From her now familiar place atop quilts and comforters on Vincent's bed, Catherine watched as he searched a nearby bookcase for a special edition of poetry he wanted to share with her. He had been sure he knew exactly where he had left it a few days earlier, but it seemed to have disappeared.

"Vincent, do you want some help?" She began swinging her denim-clad legs over the edge of the bed. "I can look through the other shelves while you finish over there."

In seconds he was at her side. "Catherine, you know you’re to stay off your injured foot. Now, please sit back and rest." He waited patiently, tilting his head to one side as he looked down at her.

She didn't budge. "I have been resting. All day. I can do this." She gave him her most persuasive smile. "I promise I'll be careful."

"No."

To her surprise, he reached down and slid one arm behind her back and the other under her knees. In an instant she found herself gently but firmly deposited back in her original position on the bed. Then he straightened but did not move away from her. Wide-eyed, she looked up at him, swaying between disbelief and delight at his impulsively commanding gesture. For just a moment something intense and uncontrolled flared between them, but when he spoke, his voice was calm.

"If you persist, you'll ruin all the good you've accomplished by staying off your foot today, and then it will take twice as long for it to heal completely. You don't want that, do you?" He took a step backward and looked down at her again, once more awaiting her response.

Sometimes his eternal patience joined forces with his determinedly logical mind, and the results were maddening. "No, of course not, " she conceded reluctantly. "And it's not that I don't appreciate everything everyone has done for me, but --"

His voice became as soft as the look in his eyes, the one that only Catherine would ever see. "I know. We all do. And I know, too, how difficult this inactivity is for you. But please, Catherine, you must try. It's for your own good. And it will be better if you let me go on helping you."

In her heart she heard the words he had left unspoken. There is so little I can give you. So much more I wish I could. Don't take this chance away from me, from both of us.

Silently berating herself for even such a small, thoughtless act, she looked up at him, and through their bond, she knew he understood. "I'm sorry, Vincent," she began, with an affectionate smile. "I promise I'll try to be a better patient. I know I couldn't ask for a better doctor!"

"I'm sure Father would agree with you," he commented dryly as he returned to his task at the bookcase.

"I wasn't talking about Father, and you know it!"

Catherine's laugh warmed him like a cozy fire on a winter's day and he relished every moment that he spent in its glow. His hand closed around the book, at last discovered half-hidden by papers on the bottom shelf, but he hesitated before rising to return to her. All at once he was consumed with renewed feelings of gratitude and joy at having been given this amazing gift of time with the woman he loved. They had enjoyed very little privacy, as nearly everyone Below had wanted to wish Catherine well after her accident, yet they not had been parted for more than an hour altogether since she had arrived the previous night. It was as if, he realized wonderingly, as if they truly had a life together. As if it could be this way forever.

Catherine's voice called to him, but the beloved music of it did not disturb the dream for it, too, was a part of what he wished for. To hear and see her in his world each day and night, to hold her and touch her, to be with her in every way, for always. Sighing softly, he pulled the small volume from the shelf and rose to his feet. He knew this was a time out of time, still the fabric of a cherished dream, and yet with each beat of his heart, he felt more certain that someday they would have far more than mere possibilities.

"Did you find it?" she repeated, smiling as she noticed the book in his hand. "Well, I guess you did." She slid over in silent invitation, a heart full of hope in her smile.

For a moment he simply looked at her, knowing that his eyes revealed the long-held secrets of his heart, no longer believing that he must shield her from them. And yet he resisted the urge to join her on the wide bed. His feelings were too close to the surface, too highly attuned to hers to allow him any measure of comfort should their bodies be offered a chance to discover the same wondrous gift of intimacy that their souls already knew. Despite their promise to move toward love together, he knew there still existed difficult pathways they must walk before they could emerge from the labyrinth and at last embrace their dream. Still standing a few feet away from her, he turned to a topic that he hoped would continue to draw their worlds closer together, while keeping them safely apart from places he could not yet travel.

"Catherine, tonight there's to be a special concert Below, one I thought you might like to attend. It will be very different from others you have heard here. I think you’d enjoy it very much."

She couldn't resist teasing him just a bit. "What makes you think I haven't enjoyed the other concerts Below?"

He looked at her in surprise, his eyes widening beneath the tawny arc of his raised brows. "I never thought that, Catherine. At least you always seemed to like them, but we can do something else if you'd prefer."

"No," she answered, shaking her head. "I was only teasing you. Of course I've liked attending the concerts Below, and I'd love to go to this one with you. Will you tell me more about it?"

He faltered, glancing away from her uneasily. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were teasing me. I should have known." He looked back at her, turning the small book around and around in his grip.

So many little, taken-for-granted moments were still outside the realm of his experience. Usually he would take them in his stride, coping easily with the practiced grace of a lifetime. But with Catherine, his emotions often trembled on a precipice, sometimes clinging to safety, sometimes free-falling through clouds of sunlight and storm. He could not keep himself from reacting to even the slightest incidents with a depth that often ashamed and dismayed him.

Catherine felt her heart constrict as she immediately understood the source of his embarrassment. How he longed to be more a part of the world she knew. A world where light bantering among friends was taken only for what it was, where casual familiarity between lovers flowed easily, where other men she knew would not require the constant reassurance and kid glove handling his easily bruised heart would always need.

She blinked away a threatening tear. Since the beginning, his magic and mystery had drawn her willingly, allowing her to shed old expectations of a life she had never truly wanted. His world was the one she had always hoped to find, a coming home to a place she had only dreamed of, and beyond even that, at the vibrant core of the dream was Vincent. When would he understand that what she had discovered within him was beyond her deepest dreams? The unending compassion of his soul, the brilliance of his mind, the intensity of his passionate heart. He was a virile dichotomy of vulnerability and strength and he touched her more deeply than anything she had ever known. With all her heart she wished that she could find a way to prove to him that he was all she wanted, all she would ever desire.

"Sometimes I take too much for granted," she began. "You know me so well that it's easy to forget there will be times when we won't just understand each other without words or effort. But that's all right, Vincent. It's a part of any relationship between friends -- or lovers."

A small smile found its way through the mist of his uncertainty. She felt it touch her deep within as her own tense mouth eased in response.

"And perhaps I should learn not to take everything so seriously," he offered. "That's something I will work at."

She shook her head warningly. "There's an old saying, Vincent. 'If it's not broken, don't fix it.' So you just stay the way you are. I don't know about anyone else, but I certainly don't have any complaints." She paused, her green eyes flashing with inner firelight. "Well, maybe just a few, but we can work on those."

The full-hearted sound of his laughter surprised her for a moment, and then she basked in its warm, rich tones as she watched him relax into the chair next to the bed. It was all she could do to stay where she was, so great was her wish to touch him, to ground herself in the tangible, tactile proof that he was real and not a dream born within her yearning heart. She felt tension stiffen her entire body, pulling her as tight as a kite string straining skyward in the wind, and she clutched a small handful of the quilted comforter beneath her, as if to tie herself to its unwanted and unstable base. Taking a deep, calming breath, she turned onto her side and forced herself to stretch out as comfortably as possible, propping herself up with one arm thrust beneath a large mound of pillows.

She waited expectantly as he began to open the book of poetry. "Before you start reading, aren't you going to finish telling me about the concert?" she asked.

He raised his eyes to find her watching him. "I had completely forgotten it, " he admitted. "It's planned for tonight after dinner. There was a man who lived among us for many years and he's returning for a short visit. His name is Eamon Carrick. He must be in his late forties by now, but he grew up in the tunnels. His story is an interesting one." He leaned back in his chair, a faraway look in his eyes.

"I was only an infant when Eamon came Below with his father Brandan. They had emigrated to New York from a small village in Northern Ireland, but the construction job and home he'd been promised by relatives of his late wife did not exist after all. They, too, had fallen on hard times and had left the city before the Carricks arrived. Here in New York, they soon found they were nothing more than another unskilled laborer and a hungry, nine-year-old boy. It was Old Sam, Mitch's father, who found them sleeping in the park, ragged and half-starved, with nowhere else to go."

"Then when he brought them Below, they became some of the earliest people to join your community," Catherine suggested. "It must have seemed like heaven to them."

"I'm sure it did," he agreed, "although life in the tunnels then was much less safe and certain than it is now. Even so, it gave them the chance they could not have had in the world Above."

"What became of them? Why didn't they stay?"

Her genuine interest in the history of his world warmed his heart. "They did stay for many years. Brandan had been a small tenant farmer in his village. His skills were useless Above in the city, but once he got back on his feet, he helped Father and the others develop some of the earliest methods we ever used for growing vegetables Below using artificial light. Brandan was also a talented musician, and before long every child and most of the adults in the community could be heard singing bits of Celtic folk song. Eamon inherited that gift as well."

Catherine laughed appreciatively. "I can just picture you and Devin and Olivia and the others following them around like the children with the Pied Piper."

Vincent chuckled softly in fond remembrance. "That's exactly what we did. Believe it or not, someone managed to reconstruct a harp that had somehow found its way Below. We had fiddles and a guitar. Brandan had his pipes and a tin whistle or two, someone else had an old dulcimer, and we improvised by constructing our own bodhran."

"Your own what?"

"Bodhran," he repeated, pronouncing the Irish word with unconscious perfection. "It's a drum traditionally used in that type of music."

"And I suppose you all fought over who would get to play it?" She sighed dramatically, but made no attempt to suppress an amused smile. "Poor Father. I don't know how he ever survived raising this crew."

Her joking comment charmed him, and he flashed her a mischievous grin that made her heart skip more than one beat. "Well, the bodhran was very popular," he admitted easily. "Especially among the boys. But I was usually given that honor, as there were very few other instruments I could use with any degree of success." With a surprising lack of self-consciousness, he glanced down at his large, clawed hands and continued, "It was my greatest wish to learn to play one of Brandan's penny whistles, but with these hands and teeth, it was impossible."

It was an old hurt, long since accepted and forgotten, and he did not want her to suffer the disappointment his six-year-old self had known. He quickly continued the story. "I still remember many of the songs. They were wonderful -- full of beauty and pain and memories that seemed to stir something deep within, things and places that existed long before we were born, that will continue long after we're gone."

"Places in the deep heart's core?" she quoted, recalling a book of Yeats' poetry they had once enjoyed together.

"Yes." His gaze caught and held hers, and the look in his eyes told her that he cherished every small memory that they shared. "Places in the heart."

For long moments they stayed as they were, until Catherine felt compelled to gently break the tender spell before they lost all sense of who and where they were. Later, someday, soon. The words vibrated gently on the invisible silken cords of their bond.

"Where is Brandan now?" she asked evenly.

The bond that connected their hearts one to the other told her he understood. His voice was low but steady as he continued. "Unfortunately, he never fully recovered from the hardships of his earlier life, and when a flu outbreak swept through the tunnels, he didn't have the strength to withstand it. Father has always said that his heart could not bear another affliction and that in some ways, Brandan was relieved to go on to what he believed would be a better world, knowing he left his only son in safe hands."

"Oh, Vincent, what a sad ending to his story. What happened to Eamon after that?"

"When his father died, Eamon was nearly sixteen, and I think everyone knew that it wouldn’t be long before he left us to try and discover if there was still a place for him in the world Above. With his talent for music and his love for the songs of his ancestors, it was natural for him to pursue a career in that field. Brandan had guided him well, and when Eamon left us two years later, he soon began to make his living performing and teaching the traditional music. Now he appears in concerts all over the world, but whenever he finds his way back to New York, he comes Below and visits his old family."

"I can't wait to meet him," Catherine said. "Will he be playing many of the songs you knew as a child?"

Vincent's laugh was in his eyes as well as his voice. "Yes, but don’t expect me to sing along, Catherine. I must warn you that Joshua and Noriko are the only ones who ever ask me to sing to them."

Catherine raised her eyebrows questioningly. "And just because they're only four-years-old doesn't mean they can't appreciate a fine singing voice when they hear one," she stated firmly.

"That may be true," he agreed. "But when I sing, they don't hear one."

She started to protest, but he shook his head and began rifling the pages of his book in a blatant but futile attempt to distract her. As he well knew, her curiosity was insatiable, especially where he was concerned, and he harbored little hope that she would let the subject drift away without a final attempt to learn something more.

He deliberately lowered his head, seeking to indicate that the subject was no longer one he wished to discuss. "Catherine..." he murmured, warm and warning. "No more."

Half-heard, half-remembered, it did not matter. The compelling sound of his soft, smoky voice never failed to enchant her. She heard its low rasped, honeyed tones when she dreamed and longed for its powerful velvety heat when she awakened, knowing that for her there could be no sweeter music.

Now thoroughly intrigued by the subtle unspoken secret she had sensed, she sat up and, leaning forward, tried one last time. "But you must have had a favorite song. Couldn't you sing just a little of it for me?"

To her surprise, a faint blush tinged his cheeks, deepening the pale golden skin to the color of a summer sunset's waning rays. "No, Catherine, I could not." He hesitated, weighing discomfiture against desire, and he soon found himself unable to reach a balance.

Finally, he raised his head and seemed to study her expression. All at once he felt a sharp stab of pain as he watched her lingering interest slowly ebbing away, leaving in its wake a growing wave of discontent. Only minutes ago, he had promised her he would try to be more at ease with his often over-

whelming emotional response to nearly everything she did, everything she said. Again, he felt an insistent pain thrust into his heart as he realized he had already broken that promise.

When he spoke, she heard no uncertainty in the breath of apology his voice held. "When I was a child, there were many songs I enjoyed. Traditional songs from Ireland and Scotland and Wales that sang of great adventure and excitement. Rebellion and uprisings, battles and war, legends and fairy tales. Each one told a wonderful story, and they were everything a young boy's imagination could hope for. Even their names, as Father would often say, resonated -- Piper in the Meadow Straying, Toss the Feathers, The Foggy Dew. And we liked nothing better than to try and convince Brandan to sing Red Haired Mary. He'd pretend he couldn't remember the words, and Mary would sigh in great relief, until he'd suddenly regain his memory and then we'd all join in the chorus as loudly as we could."

Again, the mischievous look came into his eyes and he chuckled softly, so caught up in the long-ago memories that for once he was unaware of Catherine's feelings, of the intermingling pain and possibility he stirred in her as she caught sight of the child in the man, and could not help seeing, as well, an image of a child who was yet to be.

"Maybe he'll sing that one for us tomorrow night, although I'm sure Mary hopes he really has forgotten it at last." He paused, but when Catherine only nodded slightly with a small, forced smile, he quickly continued, hoping desperately to bring them back to the warmth and closeness they had savored earlier. "I think I especially enjoyed the songs that told of great adventures. Castles under siege and gallant knights and kings -- Rhyfelgyrch Gwyr Harlech and Toriad y Wawr -- Break of Day. That one was about King Arthur, hidden away in the Welsh mountains in a death-like sleep, waiting for a golden bell to be rung, summoning him to defend his people once again."

For a moment Catherine closed her eyes in instinctive understanding, wondering if even then the child had somehow known his fate as defender of another hidden kingdom. But when her gaze again met his, she found she could not speak and so only looked at him in silent questioning. At her quizzical look, he made a quick decision to let her heartfelt empathy speak to him for now only through their bond, knowing that to do otherwise would jeopardize any chance he still might have to lead them back to a happier time and place.

Opting for a less sensitive path, he explained. "Brandan's wife, Rhosyn, was from a little village near Caerphilly in Wales, and her love for the folksongs of her homeland lived on in her husband and son. In fact, two of my favorite childhood songs were Welsh. Cyfri'r Geifr – it means Counting the Goats – always got Devin and me into trouble, but we loved it anyway. The other was Ar Hyd y Nos - All Through the Night."

"The traditional lullaby? That's such a beautiful song," Catherine offered at last.

Her voice was soft and hushed, but it echoed within him like a response to a prayer. "Yes. Mary would often sing it to us late at night if we were sick or scared or just in need of some extra comforting. Until I heard you singing your mother's lullaby to Ellie, I thought it was the most beautiful song I had ever heard."

He watched her lovely eyes sadden with the bittersweet memory, and then he sensed in her a silent, eloquent relief as she realized he’d drawn upon its image only to bring them closer together. When he continued, his voice was even lower and huskier. "And each time Eamon comes Below and shares those songs with us again, they bring back many happy memories of the boy that I was. But I am not a child any longer, and in recent years...my interests have changed. Now I wait to hear the songs that tell of beauty and dreams and devotion, of hope and great happiness. Of a love that will live forever. And when I hear those songs, Catherine, all I can think of is you."

In the cobalt depths of his eyes was a world of possibilities, and Catherine cherished the knowledge that he had entrusted them all to her. The look they exchanged quivered with awareness, and when she reached out her arms to him, he came to her without a trace of hesitation. Gathering her into the circle of his embrace, he leaned back against the heaped cushions, pulling her down to lie close beside him, trembling only slightly as he felt her cling to him. With one large hand he cradled her head, gently urging her to rest against his chest where she would hear the rhythmic thudding of his heart. His deep husky sigh stirred feathery tendrils of her hair as she nuzzled her face against the woolen sweater that covered places her hands ached to touch.

For several moments she was content to stay as they were, at last holding each other in a loving embrace. But she knew it was beyond impossible to remain that way for very long. She needed him closer and with slow, deliberate motion, she drifted nearer, molding the soft curves of her body to the hard muscled planes of his, half-understanding somewhere in the reaches of her mind that she might yet fulfill her early morning fantasy. And before her vivid dream images could coalesce into a vision that might glimmer through the bond and force him away from her too soon, she moved closer still, as if the sheer strength of her will would give her the power to stay his flight.

Tightening her grasp on the broad width of his shoulders, she slid her body upwards, easing her uninjured leg over his hips until her knee nestled gently between his thighs. Never before had he allowed such closeness, and, soaring on clouds of heat and light, Catherine willfully blinded herself to what she knew would surely come, the time when the vigilant guardian within Vincent would bring an end to this enchantment. Intent on running from that moment for as long as she could, she felt her heart race in rhythm with his as she buried her hands in the billowing mass of his amber hair, stroking and caressing searchingly until she framed his face in her hands. Against the moist heat of her palms, she could feel the pale golden hair that covered his strong jaw and, unable to resist, she pressed into the tantalizing texture with short, caressing strokes, running her hands up and over his high cheekbones, into the silken hair at his temples, and then back again.

Then she snuggled closer still and buried her face against the hollow of his throat where she could feel the racing of his pulse throb against her mouth. She heard the sharp intake of his breath, but when he did nothing to stop her, she tasted his warm, rippling flesh, licking and suckling the tenderness of him as if to draw a part of his potent energy within to join it with her own.

The sensation of her moist, insistent mouth beat through him in heated waves, drawing an aching response that he could not hold back. Disjointed phrases spiraled through his mind, but beyond speech there was only sensation. It seemed to control him and with little conscious thought he let one hand stroke her over and over from shoulder to hip, urging her closer and tighter against him as if they could never be close enough.

Raising up slightly on her elbows, Catherine let her eyes revel in the vision her hands and lips had already known. There she found a sensual image of tenuously harnessed sexuality that drew an almost painful gasp from deep within her. Eyes closed as if to focus his sensory awareness on the singular gift of her heated touch, Vincent arched his head back, wanting to give her mouth greater access to the shuddering pulse at his throat, moaning softly at the loss of that tender assault. His lips parted as he drew in deep draughts of air, and Catherine felt her own breathing grow short and sharp as she saw the candlelight glitter against the moistness of his teeth and lips. Drawn like an eager moth to a liquid flame, she covered his mouth with her own, losing herself in his heat and light as their tongues tasted and tormented each other in delicious abandon.

And yet it was not enough. Still holding him a willing prisoner in her small hands, Catherine wrenched her mouth from his and then seared a heated, searching trail along his jaw until she found the supple flesh of his ear hidden beneath lush strands of his long hair. Without hesitation, she let her teeth close on that sensitive spot, gently nibbling, and then drawing it into her mouth to suck rhythmically. She felt his hands splay across her back and then tighten convulsively, pressing her closer to him, silently begging her not to stop. And she responded to his fervent plea with unrestrained delight, letting her warm tongue swirl within the curve of his ear, whispering secrets of things to come.

Vincent could feel the most secret part of himself tighten and swell in response to Catherine's fiery explorations. The sensations her reality aroused in him defied the ardor of his most fevered dreams, and even while the fearful sentinel of his rational mind commanded obedience, his defiant body screamed for release from the shackles of a lifetime. The torrid tremors rippling through every muscle seemed to infuse him with unbridled energy. His hands ventured downward to grasp her hips firmly, and, muscles trembling with controlled strength, he brought her to lie fully atop him.

He felt her breath scorching the flesh of his neck and ear as she moaned deep in her throat. He bent his head, following the siren call of her mouth, frantic to taste its heat and sweetness. Then, urging their bodies upright, he drew her forward until she straddled his hips Under his grip, her thighs moved urgently, sliding open to him, and he could feel the moist, feminine heat of her even through the prohibitive layers of their clothing. Instinctively his hands held her tighter and he arched upwards, craving the erotic contact he had denied them, always fearing that such unmistakable evidence of the driving physical desire he felt for her would surely repulse and offend her.

Now, even through the shimmering haze of lust and love that had begun to blind him, he saw that he had always been wrong. Whimpering her ardent assent into his open, panting mouth, Catherine wound her arms around his neck and leaned into his hard strength. So many times in the past she had been well aware of his profound and passionate need for her; but she had never been able to acknowledge it for fear that he would force himself to deny it, and that would have broken her heart. Only the depth of her love for him had summoned the patience and compassion she had needed to contain her own desire and thus sustain his tenuous peace of mind. Now, at last, he was opening that part of himself to her, and she rejoiced in knowing where this newfound freedom would lead.

Her injured foot completely forgotten, she eased herself downward, eagerly seeking sensations too long withheld, too needlessly renounced. Even through the maddening barrier of their clothing, she could feel the hard, pulsing strength that she craved, but it could not be enough. Desperately needing more of him, she braced her hands on his taut, heaving chest and pushed back far enough to look into his eyes. What she found in their incandescent depths told her without question that, should she ask it of him, he would deny her nothing now. And yet she hesitated for endless moments, quivering wildly in a windstorm that screamed warnings and whispered questions she did not want to hear.

Despite the fiery desire that was rapidly consuming the last shivering remnants of her self-control, and his, she knew she could not force him to move forward while he still harbored doubts and delusions deep within his heart. They had come so far together, weathering storms that would have destroyed almost anyone else. She would not let either of them willingly risk everything now, even to fulfill a need so deep and compelling.

She spoke quickly, knowing that she might choke on the very words as she forced them from her throat. "Vincent. We can’t. Vincent, wait."

Her words were a shattered whisper that scraped against his heart like broken glass, and he froze, knowing he would be slashed apart by its razor-sharp shards. He had started to believe that all his old fears and undying doubts might at last release him from decades of debasing bondage. But what he thought he heard in Catherine's voice tore apart that hope like ragged claws slicing through the fragile fabric of a

dream.

With strong and trembling hands gripped around her waist, he carefully lifted her from him, resolutely ignoring the smaller hands that grasped at his shoulders in a frantic attempt to resist his actions. He settled her on the bed at his side and then moved several inches away, lowering his feet to the floor and burying his head in his hands. Immediately he felt Catherine's hands moving over him, stroking his hair, straining to turn his face towards her, their movement keeping desperate pace with the barely controlled panic in her voice.

"Please, Vincent, look at me," she pleaded, her voice low and breathless, her understanding immediate. "It's not what you think. You have to listen to me!"

Forcing himself to breathe again, he muttered his response as best he could. "Not now, Catherine. I cannot. You must leave me these few moments alone -- please..."

Muffled by the protective covering of his large hands and the concealing drape of his hair, she heard not the words he uttered plaintively but rather the ones her fears screamed in accusation. In sheer panic, she reached for him, her fear magnifying the strength in her body to match that in her soul.

"No! No, Vincent, I won't leave you! I will never leave you!"

His head snapped up as she battered herself against him, and he grasped the hands that tore at him with unnerving intensity, as if striving to truly draw him inside herself where she would keep him safe forever. The sense of absolute loss he saw in her eyes at once broke his heart and made him whole again. With a shuddering sob to match her own, he pulled her close and sheltered her within his arms.

"Oh, Catherine," he whispered hoarsely. "Never again would I ask you to leave me. How could I? You are my life. To turn away from you would be my death."

Leaning back only as far as absolutely necessary, she stared up at him, needing to see in his face the truth she heard in his voice. "But you asked me to go. You told me to leave you now." Her voice was rough with pain and hope.

"No, not like that," he assured her, gazing deep into her eyes. "Only that I needed a few minutes to gather my thoughts, to try to find the words to explain myself to you....to apologize for my actions."

The last words he spoke were harsh with regret and remorse, but to his heartfelt astonishment, he saw her face lighten miraculously until the tears in her eyes appeared to be dazzling stars instead of cold and bitter rain. Her tight grip on his arms suddenly loosened as she threw herself against him, hugging him in a fierce embrace. Then just as suddenly she leaned back once more in the secure haven of his embrace and smiled up at him, bringing sunlight back to his world.

"Oh, Vincent," she said softly. "It seems we've been at odds with each other again. Maybe we should give up talking altogether." She lightly stroked her hand along the tensed muscles of his arms and then entwined her fingers with his as she watched and waited for the response she knew would come.

Tilting his head to one side, he looked down at her with ill-concealed hope flickering deep in his eyes. "What do you mean, Catherine?"

She shook her head gently, her gaze never leaving him. "There was nothing to apologize for. I loved what we did -- what we shared. I wish we never had to stop."

Before he could contain it, the question ripped from his throat and rasped over her with unintended harshness. "Then why did you..."

"Why did I pull away and ask you to wait?" she echoed the words he felt but could not speak aloud, and then watched as he nodded painfully. "Because I know you -- and I know myself. Vincent, this need that we have to...become closer, it can be overwhelming at times." She paused, needing to choose her words with great care.

"Yes," he acknowledged softly. "It can be...overwhelming."

"When I came Below after my father died, you told me not to ever be afraid of the truth. Well, the truth is that sometimes I just want you so much that I can't think of anything else. I'm not afraid or ashamed of that. But I can't let my need -- my desire -- override what's best for you, for both of us together."

Through the bond, she sensed that he was holding himself in check, as if waiting to face some unnamed and unendurable horror. But the steadiness of his gaze and his slight nod of agreement renewed her spirit and she continued. "You said, too, that we must go with courage and with care. That’s what we've done. We knew we had to wait for the time to be right for us. And now I believe with all my heart that time has come, but you must believe it, too. Don't do this just because you know it's what I want."

"It’s what I want, too," he admitted shyly, his voice a hoarse whisper. "But for so long, I could not believe you would want me...in that way."

"But you must have known," she protested. "Those feelings in me have been so strong, I thought that through the bond --" Her face burned suddenly as evocative images flashed through her mind, arousing vivid recollection of her fiery dreams and fantasies. Attempting to soothe their shared unease, she continued quickly, "I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. I tried to shield you from my thoughts, but sometimes..." She shrugged her slender shoulders and smiled bemusedly. "Sometimes I just couldn't. I'm sorry."

He bowed his head slightly and looked up at her through the tousled fringe of his hair. "Don't be sorry, Catherine. I didn't...that is, your dreams...they were not...they were not always a burden."

Her delighted laugh drew an answering smile from him and spurred her to go on. "I'm glad about that, and maybe soon you'll feel that you can share some of your dreams with me, too." She paused and the sultry undercurrent of her voice grew more serious. "But if my dreams didn't always upset you, then there’s something else doesn't make sense. Our connection through the bond has shown you how much I want you, and you certainly can't have any doubts after today. So why did you immediately think that I was rejecting you when I asked you to wait?"

The tenuous sparkle in his eyes dimmed. "Because in spite of all I know of your heart, Catherine, and of your desires, those were the words I've always believed I'd hear when the time came for us to try to move forward in our relationship." With a quick and gentle shake of his head, he silenced the words of protest he knew she would surely declare. "Then when I heard you say them, it was as if all the old fears and doubts of a lifetime deafened me to what you were truly saying. And for a moment their voices were louder than yours. You were thinking only of me, of my concerns and fears, and in my heart, I knew you’d never push me away. But somehow I couldn’t stop myself from believing it."

Shared sorrow filled her soft voice with the harshness of unshed tears. "But you don't believe that anymore, do you?" She tugged on his hands, imploring a visible sign of his accord, and then releasing a deep sigh of relief at his brief nod. "Then maybe this has all been for the best. It's finally given us a chance to talk about things we've never been able to say to each other. And I think I understand why we've waited so long."

His grip on her hands tightened abruptly, and he looked away to stare into the shadows, knowing something loathsome and shameful still hunted him from the darkness. "Do you, Catherine? Do you truly understand?"

Only the greatest effort kept her voice low and steady. "I think I do. But will you tell me now, Vincent? Can we finally talk about the rest of it?"

It lasted for no more than a heartbeat, but his hesitation tore at her, and deep within herself she realized that she had never been more afraid than she was now. If he left her, she would not be able to survive. There would be nothing left for her.

"I will try." His brave words might have been spoken by a condemned man given one last chance for reprieve. Gently he released her hands and moved farther away from her on the wide bed. Even without the bond he would have felt the violent jolt of fear she tried to hide from him.

"I won't leave you, Catherine," he promised. "But I cannot touch you and still say what needs to be said."

"It's all right. I'm here and I'm listening. Go on." Her voice was so low and hollow that it was almost unrecognizable as the soft, lyrical sound he loved, and the realization that he had caused the distortion made him ache from within.

He looked down at his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Where Catherine saw grace and strength and unique beauty, he saw only ugliness and shame and deformity. "These hands," he began, his voice hoarse and defeated.

But before he could continue, Catherine found she could not remain silent after all. "Oh, Vincent, it can't still be that thing with Lisa that makes you feel this way! I thought that after we'd talked it through, you understood. That was an accident, something that easily can happen to teenagers first experiencing that kind of urgency and desire. You mustn't make more of it because it happened to you. It wasn't your fault. Even Lisa knows that."

He shook his head. "No, that’s not what I meant. That night when we talked on your balcony marked the beginning of my accepting that incident for what it was. I know I’ll never forget that time, but because of you, it will not haunt me as it once did."

Her face tightened with confusion and concern. "Then you can no longer believe that these hands were not made for love. For our love, for loving me." Instinctively, she reached toward him, but when he stiffened and drew away, she let her hands fall back into her lap, cold and empty without the familiar, longed for touch of his.

His entire body tensed as if he might shatter from within. He took several deep, rasping breaths and then his broad shoulders hunched forward again under the growing weight of his despair. "I'm sorry, Catherine." His voice grew rigid with remorse. "No matter how hard I try, I end up hurting you."

Catherine drew upon all the strength and courage she had, and offered it to him, just as he had so often done for her. "You know that's not true, Vincent, and it’s not what matters now. Please, just try to go on. You can tell me anything. Anything. And I won't leave you."

He felt something twist and throb inside him and knew it was the last of his hope struggling to push him onward. He sighed heavily and let his gaze meet hers, merging pain and promise, torment and trust. And then he began again. "For a very long time, I tried to tell myself I could not express my love for you physically because I was afraid you might be harmed. That somehow I might hurt you. The feelings you awoke in me -- they were so new. I was confused, lost. I couldn't cope with their strength, their all-encompassing power over me. And at first they seemed so like the feelings I have when I’m lost in rage.

"But as time passed, I came to understand that the feelings are not the same. Their power is as great -- no, greater still -- and yet what they evoke in me is not a will to strike out, to destroy, but only to...love. Catherine, we have promised not to withhold the truth from each other. Know then that in my heart, I’ve known for a very long time that I could never hurt you, not like that."

She shook her head in slow and saddened cadence. "No, Vincent, you could never hurt me like that. I’ve always known it. But if you knew it, too, then why did you continue to let that belief keep us apart? Why?"

The single word hovered between them like a predatory bird circling in the shadows. "Why?" he echoed, his voice growing harsher still. "Because even after I had accepted the truth, I used it as an excuse to hide the one thing I truly fear. The one thing I could never face and still survive. And that would be to lose you."

"Vincent! You know you could never lose me. That will never happen. Never!"

He did not look away. "Catherine, you've been right about so many things. But this time, you're wrong. You cannot know."

She felt as if she were suffocating, and only the pain stabbing through her proved she was still alive. Choking on her words, she reached out to him again. "Tell me what it is you still fear, Vincent."

This was the time he had always dreaded, the moment that had stalked him like an assassin, prowling through his dreams, pursuing him when awake. In recent months he had at last half-convinced himself that through the power of their love he had eluded it, that it would not come at last to ravage what they had found. Yet within his solitary life he had watched many dreams die, one by one, and in his heart, he had always known that this one would as well. The most beautiful and precious of his dreams, the one he had miraculously shared with Catherine, would be devoured as surely as an eclipse consumes the illumination of the sun. And for them, there would be no reemergence into light, but only a cold and bitter pathway into darkness.

His face was bleak as he formed the words he had prayed he would never have to say to her.

"Catherine, what I must tell you will change everything between us, but there is no other way. Yet know that I love you, I will always love you."

"As I love you, Vincent. Always."

Through her grief and fear, she felt the indomitable spirit of faith that even this onslaught could not crush, and with its promise she knew she could go on. She could be strong for both of them, and she trusted that somehow he would know it and would understand.

The tremors within her touched him with angel wings, and although he could not respond with words, his eyes spoke for him, revealing to her a tentative, tremulous shadow of hope which nothing, not even the deepest despair, could destroy. Yet he realized it would be that same bittersweet phantom of hope which would finally kill him, for to live with such hope would be far greater torture than to exist even as a hollow, empty shell without it.

He knew that he must tell her now. There was no point in waiting any longer. "For so long, we have lived within a dream, a dream we once believed might never come true. But we were proven wrong. Our dream did start to come true. I know that now, and I rejoice in it. Our dream, our love, has brought such joy to my life, joy I believed I would never know. And it is all because of you. Because you have loved me.

"I have never doubted your love, Catherine, and I do not doubt it now. But we both know that we have come to a turning point, where the only choice is to go toward love, to deepen our love in another way. And in making that choice, we must also end our dream."

It took all his strength not to turn away from her as she sat silent and full of sorrow, awaiting with sickening dread the return of the aloneness that had vanished from their lives one miraculous night three years before.

"Catherine, we cannot go on as we have. That would never be enough for us now. And we cannot go on as we should. I know the desire we feel for one another is real, but I know as well that should we act upon that desire, the reality of it will destroy us."

She could keep silent no longer, and her voice was rushed and rough with a wave of soul-deep torment. "Vincent, I don't know what you mean! We love each other, we want to make love to each other. There is nothing more natural or right than that. It's what we've felt in our hearts for so long that it's eating us alive. We'll be destroyed if we don't act upon it, not if we do!"

He threw back his head, barely containing an agonized roar of pure heartbreak. His chest heaving, he turned back toward her and held out his hands as if entreating her to somehow let him end their grief.

"You believe that you desire this, and it's not your belief I question. I know your heart, Catherine, and it is nothing less than good and honest and true. But your love for me has deluded you, and now you must hear the truth."

She knew she was fast approaching the breaking point. "Tell me, Vincent. Tell me now what you believe to be the truth."

Her words brought an even deeper sorrow to his heart, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, knowing only the harshest truth would convince her now. "Should you see me, should you know me as I truly am, you would be repulsed, sickened by the things I would share with you, by the reality of my desire for you. For me to even think of touching you with these hands, this body, of trying to further bind your life to mine is unspeakable. It makes a mockery of the love we’ve shared. And it is an offense that dishonors us both. The only way we can preserve even the memory of our love is for you to leave me. Now."

When he looked away from her in shame, she wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms and somehow soothe away all the years of terrible lies and misbeliefs that had imprisoned him in this cage of degradation and self-loathing. Yet she realized that at this moment, her most delicate touch and even her most heartfelt promise would only hurt him more. She knew, as well, that it had taken great courage to reveal his secrets to her, the one person he had most wanted to protect from what he fully believed was their terrible truth. The proof was all there before her in the sight and sound and sensation of him.

But she could not let him go on like this a moment longer, believing in this destructive deception, and she began to speak, trusting that her love would lead him toward what was really true. "Vincent, I think I know what it has cost you to tell me these secrets. And I only love you more for it."

The harsh rasp of his voice abraded the tenderness of her words. "How can you say that, Catherine?"

"Because it's true. I love you for finding the courage to face these fears and for trusting me to help you. And, whether you know it or not, I think that's why you did tell me -- not to prove that your fears are true, and that they’ll force me to leave you, but because you know somewhere within you that I can help you. That together we can find a way to overcome this, and we can go on together, even stronger than before."

He stared at her, his eyes full of longing, his heart full of grief. Hope and denial raged within him, and the turmoil was almost too much for him to bear.

"I don't know, Catherine. Perhaps you are right. But no, it cannot be!" His voice was ragged, as he shook his head roughly. "It cannot be."

With a clarity of inner vision that stunned her, Catherine realized that they truly had reached a tremendous turning point, one whose resolution would be irrevocable. Never again would Vincent be able to approach this subject with her, and, if she could not help him see the light of truth, he would live the rest of his life blindly in darkness. She waited, silently searching her heart for answers, wondering if there could be one more miracle left to them. Then, through the wondrous triumph of their bond, she was offered exactly what she needed.

Played out in a kaleidoscopic array of images, Catherine sensed interweaving visions of the life Vincent had known, pivotal moments of sight and sound, some from long ago, some from the recent past.

.........Impatient children gather at a gated tunnel entrance, faint rays of sunshine reaching through the dimness to light their faces. 'Vincent can't go Above with us and play in the park. Father said so. What if someone sees him?' 'Yeah, what if he gets caught?' 'They're right, Vincent. You'll have to stay here.' Without a word, the smallest child turns from the group and retraces his steps back into darkness, knowing he would not feel the warm spring grass beneath his feet, nor the sunlight on his small face. Only his older brother sees the shuddering of the child's narrow shoulders and hears the beginnings of a sob. For a moment Devin hesitates and then runs to join the others.........

.........In the days before Winterfest the Tunnel children grab up baskets and bags overflowing with specially made candles, almost wild with energy and eagerness to deliver them to Helpers all over the city. Their cries of good-bye echo through the chamber as one small boy is left alone with an elderly candlemaker. 'Here, why don't you take just this one and bring it to Elizabeth,' she suggests kindly. The child reaches for the candle, careful to shield its soft waxy beauty from his sharp little claws. 'Thank you, Nina,' he whispers gratefully.........

.........Squealing and sputtering, Tunnel children of all ages splash in and out of a spring-fed pool. Many of the older ones gleefully ignore the grown-ups who are attempting to teach them more advanced swimming and diving skills. 'Winslow and Pascal! Stop that right now and listen to me!' Sam orders the rambunctious pair. 'I haven't got all day to waste on the two of you!' The man glances toward a small, darkened tunnel entrance at the far end of the pool. In the shadows an eleven-year-old boy watches the others as he waits for his turn for a lesson. For just a moment he steps forward, thinking to join in the noisy fun, and then he freezes where he is and looks down at his swimsuit-clad body, wincing at the changes that seem to be taking place in him over night. He looks back at the smooth skin and lanky limbs of the other boys and then retreats into the sheltering shadows, waiting alone.........

.........A teenage girl whirls across a chamber floor, lost in a swirl of dreams and possibilities, delighting herself and her young admirer. It is an enchanted place, one where realities are all too easily set aside, until the moment comes when they cannot be denied. Then pain rips apart the magic, and scars are deeply etched, not on a girl's milky white skin, but in a boy's loving, hope-filled heart and in a father's terrified soul.........

.........The Great Hall is filled with sound. Merry laughter, tinkling music, running footsteps, cheerful voices of friends, and, from without, the whispery wail of the winter wind. A cluster of teenage boys loiters to one side of the vast chamber, their excited voices subdued only with effort. 'Are ya gonna do it, Pascal?' 'I said I would, didn't I?' 'Nah, I bet he's gonna chicken out again.' 'Yeah, Mitch, you think so? Then just watch me!' With more courage in his stride than in his heart, Pascal stalks across the expanse separating his friends from a giggling group of girls. The other boys watch with envy and admiration as he leads Rebecca onto the dance floor. 'Hey, if he can do it, so can I!' Kanin, a newcomer to the Tunnel world, determinedly makes his way toward a blushing Olivia. Swaggering, Mitch turns back toward the others. 'How about you, Winslow? You gonna ask someone to dance?' 'I might, in a few minutes.' 'What's the matter -- you scared or something?' 'Me? Nah, just deciding who the lucky lady's gonna be.' The two boys laugh uproariously. 'How about you, Mitch?' 'Yeah, sure. At least we got a better chance than someone like Vincent.' Full of bravado, Mitch ignores Winslow's threatening glare. 'They'd scream their heads off and run in the opposite direction if he wanted to dance with them!' The tall, blond-haired boy just approaching his friends from behind, pivots silently and runs, his eager anticipation of the once-a-year celebration crushed from his heart.........

.........A cloaked and hooded figure enters his father's chamber, stoically anticipating what will come. The older man whirls around at the sound of his son's footsteps. 'Is she awake?' 'Yes. She's very frightened.' Jacob hesitates for only a moment. Fear roughens his voice. 'How could you bring a stranger down here -- to where we live!' With quick, forceful steps he strides forward and throws his book down upon his desk. 'You ignored our most important rule.' His son's voice is calm and resolute. 'I know that. There was no other way.' The older man's pacing finally halts and he stares into his son's eyes. 'Do you know what they'd do if they caught you up there or found you down here? They'd kill you. Or put you behind bars and make you wish you were dead.' The words are spoken with a death knell of truth.........

.........A father's fond smile lights upon his son's face. 'You know, you have the soul of a doctor. When I studied medicine, they wouldn't admit minorities.' He looks away nervously and then back again at his son as his smile grows tense, its former warmth transformed to a distorted grimace. 'I wonder what they would have done with you. Let's not even think about it.'.........

.........A beautiful woman stands in his chamber, arms crossed, voice tense, as waves of concern and trepidation flow from her to engulf him. 'You didn't come. I called. I banged on the pipes. You never came!' She leans toward him but he doesn't move. 'I could feel your fear, Catherine. Even now I frighten you.' The words are uttered in a halting rasp. 'You taught me to face my fears always, Vincent.' She approaches him tentatively. 'Tell me.' 'What should I tell you? That I am not this shadow, this man-monster that you hunt. Must you hear the words before you trust?' Her nod is almost imperceptible. When he continues, there is resignation and acceptance in his voice. 'Hear them then. It is not me. Catherine, I would never hurt you.' He takes a single step toward her, and reflexively she recoils from him, her eyes wide and wild. It is another betrayal in the lifetime of a trusting heart, but the pain of this one will eclipse the hurt of all the others he has known and has come to accept. She apologizes instantly, her heart in her quavering voice as she begs him to forgive her. Containing the excruciating pain within himself, he tells her, 'Sometimes the words that are not spoken are the truest words of all, however much they hurt...We both know what these hands can do, have done. Catherine, if your heart does not trust, then no words I speak could help.' His voice is even, almost gentle, but his eyes are filled with hurt and anger and disappointment.........

.........A young woman, desperate and distraught, is welcomed into the Tunnel community. She finds a safe haven that will welcome not only her battered self but her unborn child as well. She meets the other souls who dwell Below, but hears only snatches of phrases, rumors, mysterious words about another named Vincent. Her natural curiosity will have to wait, for he has once again isolated himself in a distant chamber, alone and separate from his friends and family and home. He must protect yet another newcomer from himself until the others can offer explanations and issue warnings, preparing her as best they can for the horror and shock which will surely come once she sets terrified eyes on him.........

.........Alone in a darkened chamber, he sits, almost consumed with fear as he witnesses his most tormented nightmares coming true. Brushing aside the old solace and diversion of poetic words, he rasps out a single question, 'Am I a man?' Frowning, his father answers in careful, measured words. 'Part of you is.' Summoning the courage from the depths of his soul, the man whispers harshly, 'And the part that is not?' That his beloved, trusted parent has no answer is the most devastating and terrifying reply of all.........

Breathless, Catherine shook her head violently, forcing her awareness back to the present. She had seen and heard enough, but wisps of words and phrases still hissed and whistled through her, as if unwilling to offer release until his pain truly became hers. Shaken to the soul, she sat as still as a vigilant sentinel and waited for the storm to subside.

Her terrible journey had lasted no more than a minute, although it had seemed like an eternity both to her and to the man at her side. Vincent had watched transfixed as emotions slid over her face, flashing one after the other in mute but eloquent reenactment of his pain-filled days and nights. As if the sight of her like that had not been tortuous enough, the bond had forced upon him an undeniable understanding of Catherine's odyssey, one which had stunned him into frozen silence, leaving him helpless to intervene. Even now, he could not move toward her. He could barely breathe or see or hear.

At last, Catherine took several deep, even breaths, and felt her racing heart calm and her vision clear, as the tormenting voices finally silenced themselves. Armed with the agonizing truth of what she had always known but had never fully understood, she opened her arms to him, and without hesitation they flowed into each other's embrace. For long, uncounted moments they simply held each other, trusting beyond mere hope that now, at last, they could began to heal.

Carefully releasing her, Vincent eased back and slightly away from her. He knew he could not separate from her completely, although he tried to convince himself he should, and he let their hands remain as they were, their fingers entwined like slender, newborn vines that would survive together or not at all. Then, he looked into her eyes and waited.

Her fingers tightened around his, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet and steady. "Vincent, I told you I thought I understood your hesitation, your fears, and in some ways I do. But I never truly realized how much you had suffered, or how the depth of that pain has shaped your life."

She paused as a flinching rush of humiliation and hurt flickered in his eyes, yet instinctively she knew he wanted her to go on. "I'm not sure how it happened. It's as if I've actually witnessed scenes from your life, most of them moments that I never knew of before, things you couldn't share with me. And I would give anything -- anything -- to be able to change them for you and take away the hurt. But we both know I can't do that." She shook her head gently, and a small, sad smile touched her lips. "No one can change what's in the past. But together we can shape what is yet to come." She waited, knowing he would respond, hoping he had believed.

"Catherine, I am aware of what you felt, what you saw. And I am ashamed that you have discovered things about me that should have stayed hidden away from you forever. The pain is something I have lived with because I had no other choice. But these are things I wished for you never to know. It is a burden that should not have been forced upon you."

"It is one that I gladly accept if that will help you bear it! Together we can find a way to deal with it and be done with it!"

He shook his head hard. The violent movement wrenched a single painful cry from deep within him, and the terrible sound devoured the healing words she longed to say, the words he longed to believe. All his life, despite knowing that it could not come to be, he had prayed for someone to give him a miracle. A miracle that would somehow take away the dark and cursed thing within him that made him an outcast. He would have excised the poisonous brand from his soul himself if he could have. But the simple truth was that he had never fully understood what it was that made him an anathema, only that it was so. And now he would be forced to bare the rest of his disfigurement to her.

"Catherine, there is something more you must know. But please, say nothing further until I have finished. You say you wish to help me, and there is nothing I could want more. But it is impossible. There are answers to questions I have asked myself all my life, but I am afraid of their power. If I never hear those answers, then I can survive. But I am afraid that once they are spoken, they will destroy me."

She leaned closer, gripping his hands convulsively, unable to remain silent. "Vincent, you're scaring me. You can face this -- we can face it. I won't let you be destroyed! Just tell me what it is."

His eyes darkened until they were almost opaque with pain. He looked long and hard at her as if he were memorizing every detail of a beloved face he would never see again. As if, she realized helplessly, he were saying good-bye.

His voice was low and resolute. "Catherine, you have been a part of my life for three years. And you have been a part of my world. You know my place in it and you know how others see me. That my family, my friends love and respect me is something that brings me great joy and enables me to live.

"But now, through this -- this vision, you have been shown something more. That even the people who have known and loved me all my life believe there is something within me that sets me apart. That isolates me from all others. Something in me that cannot be loved...When I was young, I often wondered why I came to look the way I do. And then once I understood, I realized perhaps it was an act of mercy, after all. The way I look -- my physical differences -- have offered a kind of protection. For others, my differences been a warning to keep themselves apart from me; and for myself, they've provided an undeniable reason, an excuse, for my aloneness. But I know that they’re more than that. The ugliness that you can see is superficial. It is only a reflection of the greater distortion, the ugliness that is within. And I know that even if I were as handsome as a fairytale prince, it would make no difference to the truth – to the real and terrible darkness that is part of my soul. Catherine, that is the source of all my shame and it is the reason you must leave me, leave before the darkness destroys you, too."

He knew that now she would finally understand why, despite the brave and brilliant miracle of the love they had shared, there could never be more than what they already had. That they had come so far was beyond belief, and now that, too, would die a suffering, shameful death.

He had to look away, but the voice of her heart called him back. And the sound was fierce with her love of him and all that he had ever been, all that he was yet to be.

"Vincent, never be ashamed of who you are. What some other people might have thought doesn't matter. Not the good things, not the bad things. The only thing that's important is the truth."

His voice was a harsh rasping sound. "And I have told you the truth, Catherine! Why can't you understand?"

"Because it isn't the truth at all. I know you, Vincent. I know your heart. I know your soul. There's nothing dark or distorted there. You've let others make you believe that. They didn't mean to hurt you, but they did. And I won't let it go on anymore – it will never happen never again! What you've believed all this time is a lie, a terrible lie. And now I want to help you believe in the truth."

As he tried to speak, his voice broke, and in his voice they heard the last scrap of hope his ragged heart could hold. "And what is that truth, Catherine?"

Her smile grew luminous and her voice was soft and strong. "The truth, Vincent? The truth is who you are. There is darkness and light in all of us, and there is nothing wrong with that. No one is entirely good or bad, weak or strong. It all just varies by degrees. We’re all different, and maybe it’s true that your differences are greater than most and they are what sets you apart from others. But it’s not because they diminish you, it’s because they make you so much more than other men can ever hope to be. Some men can hide a truly evil heart behind a façade of goodness and light, but that’s something you could never do. It simply isn’t part of you. The goodness in you is too true, too real to ever be mistaken for anything less."

She felt her heart flood with light and love and knew that so much of it was because of him and everything he was to her and to himself. "Vincent, you are a man of tremendous courage and great inner strength. You are incredibly honest and gentle and good. You have a brilliant mind and an endlessly loving and generous heart. And you are deeply compassionate and patient and kind. You always have been, you always will be. You are filled with so much light, the darkness will never overtake you. And, Vincent, you are the man I will love forever. Only you."

"I want to believe you, Catherine, to believe everything you’ve said," he whispered hoarsely. "I want it to be the truth."

"It is the truth. You must believe it, all of it, and you must never forget it."

He knew he could not doubt her, and yet the powerful restraints of a lifetime could not be so readily released even by the strength of her love and trust. Knowing it would cause her further pain, but knowing, too, that it could not be avoided, he went on. "Catherine, your love for me is the most wondrous and beautiful part of my life. I never dreamed it could be so. I know that you truly love a part of me, the part your heart understands, but --"

Her response was immediate and expected. "I love all of you, Vincent, all of you!"

He shook his head. "You do not know all of me. Think about what you have just experienced, what you've seen and learned. What you love is only part of me, what you know is only the…man…I have been with you. What you do not know and what you cannot love is the part of me that I must still keep hidden from you – until now." He wished with all his heart that he could end this confrontation here and now, yet he knew he had no choice but to continue. He had to tell her everything he'd kept imprisoned within and, in doing so, give her one last chance to sever herself from him. Desperately he searched for words that would offer proof not even she could deny.

"Catherine, you do not know the reality of my body, of the physical desire for you that burns in me always, of how I would hold you and touch you. I have no right to touch you with these hands, hands that have bloodied and torn apart other men. To even think of them touching you is repellent beyond imagination."

Caught up again in the riptide of his horrible beliefs, he raced on, unable to stem the outpouring of his words even if he wanted to. "My body is ugly, different, it is not the body of a normal man of your world or even of mine. You would be horrified to look upon me and to know that this is the body that would force itself on you. That this is what desires you. You would be disgusted to know just how much I want you, Catherine, to discover what I long for us to share. If you knew of the dreams I have of you, of us together, you would run from me...and maybe you should."

Now heavy with hopelessness, his voice slowed to a low, leaden monotone. "It is wrong for me to think of you this way. I’ve tried not to, but I can't stop myself. These feelings are so strong that I am afraid of what I might do if I should lose myself in my desire for you. Your love has changed my life, it has given me a life I would never have had. Our hearts have reached out to each other, and have joined us together in a love that is nothing short of a miracle. Our love is something that has never been…and what we have now is all that will ever be. You must understand me, Catherine! I would rather die than know that I had forced you to turn from away from me, from our love, because I tried to reach for something that I have no right to want, no right to expect."

Catherine's voice vibrated with clashing currents of unrestrained emotion. Waves of anger and hurt and passion washed over him, almost drowning him under their force. "How could he have done this to you!" she demanded. "It's Father who made you believe these things, isn't it? How could he have destroyed you like this?"

"Catherine, no! He only meant to protect me, not to hurt me."

She shuddered in an effort to contain herself, and her flashing eyes narrowed ominously. "Do you know how much damage has been done in the name of love? I know he only did what he thought was right, but, Vincent, he wasn't right! Don't you see? He wasn't right at all."

Conflicting thoughts tumbled over and over in his mind. How could he doubt her, the woman who loved him more than life itself? But how could he doubt his own past and the only parent he had ever known, the man who had devoted over thirty years of his own life to protecting and nurturing his uniquely different son?

"I don't know what to think. It wasn't only Father who taught me these things about myself. All my life I've known that there were things I could never have, never do. Things I should never wish for."

"Why?" she asked, her voice dangerously even, as she withdrew one hand from his tight grasp and swiped away the tears that spilled across her flushed face. "Why, Vincent?"

"Because they are wrong for someone like me."

"For someone like you?" she echoed, her rage suddenly ebbing to a deep and abiding sadness. "No one will ever be able to make me believe that. You deserve everything, Vincent, everything! The tragedy is that there is nothing in you that is to blame. It's in the world that tries to take away all your hope and all your dreams. You understand the works of the greatest poets and artists and composers as well as the finest scholars at any university. Is it wrong for you to wish that you might walk through Wordsworth's fields of daffodils, or to hope that someday you'll see the evening stars above the ocean just as Turner painted them, or hear a Mozart concerto at the Festival at Salzburg? Why should you, of all people, be denied the right to hope?"

She spoke quickly now, desperate to make her point, and yet afraid that in his vulnerable state, he might be wounded even further by her words. "You have so much love in you, love you give so freely to others. Is it wrong for you to want to give that love to me? Or to express it in every way, to share every wonderful moment that two people in love could ever hope to have? Vincent, you have as much right to that as any person does. You have a right to feel desire, to express it. It’s a very beautiful part of love that we’re entitled to share, just like anyone else."

She paused and took another deep breath, feeling her heart racing even faster. "Maybe there are other things you can never do, places you might never go, but we won't know that if we never even try. Once you told me that I deserved a life without limits. Do you remember that?"

It was impossible not to trust her. He nodded, silently begging her to continue. To give him back his miracle, to give him back his life.

"And I told you that there were no lives without limits, only that we don't yet know what our limits might be. I still believe that, Vincent, and I think you believe it, too. "

His voice grew hollow with weariness. "I don't know what I believe anymore."

"Then will you at least promise to consider what I've said, because, my love, I think you're going to find that you’ve been wrong about a lot of things for a very, very long time." She surprised them both with the slow smile that warmed her generous mouth. "I think – no, I know there's a life just waiting for you to accept it, a life full of so many wonderful things you've always thought were beyond your dreams."

The expression on his face tightened painfully, and she winced, knowing she had caused it. "My dreams? It was the....inappropriateness of some of my dreams that brought us to this point, Catherine. And now there are decisions that must be made."

She had heard that tone in his voice before, an immovable rigidity that spoke of deep commitment to his beliefs of what was right for her and, conversely, wrong for him. It was there when he urged her to move on to a new life in Providence, a fulfilling real life in place of the dream which he said was only thing they could ever share. It was there when, on the anniversary of her mother's death, he had refused her plea to come Below, insisting that she had a life Above waiting to be lived, a life from which he must be entirely excluded. And it was there when he could not allow himself to believe she still loved him once she had learned of his shameful past with Lisa.

To allow him to go on like this was at best unnecessary, and at worst dangerously unthinkable. The thought flashed through Catherine's mind with lightning-quick intensity and in a heartbeat she knew what she had to do.

"Vincent, suppose for just a moment that I did not find you physically attractive. Do you think that I'm so shallow that I couldn't look beyond all that and love you for yourself?"

He stared at her, his blue eyes blank with unconcealed shock. "No, Catherine, never. You have a generous heart, warm and giving, and full of love. I would never think of you as shallow. I know you have overlooked my physical differences, so that you are able to love me at all."

Twinges of guilt rankled through her for deliberately manipulating him, but she was frantic with the need to break through his granite-like resolve, and she simply did not know what else she could do.

"And it was your whole world that showed me how to see beyond the obvious. You were the ones who taught me how to see with my heart."

His bafflement at the unexpected direction her words had taken slowly shifted to a sad acceptance. He had expected her to continue to fight him, to argue and plead her case, but it seemed as if she had at last come to the inevitable realization that he had been right all along.

And then, when she continued, he found himself once again thrown off-balance. Forced to question his own beliefs, he tried to deafen himself to the small inner voice of hope that would not be stilled.

Swallowing hard, she kept her voice even, hoping the calm certainty in her demeanor disguised the trepidation that throbbed within. "But, Vincent, in giving my heart vision, you didn't blind my eyes, you know."

He hesitated, measuring her for a moment. Finding himself unable to reply, he could only wait for her to go on.

"Your heart can see so much. With it you see imagination where others see foolishness, courage where others see defiance. A 'princess in a dragon', 'a world in a grain of sand'."

"'Eternity in an hour'?"

Unbelievably, her words had conjured a fleeting ghost of a smile from him, and its small strength urged her forward. "But you see with your eyes as well. Think of the stars reflecting in the Mirror Pool, or Elizabeth's paintings, or the expression on the children's faces when you read them a bedtime story. You see that beauty with your eyes, and you believe in it just as much as you believe in the beauty you see with your heart. Do you understand what I'm trying to say to you?"

He answered tentatively, as if testing a theory long forbidden yet secretly embraced. "That the truth of one sort of vision does not preclude the truth of another."

She nodded, feeling her heart begin to beat again. "I see these things, too. I can appreciate what both my heart and my eyes show me, yet I know there's a lot that I'm oblivious to. But you see so much beauty everywhere, within and without, even in the slightest gesture, the briefest moment...Vincent, you know how well and how deeply you have been loved. That love wouldn’t have existed if not for others recognizing your true inner beauty. Your heart has shown you that. But how sad it is that you've never been able to open your eyes to the physical beauty of the man that you are."

When she looked at his face, she saw a mask of wary disbelief, but through their bond she felt a surge of renewed hope and exhilaration that he could not conceal. She gently reached for his hand and held it in both of hers, caressing the silky golden-haired skin and callused palm before raising her eyes to meet his unwavering gaze.

"Vincent, I will always love everything about you, the brightness and the shadows. I love you for the person you are within your heart and soul, but don't ever, ever think I do in spite of your appearance. I love the way you look and the way you feel. I love the sound of your voice and the touch of your hands and the taste of your kisses. The way your hair smells like rain and the night when you come to me Above and smoky and sweet when we're Below. I love the strength and gentleness of your arms when you hold me. And I will love the heat and hardness of your body when you make love to me."

Something intense flared through his entrancement with her words, and when he gasped her name aloud, she felt it sear her to the soul.

"Catherine! Do you know what you are saying?" His eyes pleaded for her reassurance. "It is what I want, what I've dreamed of for so long. But it cannot be. I have no right -- "

With one small, strong hand she stilled his anguished words, lightly caressing his lips until his trembling finally stopped and, when he pressed a quick, fevered kiss against her satiny skin, her trembling began.

She drew in a shaky breath. "Vincent, you do have the right to dream these dreams. And you have the right to want them to become real. You must try and forget what's in the past. I'm here with you now and I will stay with you forever. Our dreams are one and the same, and I give you the right to make them all come true with me."

Vincent knew she offered him all the beautiful, wondrous things he had never dreamed could be his, even though he'd never been able to cease his longing for them. He could no longer oppose her; he no longer wanted to. She had heard his deepest secrets. She understood that his scars were deep and that his treacherous fears had not yet entirely released him. She knew what risks remained before them, and still she loved him and wanted him with all her heart. The words reverberated through him. Me, she loves me, she loves all that I am. How could he be any less courageous than she? How could he have any less faith?

There could be no other answer, no other choice, no other dream.

He took a deep breath, and his voice was calm and deep. "I believe you, Catherine. And if you are sure that this is what you truly want, then I will accept and rejoice in this precious gift. The gift of your love and your faith in me, in what we are and what we will be together. Everything is changing now, in ways I'd never expected. It will take some time, but..."

"But it's a beginning," she completed his promise. "And if you are truly willing to go on, then, for now, it is enough."

"Yes," he murmured softly as he took her in his arms, knowing he held everything. "Yes, for now it is enough..."

From somewhere within the chamber's hushed amber glow, they heard the faint, metallic tapping of the pipes, the soft sputter of a guttering candle, and the steady rhythmic throbbing of their own hearts. It was the sound of faith and courage and love, the sound of where they longed to be. And, as they held each other in unspoken communion, they knew it was the sound of coming home.  

Pathways Untraveled

Peggy Garvin

Despite his promise that they would
Move toward love together,
He knew he paths they must traverse
To get to their forever
Were, in truth, impossible for
Him to walk at all.
Just a cold and bitter pathway
Into the endless dark
Awaited them at journey’s end
Should they try to embark.
For should you see me as I am
In truth, not with your heart,
Would cause dishonorable offense
And tear us both apart.
Oh, Vincent, can’t you see why you
Have braved the pain to share
Your greatest fear with me alone?
You must have been aware
That together we can conquer
The darkness you perceive
And see the light of truth in love.
Reach through the bond – believe.