THE LONG NIGHT

Joan Stephens


Prologue:

Her heart singing, Catherine hurried home from the office. Just as she was preparing to leave, Joe had dropped a stack of manilla folders on her desk. She fixed him with a baleful glare, picked the folders up, and shoved them into a drawer. "Not tonight, Joe," she said firmly as she shrugged into her coat.

"Hot date, Radcliffe?" He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

Shaking her head at his feeble attempt at humor, she replied with an unreadable look, "You don’t know the half of it." Then she swept out of the office, leaving him with his mouth hanging open. He snapped it shut with a grunt. Someday he was going to find out why she was so secretive about her life. Thoughtfully, he strolled back to his cluttered desk, another late night for him.

It seemed to her that everything was conspiring to delay her. After a long wait for the elevator, she had finally made it out of the building. She snagged a passing cab only to have it break down in the middle of a busy intersection, and she’d had to flag another. Practically flinging the money at the astonished cabdriver, she dashed into her apartment building to once again wait impatiently for another elevator. At last it came, and she rushed out of it when it stopped at her floor. Fumbling and dropping her keys, she finally opened the door. She was seeing Vincent tonight. It had been four long days since their last meeting, and the need to be with him was overpowering. As she thought of him, the desire she felt for him surged through her, leaving her flushed and breathless. Quickly she dampened the feeling, hoping that he would not feel it. A forlorn hope as she knew he would. He felt all her emotions no matter how hard she tried to suppress them.

After a quick shower, she selected Vincent’s favorite dress, the one that made her look like a fairy princess, all light and gossamer. She spent extra time on her makeup, wanting to be beautiful for him even though she knew that he thought her a rival to Helen of Troy. She laughed to herself because she had never considered herself exceptionally beautiful. ‘The eyes of the beholder’ indeed.

As she hurriedly snatched her coat from the bed, she caught a glimpse of the woman in the mirror. Was this Catherine Chandler: this eager-eyed, flushed and glowing young woman? Oh Vincent, what you have wrought, she thought as she left her apartment and headed for the elevator. In the basement she went to the threshold to wait for him.

*

"You’re seeing Catherine tonight?" Father asked, coming into Vincent’s chamber. He could just as well have saved his breath for he knew the answer when he saw his son’s happy face.

"Yes," he replied contentedly, "we have a date."

"A date." Father echoed.

"It’s been four days since I was with her. I asked her to meet me at the threshold. They are playing Mozart tonight, one of her favorites."

"I should have known it was a special occasion, you have your best clothes on."

Vincent finished tying the laces of his white, ruffled shirt. His best black corduroy trousers were tucked into a pair of soft black boots, and a wide leather belt was the finishing touch.

Spread-eagling his arms, he faced Father and asked, "Am I presentable enough to be seen with Catherine?"

"The two of you will make a most fashionable couple," Father answered, smiling at Vincent’s retreating back.

*

He could feel her joy and elation as she neared the threshold. They arrived at the same time, and she ran to him, giving him her hands. Then before he could pull back, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. He felt her desire flare then quickly subside to a spark glowing in her heart.

"It has seemed like forever since we were last together," she said breathlessly.

He looked down into her loving eyes. "I know. I have missed you."

"Oh, I have missed you, too." She hugged him tightly. "We can’t be apart this long again."

"Even if we meet for only a few minutes."

"Yes, I need to see you."

Once again her overpowering need for him engulfed him. He would never get used to the feelings she had for him. "Come." He shyly took her hand. "They will be starting soon. It’s Mozart: your favorite."

*

Hand-in-hand, they strolled down the dimly lit tunnel, discussiing the night’s program. They came to a large abandoned drainage tunnel that ran under the bandstand where Vincent had placed several large cushions next to the wall. After they had settled into the cushions, Vincent put his arm around her and pulled her close. With a contented sigh, she laid her head on his shoulder. The music started and in silence they let it wash over them, bringing them closer together. There was no need for words.

After the concert as they slowly walked back to the threshold, he said, "I know that we agreed not to be apart for long periods of time, but I will be gone for a few days."

"Oh? Must you?"

He nodded, "Yes, it is necessary."

The look in his eyes begged her to accept his decision and not to try to stop him. If he needed this time apart, she would give it to him. "Where are you going?"

"Remember the river I told you about? The one with no name?"

"I remember."

"I go there when I have much to think about."

Her heart skipped a beat. "And you have much to think about?"

"Oh yes. And it is quiet and peaceful there."

"Then I shall wait for your return," she said. I hope you come to a resolution about all those things you have to think about.

Upon reaching the threshold and before he could leave, Catherine took his face in her hands. Standing on tiptoe, she reached up and gently kissed him, lingeringly.

"Remember this," she said. Smiling slightly, she turned and entered the threshold light.

Thoughtfully, Vincent traced where she had kissed him then abruptly turned and strode back to his chamber.

*

Several years ago he had discovered the river while exploring the tunnels and caves with Devin. Over the years he had rafted up and down it, finding no beginning, no end. It was a slow-moving river and rafting on it took him only a few miles from where he had set out. He hoped that the peace and quiet of the river would help him come to some resolution about the increasing desire he felt from Catherine and his own rising passion. Fear of his dark side kept him from meeting her desire with his own. If he was unable to control the darkness within him and should hurt her . . . He shook his head violently. It was unthinkable, but that was why he was here, poling down the river. She had utter faith in him, but did she truly know him or was she blinded by her love? It still seemed like a dream that she loved him, and he was afraid that he would waken and find himself alone as he had always been. She was the most precious thing in his life, and he needed her as he needed air and water. He would do anything for her that was in his power to do. How could he refuse what she desired the most, yet how could he give it to her? These thoughts rolled around and around in his brain. If he went to her, he could hurt her and lose her. If he didn’t, he was afraid he would still lose her. There was no answer that he could find. He was at an impasse. Sadly, he headed back to the edge of the river.

Deep in thought, he was on his way back to the home tunnels, so deeply immersed in what he thought was an unsolvable problem that he was unaware that he was being followed. His normal instincts were clouded by his uncertainty. Without warning, he was driven to his knees by a hard blow to his back followed by a heavy blow to his head as he struggled to face his enemies. His last coherent thought was Catherine.

*

Striding purposefully across the office to confront Joe about the number of cases he had assigned her, Catherine stumbled, straightened up, and then fell to the floor. The last thing she heard was Vincent’s voice calling to her. He needed her. She struggled to stay conscious but sank into a pool of inky blackness.