Chapter 6

***

When Charlotte awoke the next morning she felt better than she had ever felt. She dressed before joining the rest of the inmates in the dining room for breakfast, something she had never done before. For the first time she met her fellow inmate’s eyes. A girl with Downs Syndrome asked her politely how she was feeling, and Charlotte actually responded with a smile. The girl looked taken aback, and Charlotte realized she sat next to this girl every day for over a year, and never before spoken with her. "I’m feeling so much better," she said.

The Downs girl looked pleased. "That’s good," she said. "It’s hard to feel sad."

"It is," Charlotte said. "But it’s sometimes hard to feel any other way." She smiled broadly. "I feel good today."

The round faced girl stood up and gave Charlotte a big hug. "Happy Birthday," she said, and Charlotte laughed.

"It’s not my birthday," she tried to explain.

"You feel good," she said. "It’s your birthday."

Charlotte looked about her. The cutout flowers on the dining hall walls and the May baskets that still graced the tables looked cheerful. She could see that, even here, there were things people looked forward to and enjoyed. Even here, there were people who lived A Happy Life. The girl who had hugged her, for example, seemed happy. Charlotte had never, ever seen that before. "You know, you’re right," she said. "I think it might be my birthday, after all."

She returned to her room after breakfast because she still wasn’t up to much socializing. Speaking for more than ten minutes to any of the other inmates wearied her. She was out of practice and easily overwhelmed. But the angry, dragging despair which had pulled her down for the last year had lifted. She kept closing her eyes, remembering the feel of Vincent’s lips on hers, his arms around her, the scent of his hair. No matter if it was all a waking dream. No matter if it was madness. It was happiness, and if it was madness, she was complete as a madwoman. It didn’t matter at all.

At ten o’clock, Dr. Malachy poked her head around her door. "Charlotte? There’s someone here to see you."

"Diana Bennet?"

"Yes," Dr. Malachy said. "She’s right behind me. She’s brought some friends, I hope that’s okay. I can ask them to wait in the common room, if that’s too hard for you."

"No, that’s fine," Charlotte said. To herself she added. "I am not afraid."

Diana came in first, by herself, and smiled. Charlotte rose from her chair and greeted her with a warm hug. "Thank you for coming," she said.

"I had to come," Diana said. "I had to introduce you to some people." She instructed Charlotte to sit on her bed, and then poked her head back around the door. "You can come in, now," she said. "Charlotte, I would like to introduce you to Jacob, and his grandfather."

The first face she saw was an older man, a man she recognized all too well. His eyes heavy with wisdom above a well trimmed beard, his stance awkward, in clothing that looked as though it had come from a period play set in the nineteen forties. He looked wary, but the expression that was strongest on his face was a kind of worried joy. One hand leaned heavily on a cane but the other held the arm of a golden haired child.

The child looked about three. His hair was long, cut in a pageboy, and his skin was very pale. He was dressed in clothing so new that there was still a tag on one trouser leg. His eyes, when he looked at her, were huge and blue and soulful. He bit his lips tightly, and did not smile. But when he saw her he tugged on his grandfather’s hand so roughly that the older man lost his grip, and the boy made a beeline for Catherine’s lap. "Mommy!" he said, and buried his head in her shoulder.

"Jacob," she whispered. "Jacob!"

"I knew you weren’t dead! I told Father!"

Catherine pulled the boy back to stare into his face. It was longer than hers, with a prominent chin, but he bore her nose, her brow, her cheekbones, with Vincent’s eyes staring back at her. He bit his lips tightly.

She frowned. "Why are you doing that?" she asked, pointing at his lips.

"I’m not s’posed to smile," he whispered to her.

"Well, you smile," she whispered back. "I won’t tell anyone."

In reply the boy’s lips spread in a charming, toothsome grin, and Vincent’s teeth gleamed from within his young mouth. Catherine stared at them in wonder for a moment, and then laughed, holding the boy so tightly he squirmed in her grip.

She let him whisper to her for a long time, telling her everything he could possibly think to tell her about his tiny, short life. There wasn’t much, and he repeated himself a lot, and she loved every word.

For the benefit of Dr. Malachy, who stood by the door and listened to every word that was spoken aloud, Diana explained that the boy had been adopted, and lived with his "grandfather", and that "Charlotte" was welcome to be a large part of the boy’s life. Dr. Malachy stood with an amazed look on her face. Happy endings did not often come in her line of work. Charlotte did not look like Charlotte. Her dull, mechanical voice had changed into something musical and childlike. Her sallow, emotionless face was animated and bright, and her dull, lifeless hazel eyes were a laughing, joyous green. This was not the half dead, listless, dysthymic Charlotte Bakster. This was someone else entirely. The name Diana had mentioned the first day she visited came to her. Catherine. Thank God, Charlotte was dead, and this Catherine had been resurrected from her ashes. Muriel Malachy was sure to hold this day forever in her heart.

When Charlotte finally hefted the boy to her hip and approached her, Muriel was fairly certain she knew what she was going to say. "Dr. Malachy?" she asked. "I ask to be discharged from this institution."

***

It took most of the afternoon to get the paperwork signed and organized, but despite being tedious, it wasn’t difficult. For more than a year now Charlotte had been a voluntary patient. Any time she wanted to go, it was up to her.

Dr. Malachy wanted to be assured that she had a place to go. Diana handed her rental papers for a studio apartment which, she said, was down the street from where Jacob and his "adopted" family lived. Diana was merely handing over the receipt for her own apartment, but appearances had to be maintained.

Catherine took nothing more than the clothes she left the institute in. She wanted no reminders of the half-life she’d lived there. It was dark by the time Diana drove them back to the city, to the entrance in Central Park. Catherine hesitated at the entrance to the drainage ditch, but Jacob held her hand in his, and Father was there, anxious to return to his peaceful life Below, and she followed them into her fantasies and hoped she wasn’t about to go mad.

With a sound like a dream returned, the gate opened and the drainage tunnel entrance rolled aside. And there, backlit and glorious, was Vincent, waiting for her.

Until that very moment, standing facing him in the drainage tunnel, Catherine hadn’t truly believed. Now, holding her son in her wasted arms, she stepped across the threshold and fell against her beloved. He took the weight of the boy in his arm, and took the weight of the years apart with the other, as he wrapped it securely around her shoulder. "It’s over, Catherine," he murmured against her hair. "You’re home."

***