Dancing in the Shadows

Ayiana

Chapter 24

The Battery Arms wasn't far, and it only took Vincent a couple of minutes to make his way to its roof. He was there, standing in the shadows, when the rhythmic thump of a helicopter drew his attention to the sky. The steady whump, whump, whump of the blades against the air brought back a surge of agonizing memories, memories he forced aside. Catherine was safe. It was their son who needed him now.

The helicopter rose above the level of the roof, and Vincent saw a faceless form silhouetted in its open doorway. The man had a weapon. Before Vincent could react, something sharp pierced his vest, burning into the skin beneath. He reached for the source of the pain, tugged at the object embedded there, and recognized it as a tranquilizer dart. He’d seen them before. He flung it aside with a roar of defiance. Almost at once, a second dart struck him. This time, the burning sensation spread quickly, stealing his strength and forcing him to the ground.

The helicopter settled to the roof like an ungainly dragonfly as Vincent's vision dimmed and darkness closed in. With the last of his strength, he watched three men alight to the roof and run toward him.

All three carried guns.

 

*******************

 

Catherine awoke with a start. She was alone in her chamber, and the world around her seemed at peace. Even the pipes were quiet. And yet something felt wrong.

She pushed back the covers, reached for her robe, and climbed from the bed. Candle in hand, she left her chamber, making her way through the still and silent tunnels. She heard no warnings, saw nobody who could explain away the unsettled feeling that had disturbed her rest.

Vincent’s chamber was empty.

She kept moving, headed for Father’s chamber now. Surely he would know what was going on.

She found him in his study, his head bent over a book, a half-burned candle at his side.

"Father?"

He looked up. "Catherine. Come in." Setting the book aside, he waved her to a chair.

"Father, Vincent isn’t in his chamber."

"No." He sighed. "I know."

His lack of surprise bothered her. Had Vincent told Father where he was going, but not her?

"Where is he?"

"That I don’t know. I can only tell you that there was a woman looking for him a few hours ago. Somebody he met Above."

"Diana?"

"Yes."

Why would Diana come looking for him? Was there news? Had she found their son?

"So he’s gone Above?"

"I can only assume so."

"But why?"

"I don’t know."

She stood up, unable to sit still, needing to think.

"I need to find her."

"How?"

She met his gaze across the dimly lit room. "Joe."

 

********************

 

Gradually, Vincent became aware that he was lying on a concrete floor. Behind him, a stone wall rose to the ceiling. Steel bars surrounded him on the other three sides. Over his head, a single light bulb dangled from a frayed wire. His wrists were manacled, with long chains affixed to brackets embedded deep within the stone. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He knew this feeling, knew what it was to be caged.

Beyond the bars, the room was dark, but as his vision cleared, he could see the cameras mounted in the corners, their unblinking eyes watching his every move. He studied the room, taking in the old wooden table, the circuit box with its door hanging open, and the narrow steps leading up to a closed door. Bare light bulbs hung at intervals, long chains dangling from them like strands of abandoned spider webs.

He reached for the bars, intending to pull himself to his feet—and reeled back when fiery heat exploded up his arm, throwing him back against the stone wall. Stunned, he sank to the floor.

 

********************

 

Gabriel and the doctor stood beside the crib, watching Julian. The nursery was quiet, lights dimmed so that the baby could rest. He continued to weaken, and so far the doctor had had no success in treating him. Indeed, for all his gold-plated credentials and high-priced expertise, the doctor had told Gabriel nothing he couldn’t have discovered for himself, and he was beginning to lose patience. Indeed, had it not been for Julian, Gabriel would've dealt with Jacobson as soon as his failure to dispose of Catherine Chandler had come to light. And now, with the passage of time and Julian's continued decline, Gabriel was beginning to rethink his decision to let the man live.

"Well?" Gabriel asked, as Jacobson stepped back and removed the stethoscope from his ears.

"No change."

"And the blood test?"

"I've never seen anything like it. The child's is unusual, but his . . ."

Gabriel shook his head impatiently. "Try to be more specific, doctor."

"They share certain similarities, but a transfusion is out of the question."

"Why?"

"The child would die." Jacobson's tone left no room for doubt.

"What do you suggest?" Gabriel reached into the crib and lifted out his son, looking down into the small face. "Has medical science nothing to offer?" In his mind, he saw his plans, his grand future, threatening to crumble into dust.

"There is no logical reason for the illness. We've tried every test."

Gabriel shifted the baby so that he rested against his shoulder. He splayed his hand across the tiny back. He knew why Julian was sick. And he knew how to make him well. But the prospect galled him.

"There are reasons for everything," he said, his eyes drifting to the wide windows.

Vincent would not win this war. Gabriel would see to it.

Somehow, he would find a way to save Julian's life.

And end Vincent's.

 

********************

 

Vincent paced the small enclosure, careful not to touch the bars. His son was close. He could feel his presence somewhere above his head. But the child was growing weaker with each passing hour, and Vincent's inability to reach him had driven his anger and frustration to dangerous levels, so that he felt that other part of him, the part that took over and committed unspeakable crimes, might soon free itself from his tight restraint.

He looked up at the video cameras. On the other side of those unblinking eyes his tormentor was watching him. He was certain of it.

"Gabriel!" He paced to the other end of the cage and glared up at the cameras. "He's dying! I can feel him dying!"

There was no response. The door at the other end of the room remained stubbornly closed.

"Bring him to me!"

********************

 

Catherine waited until it was very late before venturing Above. Her cloak, cleaned and patched, covered her from head to toe, and she held it tightly closed as she hurried through the quiet streets. She was excited, looking forward to seeing Joe, to letting him see that she was alive and well. And yet she worried that he would be unwilling to keep her secret; that he would call in the authorities, thus making public what by necessity must remain private.

But there were no other options. Vincent was missing. And Diana might know why.

And the only way to reach Diana was through Joe.

When she arrived at his apartment, she took a deep breath before raising her hand to knock.

"Yeah." He sounded groggy, which wasn't surprising, considering the lateness of the hour.

She didn’t dare answer for fear somebody would recognize her voice, so she knocked again.

"Keep your shorts on! I’m coming!"

There was a sharp click as he twisted the lock, and then the door opened and he stood there looking at her, dressed in boxers and a t-shirt, and suddenly she had to fight back tears and swallow the lump in her throat. She'd missed him so much.

"What the hell…?"

Slowly, she eased the hood back enough for him to see her face.

"Cathy?"

Catherine darted a glance behind her, keeping her voice low. "Please, Joe. Can I come in?"

He glanced over her shoulder, caught her arm, and pulled her inside, but she didn't relax until she heard the lock click into place.

When he turned back to her, shock and disbelief were etched on his face. "Cathy? Is it really you?"

She pushed the hood all the way off, letting it fall down her back. "Hello, Joe."

"Oh, my God! Cathy!" And then they were hugging and crying and for a while neither one of them said anything at all.

Finally he stepped back, his hands going to her shoulders. "Where have you been?"

She shook her head. "I can’t tell you that."

"We thought you were dead! There was a funeral!"

"I know."

"Why didn’t you say something? Send me a message? Anything to let me know you were okay!"

"I couldn’t."

He stared at her for a long, assessing moment. Then he turned and sat down on the couch, calmer now that the initial shock had worn off. "Moreno?"

"Partly." She hated that she had caused him so much pain and grief. "He let them take me, Joe. Back when it first happened. It was Moreno who gave me up."

"I figured as much. Is that why you’ve stayed away? Because he’s gone. Burch killed him."

"Elliot didn’t kill him."

"Then who did?"

"I can’t tell you that." Joe was her friend, and the urge to confide in him was strong. But her loyalty to Vincent and the tunnel community had to come first.

"Jesus, Cathy. What the hell is going on?"

She turned away, going to the window. "The man who took me, who tried to kill me . . . He killed Elliot Burch."

"What about Moreno? He kill him, too?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Joe, you have to trust me. There are things I can’t tell you."

"After everything that's happened, you show up here in the middle of the night dressed like something out of Phantom of the Opera and I’m just supposed to trust you?"

She set aside her momentary surprise. Joe, the man she'd once teased about preferring Billy Joel to Franz Schubert, knew The Phantom of the Opera? "Please. I need your help."

He stared at her for a long, tense minute before finally nodding. "What do you need me to do?"

"The man . . . The one who killed Elliot. His name is Gabriel."

"Gabriel who?"

"I don’t know his last name."

Joe shook his head. "It isn’t much to go on, Cathy. There must be hundreds of Gabriels in Manhattan alone."

She sat down beside him, her body angled so that she could see his eyes. "I need to find Diana Bennett."

Confusion clouded his expression. "How do you know Diana?"

"I know she’s been working on my case."

He blew out an exasperated sigh. "Not voluntarily."

"I need to find her. I need to ask her some questions."

"About this Gabriel person?"

"Among other things."

Abruptly, Joe got to his feet and paced away from her, running his fingers through his hair. "This is nuts."

"I know. I’m sorry."

He spun back to her. "Are you? Because you aren’t doing a hell of a lot to make things better."

She lifted her hands helplessly. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to tell me what the hell's going on! You ask me to trust you, but you won’t tell me a damn thing!"

"You don’t understand."

"Why don’t you explain it to me?"

Catherine felt a wave of affection for this man who had given her his friendship when she’d been struggling to create a new life for herself. He'd done so much for her, and all she had to repay him with were mysteries and half-truths. "I’ll tell you what I can, but it isn’t much."

Crafting a version of events that would satisfy his curiosity without risking the safety of the tunnel community was a delicate, time-consuming task. She spoke slowly, thinking and rethinking each word to be sure there were no clues, that nobody but herself could be put in danger by what she was telling him. When she finished, he shook his head.

"So this guy Gabriel still has your son."

"Yes."

"And you want me to help you find him."

"I think maybe Diana already has."

He sighed and shook his head. "Diana’s missing, Cathy. She called me last night from some diner downtown. Said she was in trouble. But when I got there, she was gone."

"You don’t have any idea where she went?"

"No."

She was still alive. At least, she had been when she’d come to the tunnels to see Vincent.

"Can you tell me what she looks like?"

"I can do better than that." Joe stood up and crossed to a desk that was littered with papers and case files. He dug through the folders, selecting one and returning to her side. He handed it to her. "Her service report," he said. "Picture’s inside."

Catherine opened the folder. The photo was stapled to the top corner of the report. She stared at it, memorizing the face—the long red hair, the clean features, the intelligent green eyes. She looked back up at Joe.

"Can I take this?"

"I’ll catch hell if that file disappears. You know that."

She waited in silence, watching him.

He blew out a breath. "Give it to me for a sec."

She gave him the folder, and he tore off the picture, handing it over to her. "Need a new one anyway," he said with a crooked smile.

"Thanks, Joe."

"I don’t know how much good it’ll be. New York’s a pretty big place."

"I know some people who can help."

His gaze sharpened on her face. "Yeah," he said. "I suspect maybe you do."

"I need to ask you one more favor."

He tilted his head to one side, a lopsided grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I’m almost afraid to ask."

"Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me, okay?"

"Not even Jenny?"

Catherine’s heart broke a little as she thought about Jenny, but she shook her head. Involving Joe had been risky enough. She wouldn't put any more of her friends in danger. "Not even her."

"Cathy . . ." He took a step toward her. "You have to let me help you."

"I know, just . . . not yet, okay?"

"You can’t just expect me to sit back and do nothing while you’re out there risking your neck!"

"I promise, Joe. Somebody will be in touch when there’s something you can do." She'd stayed too long. It would be dawn soon. She stood up and crossed to the door. "I can’t be seen," she said, as she pulled the hood back over her hair. "I need to go, before . . ." She gestured to the window.

He got to his feet and crossed to where she stood. "Cathy—" His hand settled on her shoulder, and worry clouded his expression. "Be careful out there."

"I will." She hugged him. "And thanks."

"For what?"

"For being my friend."

 

********************

Gabriel sat alone behind the bank of video screens. There were eight of them in a single long row, each one showing the steel-barred cage, the dimly lit room, and the extraordinary creature that paced the tightly enclosed space in restless, unending circles.

He’d been staring at the display for hours. Watching. Thinking. Now he picked up the remote control, pointed it at one of the monitors, and hit a button. The video scrolled back, Vincent’s image moving in sharp jerky motions as the recording rewound. He hit another button and the image froze. Then, after a brief pause, a third button made the video play at normal speed, and Vincent’s angry voice spilled into the room, filling the dark corners and the empty places with rage and frustration.

"Gabriel! He's dying!" Vincent’s face filled the screen. "I can feel him dying!" He turned, paced to the far corner. Turned back. "Bring him to me, Gabriel! He needs more than my blood. He needs me!" He yanked at the chains that tied him to the wall, and Gabriel held his breath. "Are you listening? Go to him! Look at him! Touch him!"

Vincent glared up at the camera with bared fangs and clenched fists, and Gabriel was glad for the bars, glad he’d thought to electrify them.

"He's dying," Vincent said. "Can't you feel it?" He circled the room again, ending by coming as close to the cameras as the chains and bars would allow. "He's your son only in life. But in death he's mine." His eyes pierced Gabriel even from this distance. "If he dies, you will have lost. Bring him to me! Let him live!"