a bowl of stew, his second this day, while she consumed almost three, but she was conspicuously silent, focusing on the food before her. When they were through he led her back to his chambers, where she again began to pace restlessly about the room. The path she followed was a familiar one, a circular pattern in the rug worn long ago by another, larger set of shoes. He sat down at his desk and began to riffle through the maps there which described the inner and outer boundaries of their world, but surreptitiously, out of the corner of his eye, he kept a close watch on her, the intensity of his son's command ringing in his ears.
A little more than two hours after he'd left, Vincent returned. Jacob jumped to his feet, intensely relieved to see him back. Catherine's restless pacing had not ceased during the last hour and a half, and he didn't think he could take much more of it amidst the complete silence she'd wrapped herself within. Something had obviously occurred below which she had no intention of sharing with him, and his all-too-understandable fears for their community were joined with an intense paternal anxiety over what this undisclosed thing was, knowing that what affected her had to affect his son.
"Everything's fine," Vincent answered their unspoken questions as he moved quickly down the stairs. "Catherine, you haven't had much sleep, you should rest now," he said.
She nodded, her eyes tired. "I'd like a bath first. I'm a mess."
His face flamed bright red, and he looked away, murmuring hoarsely, "Of course."
Dismay filled her as she realized her mistake. She hadn't stopped to think how he would interpret such a statement, given the events of their captivity. She tried to think of something to say to make him understand that she hadn't meant that, could never mean that, but it was impossible. Father was standing near and Vincent was not yet ready to hear her, that much was plain. She sighed, a painful ache in her chest, then turned to leave Father's study.
"Go that way, Catherine," Vincent said, indicating the shortcut which lay on the other side of the smaller bedchamber attached to Father's study. Through it she would come to the bathing chamber Father shared with his son, and down the path beyond it, she would reach Vincent's chamber, where he kept several items of tunnel wear for her use when she stayed below. "There are clothes for you in the top draw of my wardrobe," he said, reiterating that information now.
She hesitated a moment more, not wanting to leave him like this, but finally turned and left the way he pointed, knowing there was nothing she could do just now.
There was silence between father and son for some minutes as they waited for her to go, but when Jacob was sure that she was out of hearing, he turned toward his son and spoke. "What happened?"
Vincent began to pace, following the same path Catherine had taken during the last hour, as silent as she had been in that same pursuit.
"Tell me," Jacob implored, trying to catch his attention once more when it was apparent that it was turned inward now, reviewing the events of the last few days.
Vincent stopped abruptly, turned to stare at him, then turned away to begin his pacing once more. "Father, I need Catherine to stay with us here below for a while, for two weeks, perhaps three or four."
"What?!"
He nodded, confirming his statement without adding further explanation, as his father's question so clearly demanded.
Jacob decided to try another tack. "Vincent, are you worried that Paracelsus will attempt to take her again? Could he think to accomplish such a thing again so soon? Even he cannot be so foolish..."
"Paracelsus is mad!" Vincent interrupted, roiling anger suddenly apparent in both the tone of his voice and the intense motions as he moved about the room. "He will stop at nothing," he hissed in outrage.
Jacob stared at his son, amazed and dismayed. Finally he stepped in front of the forward motion of his path, and grabbed his arm, trying to catch his attention. "Stop, Vincent, please! I need you to talk to me. I need to know what sort of danger we're in, you know that."
Vincent's eyes were glazed, but at his father's insistent questions, and the hold on his arm anchoring him, they began to clear, leaving an anguished, tense look there that shook Jacob to the core. "Please, Vincent, sit down and talk to me," he pleaded.
Finally Vincent nodded, then moved to a chair at the center table and dropped within it, as if he'd run out of energy.
"Six weeks ago, when I was ill, I had a dream, Father, a nightmare."
Jacob nodded, remembering the muttered cries and fevered writhings while Vincent lay unconscious in his bed for days on end after they'd brought him up from the catacombs. He wouldn't speak of that dream after, not until now. Jacob was silent, waiting for him to continue, but inside a dread began to build.
"In it Catherine came for me in the catacombs, and something happened there, between us..."
He waited, staring down at the table as Jacob considered his words.
"Something happened?" he asked, just as Catherine had.
Vincent nodded.
"What... Oh," he said, realization suddenly filling him.
"Yes," Vincent muttered, his voice muffled against the black folds of his cloak as he stared downward.
"In my dream, as I began to recover, she went above again, and resumed her life there. Our bond was not restored, though, and her presence was silent within me."
Jacob heard a catch in his son's voice at that disclosure, and understood completely how that must have been devastating to him, accustomed as he was to feeling her with him always.
"And there were gaps in my memory," he continued. "Familiar things were suddenly unfamiliar. For a while I couldn't remember her name, Father!" he said, his voice filled with pain and disbelief. "I didn't know... never remembered what had occurred in the catacombs, not until she told me, months later..." he said, his voice trailing away. Suddenly he shook himself, leaving that memory to continue on where he had left off.
"A week after she went back above, she was abducted," he said, pain and anger filling his voice once more. "I searched and searched, but without the bond I couldn't find her," he cried, looking up to meet his father's eyes at last.
"Of course you did, Vincent," he said, reaching out to cover the other's shaking hands as he twisted them together on the table in front of him. "You would never stop, we all know that. And you did find her, finally, didn't you? You must have, if she told you about... that... months later," he said.
"Yes, I found her," he said, his voice bitter with outrage and grief. "I found her twice. The first time she was able to send a message over the pipes. I almost reached her, but he was able to escape, taking Catherine with him. They had security cameras in the building where she was held, and he saw me. After that, his objective in holding her changed."
The words were twisted and harsh, his anger and pain almost overwhelming them both now. Jacob was frightened. For his son to respond to a dream in such a way, especially one long over, had to have deep implications now. He thought on what had been told so far, and finally saw the connection.
"He held Catherine to draw you, just as Paracelsus did," he guessed, dawning realization in his voice.
"Yes, in part," his son replied, his tone suddenly guarded.
"In part?" Jacob asked, confusion wrinkling his brow. "What do you mean?"
"Gabriel wanted what I was capable of, but he thought there was another way to obtain that, without attempting to control the menace I represented. Paracelsus has come to the same conclusion," he said bitterly.
"How?" Jacob continued, intrigued by the story, despite his growing fears.
"Catherine hadn't told me, and I didn't remember what had happened in the catacombs, but there were repercussions from that night, and Gabriel was aware of the result, if not the origin."
His words were obscure, and he sat silent, not adding any more. It didn't take Jacob long to reach the correct conclusion - there was really only one logical one which fit.
"Catherine was pregnant," he said, appalled by the very thought of such an occurrence, the magnitude of its meaning overwhelming him.
"Yes."
"And her captor - Gabriel? - wanted the child after he had determined that you must be the father." He waited for Vincent's confirming nod before continuing on. "But you said you found her twice. How did you find her again, and what happened then?"
Vincent flinched and swallowed hard, pressing his hands to his eyes as though to shut out the vision he saw there. "I felt something, something odd. It was through our bond, but not really Catherine. Later I realized that what I'd felt was our son's heartbeat as he was born." Tears slipped down his cheeks as they escaped beneath the palms of his hands. "I followed it to the roof of a building, where Gabriel escaped in front of my eyes, in a helicopter. The sensation was there, above me, and I thought it was Catherine, but when I turned I found her climbing the rooftop ladder. She was pale and weak, wearing a hospital gown covered with blood. She told me then that we had a son, that Gabriel had taken him, that I must find him..."
He stopped then, overwhelmed with grief. He laid his head down upon crossed arms on the table and sobs shook his frame.
Jacob swallowed hard, afraid to ask the next question, afraid of his son's response.
"Did you find him finally, you and Catherine?" he whispered.
"I found him, yes. I brought him below where he was safe."
His words shook Jacob, for Catherine was mentioned nowhere in them.
"And Catherine?" he asked, needing to hear it all.
An anguished moan was muffled against the crossed arms beneath him, giving Jacob his answer. That explained the grief-filled cries and moans as Vincent was consumed in his delirium. He would never survive such a thing in reality, that much was certain now, and he shuddered in terror, fervently glad that it had only been a dream. Vincent had to be convinced of that as well, however, since he was still so affected by those visions.
"Vincent, I understand your response to this, but believe me, nothing happened in the catacombs. Catherine went in ahead of us, but we were only a minute behind. You were unconscious on the floor, and she sat beside you, holding your head in her lap. Nothing happened," he reiterated firmly.
"Nothing happened then, Father," Vincent said, raising his tear-filled eyes to meet his own.
Jacob gasped, and knew in a minute what had happened below during their captivity which Catherine would not disclose. So that was it. Somehow, during their confinement, they had crossed all boundaries Vincent had set between them. Probably it had started out as nothing more than a comforting touch, Jacob thought, seeing the logic in it all. And of course it had progressed to its eminently logical conclusion. How could it not, considering the depth of their emotional attachment?
He couldn't know that though he'd reached the right conclusion, the means to that end had been intentionally set, a devious, evil ploy, planned from the very beginning. The end, however, was the same, and his assessment of the events thereafter was essentially correct.
So that was why he needed Catherine to stay below, Jacob realized abruptly. Paracelsus very likely knew about what had happened. Would he be watching Catherine for signs of pregnancy now, anxious to regain the special son he had lost more than thirty years ago? Yes, John was capable of such a thing, Jacob knew that well, and Vincent's vehement response of his madness only confirmed that speculation. Despite the unlikeliness of such an outcome, Vincent needed to reassure himself that Catherine was not pregnant before he could dismiss his nightmare as nothing more than that. Until then, he would assume there were premonitory overtones there, and with good cause, for prophetic dreams had occurred to his son before, and been borne out to some degree, though it had happened, to the best of his knowledge, only twice before in his life. So, this was what had to be. He could see no other course of action which would be acceptable to his son in light of the recent events and that dreadful dream of six weeks ago. He accepted it in a moment, knowing that Vincent would hear of nothing else.
"Will Catherine stay?" he asked, jumping past all those details and getting down to the final questions.
"She must. I'm going to talk to her about it now," he replied, looking toward the back of the study, in the direction she'd disappeared over half an hour ago.
"All right. I'll have Mary prepare the guest chamber for her," he said, resigned to the fact that somehow, despite the obstacles, Vincent would ensure that she stayed. He was relieved, however, when Vincent agreed to that suggested arrangement, a small part of him fearful that the one breach already made would portend an end to all such attempts in the future. He had half expected, given the extreme state of Vincent's fears, that he would want her in his own chamber, where he could keep a constant vigil over her. If that had been so, then this two week stay might very well risk a permanence that had heretofore not been seriously considered. That thought should have shaken him, but instead he felt a glimmer of hope spring up at the idea. Vincent had been so fragile emotionally since his illness, and even before, he had seen the signs of that growing. It was worse when Catherine was above, a calm assurance filling him when she was with him, below. He had seen that clearly, and wondered now if the actual solution to their problem wasn't much more basic, though dramatically life-altering, than they now discussed. No, that was foolish thinking, he admonished himself. Catherine living below? Sharing a life with Vincent? Was it possible they could do such a thing, perhaps even have children together? Was such a thing really possible? These thoughts were new to him. He had never allowed their consideration before, but suddenly the ideas, though still far-fetched, were intriguing, drawing new speculation from him which led to paths never before envisioned. He was still lost in those labyrinths when Vincent left him, heading toward his own chamber and the difficult discussion which awaited him there.
"Catherine?"
His voice was tentative and soft, calling out to her from outside the doorway. She had just drawn on her robe, and belted it now, before responding.
"Come in."
He appeared a moment later, a silent presence leaning against the rock arch of the entrance. The hood of his cloak was pulled over his head, hiding his face from her, as he had only once before, when she'd first seen him, almost three years ago. Ignoring the surge of pain in her chest at that sight, she gestured him in - it was his chamber, after all - but he stayed where he was, a good ten feet separating them. He was silent, staring down at his feet for some time, standing completely still. When he finally spoke, she had to lean forward to hear the words. She knew their content, though, by more than sound, their bond filled with an agonizing pain which came from him.
"There's nothing I can say, nothing I can do to ever make things right again, I know that," he whispered hoarsely, his voice aching.
"Please, Vincent, don't..."
He shook his head, stopping her words.
"You trusted me, Catherine, and I betrayed you. I betrayed us. I would give anything to change things, but I can't, I never can."
He looked up at her at last, and tears sprang to her eyes as she watched his own fall.
"I have no right to ask anything of you, not any more, but I have to. I need you to do something for me, Catherine, one last thing."
"Anything, Vincent," she said, her throat aching, trying desperately to convince him that he was wrong, so wrong.
"I need you to be here, below, for a while, for two weeks, perhaps more. I know what a hardship this will be for you, but I'm begging you, Catherine, please."
She stared at him, her eyes wide with consternation.
"Why?"
He looked down once more, and through their bond she felt such emotional turmoil she was shocked he had stayed.
"It's extremely unlikely that such a thing could happen..." The words were obscure, and he stammered as he spoke them, the sentence finally trailing off, until he drew a deep breath and finished it. "But I need to know for sure that it hasn't."
She wrinkled her brow, trying to determine exactly what it was he needed to know.
"It shouldn't take much more than two weeks, perhaps even less," he said, lifting his eyes to hers once more. In them she read shame and sorrow, pain and regret, and finally she understood.
"You need to know whether or not I'm pregnant," she said flatly.
He nodded, unable to speak.
She stared at him, her eyes unreadable, then finally nodded. "I'll stay. I need paper and a pen."
His eyes closed briefly, and through their bond she felt a huge wave of relief sweep through him. He moved into the room then, and set paper and pen on the circular table before her. She sat down in his chair and after a moment's thought began to compose a very brief letter.
Attention: D.A. Moreno and Asst. D.A. Maxwell
I regret to inform you that for personal reasons I must submit my resignation, effective immediately.
Catherine Chandler
This first, short memo was set aside, and a second one begun.
Dear Joe,
I'm sorry to have to do this to you, but for personal reasons, I have to have some time off, immediately, two weeks at least, and possibly more. I wish I could explain, but I can't. I know I've said similar things to you in the past, and I'm sorry to have to do it again. Please believe that I'm safe and well even though I can't tell you where I am right now. I've asked Peter Alcott to deliver these letters for me. He can ensure that any messages reach me. If it's not possible to give me this time off, I'll understand. I'm including a letter of resignation for Moreno in case that's necessary. Please know that having you for a friend has meant more to me than I can say. No matter which course you have to take now, that will never change.
Cathy
She set this one aside as well, and began the third and last of her letters.
Dear Peter,
I can't explain right now, but I need to stay below for a while, perhaps 2 or 3 weeks. Would you deliver the enclosed two letters to Joe Maxwell at my office? He'll know what to do with them. I told him you would know how to reach me, if he needed to send a message, but of course he shouldn't know anything more than that. Be careful if you come below - if Joe's worried enough, he may try to have you followed.
Cathy
She stacked all three sheets together, then folded them twice, handing them to Vincent who waited nearby. "These need to go to Peter. He'll get them to Joe," she said, knowing he would understand.
He nodded and slipped the papers into his pocket. "Thank you, Catherine," he said.
In his words and voice she read a humble gratitude, and wished she could convince him how misplaced it was. But he wouldn't listen any more than he would about the events in the cage. It was impossible. She sighed instead, and asked, "Where will I stay?" trying hard not to look at the big bed in the corner.
"The guest chamber near here, but it's not ready yet. Sleep here for now."
"I can't take your bed, Vincent," she said stubbornly, even though she wanted to do exactly that.
"It's barely past noon. I won't sleep until evening at least. Rest now, and I'll wake you later when the guest chamber is ready."
Finally she nodded, then turned to slip her robe off and lay it over the foot of the bed. While she pulled the covers back she glanced over her shoulder toward him to say goodnight. He was already gone.
Catherine tossed and turned, low moans and whimpers drawn from her to echo about the otherwise silent chamber. Though she had been exhausted, sleep had not come quickly. She had been very effective at it during the hours of their return trek to the hub, but now that the immediate danger appeared to be over it seemed that she could no longer control the images and sounds of their time in the cage. Pictures and emotions flashed into her mind, filling their bond, and then melted away into mist, replaced immediately with another wave. They were not sensations of danger and fear, nor were they images of Paracelsus, Erlich or Tamara. No, what she saw and felt now was the antithesis of that, feelings of warmth and love and desire combining with visions of Vincent, passion-filled, willing and eager to love her. She fought these images constantly, trying to protect him from their assault, but when sleep finally overtook her, she lost her hold completely. The dreams came then, and her subconscious had no intention of denying them. They were lush and rich, erotic and sensual. She wanted him so badly, and over and over again she relived the fleeting sensation of him filling her, taking her utterly, that physical moment so intensely overwhelming that she felt each dream repetition anew, felt her slender body jolted with his strength and desire, crying out in her sleep at the aching pleasure of each lusty penetration.
Their bond was connected and strong, and throughout the day, as Vincent worked with the security team to ensure the community's safety, those sensations swept through him, filling him with agitation and dismay. Her thoughts cried out to him over and over again, 'Oh, yes, more, please more...' that message seemingly impossible to misinterpret. And yet despite that, he found it absolutely impossible to accept, stubbornly denying its meaning, believing it was all created within, a work of the twisted machinations of his own mind, caused by the release of his perverse longing for her. That longing was quickly becoming ungovernable now that he had had a taste of that forbidden fruit, stolen from her, not given, he reminded himself with bitter tears. Even as he had to seek out quiet, sheltered spots throughout the day to let the strongest waves complete their course, he denied it all, blaming himself always for the reprehensible urges which linked him to that single, dreadful moment, that unforgivable act which spelled the ruin of all his hopes and dreams. He had to exert all his control during those times, but even then, after successfully withstanding the onslaught, he would find himself on his knees in some abandoned side tunnel, gasping for breath, thick groans echoing about him, his body aching and hard.
As it began, so it continued. They passed their time together in silence, one unwilling to hear what the other had to say, the other finally giving up all attempts. Vincent was never far from her, but it was not a comfortable closeness, not like it used to be. He watched over her, guarded her constantly, but he wasn't with her. After that first day, appalled by the betrayal of her body, she clamped down tightly on the images which beat at her subconscious, desperate not to add any more to the burden he already bore. For the most part she was successful, but in the deepest hours of sleep, those visions returned to haunt them both. They never spoke of them, acting as though they'd never happened, though each knew better. In this way seven days passed. Seven days of tense silence and anxious waiting. She tried to fill this time as best she could, helping Mary and Rebecca and the others below with the many tasks required to keep their community going, especially on their current state of heightened alert. In this way the time passed, every hour of silence between them like a knife in her heart.