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

A Roar into Silence

Angie

… and we should die of that roar that lies on the other side of silence.

George Eliot

Vincent was feeling a little out of sorts. As was his way, he sat in the big chair in his chamber Below and thought about that. Catherine would have called it brooding and tried to distract him, but she was Above in the brownstone with their 4 year old twins, having a coffee klatch with some of the other tunnel women. Vincent had not wanted to be among so much noise and chit-chat and had gladly retreated. Jacob, now 14, was teaching swimming lessons to some of the children. Vincent was happy to hand that responsibility over to his son. He preferred to swim alone – or with Catherine.

So with everyone else busy, Vincent could now think in solitude. What was missing in his life? It was so placid Below these days, that it was almost bucolic. The community had closed all but the safest entries and those were all in buildings helpers owned or lived in.

But it had been a long, cold winter and today was the first official day of spring. Even Vincent had felt the chill this year. He supposed he was getting old. That was a thought that made him introspective.

Come to think of it, he had not had to help any sentries expel invaders since Jacob was born. Consequently, his trademark roar, which he had used to good effect in those bad old days, had not been heard in Jacob’s lifetime. In fact it had become somewhat legendary. He was not sure he liked that. If his roar had become myth, could the rest of him be far behind?

Of course Jacob and the twins had heard all the stories about his adventures and heroics, but not from him - and he had refused to demonstrate his roar. Better they did not get ideas, especially those incorrigible twins. They might be able to roar when they were older.

Could he still roar after 14 years of abstinence? That was the question. It would be embarrassing to have to lend his ferocious aspect to a situation and then, from sheer disuse, emit a screech like a cat with its tail on fire. The more he thought about that, the more he worried – but carefully. He did not want Catherine or his children to know. Vincent quietly dampened his side of the bond a little.

Well, there was only one cure for that conundrum. He would have to roar. But where? He did not want to get angry, not really – and there were no dangers to face.

Could he find an excuse to roar at someone? Maybe a minor roar at William for his most recent joke at Vincent’s expense. That would be a fine revenge – especially if it made the planned chiffon cake fall. No … then everyone would suffer, including himself. Vincent loved that dessert as much as anyone.

But really, William’s addition to the tea delivered to his chamber had been … horrible. A green marshmallow face had looked up at him with google eyes. Vincent hated anything in his tea – particularly anything sweet!

Perhaps Pascal needed a pipe blown out. He was pretty sure his roar could dislodge any rust or dirt – although he was also sure Pascal would never ask such a thing. Now he was being downright silly!

Vincent sighed, remembering. His roar had once brought a chandelier down in the Great Hall. That was a long time ago. Mouse had been working on a surprise for Winterfest and had rigged up a test trip wire near the back entrance to the Great Hall. In typical Mouse fashion, his test had used something other than the final product – which was to be confetti. Vincent, had been the first through the door and had had a bucket of ice water dumped on his head. His roar that time had frightened Mouse into retreat for three days. Not even Vincent could find him, but he was sure Jamie knew where he was and made sure he got fed. Mouse had been fortunate, Vincent reflected. William was using that entrance in preparation for Winterfest and if he had been the victim, Mouse would have found himself scrubbing the kitchen, floor to ceiling, every day for a month – with a toothbrush.

Everything was so quiet and well-ordered Below that Vincent could think of nothing to really roar about. Certainly his roars were not to be used arbitrarily. He did not want to diminish their worth or worry anyone. His roars were loud and traveled far – or used to. He’d have to go someplace where he would not be overheard – and far enough away that no one would guess what he was about. The loss of dignity if anyone found out would be almost as embarrassing as his doing it.

Vincent mentally went through the work roster. Everyone had something to do today, except himself. He was not often asked to exert himself, his family responsibilities often being tiring enough. And he would not be followed by Mouse, who had taken a couple of the teens foraging Above. Well, what was he waiting for?

Vincent walked out of the Hub area, soft-footed, which ensured that no one would hear him unless he wanted them to. He kept his senses alert and made his way deeper, down the steep stone steps beside the Abyss. The wind was fierce and he had to stay close to the wall until he was safely in the passage to the corkscrew stairs. Then he wound his way into the deep tunnels, where no pipes ran and he would meet no one. He moved swiftly now, aware that he had only a couple of hours before lunch – and he certainly did not want to miss a meal. His absence would be noticed and raise questions.

He began to run. These tunnels were just wide and tall enough to allow him to do that. Paracelsus’ gang had enlarged many of them, long ago. His mark, an omega, had been roughly scratched into many of the walls. Although he had met his end some time ago, the legacy of those years was written in Vincent’s soul. He would never be rid of those memories. The thought almost made him want to roar, but he resisted. Not yet. Echoes might be heard.

Then he remembered a place where his roar would not be heard. There was a chamber, not far now, where that terrible mask maker had made a disguise for Paracelsus. What was her name? Vincent had found her after that fateful Winterfest, when they had discovered that Lou had been killed. Vincent had sought the source of that almost too-good disguise and he had not been kind when he found her. He had made it plain she had to cease her activities, immediately.

She had looked at him with such hate that he had been taken aback. Why did she hate him, he asked. What had he ever done to her? They had never met. Who was she?

The woman had spat out her name - Tamara. It emerged that she was one of the tunnel dwellers who had left with John Pater, had been his lover once. She hated Vincent because John had been obsessed with him, always regretted leaving him behind and didn’t hesitate to say so. Tamara had nothing good to say about anyone, as a matter of fact, and plenty of cruel observations of everyone he loved. He suspected she had heard most of them from Paracelsus.

Despite that, Vincent had offered her a place in the community. He sensed her bitterness needed not ostracism, but understanding. She had been Below even longer than himself. He couldn’t just cast her out into the world Above. But she had not wanted his charity, spat out her refusal in blunt and obscene terms. Then she had picked up a largish carpet bag and swept roughly past him. She must have known he was coming, he had assumed – and his purpose.

When she was gone, Vincent had backtracked until he could send a message along the pipes, warning everyone to watch out for her. Then he had gathered together and dropped every one of her horrid effigies and all her tools down the Abyss.

Tamara had disappeared, without a trace, and no sign of her had been seen since.

Vincent rounded a curve and entered the chamber. It had a wide ledge and a set of steps leading to what had been Tamara’s workroom. It was dim, but not completely dark. The walls seemed to be phosphorescent.

The cavern was empty now, except for a long, dusty table with a small wooden trunk on the top, one he had not seen before. He knew he had left nothing of the kind behind.

Curious, he went down into the chamber. The trunk had a clasp, but it was hanging open. He lifted the lid and sneezed from the dust that was dislodged. He couldn’t see what was inside, so he dug out the small tinder box he always carried and lit a battered candle he found under the table.

Inside the trunk were two heads. At first he could not make out the features and had to bend closer to them with the candle, careful not to let it drip on them. Then that courtesy became irrelevant. He gasped and his roar built inside him. He let it out in a rush, the sound reverberating around the chamber. He sensed the sudden concern from Catherine and Jacob and sent a shimmer of apology and love down the bond. Then he resolutely closed himself off from them.

He felt a lot better. His roar was certainly unimpaired – but what was in the trunk needed a different response. Tamara must have hidden this trunk somewhere and brought it back for him to find. He had no doubt that he was the target, but she had obviously meant him to find it long before now. She had probably given up waiting. He could sense no one nearby and knew at a glance that the chamber had been long abandoned. The only tracks on the dusty floor were his own.

Vincent looked down at himself and Catherine, in effigy, and could not prevent cold fingers from running down his spine. It was not the fact of the likenesses, which were gruesome enough, but what Tamara had done to them. They must have been quite accurate representations once, but she had used her skills to modify them.

The visage of Vincent was dark, the hair almost black, like the hallucination of the ‘other’ he had seen so long ago. But the resemblance ended there. The ‘other’ he had seen was just a darker version of himself, still potent, strong and fierce. This one, however, was a horrible parody, the face sagging, imbecile. The eyes, though, were the worst. She had used cat’s eye marbles, giving him a glassy, truly feline stare that made the hair on his nape rise.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the one of Catherine made him want to roar again, and he did so, his chest heaving with disgust. Her face had been cut, as if to parody her injuries the night he found her in the park. But Tamara had gone further. This time her face was bisected with five long, deep parallel cuts, claw marks obviously – a deliberate insult to himself. They stretched from her hairline to her chin diagonally across her nose. One eye under a claw mark was blind, the other’s lid sagged obliquely. The face had a hard expression and Catherine’s full lips were tilted into a sneer of hatred.

Vincent stood up, closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself. He forced himself to look around the chamber again. There was no other doorway but the one he had used. He let his roar gather again and expelled it slowly, until he had to breathe. He felt cleansed. Then he closed the lid on the trunk and carried it out of the chamber.

Slowly, Vincent trudged back towards the habitable parts of the tunnels and stopped at the stairs beside the Abyss. He put the trunk down and pushed it over the side with his foot. He waited. Nothing. There was no sound. There never was.

Tired now, Vincent approached the Hub and went to his chamber. It was almost lunch time, but he wasn’t hungry. He sat on his chair, drew up a leg and hugged it to himself, laying his forehead on it. The masks haunted him. Why had Tamara done that? What if he had not gone back? Would she know he had been there?

All because he wanted to roar. What was wrong with him? He sank into a well of self-disgust, oblivious. Then he felt a pair of arms around his neck and soft lips nibbling an ear. Catherine! He had not even noticed her arrival.

Vincent groaned and put his leg on the floor, wondering how much Catherine had sensed in him. He opened his bond completely and felt her love and concern. She moved to face him and put her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at her.

"What is it Vincent? You look terrible. Tell me."

Vincent was silent for a few moment, then gathered Catherine to him, seating her on his lap.

"Love, I am a fool. I went far below to find out something and found more than I bargained for."

"You are no fool, Vincent. You’re the man I love. But I can tell you’re upset. Why?"

"Catherine, I … I can’t tell you. It’s too horrible. I went to Tamara’s old chamber and found something she left for me to find. I dropped it down the Abyss."

Catherine stiffened. "Tamara? Wasn’t that the mask-maker Paracelsus used? Did you see her, Vincent?"

"No Catherine, I didn’t see her this time. She was long gone. I think she may even be dead. She wasn’t young. No one has seen her since I sent her away. But she had such hatred for all of us, Catherine – and me in particular. I … she … disturbed me."

"Do you think she’d be dangerous if she is still alive, Vincent?"

Vincent shook his head. "No, Catherine. Her hatred was as much for herself as for any of us. Paracelsus made her what she was. He had no love to give her and she needed that above all. She left this community for it, but it was as much an illusion as her masks. Worse. She settled for being used. I hope his death eventually freed her.

"What I found in her cavern had been there a very long time, perhaps since that Winterfest when Paracelsus tried to kill Father. Paracelsus would have been angry with Tamara at his failure. He would never admit that he was not as clever as he thought he was. You exposed him. That would have been doubly galling. She got her revenge on me, though – and you."

"What did she leave, Vincent."

Vincent hugged Catherine to him, without answering, then moved away enough to kiss her face and move to her lips. He could feel her contentment and love warming him. The horror of the effigies began to recede.

"Vincent!" Catherine pulled away to look him in the eyes, saw something of the shock there still, sensed it in him.

"Never mind, Vincent. You don’t have to tell me. I can guess. What else would Tamara leave behind for you?"

She put her arms around his neck and nuzzled the other ear. She whispered into it, softly.

"Vincent, the most terrible thing I can imagine is being without you. Anything else is illusion. But you haven’t told me why you went so far below in the first place."

Vincent nuzzled Catherine’s hair and sighed. He would have to tell her – even if she laughed.

"I ... um … wanted to see if I could still roar, Catherine. It’s been such a long time since I’ve had to. I never expected to find a reason to, down there. I just wanted to be far enough away not to bother anyone."

Catherine moved to kiss him again, felt him relax as she deepened it. His arms were hugging her close and she felt his love, tempered with guilt.

"Vincent, your roar may yet be needed. Who can tell? A good tool must be kept honed. Speaking of tools, we must make sure another doesn’t suffer from neglect." She looked at him suggestively.

Vincent sighed, then heard the lunch signal over the pipes. Catherine looked at him, a smile twitching her lips.

"But after lunch. No workman can be expected to perform well on an empty stomach."

"Catherine," Vincent mumbled, his appetite now coming from two places, "you are a delectable taskmaster."

As they walked to the dining hall, the nightmare shredded further in the scents of William’s cooking.

Tamara had miscalculated, Vincent reflected. He had roared alone in that cavern, but he’d come home to Catherine. Her love left no room for nightmares. But that silly face in his tea had been almost prescient. He’d have to get his revenge on William. Perhaps a few well-placed peppercorns in the cook’s enormous bed ...

Vincent smiled to himself.

END