OUT OF LOVE

                                                                                                                     Janet Rivenbark

In February, 2011, there was a discussion of character motivation going on the BBTV Yahoo group. We were talking about Father and most people said that they loved Father and a few said that they had an extreme dislike for him and, of course, there were some that were in the middle. I commented that he was one of those characters that you could manipulate a little without taking him completely out of character. He started out being totally against Vincent having anything to do with Catherine, but then as time passed, he appeared to come around and accept Catherine. But what if all that was subterfuge? What if he didn’t accept her and was only waiting for his chance?

Chapter 1

Catherine sat in the back of the cab and relaxed for what seemed like the first time in ages. She’d been on the go since Vincent left her apartment. From before that, actually. He’d been at her place for three days. The first two days and nights spent on the floor of her living room; and the whole three days she hadn’t slept much and he hadn’t done much more than alternate between frantic, destructive activity and sleep.

Peter came over and examined him. There wasn’t much he could do except check vitals, draw some blood and tell her that she could give him aspirin for the fever if she could get them into him. She could get him to drink, so she crushed the pills and put them in water.

Vincent had several violent episodes and the apartment was somewhat the worse for wear because of it. During the last one he’d lunged through the louvered doors into her bedroom, leaving splinters and pieces of wood scattered in the living room and bedroom. At least it had taken him into the bedroom and she’d been able to get him up onto his feet and into the bed. She’d managed to get him out of his vest and boots before he’d descended into another of his periods of sleep. She preferred to think of it as sleep. Peter had called it unconsciousness. He’d also alternated between periods of delirious fever and almost normal temperatures during which he was quiet and did actually sleep. One day had blended into the next and when things finally calmed down she was surprised to find that three days had passed.

He didn’t have any more violent episodes after she put him to bed and she’d been able to get the mess cleaned up. He’d broken the French doors from the balcony into her living room, a lamp, her curio cabinet and a mirror the first night. A blanket was tacked up over the gaping door to the balcony. It was a good thing the weather was mild. She’d never been extremely fond of the pieces he’d broken; they would be easy to replace. The bedroom doors and the doors to the balcony would be another story. She’d be hard put to come up with a plausible story about their destruction. Maybe she would be able to get Cullen to do the work. He was a skilled carpenter.

Vincent had been quoting a poem off and on in his delirium. She didn’t recognize it at first, but it sounded like Dylan Thomas. She’d finished cleaning up the mess and had dropped onto the bed beside him, hoping to rest, but her mind wouldn’t let her.

She quoted aloud what she’d heard him say wondering what the significance was, "Though they sink through the sea, they shall rise again. Though lovers be lost, love shall not, and death shall have no dominion." She was surprised to hear Vincent echo the last line.

"And death shall have no dominion…you know those lines?" he asked.

"You’ve been repeating them for three days. Who wrote them?" she asked propping herself up and leaning over him. "Was it Dylan Thomas?"

She received no answer and just when she decided he’d gone back to sleep he’d rolled over onto his back and asked her, very politely and with a bit of embarrassment, if he could use her bathroom. She directed him to it and he rose a little unsteadily and walked around the bed to it.

"What time is it Catherine?" he asked before he reached the door.

She looked at the clock. "After six, it will be light soon." She sat up and swung her legs off the bed.

"I should leave," he said, pausing in front of the doors and looking out into lightening sky.

"I don’t think you’ll have enough time to make it back Below, and even if you tried, I’d worry. You aren’t very strong. Stay a little longer, rest some more and eat something?"

He looked back at her. "You’re right Catherine, I am weak."

Relieved at his answer she stood and laid her hand on his arm. "If you feel strong enough you can take a shower or wash up. There are plenty of towels, and it will give me a chance to wash your clothes. You’ve been in them for at least three days and you’ve had a fever."

"I’d like that," he told her. "Thank you."

She went to the closet where she pulled a dark blue terry cloth robe off a hanger. She handed it to him.

"I was planning to give this to you as a gift, but I think you could use it now. Hand your clothes out to me and you can wear this after you clean up."

Vincent took the robe and went into the bathroom. A few minutes later the door cracked open and his clothing was shoved out. She picked them up then leaned toward the door.

"Would you like some breakfast, Vincent?" she called.

"Thank you, Catherine. Something light would be nice."

She hurried out to the kitchen where she examined his clothing. The sweater was a cotton knit, and all of it was washable and, she hoped, dryable. She stuffed everything in the washer, set it for cold water, added detergent and turned it on.

By the time she had scrambled some eggs, made toast and a pot of tea he was finished with his shower and back in the bedroom looking around rather uncertainly. She was putting the plates on the table in front of the blanket covered door, when she saw him.

"Breakfast is served, Vincent," she told him, indicating the table.

He came out and made his way across the room. She saw that he was breathing rather heavily and held on to furniture as he made his way to the table. He sat then tugged the robe around him to make sure he was covered, then tightened the belt a bit more.

"Are you OK?" she asked, with concern as she brushed his damp hair away from his face.

"Just weak," he told her. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days," she said as she poured juice.

He looked up at her in shock. "Three days! Father must be beside himself."

"He knows you’re here. I called Peter and he came over; I’ve been on the phone with him and he’s kept Father informed." She watched as he drained his glass. She refilled it and then filled his mug with tea.

She nibbled her toast and watched as he ate. He ate everything and drank two more glasses of juice, then picked up his mug and sat back in the chair.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked him.

"I think so," he seemed hesitant about his answer. He glanced around at the obvious damage in the room. "Did I do all this?" he asked.

"Yes, but I’ve been looking for an excuse to redecorate. You’ve just given it to me," she told him with a smile.

She could tell he was embarrassed, but he just nodded and finished his tea.

Vincent poured himself another cup of tea as Catherine cleared the table.

"When I’m done here, I’ll go put clean sheets on the bed and you can go back to bed."

He nodded again. "Thank you Catherine."

As she stripped the bed she wondered at Vincent’s uncharacteristic passivity.

She remade the bed and called to him in the next room.

"The bed is done."

He was steadier on his feet when he came back into the bedroom. He started to get into bed with the robe on and she suggested that he take it off.

"You’ll be too warm with it on," she told him.

"Catherine, I’m not wearing anything under it." He sounded a little more like himself when he said that.

"I won’t look," she assured him with a smile. "I have to go put your clothes in the dryer and then I need to take a shower too, so you just go to bed."

She left the room to give him privacy and went to finish in the kitchen. On her way out she put the clothes in the dryer and started it. Back in the bedroom she saw that Vincent appeared to be sound asleep again. He did look like he was resting better and was more comfortable than he had been. The shower, meal and clean bedding had been a good idea.

She headed for the bathroom and was in the shower before she remembered that she didn’t have a robe or clothes in the bathroom. When she finished, she wrapped the towel around herself and was in the bedroom rummaging through a drawer for some underwear when she heard Vincent’s voice.

"You’re tired too, Catherine. Why don’t you sleep?"

His suggestion reminded her of just how tired she was. Instead of underwear, she pulled out an oversized t-shirt, and pulled it over her head. It fell to mid thigh and had Winnie the Pooh on the front. She pulled the towel off as the shirt covered her. She hung it over the back of a chair and was on her way out to the living room to the couch when Vincent suggested that she share the bed.

"You were sleeping here earlier," he said. "Why not now?"

"Are you sure I won’t disturb you?" she asked.

"It’s your bed," he pointed out. "You’ll be more comfortable here and I’m so tired I doubt that anything could disturb me."

She didn’t need to be invited more than once. She crawled into the bed on the side facing the windows. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

She woke several hours later to find that Vincent had moved from the far side of the bed and was cuddled up to her back. He had his arm around her and had pulled her back tightly against his chest. He nuzzled her hair and she was surprised when he kissed the back of her neck.

"Vincent," she whispered, "are you awake?" She thought he might be dreaming and acting out that dream.

"Yes, I’m awake," he answered as he continued his explorations.

"What are you doing?" she asked, then wanted to kick herself almost as soon as the words were out. She’d wanted something like this to happen for so long; she was just shocked that it was happening now.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, suddenly tensing up and starting to slide away from her.

She grabbed the arm that was around her waist and held it in place. "No! Absolutely not! It’s just that I was surprised and wanted to make sure that you knew what you were doing."

"To answer that, I know that I’m doing it, and the Bond is telling me that you approvec, but I’m not sure where to proceed from here."

"What do you want to do, Vincent?" she asked.

He hesitated a moment before his arm slid from where it rested across her waist, to a lower position, where he could spread his hand across her lower stomach. He gently pushed her back toward him so that her bare bottom made contact with his lower body.

She gasped at the sensation. He was fully erect and the feeling of him pressed against her was delicious.

"This is all right?" he asked, tentatively.

"Very much, but then I think the Bond is telling you that." She kept an iron grip on her body, willing it not to move and rub against him. It was still the middle of the afternoon, but she was afraid that if she did anything; seemed too eager, he might flee.

His next words were her complete undoing.

"I want to love you, Catherine," he whispered close to her ear, "but I’m not sure how."

She groaned and rolled over to face him. She threw caution to the wind and kissed him. He surprised her by kissing her back, over and over; each one more skilled than the one before. She knew he was using the Bond to guide him and the outcome was overwhelming.

Their first joining was slow and sweet. Considering how long she had waited for this, she was surprised that she managed not to throw him over on his back and have her way with him.

Their climaxes were almost synchronized and she knew that the Bond was responsible for that.

When it was over, Vincent wrapped his arms around her then fell asleep minutes later. She smiled at that. Well, in that, at least he is like other men,she thought, but considering he’d been sick, it wasn’t surprising.

As he slept, she couldn’t relax enough to go back to sleep. There were too many things, too many images and sensations rushing though her mind. She rose, grabbed some clothes then went into the bathroom to dress. She went back to the kitchen and pulled his clean, dry clothes out of the dryer and folded them. She left them in the bedroom on the foot of the bed then went back and put another load of her own stuff into the washer. She puttered around the apartment for a little while longer. She was bemused by what had happened and several times found herself back in the bedroom just standing, watching him sleep. She finally gave up and crawled back into the bed beside him; this time fully clothed.

She woke later, the sun was setting and Vincent wasn’t in the bed. She rolled over and saw him standing in front of the door to the balcony. He was dressed and was obviously waiting for it to get dark enough for him to leave.

She got up and went to stand beside him.

"You’re feeling better." It was a statement not a question. She wanted him to be feeling better.

"Yes..." He continued to look out the door. "I’m sorry."

"Oh, Vincent," she moved closer and put her arms around him. "Don’t be sorry."

He dropped his gaze from the door to the floor in front of him. "It’s been my struggle...always...Now, when I have so much to fight for, I’m losing."

Catherine squeezed him a little tighter. "Maybe the worst is over." She hoped it was.

"If it’s not...it’s best that I am Below. I should go back."

She glanced at the door then back at him. "It’ll be dark soon."

Vincent finally turned to look at her.

"Catherine...I don’t know what will happen now."

Catherine felt a sudden sense of foreboding. It settled in the pit of her stomach and made her feel sick. "You must promise me one thing..." she said earnestly, "that you will share it with me. Whatever happens; whatever comes."

Vincent put his arm around her and pulled her into his embrace. "Whatever happens; whatever comes...know that I love you," he said softly.

Vincent left a short time after that. Catherine tried to convince herself that he looked better, seemed stronger, so he must be better. He’d told her to go back to bed and get some more sleep.

She did just that. Exhaustion finally took over and she slept through the night and woke the next morning ravenous. She ate breakfast and dressed. She called Peter to ask if he’d heard from the lab yet about the blood he’d drawn from Vincent. He hadn’t, but expected the report sometime that morning. She told him she had some errands to run and she’d stop by his office later. She called a cleaning service and asked if they had anything that would get blood out of the carpet. They assured her that they sold a product that would take care of it. She said she would pick some up later.

She went shopping and replaced the furniture that Vincent had destroyed. After arranging to have it delivered to her place she headed over to Peter’s. He told her that the lab said that the sample wasn’t human blood; they thought there had been a mix up.

She knew that Peter was planning a trip to Europe with Susan and her family, but was surprised when he reminded her that he was meeting them at the airport in a few hours and they would be leaving that evening.

"Is there anything we should know? About Vincent, I mean?" she asked as he walked her to the door.

"Jacob knows as much about his physiology as anyone, probably more. He’s been through this with him before."

Chapter 2

She stopped at the cleaning service to pick up the cleaner then went home. It wasn’t late when she unlocked her door and when she stepped in she felt paper under her foot. She picked up the note. It was from Father. All it said was that Vincent was worse and he was asking for her.

She knew it had to be bad when Father met her at the Central Park threshold.

As they walked back to his study, Father brought her up to date on what had happened since Vincent had returned the evening before. It was as if he’d only had a tenuous hold on himself and as soon as he got Below he’d relaxed and all the symptoms had returned. Father told her that they had taken Vincent back to the study and he’d left him there with William and Pascal.

Catherine nearly panicked when they arrived in the study and she learned that Vincent had left. Mouse was following him and Pascal knew where they were, so they went after him. Pascal led them to a deep cavern, well below the catacombs.

The sounds Vincent was making were heart wrenching. Mouse had been listening to them and he looked like he was about to cry.

Catherine didn’t even stop, she continued toward the mouth of the cave.

Father grabbed her arm. "No, you can’t."

She turned toward him. "I must!"

"Catherine, please!" he pleaded.

"Father, he is my life! Without him, there is nothing!"

The words were engraved in her memory, and so was the walk down the dark tunnel into the cave. She knew it hadn’t really been far, had taken less than a minute, but it had seemed like miles before the tunnel opened up and she saw him. His clothing was torn, and he was covered with scrapes and bruises. He looked as if he’d been fighting with a pack of wild animals.

His eyes found her seconds after she saw him. There was a little light in the chamber and she could just make out his eyes; just enough to know that there was no recognition in them.

He obviously saw her as a threat of some kind and he charged across the chamber his arm raised to strike. She didn’t move, she stood her ground and as he swiftly approached she screamed his name.

It was as if she had suddenly thrown up a wall. Maybe it was a wall of sound, or just the familiar sound of her voice, but he stopped as if he’d hit that wall. He dropped to his knees and she dropped to hers in front of him. He pitched forward and she tried to catch him. All she did was break his fall and he went over sideways and rolled to his back.

The sudden silence was as deafening and as intimidating as all the noise had been only seconds before.

She rested her hand on his chest and pulled in a deep breath. That was when she realized that he wasn’t breathing. Her hand went to his neck to check for a pulse; there was none. In disbelief, she dropped her head to his chest and the steady thud of his heart was gone; quiet.

She indulged in one agonized "No!" before her CPR training took over and she started doing compressions and breathing for him. After a few sets she shouted for Father, and then went back to the CPR. She kept shouting for Father after every few sets until he arrived. By the time Father got there, Vincent had begun to breathe on his own again and he was resting with his head in her lap.

"How is he?" asked Father as he limped across the chamber toward them.

"He’s alive," she told him with a weak smile.

She didn’t know how they made it all the way back up to Vincent’s chamber. It seemed to take forever. Once they got up the stairs, four men met them with a stretcher and they carried Vincent the rest of the way, but they moved at a snail’s pace.

She had seen that Vincent was in bed and resting before she told Father her plan.

"I’ve got to go back up for a couple hours," she told him. "I need to go to my office and check a few things and write a couple of notes. I’ll arrange to take some more time off and then I’ll be back Below. I want to help with Vincent; I need to stay close."

She pushed her sleeve back and looked at her watch. "Good grief, it’s barely 8PM. It seems like forever since Vincent left my place yesterday."

Father kissed her cheek and thanked her and sent one of the children to escort her back to her threshold. She went up to her apartment to get her briefcase and call a cab.

~~~~~~~~~~

One of her coworkers was just leaving when Catherine walked into the DA’s office.

"Hi Cass," she said as she passed the desk. "What are you doing here so late?"

"Just tying up some loose ends before the weekend," Cass said. "You feeling better?"

"I think so, I thought I’d come pick up a few things to work on so I won’t be so far behind when I come back."

Cass finished gathering her things, said good night and left.

Catherine was going through a file when Joe walked up to her desk.

"You OK?" he asked as he buttoned his cuff.

She looked up surprised to see him there.

"Yeah," she answered with a smile.

"You sure?" he asked.

Her smile strengthened. "Yeah, I’m OK."

He looked at his watch. "What are you doing? It’s late."

She looked at the files on her desk. "Just trying to get organized; playing catch up."

"You know, that flu lingers. You really should go easy, Radcliffe...I mean it!"

She looked at the files then back at him. A strange smile came across her face.

"What?" he asked, wondering what was up.

"I didn’t have the flu," she admitted.

"You didn’t? What did you have?"

She stood. "Let’s go into your office."

"Sure." Joe turned and started walking, she followed.

"You’re making me very nervous. What are you going to tell me?" he said as they walked.

They entered the office and Joe circled around behind his desk and sat while Catherine remained standing in front of it.

"Is this good news or bad news?" he asked.

She ignored his question.

"You’ve been a wonderful friend, Joe, and I never meant to be anything less than truthful with you."

"But..." He could hear that but coming.

"But...I have been less than truthful," she admitted.

"You mean about the flu?" he asked.

"About my personal life. There are things that you don’t know; things that I don’t share with anyone," she told him.

"Well, we all have our secrets."

"There’s someone in my life that...I care very deeply for. Someone that I love."

"Oh...well that’s great Radcliffe." She could hear the strain in his voice.

"He’s been...going through a difficult time lately."

"What’s the problem?" Joe asked with true concern.

Catherine’s eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill. "He’s not well."

"I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"I don’t know," she said. "I’m praying."

"I’m glad you told me this," Joe told her.

"Me too..." She gave Joe a misty smile. "You have a heart like his."

Joe had been really sweet after that. He knew that her "flu" had actually been the man in her life’s illness and he’d told her that he’d cover for her as long as she needed to take if she wanted to be with him. She had thanked him with a hug and hurried out, leaving all the files on her desk.

~~~~~~~~~~

Now, in the cab on the way back to her apartment, she finally relaxed and allowed herself some hope.

Vincent had looked much better when she’d left him in his chamber. His color was back to normal and Father said that his temperature was normal. He’d seemed to think the worst really was over this time. The only troubling thing had been that Vincent didn’t seem to remember much of anything. But Father had assured her that it was the same when this happened before. His memory had returned in a few days.

She was feeling almost happy and there was a bit of a spring in her step as she left the elevator on her floor.

She had the distinct feeling of déjà vu as she stepped into her apartment. Just as she had done earlier, she stepped on an envelope. She quickly flipped on the lights, automatically turned and locked the door before she picked up the envelope. She recognized it as Father’s stationery. Remembering what had happened the last time, she opened it. She hoped Father just wanted her to pick up some medical supplies before she came Below. All Vincent’s cuts and scrapes would probably sorely tax their supply of antiseptic.

The envelope wasn’t sealed, the back flap was just tucked in. She pulled out the one sheet of paper, unfolded in and began to read.

Her first thought was "No! This can’t be true, I just saw him two hours ago! He was better."

She started over and read it from the beginning.

Dearest Catherine,

I’m sorry to have to give you this kind of news in such an impersonal way; I wish I could have come Above to do it, but I’m needed here Below right now.

After you left, Vincent seemed to be resting comfortably. I had every intention of sitting with him until you got back, but before I could do that I needed sustenance. I stepped outside his chamber to send a message asking that someone bring me a snack then I made a much needed trip to use the facilities. When I came back, Vincent hadn’t moved and seemed to be resting. I sat in the chair next to his desk and was just watching him when I noticed that he didn’t appear to be breathing.

I searched for a pulse, but could find none. When William arrived with the food I’d asked for, he helped me try to revive Vincent, but to no avail, he was gone. As I feared, all the strain was just too much for his heart.

He is gone, my dear. He will be sorely missed, by all of us, especially by me. He was the son of my heart, if not my body.

I wanted you to know this before you had the chance to come back Below. I think it best that you don’t return just now. Through this whole ordeal I’ve heard grumblings and some here blame you for Vincent’s illness. And since the word of his death has gone out the grumblings have gotten quite loud. I would not have you subjected to that, especially at this time.

If there is anything I can do to help ease this, please let me know.

Be well, Catherine.

Father

She was stunned. She sat for a long time. She didn’t think; she didn’t feel, she was numb. Then the immensity of it all hit her.

"Noooo!" she wailed as the torrent of tears started. They didn’t stop for a very long time.

Chapter 3

Catherine spent the weekend in a fog. When Monday morning arrived she wasn’t even positive it was Monday. She turned the TV on to make sure and then she called Joe.

As soon as Joe heard her voice, flat and tired sounding, so different from how she sounded on Friday night, he knew something was wrong.

"What’s up, Cathy?" he asked.

"He’s gone, Joe," she said with a sniffle.

"He’s gone?" for a moment Joe didn’t understand. "Who’s gone?...wait, you mean that guy you told me about on Friday? How’s he gone?"

"He died, Joe," she said as the tears started again.

"I’ll be right over," he told her. "You sit tight."

True to his word, Joe canceled all his morning appointments and was knocking on Cathy’s door within thirty minutes.

Joe was shocked at the sight that met his eyes when Cathy opened the door. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her nose was raw. She wore a bathrobe and frankly, she smelled, but she was his friend and she needed him. He opened his arms as he stepped in and kicked the door closed. She went into them and cried as if her heart was breaking.

He led her to the sofa and they sat. He continued to hold her and let her cry until there was a lull in the storm.

He handed her tissues and urged her to talk. She talked about Vincent. Ever mindful of the secrets entrusted to her, she never mentioned where he had lived or what he had looked like, but she told Joe about the time they spent together, the things they had enjoyed. And Joe, the good friend that he was, listened. He was finally able to talk her into taking a shower and while she was doing that he ordered food from a deli up the street.

He was examining the blanket covered balcony door when Cathy came out of the bathroom. She looked a little better, she was still pale and her eyes were still red rimmed and bloodshot, but she looked better.

"What happened here?" he asked.

"I told you that Vincent," she had told Joe his name, "was here for a few days while he was sick. He...um...fell through the door." She pointed at the door to her bedroom. "That one too."

"Musta been a big guy," he observed.

"Over six feet and at least 220," she told him.

There was a knock on the door and Joe went to answer it. "I ordered us some lunch," he explained.

He took the bags back to the coffee table and started to unpack them. "I know a guy who can fix those for you." He indicated the doors. "I’ll send him over tomorrow if you want."

"Thanks Joe."

Joe was prepared to give her as much time off as she wanted, but she told him that she needed to work. If she stayed in her apartment she’d either go crazy or jump off the balcony. She was back at work before the end of the week.

~~~~~~~~~~

She was just going through the motions…she knew it and Joe knew it. She was getting a lot done and Joe thought it was helping her a little. She got up every morning, showered, dressed and went to work. She went out at lunch, but Joe swore she didn’t eat, because she was losing weight. Her well tailored, designer suits were starting to hang on her.

It took a almost a month, but Catherine finally decided that she just couldn’t do it any longer. She had told Father "He is my life! Without him, there is nothing!" and she’d never spoken truer words. Living without Vincent just wasn’t working. The world was dark and drab, had no color, and there was nothing to look forward to. She did everything she was supposed to do, but it just didn’t get any better; the pain just didn’t stop. She decided she needed to end the pain, and she came up with a way to do it.

She went over several methods of suicide. She didn’t want anything messy; she didn’t want anyone to have to clean up after her. She finally decided that the simplest way would be to just go to sleep, and the easiest way to do that would be to use sleeping pills.

Peter was back in the country, but had gone home with Susan and her family. He was calling his vacation from his practice a ‘trial retirement,’ just to see if he could handle that much time off. He hadn’t even been in touch with her or anyone Below, so he didn’t know about Vincent. His partner was seeing all his patients and Catherine decided that it would probably be a good idea to see him and ask for a prescription for sleeping pills before Peter got home. Peter knew her too well.

She called the office and made an appointment for later in the week. She planned to do it over the weekend. She could take the pills on Friday night; no one would miss her until Monday.

When she arrived at the doctor’s office, she found that the receptionist had misunderstood and had made her an appointment for a complete check up.

"I don’t need a complete check up," she was telling the nurse when the doctor came into the exam room.

Dr. Novak looked at her chart then smiled at her. "You’re due, and the time has been booked, so you might as well," he told her. "Save you a trip later."

She didn’t feel like arguing, so she agreed.

The nurse finished drawing blood as Catherine answered the doctor’s questions.

"You’ve lost quite a bit of weight since Peter saw you last," he observed.

"Things at the DA’s office have been crazy," she lied. "I’ve been putting in a lot of long days and seem to be running mostly on adrenaline and caffeine."

"You should try to fit a meal in every once in a while," he told her. "Is that the same thing that has been causing your sleep problems?"

"Probably. I fall into bed exhausted, but I just can’t seem to shut down my brain long enough to fall asleep."

He nodded and then proceeded to do the rest of the exam. He told her to get dressed and that he’d be back in a few minutes. She was sitting primly on one of the chairs in the room when he came back.

He was reading over something in her chart when he entered the room again.

"I don’t think that sleeping pills are a good idea at this point in time," he commented. "I think I’d prescribe some warm milk instead."

She looked at him questioningly. "Warm milk?"

"Yes, Miss Chandler. We ran all the standard tests, and you are pregnant."

She just sat and stared at him a moment. She was shocked.

"Are you all right, Miss Chandler?" he asked. "Didn’t you suspect?"

"I’m OK," she assured him. "No, I didn’t suspect. I did miss a period, but with all the stress, I didn’t think anything of it…Are you sure?"

"Yes, the tests are seldom wrong."

Catherine left the office in a haze. She was thrilled and saddened at the same time. Thrilled that she carried a little piece of Vincent inside her, but sad that he would never see his child. She cried herself to sleep again that night.

She decided that suicide was out of the question. She could take her own life, but she couldn’t kill Vincent’s baby.

The next few weeks flew by in a blur. She had decisions to make and she knew she had to make them pretty fast. She was small, Vincent had been a big man, she was pretty sure that it would become obvious that she was pregnant fairly soon. She considered going on an extended vacation somewhere, having the baby and then coming back and presenting it as an accomplished fact, but she had to consider the possibility that the baby might look like Vincent. What then? She had nightmares about Peter presiding over the birth, the baby looking like Vincent and Father showing up and taking her baby to be raised Below. She knew it wouldn’t happen like that, but she did decide that it might be easier if she just left New York permanently.

She could go to another city and find a doctor there. She could tell that doctor that her baby’s father had a family history of genetic issues. That way, if the baby was born looking different, maybe it wouldn’t cause a lot of notice and she could just take it somewhere and they could live quietly. But no matter how her baby looked, it would be raised Above in the sunshine; Vincent would want it that way. She had the financial means to ensure that.

She was worried that Peter would find out once he got home from his time away, but that turned out not to be a problem. Peter came back to New York, but stayed only long enough to allow his partner to buy out his half of the practice. His trial retirement had agreed with him.

~~~~~~~~~~

She had her plan all laid out and she went to Joe with her resignation as the first step.

"But I don’t understand why you are leaving," argued Joe.

"I just told you. I’m pregnant," she explained.

"But that isn’t a terminal disease," he pointed out. "Lots of women continue to work while they are pregnant."

"I know Joe, but under ordinary circumstances, so would I, but very few people I know even knew I was involved with someone. You and my friends Jenny and Nancy are the only ones who know anything. I would constantly be explaining. And it would hurt to have to talk about it to people I know. It will be easier if I leave New York. I can go somewhere I’m not known and just have my baby and live quietly."

"You have another option," he told her. He’d been pacing his office and now he settled against the front of his desk across from where she sat on his sofa.

"What’s that?" she was hoping he wasn’t going to suggest abortion or adoption. She just might have to hit him if he did.

"You could marry someone else. Then everyone would just assume that the baby was his."

"Even if there was a prospect, I don’t think I could, Joe. The wound is still too new and raw." A thought struck her. "Please don’t say you were thinking of Elliot Burch."

"No, I wasn’t...Actually…I was thinking of me," he said, all signs of humor gone from his face. "I’ve loved you from the beginning, Cathy. I’d marry you and raise your child as my own."

Catherine was stunned at his revelation. "I didn’t know Joe. I’m sorry."

"Sorry you didn’t know or sorry that I love you."

"Neither. I love you too, but not like that. I’m sorry that I don’t; can’t."

He shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin. "Can’t say I didn’t try, but seriously, Cath, if there is ever anything I can do, all you have to do is call me."

She rose and hugged him. He held her a little longer and closer than was he normally would have, but she didn’t protest.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two months later Catherine was on the other side of the continent, settling into her new home on a hill in San Francisco. The story she told her new obstetrician was accepted. One of the first things he did was amniocentesis and an ultrasound, and he found nothing to indicate that there were anyabnormalities. She was both disappointed and relieved. As much as she would have loved a miniature Vincent to love and raise, she knew that a child who looked like Vincent would not have an easy life, no matter how rich his mother was.

As a byproduct of the testing the doctor asked Catherine if she wanted to know the sex of her baby. She thought for a moment then said "yes." He told her that she was carrying a girl. She knew before she was even out of the office what she was going to name her.

The only bad thing about Catherine’s pregnancy was that her doctor told her that she had to take it easy. She protested that she felt fine, but he didn’t want to take any chances, and since she could afford it, she was ordered not to get a job until after the baby was born.

A month after she moved she got word from Susan that Peter had met someone and was getting married. She was upset when her doctor wouldn’t allow her to go to the wedding. She called Susan and talked to her about it and Susan was in agreement that Catherine needed to stay put and not jeopardize her baby. She asked Susan not to mention the pregnancy to Peter. She hadn’t talked to him since the last time she saw him the previous spring and she didn’t want him speculating about the baby.

When Cathy was almost eight months into her pregnancy, the doctor told her they should probably plan to do a C-section. The baby was going to be pretty big and since Catherine was small, the doctor thought it was just a good idea. The procedure was planned for the week after Christmas, but the baby had other ideas. Catherine went into labor early on the 21^st and Caroline Wells Chandler was born at two minutes before three in the afternoon.

Caroline, Carrie as her name was soon shortened to, was beautiful, and even though she didn’t have any of her father’s features, she did look a little like him. She had his blue eyes and reddish gold hair.

Catherine insisted on more testing over the next few months, but nothing unusual was found.

Chapter 4 – Ten years later

Catherine hung up the phone and considered what she had just done. She hadn’t done anything this spontaneous in years. She got up and joined her ten year old daughter at the breakfast bar in the kitchen.

"Did you have your heart set on that summer camp we talked about?" Catherine asked as she sat down next to Carrie.

"Not really, Mom," Carrie told her. "I’m just not all that cool with roughing it or sharing a room with a bunch of strangers."

Catherine laughed. "I felt the same way about sharing a room when I started college, Hon," she said, "but that was how I met Aunt Jenny and Aunt Nancy, and we are still friends."

Carrie shrugged, "What did you have in mind, Mom?" Carrie was only ten but she knew her mother was up to something.

"What do you think of driving cross country after school is out in June? When Peter died, his daughter Susan inherited his house in New York. I just talked to her and she is selling it. I always loved that house; I told her that I would buy it."

"We’re moving to New York?" Carrie asked.

"Yeah, I think we are," she said with a smile. "Last I heard the school Susan and I went to is still there. It’s a great school; I think you’ll like it."

"That would be great, Mom," said Carrie enthusiastically. "I don’t care about the school! It’s New York! Museums! Broadway!"

Catherine laughed and shook her head as she reached over and smoothed the strawberry blond hair away from her daughter’s blue eyes. "You are so not ten years old; you’re way too mature. I don’t think you inherited any of my genes. I swear you were born old!"

"Shhh, Mom!" exclaimed Carrie with a laugh. "Don’t say that too loud, someone might hear you." Carrie mimed looking around to make sure no one was lurking and listening.

They both laughed as Catherine got up to refill her coffee cup.

Catherine often marveled at her daughter. She did look like her, a little. Her facial structure was hers, especially her strong jaw and face shape, but that was where the resemblance stopped. Carrie was a blue eyed strawberry blond with faintly golden skin. Catherine was 5 foot 4 inches, Carrie was already almost as tall as her and she was on her way to being a lot taller. She took after her father in so many ways.

"I didn’t think you’d ever want to go back to New York. Don’t you still own your old apartment?"

Catherine nodded. "Aunt Jenny lived there for a while, but when she got pregnant after she got married they needed more room and they moved. I rented it for a while, but it is empty right now. We can live there until the renovations are done on Peter’s house.

"It needs to be renovated?"

"Susan says that it’s been empty for most of the time since Peter died. I’ll have it inspected to see if it needs any work. It could take a few months if it does."

"It will be fun staying in the apartment where you and Dad spent so much time."

Catherine sipped her coffee and considered what her daughter had just said. She was a New Yorker, born and bred but she hadn’t been back since she left in 1989. She remembered the cabbie who had driven her into the city after the trip to LA. He’d quoted F. Scott Fitzgerald. She’d never had a cabbie quote anything to her in any other city she’d ever visited; sometimes she was lucky if they even spoke English. The Fitzgerald quote had been perfect too.

"The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and beauty in the world," she mused aloud.

"What was that?" asked Carrie. "It sounds familiar."

"From The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald."

"Will that be my first sight of New York, from the Queensboro Bridge?" Carrie asked.

"If we were to fly maybe, but if we drive into the city from the west or south you’ll see the city long before we get on any bridge," Catherine told her.

"It sure will be nice to have a native New Yorker show me around," Carrie told her.

"It will be fun to go to the theater, shopping, the museums and New York City is the best place in the world to get bagels. There was this little deli not far from my office; they had the best corned beef sandwiches," Catherine reminisced.

"How soon can we leave, Mom?" Carrie asked.

Catherine made the second spontaneous decision of the day.

"I know a real estate agent and this place should sell pretty quickly. In fact, we can pack up what we want to keep and send it on ahead, then you and I can drive across the country and see some of the things we’ve always wanted to see. We could drive down the coast then head east. We can visit the Grand Canyon like you’ve always wanted. We should make a list and see how many stops we can work in. We can leave right after school gets out next month."

Catherine called the real estate agent that afternoon and was assured that she could probably have the place sold within the month. She’d had several people inquire about homes in that area.

Catherine and Carrie got right to work packing and planning.

~~~~~~~~~~

Catherine had never been a packrat. Living in a small apartment had put her into the habit of keeping only what was important and passing the rest on to people who could use it, usually Below. It didn’t take the two of them very long to carry everything down from the attic to the dining room where they were sorting things. Carrie found an old scrapbook and spent some time looking at the pictures.

"How old were you?" she asked pointing at a black and white newspaper clipping of Catherine and a dark haired man, "and who is the cute guy?"

Catherine looked over her shoulder at the photo and laughed. "I was about 30, and you’re only ten and aren’t supposed to be noticing cute guys yet."

"Mom!" exclaimed Carrie in exasperation.

"That was my boss, Joe Maxwell," said Catherine with a shake of her head. They grow up so fast!

"Did you know Dad then? Did you date this Joe?" asked Carrie as she continued to leaf through the album.

"Yes, I knew your Father and no, I didn’t date Joe. We attended office and city functions together a few times, but we didn’t date."

"Who are these other men?" Carrie asked, looking up at her mom, "and why did you keep all these clippings?"

"My Dad’s girlfriend was the one who put that together. She kept it for dad, and she gave it to me after he died." She started pointing at pictures. "This one is Tom Gunther, he was one of Dad’s clients and we dated for a while. Dad was trying to convince me to marry Tom." She pointed at a dark haired man who was smiling at the camera over the top of a limo. "This one is Elliot Burch. I think that picture was actually taken the night we met. I kind of thought I might be falling for him, but he proved to be a less than scrupulous business man, or at least that was what I thought at the time, and I stopped seeing him. She pointed out a couple smaller clippings. "These were lawyers at Daddy’s firm, and I hate to say I don’t even remember their names."

She pulled another box toward her and opened it.

"Are there any photos my father?" asked Carrie with sudden interest.

"No, sorry about that, but your father was a little camera shy. There was a drawing, but I’m not sure what I did with it," said Catherine. "Now get back to work, we can look at the memorabilia some other time." Catherine hated lying to her daughter; she knew exactly where the drawing of Vincent was.

Carrie put the scrapbook back into the box and shoved it toward the KEEP pile. She pulled another box toward where she sat on the floor. She opened it and pulled out a slim volume in a slip case.

"What is it?" Catherine asked as she shoved her box toward the KEEP pile.

"Another box of books," said Carrie with a laugh. She took the book out of the case and opened it. "Shakespeare’s Sonnets. Cool." She flipped back to the inside cover and saw the inscription. "Dad gave you this?" she asked.

Catherine took it and looked at it. "Yes he did. We read to each other a lot and he gave me several books. I gave him some too."

"Can I have it?" asked Carrie.

"As long as you promise to take care of it and let me read it once in a while," Catherine said with a smile.

Catherine was surprised at how quickly they went through their belongings deciding what they wanted to keep and what to get rid of. She’d been in the house for eleven years, since her move in 1989, and Carrie had been there all her life, but in only a short time they had emptied the house. They packed up the SUV with what they would need on their trip and they were ready to leave. Catherine had already contacted the school that she and Susan had attended. As an alumnus, she got special treatment and Carrie was given priority. Carrie’s classes started right after Labor Day; it was the middle of June, they had more than two months to make their trip and get settled in the apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~

Catherine often had nights that she didn’t sleep well. It was no exception while they were traveling. She would lie in bed and watch her daughter sleeping in the other bed, wishing that Vincent could see how strong and smart and beautiful his daughter was.

She reveled in motherhood and loved every minute of it. She’d been a full time mom for the first five years of Carrie’s life, but when she started school, Catherine decided to go back to work. She didn’t have a fancy office. She worked part time for a firm that specialized in helping the poor of San Francisco. They were sorry to see her go.

Chapter 5

They took almost six weeks to travel across the country. They stopped at major tourist destinations and in small towns. They stayed off the interstates and arrived in New York City at the end of July.

When, at last, they pulled into the parking garage under the apartment building, Catherine pried her fingers from where she had been clutching the wheel with white knuckles.

"I’d forgotten what New York traffic is like...Or maybe it’s just gotten worse in the time I’ve been gone. I’m glad we timed it to arrive in the evening."

She leaned back in her seat and looked over at Carrie who was already halfway out of the car.

"Are you coming, Mom?" she called as she opened the back door to grab her backpack and overnight bag.

"Let me get the keys," Catherine, told her as she rummaged in her purse.

They grabbed a few things and Catherine led the way up to 21E.

Catherine had asked Jenny to get someone to decorate the apartment so it was clean and furnished when they arrived. The only thing Catherine had specified was that it be totally different from the way it was when she had lived here before. That and twin beds in the bedroom.

They didn’t have much in the car, so after a quick exploration of the small apartment they brought it all in and settled for the night.

Catherine unpacked their overnight bags and then went looking for Carrie. She found her on the balcony. Stepping out there brought back an avalanche of memories, but Carrie’s questions distracted her.

"We can see everything from here!" she exclaimed as Catherine leaned on the wall next to her.

"Well, not everything, there are better views to be had, but I did always love this one."

"And that’s Central Park?" asked Carrie, pointing to the wooded area below them.

"That it is," Catherine said.

"It’s huge!" Carrie said. "I’ve never seen anything like it."

Carrie was ready to start sightseeing the next morning, starting with the park, but Catherine convinced her to wait a couple of days. They used that time to get the phones and cable service started in the apartment and get the ball rolling at the house.

~~~~~~~~~~

Once Carrie started school, Catherine was finally able to meet Jenny and Nancy for lunch. They had a long lunch and parted, promising that they’d do it again the next month. Soon after that, Catherine met a home inspector at the house and they had a good look at it. She was pleasantly surprised that the only things that needed to be done were cosmetic. Peter had rewired and replumbed it the year before he died, so she didn’t have to do as much as she’d expected. She had the kitchen and bathrooms completely redone, but the rest of the house only needed paint.

She considered contacting a decorator, but decided that she had plenty of time to do it herself. There were family things and some antique furniture still in the house that she shipped to Susan, but a lot of the furniture went with the house. She and Carrie had fun picking colors and furniture, incorporating in what was already there.

They were able to move in a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving.

~~~~~~~~~~

Catherine and Carrie settled into a routine. Catherine wasn’t working, wasn’t sure if she wanted to go back to work right away. Carrie’s school was only a few blocks from the house and Catherine took her to school and picked her up every day. Once they moved, it was only a few blocks and they walked, weather permitting.

After she returned from taking Carrie to school she’d relax for a while with her coffee, and the paper, then she would take care of the household chores and tackle the boxes in the basement. She’d made quite a dent in the stack, and was preparing to carry another one up the stairs into the kitchen when she heard a strange noise.

Her first thought was "rats", but it was loud, and it would have to be an awfully big rat. That thought almost sent her up the stairs to the phone to call the exterminator, but her common sense took over and she decided that it was just too loud. It sounded like metal striking metal or rock. She followed the sound and found it loudest near the back wall of the basement. She investigated and found a wooden door in the back of an old built in cabinet.

She placed her ear against the door and the sound was definitely coming from the other side.

Could it be the pipes? she wondered. Peter was a Helper, maybe he had his own threshold.

The door had no lock; just a latch and she opened it as quietly as she could. She found that the area on the other side was dimly lighted and there was a stair that went down about twelve feet and ended on a dirt floor. Across from the bottom of the stair stood a man with his back to her. He was chipping at the mortar in the brick wall. He had a stack of bricks on the floor next to him. Over the sound of the hammer, she could hear children’s voices.

As she watched the man, she realized she knew him. She would know that unruly mop of blond hair anywhere, but just as she was about to call out to him, one of the boys who was helping him glanced up and saw her standing there.

He tugged sharply on the man’s sleeve and hissed a warning.

"Hurry, run! Can’t be seen!" the man urged the two boys, and in seconds they were all gone, but not before the man, who Catherine had recognized as Mouse, turned and looked up at her.

Chapter 6

"Vincent," Mouse almost shouted as he entered what used to be Father’s study. "Got news."

Even Mouse marveled at the changes in this chamber since Father’s death. Vincent had decided to turn it into a library and classroom. The upper level became the tunnel library, and once they had sorted all of the books that Father had stacked in the lower area they’d found that they needed more book shelves on the upper level. Vincent and Cullen had been busy for weeks building them.

The lower level contained the desk that Vincent now used, and several small tables that were used for classes or study. They pushed them together when they had a council meeting.

"What kind of news?" asked Vincent, looking up from the papers he was reading.

"Good news…I think," he answered, with a grin.

"How is the project to close the threshold below Peter’s old house going?" Vincent asked. If he didn’t ask that first, he knew that he might never get Mouse back to the subject.

"That’s the news," said Mouse.

"It’s finished?"

"No, but now it won’t have to be closed," Mouse told him.

"Are you sure? Why not?" asked Vincent.

"The new owner is a Helper," Mouse told him.

"Not any more, Mouse," Vincent pointed out. "Peter’s daughter sold the house."

"But she sold it to a Helper," he insisted.

"Who, Mouse?" he asked.

"She sold it to Catherine," Mouse admitted.

The statement knocked the wind out of Vincent’s sails and he was momentarily without words.

"Catherine Chandler?" he finally managed.

"Yes. Saw her when we were working on the threshold. She must have heard us and was looking. She saw me and I think she recognized me. I know I recognized her."

It took Vincent a few seconds to recover from the shock. "Then I suppose that we can leave the threshold as it is for now, at least until we know if she is the owner or was just visiting. Do you know if there is anyone else living there?"

"No, didn’t talk to her, but we have a Helper in the City Register’s office. He can check to see if she bought it," suggested Mouse.

"That’s a good idea, Mouse," agreed Vincent. "Would you see to it that someone asks him for us?"

When Mouse left, Vincent sat back in the chair and thought about what he’d just heard. He knew nothing of her life for the last eleven years.

After his illness, he’d eventually recovered his memory. When he remembered … Продолжение »