(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 Writer’s Life

Angie

A page of my Journal is like a cake of portable soup.
A little may be diffused into a considerable portion.

James Boswell

Jacob sat in his father’s enormous chair and regarded the table in front of him. It was piled high with books – Vincent’s journals, to be exact. There were dozens of them, all beautiful hardbound volumes, some of them dusty, but all well-handled – and very precious.

Jacob’s earliest memory was of his father sitting at this table writing in a journal. He always used a thick, business-like, fountain pen, carefully capped it when he was finished. His left-handed script was beautiful, a reflection of his heart and soul. He was usually a man of a few, chosen words, but his true eloquence shone from the pages of these journals.

Now, Jacob had to decide what to do with them, since both his parents had recently passed away after full, rich lives. To no one’s surprise, they had done this as they had done everything else of importance to them – together, beautifully.

He had read all of the books in front of him, slowly, caressing their covers, sipping and enjoying the thoughts they contained, like fine wine. He could hear his father’s voice as he read them. The words were just words, but the emotion that emanated from them so clearly, always left Jacob both exhilarated and exhausted.

So many of the journals from the early days of his relationship with Catherine were almost painful to read. Vincent had laid his heart out in these pages, agonized, tortured himself with doubts and self-condemnation.

But there was also beauty, a view of life that shone with a child-like wonder – of worlds undreamed of, again because of his mother. There were the lovely passages of classic poetry and literature, of places Vincent would never see, things he would never do – and which he had assumed would always be so. Catherine had changed that, brought him to the surface, gave him a life, that while still confined to some extent, was as normal as she could make it. She gave no quarter where Vincent was concerned. He was her life – and she was his.

Then there were the deeply personal entries, the love Vincent held for Catherine, that they shared from the start, but which did not mature for several years. His father had examined their deeper love from every angle, gloried in it, let it fill him to completion. Jacob has seen their love vibrate between them. Their peace and contentment encompassed the entire Tunnel community.

As a child growing up in this love, Jacob had taken it for granted. He had not realized until he became an adult, just how rare it was. His father was unique in so many ways, not least his appearance, but somehow one never noticed those things for long in his presence. His silken voice and calm demeanor surrounded him like his famous cloak, filled the room. It was like basking in sunshine to be in the presence of his parents.

He had inherited some of that magic aura, he knew. But he had not found a Catherine, perhaps because he had not needed to, did not really want to.

Jacob himself was Catherine with a dash of Vincent. He had inherited his father’s eyes and golden hair – and his size, in more than one area. He had never married, had only a few brief affairs. His life was maintaining his parent’s legacy. Carrying on their work satisfied him, made him whole. In the back of his mind was the thought that it was perhaps best that he not father children, just in case. His unique blood type might have made that dangerous, and resulted in too many questions. He was not unhappy with his life, not at all.

His twin siblings, though, looked like Vincent with a dash of Catherine. They had her green eyes and golden brown hair, but Vincent’s unique facial features and hirsute appearance. They were the core of the community, active, joyful, hardly ever apart. They were as close as their bond could make them, without actually being joined.

Jacob had often wondered if they would ever fall in love with another – if they could, even. It worried him sometimes. They were both in their 40s and seemed happy to be unattached – although not celibate from what he heard.

He was sure they shared their sexual encounters, wondered what their partners thought of that. What was it was like to feel the passion of the other, the opposite sex, with someone else? Jacob’s bond with them was less strong – and they cut him out of it when they wished.

The twins never ventured outside the Tunnels, were content to live Below exclusively.

Jacob sighed. Woolgathering was getting him no closer to a decision. He abruptly decided that destroying the journals was unthinkable, but so was putting them in Father’s Library. Luke would have had to carve out a special room for them.

Did they interest to anyone but himself? The twins had never looked at them, said they did not wish to. Neither had any other member of the community, as far as he knew. Catherine had no living relatives. In fact, there was no one left alive who had known his parents in those early, painful years.

Jacob looked around his father’s chamber and spotted the big trunk. An idea bloomed. He walked over to it and lifted the lid. It contained very little except a few mementos – toys and books that Vincent had kept from his childhood. Those might be of interest to someone. Jacob decided a kind of museum would be appropriate – a place where his father’s favourite items could be displayed, along with Father’s, Catherine’s, and others. Yes, he would add that to the work roster. It would help the community deal with their great double loss.

Sizing up the chest, Jacob calculated he might just be able to get all the journals into it. He quickly emptied it and stacked the journals, attempting to keep them consecutive, newest to the top. The lid did not quite close. Then he extracted the most recent, the one Vincent had last written in the day he died. The book had a lot of empty pages. Jacob abruptly decided that he himself should complete it, give his thoughts on what he had read while it was still fresh in his mind, add his own life. The journals had inspired him.

He knew he had reached the right decision because he felt suddenly at peace – as if his father wanted this too, and was telling him so through the bond. The loss of that bond – and the lesser one from his mother - had been devastating. His throat swelled and he clenched his jaw.

He shut the lid on the trunk, closed the heavy brass clasp, and sat down on the top. He would need help to move it, but move it must, to a safe place where it would remain undisturbed. But where? Not the catacombs, which would be the obvious choice. Too depressing. Suddenly he knew.

He sent a call along his bond to the twins. They entered the chamber a few minutes later, looking a little disheveled, but as happy as always. Jacob could not help smiling and got up to hug them both. Wrapped together in each others arms, there was a sense of belonging that none of them felt with anyone else. They knew it and accepted this truth.

When they separated, Joseph and Jennifer looked at him, sensing a resolve.

"What," they asked in unison, sounding so much like their father that Jacob’s eyes burned and for a moment he couldn’t speak. The twins sensed his pain and waited patiently, each taking one of his hands and holding it tight. That too, reminded him of his father. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. He looked from one twin to another and saw the same emotion on their faces. They came together in another hug, stood there for a long time, until they were all calm again, their joint bond re-affirming their love for each other.

Jacob sighed, dragged his mind back to the present.

"I need you to help me with this trunk. It contains father’s journals, and I want it in a safe place, but one where our parents had been happy here Below. Come."

The twins took a handle each, and Jacob led the way. Even though the twins had Vincent’s strength, the trunk was so heavy that they were gasping by the time they reached the long downward stair. The wind was less fierce and cold today, perhaps because it was summer Above. At the bottom, Jacob lifted the huge wooden bar and opened the door to let the twins through. Their grunts and footsteps echoed in the darkness.

Jacob lit a torch and led the way to the small balcony mezzanine overlooking the chamber. He lifted aside one of the huge tapestries. It hid a large niche that Jacob had discovered when he was a boy. He had often used it as a hiding place – for himself and his treasures. The twins, he realized, had not known of its existence and looked at him with amazement and new respect. He grinned as they quickly fit the trunk into the cavity and he let down the tapestry.

They had all heard their father’s story about his imaginative forays into the worlds depicted on these tapestries. Now, his life was protected by one. Their bond confirmed the rightness of it as they looked at each other.

The three of them stood for a while in the Great Hall, holding hands for comfort. They silently said their last good-byes to the man whose love had defined their world and themselves. It was his true legacy. The journals were just books, after all, and now they were safe. They left quietly and the twins helped Jacob to close the big door.

Jacob did not tell them about the last journal. One day, it would be added to the niche. But first he had some writing to do. His father, he was now sure, approved. He felt peace wash over him.

END