Chapter 4

***

Diana flashed her badge to this new official. "As I explained to the lady at the desk, I am here to see Charlotte Bakster."

The woman’s brows twitched under her greying brown hair. "And you are?"

"Detective Diana Bennet, New York police. Who are you?"

"I am Charlotte’s physician," said the woman. "Dr. Muriel Malachy. Could we talk in my office?"

Diana stood her ground. "Unless Charlotte is in your office, I have no interest in going there."

"Please Detective Bennet," said the doctor, and turned without furthering her explanation.

Diana followed the narrow white coat into one of three offices on the ground floor. The moment she entered the office she knew that Dr. Malachy was in fact a psychiatrist, and not a general practitioner. This institute was interesting. Most of the patients were voluntary and there were no locks on the doors. The grounds had a guard at the gate, but this would only stop dottering, confused inmates, not anyone determined to escape. Most of the people she had passed were mentally disabled, simple or retarded, not violent, but incapable of caring for themselves on their own. It was apparently a private and not a state run institution, but many of the inmates also merited state support. Catherine Chandler, should she be there, would have been one of these.

"May I ask why you want to see Ms. Bakster?"

"I’m afraid that’s a personal matter," Diana said deftly.

Dr. Malachy frowned. "I am Ms. Bakster’s attending physician, and we have her wishes to take into account."

Diana raised an eyebrow. "She has requested no visitors?"

"Yes," the doctor said. "None of the usual compassion rounds, no one with animals or balloons or harps. She has been very adamant about this. She has an understandable paranoia about the world outside, and we have been accommodating to her in this request."

"But I am not a compassion round," said Diana. "Has she refused personal visitors?"

Here Dr. Malachy hesitated. "It has never before been an issue. I have been under the impression that she had neither friends nor family."

Diana was no fool. She played a card, presuming that the woman was Catherine Chandler. "You say she has an ‘understandable’ paranoia. Am I to understand that you know something of her true history?"

Dr. Malachy blinked at her. "Am I to understand that you do?"

"Quite a lot. I can’t tell you any more," Diana said, "unless I know how much you are aware of."

Dr. Malachy hesitated, and finally said, "I know what she has told me of her history. I have no record of her previous identity." She raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting reciprocation.

Diana suppressed a grin at her victory. So Charlotte was a pseudonym. "I was instrumental in solving her case," Diana said. "And there are questions I need to ask her."

"Is there a reason?"

"A very good one," Diana said.

Dr. Malachy bent closer to her. "Please tell me this has something to do with her child. Was it found?"

Diana was taken aback. "You know about the child?"

"She has told me of a child that was taken from her just at the moment of the attempt on her life," Dr. Malachy said. "Charlotte has spoken of it frequently. It is the one aspect of her true life which seems to hold any meaning for her. I doubt she is capable of custody at this time, but if she were to be reunited with this child, even through distant means, photographs or letters, it might shatter her out of this..." Dr. Malachy seemed to change the word she was going to say. "Out of the depression she suffers from."

Diana wasn’t sure how much she should say. "I believe I do have a lead on the possible whereabouts of the child. But I need to ask her some questions before I could be sure."

Dr. Malachy sighed and leaned back in her chair. "You’ve chosen a bad day," she said at last. "Charlotte had an episode last night which has left her in a troubled state. It might be better to come back in a week or so, particularly with the news you seem to be carrying." Her eyes suddenly focused on Diana, particularly her hair. "When did you first take on this case? Have you met Charlotte before?"

"Once," Diana said. "A long time ago. She was not well when I saw her."

Dr. Malachy shook her head. "No, she was not. I think she remembers you. She mentioned someone similar to you in her journal."

That surprised her. That Catherine Chandler had been in position to remember anything at all was chilling. How aware had she been through her madness?

"I think I will take you to see her. But I must remain as witness, and will be privy to all of your interactions."

Diana tried not to show her annoyance. This was going to make the conversation exceedingly difficult. So long as she got to see the woman, she would put up with anything. "Very well."

They proceeded up the elevator and down a corridor to a closed door. Dr. Malachy knocked on the door before opening it to reveal a tiny woman sitting curled up on her bed in the tightest possible ball. "Charlotte?" Dr. Malachy said. "I have a visitor for you."

"No visitors," said the figure on the bed listlessly. Diana couldn’t see her face.

"Ms. Bakster," Diana said gently, "I am Diana Bennet of the New York Police Department." She held up her badge. "I needed to speak with you."

The wasted figure looked up at Diana and blinked at her with red eyes. "I know you..." she whispered.

"Yes," Diana said. She was feeling unexpectedly choked up. This was Catherine Chandler, and she was sane... or at least sane enough. "I visited you some years ago. In the hospital."

"I remember you," she said. Her brow furrowed. "Joe sent you, didn’t he?"

"Yes. He put me onto your case."

Unexpectedly, the woman burst into tears. She looked away shaking her head and reached for an almost empty box of tissue that sat beside her on the bed. Diana noticed she floated in little sea of crumpled tissues. She dried her eyes, sniffed a few times, and tried to compose herself. "Sorry," she said. "I’m crazy, you know. Little things affect me." She rubbed her forehead as if trying to put her mind back where it belonged. "I had a relapse last night. Funny you should come today."

"A relapse?" Diana said. She found she was sitting on the edge of Catherine’s bed like an old friend, and wasn’t sure when she’d done that. It felt very natural to be with Catherine, as if they were on the most intimate terms. Diana had felt that before, with victims she had identified with, but it was even worse with Catherine. "How bad was it?"

Catherine glanced at her. "Oh, sorry. The last time you saw me there wasn’t much left. No, I... I was just seeing things." She looked at Diana. "I remember you," she said. "I remember when you came to see me. I tried to talk to you, but I... couldn’t." She frowned. "Why are you here?"

Dr. Malachy stepped forward. "Detective Bennet thinks she might have found a lead to your child," she said.

A stricken look of terrified hope smoothed out the lines on Catherine’s forehead. "Did he live?" she whispered.

Diana hadn’t meant to be the one to tell her all this. But she couldn’t bear the torture in Catherine’s eyes. "Yes," she said. "He’s safe."

Catherine closed her eyes and gasped in relief. "Can I see him?" she pleaded.

Dr. Malachy shook her head. "I think that might be unwise at this point in your recovery, Charlotte. You remember only last night you had quite an episode."

Diana frowned. "What kind of episode?" she asked both of them.

"I have fantasies," Catherine said. "Hallucinations. I thought I was getting better, it frightened me."

"Hallucinations?" Diana asked.

Catherine sank down on the bed. "Dr. Malachy, please," she said, waving toward her psychiatrist. "Clear this up? I don’t feel like explaining how crazy I am myself."

"Are you sure?" the doctor asked.

"She should know," Catherine said, turning toward the window.

"Charlotte underwent severe trauma, as you know. To keep herself sane she invented histories, stories, to keep her company in her confinement. Particularly a... protector... a personification of her own strength, which came to her again in a dream last night."

"It wasn’t a dream," Catherine said, sounding annoyed. "I’ve dreamed of Vincent a thousand times, I know what a dream is. I was awake. Which means I’m going crazy."

Dr. Malachy said in a patient voice, "The first few minutes of consciousness can still maintain a dream state. I wouldn’t be so worried about suffering a true relapse."

Diana looked down at the back of Catherine’s head. "You saw him last night?" she whispered. "What did you do?"

"Charlotte was quite frightened, but we were able to calm her down," Dr. Malachy said. "I think it might be best if you leave now. You can speak to her again some other day, when things are going better, perhaps when you have something more concrete to tell us."

"What did you do when you saw him?" Diana persisted.

Catherine turned in the bed and looked up at her. "What would you do if you realized you were on the path back to that dark room you saw me in? I screamed."

Diana was horrified. With Dr. Malachy hovering over her, she couldn’t tell the truth. She didn’t even dare mention Vincent’s name. Clearly Dr. Malachy knew all, she only believed it to be the fantasies of a madwoman. But if Catherine had screamed upon seeing Vincent’s face, Diana had to get back as quickly as possible to prevent him from going mad! She had to stop this, though. "You know," she said. "I’m no psychiatrist... but if this ‘protector’ is a personification of your strength, maybe you need to talk to him... reclaim it, in order to make yourself fully sane again." She shrugged. "Just my opinion."

Catherine looked at her as if seeing the dawn.

Diana gently touched her shoulder and smiled. "Hang in there. I think everything will start going well for you, very soon. Be well, Catherine."

The woman in the bed flinched at the name. "Thank you," she whispered.

Diana fled back to New York as fast as humanly possible. She feared she might be too late to stop a dreadful calamity.

***

"He doesn’t want to see you," Father said at the threshold of the drainage ditch entrance. "He’s made that quite clear." He took a step toward Diana. "Did you tell him? Can you imagine the kind of state he is in? He hasn’t spoken a word since he returned. Jacob is speaking for him, saying what he wants, or trying to, as well as he can. I warned you that it was too dangerous to risk hurting him in this way. What were you thinking!"

"He’s not a child, sir," Diana said. "And it is imperative that I speak with him, personally."

"No," Father said.

"You know perfectly well I’m the only person he’ll listen to."

Father heaved an exasperated sigh. "Very well." He stepped aside and allowed Diana access to the tunnels. "But only because you can hardly make things worse." He walked along beside her and couldn’t help asking, "Was it her?"

"Yes," Diana said tersely.

Father closed his eyes. He could only imagine the kind of state she was in if Vincent was acting the way he was. "How bad is she?"

"Surprisingly well, in fact," Diana said. Catherine hadn’t seemed insane at all really, not in the least. Merely ill-informed and disillusioned. She clearly suffered from PTSD, but that was manageable. It was an ailment most of the people Below suffered from, and the reason why they had abandoned society in the first place. The man walking beside her, for example, had quite a ripe case of it. Hence his paranoia.

"Then what is wrong with him?" Father asked.

"I think I can guess," Diana said. "And it will be all right. Just give me a few moments alone with him to explain."

"Very well," Father said. As he stopped outside Vincent’s chambers he said, "Please, help him."

"I will. Will you come in? I think you should take the boy for awhile."

Father nodded, and they came in together.

Vincent sat in his chair, still in his cloak, his fist clenched around the leather bag that held his rose. His eyes were fixed on his son. Jacob was sitting on the floor looking through a stack of brightly colored picture books. He finished the stack, reached underneath it, and began leafing through them again. He looked up as Diana and Father entered. "He wants you to go ‘way."

"I know that, Jacob," Father said. "But Diana would like to speak with him."

"We don’ want to," Jacob said.

Father strode forward and took young Jacob by the hand. "What do you say, you and I go off to the kitchens and see if we can get Vincent some herb tea? I think I smelled hot chocolate brewing as I passed by there."

Jacob looked torn. "Father doesn’ want me to go."

Diana knelt down before the boy. "You go and get your hot cocoa, and when you come back, your father will be feeling lots better, okay?"

Jacob looked over at her. "Really?" His eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Really."

He looked from his father’s stony face to his GrandFather’s concerned one, and finally nodded. He was led away by Father, sniffing.

Vincent growled softly the moment the boy was out of sight.

Diana knew beating around the bush was far too dangerous at this stage. "She remembers you, and she still loves you," she said.

Vincent surged up, knocking over his chair. "Impossible!" he said, starting to pace. "I frightened her. A monster. Arrgh!" He swept a pile of books off one of his side tables with a snarl. "She’s better off without me!"

"She’s in an insane asylum, Vincent," Diana said. "How can you believe that?"

"She can’t remember me," he growled. "I must have seemed like a demon from the night come to plague her."

"Well, you did," Diana said frankly, "but it wasn’t you she was frightened of. It’s herself."

He looked at her properly then. Some of her confidence must have shown in her face because his blue eyes lost some of their wildness. "Herself?"

"She’s gotten into the hands of some psychiatrist who told her she invented you. And all the world Below, I suspect. I couldn’t get a moment to speak with her alone, and since this woman knows everything I couldn’t even drop any hints without giving the game away."

"This doctor knows everything?" Vincent whispered, horrified.

"She doesn’t believe it’s real," Diana reassured him. "But it does mean we can’t let even a hint of this place get to her. If she finds one person is real, she might leap to the conclusion that the rest are." Diana carefully set his chair upright. "When Catherine saw you, she thought she was going mad again. That’s the only reason she screamed. She remembers you, apparently thinks of you all the time. Dreams about you."

"She dreams of me," Vincent said, closing his eyes. It was as if a bright summer wind had just blown through the tunnels of his heart, clearing out all the cobwebs and shadows. She loves me! He almost laughed with the relief of it. Catherine! Catherine was alive! She lived, and she loved him! He realized all was not well, but he could hardly bring himself down to earth to ask Diana, "But she doesn’t believe I exist?"

"Yes," Diana said. "Which is... troublesome, but not insurmountable. I managed to convince her to speak with you if you went to her again. I don’t think she’ll scream. But she thinks of you as a personification of her own strength, so be careful what you say until she believes."

"I need to know everything she said," Vincent said with feeling, and Diana sighed with relief. She had never seen this kind of happiness dance in Vincent’s eyes. He seemed an entirely different person. Before she could speak a gentle pattering of feet interrupted them.

"Father!" Jacob said, running alone into the room. His GrandFather was puffing down the corridor far behind him. "Father, Father!"

Vincent picked the boy up and spun him around, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Your Mommy’s coming home, Jacob," Vincent whispered to him. "You were right."

"Mommy?" shrieked the boy. "When, when?"

Vincent shook his head, smothering a laugh. "I’m not sure yet, but soon. Very soon." He kissed the boy’s cheek and they hugged each other fiercely. "You were right!"

***