(This story is written strictly for the free enjoyment of fans of the "Beauty and the Beast" television series. No copyright infringement is intended.)

Darkness Unbound

 Angie

Who shall tempt with wandering feet
The dark unbottomed infinite abyss
And through the palpable obscure find out
His uncouth way.

- John Milton

It lurked in the darkness, aware. Its need was great. It moved from place to place, seeking prey, luring it. The vermin in the underground world were Its main source of sustenance and It was patient. The four-legged things were big enough, but the flying things were fragile and tiny. Both these were getting fewer all the time. It was grateful for the carcasses thrown to It by the hunter – and felt a fellowship with that being, who seemed as dark as Itself, moving between the shadows, place to place.

The hunter was not like the other two-legged creatures below ground, loud with their living, hot in their blood. Occasionally, It had one. Once the hunter had been nearby when another had fallen. Almost the hunter had fallen before that, but It had sent a compulsion to that other to save the hunter and prevent that happening. The fall of that other had been unexpected, but welcome.

It lured the weak ones – the ones whose minds were biddable and whose steps could be influenced, ever so slightly, but they were very rare. They feared It, those others, even though they were unaware of Its nature. It understood fear – a need other than Its prime need.

It knew the hunter sensed It, but had needs It didn’t understand, and therefore found interesting. Consequently, It did not try to trap the hunter. It recognized a death wish once and refused to be present when the hunter sought It. It desired knowledge; knowledge made memories, and memories were Its sole reason for existence. Nothing so interesting as the hunter had come Its way in long eons.

It moved from place to place with design. Sometimes It waited below one of the wooden structures built by the others. Then It lurked beneath a stone spiral the two-legs used, or beside the long stone path going downwards in the huge wind chamber. Once, It had moved below the spiral metal construction, but the hunter was the main user and was too careful, even if It had wanted him.

Need now dominated It. It had not consumed for a long time. It thought of the hunter. Perhaps that one would help. It sensed something kindred, dark and mysterious.

It had been where It was, deep in the underground world, a very long time. It knew that there was an above ground world, but also that there was no place for It there. It sensed a too-bright place, crowded with others and mechanical things, geometric works of metal and stone. Down in Its lair, there was silence, clean rock, still water. It was fastidious. It left no remains of Its victims, and as for the other things, less digestible, which were occasionally thrown It - they were piled in a cave far below.

…

Vincent stood on the bridge over the Whispering Gallery. He often strolled onto it to think. The noises of the world Above intrigued him – and of course, he could sometimes hear music, if he was fortunate. Such a wealth of human-created sound amazed him. The tunnel world was largely quiet, but for the tapping on the pipes and the voices of his family. No one made a lot of noise Below unless there was great need, because they had to be able to hear the messages on the pipes. They were especially careful of noises that might echo around the long tunnels, alerting possible enemies.

Today there were no sounds at all, as if they were being supressed. He looked down. The Abyss was there today, sucking all light into Its misty swirls, and somehow creating a brooding silence. Sometimes the Abyss was elsewhere, but how It moved from place to place, Vincent had no idea. He had researched books to try and understand this phenomenon, some with a rather esoteric bent. He had concluded that the Abyss was something not of the normal world, perhaps not of this planet even. It was a wonder of the world Below – but one he had the greatest respect for. He, perhaps alone of the community, could clarlyclearly hear those siren calls, loud and clear, and knew what they meant – although everyone Below was wary.

He went back to the pipe near the entry and tapped a warning to Pascal. The Abyss was watched carefully. It was important that everyone know where the bottomless well was at all times. Sometimes It was in a very dark place, one that a child might slip into in a careless moment and be lost forever.

They knew all the Abyss’ hiding places, but there was always danger. Vincent could feel Its call like a blow. This, he knew, was why people fell. Sometimes the Abyss seemed malevolent, challenging. Today that misty well almost sang, seductive, welcoming. Vincent tapped another message on the pipes, and waited until Mouse brought two bright traffic cones and placed them at either end of the bridge.

Mouse had come by the cones mysteriously, but Vincent suspected how. After being caught above by Elliot Burch’s men, Mouse had been quiet. When the Tower was halted for good, Mouse had gone Above to wreak his own vengeance. He would not have risked being caught again, but the stacks of cones at the construction site would have been irresistable. They were invaluable now, alerting everyone that the Abyss was more than usually strong in that place. No one would now venture over the Whispering Bridge.

Even the children were as afraid of that hole as only they could be. A child had been lost into that maw once, long ago, according to Father. He had told the children that story, to reinforce the lesson. One of the early orphans had run down the windy stairs and slipped, before Mary could reach her. That was in the early days of the community, when the true nature of the danger was unknown. The catacombs had a stone marker as a reminder. There would never be a body or a burial.

True nature. That was an odd term, Vincent thought. What was the true nature of the Abyss? It just was, but he thought of it an an entity – an ‘It’’ It moved, It lured, It captured the unwary. It stayed in one place as long as It stayed - and then It was elsewhere.

He hoped that It would not stay long under the Whispering Bridge this time. This danger meant a long detour to the spiral stairs to reach the outside tunnels on the other side of the bridge. Devin had brought Charles that way once, through a seldom used iron door. They used those tunnels to reach the warehouse district now, a source of many useful scavenged goods.

Vincent stood on the bridge a little longer, thinking. Was there an intelligence in the Abyss, he wondered. It was a strange thought, and one he would never have confessed to Catherine. She was still too rooted in the logic of the world above, Kristopher Gentian notwithstanding. But he knew well the attraction of oblivion. He had almost succumbed to that while he was ill – first with Paracelsus’ hallucinogenic drug and then after he had killed his tormentor disguised as Father. A fall into the Abyss then would have been a relief, but he had not been able to locate It. Now he wondered why. Had It hidden from him? If that was so, why?

Vincent looked down the throat of the Abyss and opened his mind to It. He was startled when he felt recognition, respect almost. He wondered why that should be. True, he had thrown numerous rat bodies down the Abyss after his vermin hunts. He could feel the hunger lurking in that misty well, but couldn’t discern what nourishment the Abyss needed. Plenty of other things had been thrown down that seemingly bottomless hole, Vincent knew. Having no garbage dump, the community occasionally tossed in items that they could not re-use – chiefly rusty metal or items broken beyond repair.

Vincent sensed the Abyss was trying to communicate, that It needed to do so. It also seemed to want him elsewhere than the bridge – and not down Its circular maw. Vincent wondered where the intelligence of the Abyss resided. Was there a bottom to that well – beyond the ken of man?

He did not consider ignoring the call of the entity. He, of all the tunnel dwellers, was least at risk from the Abyss. He was also fit and very happy. Catherine was pregnant with their child and he was at peace with himself for the first time in his life. At the back of his mind was the thought that if the Abyss wished to communicate, perhaps he could reason with the it, make It less dangerous. He would soon have a son – he could sense the fetus, although he had not told Catherine so. A son, a too-curious son, might be in danger from the intelligence he sensed in the Abyss. He needed to know more.

The Abyss had an undoubted attraction to the young. It didn’t look dangerous, so much as mystical, magical even. As a result, no adult ever told very young children any story that included a mysterious hole. Alice in Wonderland was forbidden, as was Jules Verne’s Journey to the Centre of the Earth, and any book or poem which included a mysterious way to "elsewhere" or to treasure, or adventures. It would be wonderful to be able to lift that restriction on reading material, Vincent decided, rationalizing the risk.

He would not tell Catherine about this plan. She was Above, preparing to leave her job and tying up multitudes of loose ends. This was something he had to do secretly. No one would understand. He guessed he would not have to go very far to communicate with the Abyss entity. Perhaps just somewhere quiet.

The next morning, Vincent said goodbye to Catherine, who had to meet Peter for a check-up before going to the office. Then he went swiftly to the Whispering Gallery. The Abyss was still there. He opened his mind and let It know he would communicate. He was given the picture of a place, one he knew. It was directing him to the ledge which ended in mist, where Winslow had been killed by Erlick, when they had set out to rescue Catherine from Paracelsus. Why there, he wondered?

With a sigh, Vincent made his way down the long tunnels and retraced the steps he had taken with Winslow and Pascal. He had not been that way since. He and Catherine had returned by a different route. Winslow had been gruff, but a true friend and a brave man. It was painful to think of his death, even now, so long after that terrible time.

He traveled quickly and soon reached the last of the pipes. He stopped to send a message that he was visiting Winslow’s cairn. That would prevent anyone from worrying about him. Since Paracelsus’ death, there had been no incursions from deep below. Vincent believed there was no one there now. He sensed no one. Those Narcissa called the forgotten ones had probably abandoned Paracelsus one by one, after his repeated ploys to destroy Father and return to power had ended in failure. His death would have been the final blow to any that remained. Vincent hoped they had gone above and found better lives for themselves.

He emerged onto the ledge and walked to the cairn. It looked forlorn and lonely here, but they could not have taken the body back along that tortuous route to the catacombs. In a way, Winslow was guarding their world and Vincent knew he would have liked that. He had fiercely protected all of them, while alive.

Vincent looked around. Nothing had changed. The mists still swirled beyond the cliff edge, running over it in billows. It was a peculiar place. He had never discovered how Erlick had sunk out of sight after being shot by Jamie, but he assumed there was some mechanical device. He’d had to take the long way around after sending the others home, even punting along the Nameless River, to reach the place where Paracelsus was holding Catherine.

He walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. He was not surprised when the mists suddenly cleared a little and he saw the deep well of the Abyss. It was quiet now, as if waiting. It must know he had come. What was It thinking? It could think, he was now certain, although Its thought processes were opaque, like the mist in Its throat. Vincent sat down on the stone, crossed his legs, cleared his mind and waited.

Gradually he became aware of a tickle, and then he seemed to be watching a story unfold, one picture at a time, like a slide show or a movie – both of which Catherine had introduced him to. He quickly became enthralled.

The Abyss entity, he understood, had come into existence with the universe. It had come to this galaxy from places beyond the understanding of men. It was independent of time and matter.

Vincent then felt the Abyss’ need, sensed It was alone. Once It had known others of Its kind, but they were now separated by vast gulfs of space. They were solitary, had been hiding in the deep wells of black holes since the first nova, feeding in them. The Abyss entity had been caught too close to a nova explosion and sought refuge in that mass of matter that eventually became the Solar System, and then the Earth. It was not indestructible and had experienced … discontinuity. It was now a fraction of Its original size, but that didn’t matter. It remembered everything, forgot nothing It learned. It had no name, no identity – It simply was. Its memory lived in every molecule.

It could move between places, between solid rock, because It was molecular in structure. I took on a local physical aspect to catch nourishment. It could shift between spaces too small to see. It had a hunger that was primal and hot, but not malevolent, Vincent learned, at last. It fed to keep Its memories alive. If It starved, It lost memories and eventually It would die, lost to Itself and the universe forever. Memories and knowledge were all It had – Its only reason for existing.

It was as trapped as any earthbound creature, Vincent realized with compassion.

What could he do for It, Vincent asked - and was told. It needed organic nourishment. Not a great deal, but regularly. It had always used the only weapons at Its disposal to lure organic prey – It projected Its own need, and that was now very great indeed, almost all-consuming.

Vincent found he could communicate to the Abyss in turn, but was careful to keep his thoughts simple. A question remained. If Vincent could ensure the Abyss was fed, would It stay in one place, cease to endanger the other living ones, similar to himself? The Abyss was quiet for some time, as if thinking on this.

Vincent considered his options while he waited. What could they feed It? He could do more regular vermin-catching, sensing that the Abyss liked fresh meat. He could also ensure that William gave It any bones or entrails he could not use. He let the Abyss know this, then thought of the other organic waste created by the community. Did the entity want that too? Would that suffice?

The entity let him know it understood - and concurred. It would be enough. It did not want to interact with Vincent’s world. It would cease Its movements and remain in one place if a regular supply of sustenance was available to It. It could then concentrate on collecting knowledge and storing it as memory.

Where could the Abyss go where It could feed and yet not be dangerous? Then Vincent knew. It was obvious, in retrospect. He told the Abyss he would find a place and left the ledge. Vincent went back into the habitable tunnels, walked to a stone culvert and called It. A moment later the swirling well appeared, smaller than he had ever seen It, but just as potent. Then It sent Vincent something very like a sigh. Vincent watched as the entity retreated slowly into the pipe and was lost to sight.

This was the place where the community dumped organic waste too big to either incinerate or re-use in any normal way. The opening also led to their sewage system, whose pipes wound their way to a very long stone channel leading to an even deeper chamber. There the waste was expelled and left to dry and turn to dust. It was an imperfect solution, but they did not want to pollute the seas beyond their world or expel evidence that would arouse curiosity or concern in the world above.

The Abyss, he sensed, was already pleased. It had divided itself, so as to miss neither the kitchen waste pipe nor the sewage one. Vincent was relieved. The supply would be guaranteed for as long as the community survived. Now everyone would be safe.

Vincent returned to his chamber and sat in his chair. He was about to open his journal and record this latest adventure, when he sensed Catherine approaching and heard the dinner signal over the pipes. He had not realized it was so late. Her happiness seemed to flow ahead of her and he rose to gather her in his arms as she ran into the chamber. Her love and joy as she hugged him filled him with such happiness, that he found he no longer wanted to record the day’s journey. He could sense the Abyss now, lightly, and felt a different kind of need – curiosity. With a full supply of "food" it was now able to think beyond mere sustenance.

Vincent decided that he must keep Its location a secret. When the Abyss failed to appear in any of Its normal haunts, no one would complain, and eventually they would conclude that It was gone. He didn’t want to have to explain his bargain. No one would believe him anyway.

Catherine looked up at Vincent and caught the ghost of a smug smile. She could sense he had done something he was proud of.

"What?" she asked him.

He looked down at her and captured her lips with his.

"Catherine, there are no words – or perhaps too many. ‘But the greatest of those is love’."

She knew he was trying to distract her, but decided it didn’t matter. She knew him well enough to know that he would tell her his story, when and if he wished to. Until then, food was large on her mind – and a hunger of a different kind, which never failed to warm her when she looked at him. He felt it, of course - and responded in that fashion she knew best.

"Dinner first," she said, running her eyes up and down him, hot with promise.

"Yes," Vincent replied. He could sense the hunger in her – not unlike that of the Abyss, he thought. But she was feeding two – and one had as little compassion as the Abyss.

"Food for sweet oblivion."

He chuckled at his own pun as they walked to the dining chamber.

END