The Beyond Beginnings series is dedicated to everyone, everywhere who helps to keep dreams alive. "Without you, our world would be a darker place."

Please address all correspondence to:

Linda S. Barth
PO Box 2014
Branford, CT 06405-1114
USA

Email: lindasct@aol.com

Very special thanks to the poets and artists who contributed their beautiful work to this zine:

Poetry: Peggy Garvin, Rosemarie Hauer, Peg McNabb, Louise Milner, and Katrina Relf.
(Poems in Vincent’s Journal, Chapter One – Rosemarie Hauer, Louise Milner)

All that I am is nothing compared to what I would be for you,
For you have taken my dreams and turned them into reality,
You have taken my aloneness and filled it with you.
Now my heart would burst with feelings
It has never known before,
And my soul glories in your touch,
For you have seen me and all that I am
And you have accepted me, you loved me –
You loved me, Catherine,
And this is beyond anything, everything I dared to hope.
Yet all I can give you is all that I am and all that I have –
Until eternity is no more.

 
More Than You Will Ever Know
Katrina Relf

You have given me everything, Vincent, everything –
Your gentleness, your strength
And all that you are.
But I need you to trust me, to trust yourself,
So that we may pass through your fears,
Lest they become a chasm we can never cross.
Let me take you to the darkest places of your soul,
Let me show you the beauty of everything you are.
There is no darkness in you,
Nothing I will ever fear,
So walk this path with me,
Let our souls become one.
My heart aches for your love,
My soul yearns for your touch.
I love you so much,
More than life itself,
More than you will ever know.

//////////////////////

Translucent amber light warmed the chamber. It gleamed in rays of eternal stained glass sunlight, and it pooled and circled outward from a dozen flaring candles until its gentle glow touched even the farthest reaches of the room. From time to time, an elusive breath of air flickered the steadily burning flames, stirring patterns of shadow and light like ripples on the surface of a tranquil pool. They glimmered in small, shimmering waves, touching lightly upon the myriad possessions of the chamber's only inhabitant and upon the man himself.

Vincent was seated at his writing desk, apparently studying the books and papers spread out upon its worn oak surface. When he found himself reading the same passage for the fourth time, he shook his head impatiently. The abrupt movement splayed his long hair across his stiffening shoulders, catching the light in gilded strands of bronze and burnished gold. He stacked his materials and pushed them to one side, careful not to disturb a saucer of melted wax, the guttering remains of a thick ivory candle.

He realized the time had come to abandon his work. For once the meticulously prepared lesson plans for his literature classes would have to wait. With elbows resting on the desk's leather blotter, he leaned forward until his chin met his clasped hands. Eyes closed, he seemed an image of serenity, but within his heart and mind there was nothing but a delicious turbulence.

Over and over he replayed the moments he had last spent with Catherine, moments of incandescent heat and tender warmth when they had pledged their belief in all the beautiful possibilities that awaited them in a life together. It was as if he could still hear their voices.

"Our life together, Catherine, now it truly begins."

"Vincent, I believe our life together began a long, long time ago. And now we can go beyond the beginning, into a beautiful life filled with happiness. The life that was always meant to be."

For so long those possibilities had existed only in his cherished, unattainable dreams, but now he saw them for what they truly were, what they always had been. He knew at last that they were the shape of his destiny, a destiny to be shared with his only love, with Catherine.

He remembered how they had held one another, pressing closer and closer until their hearts pulsed together in a wild, rhythmic throbbing. And when he kissed her, it was as if an eternal sunrise had flared to life within him, its heat and light only waiting to guide them through the last lingering shadows of darkness.

His mind was a whirlpool, full of questions and answers that spiraled and circled incessantly. How had it come to be that all he'd ever longed for was now within his reach? What miracle had occurred to bring him all the sustenance his starving body and soul had craved? The doubts and fears of a lifetime were abandoning the ruined fortress he had built around his heart, for they were no longer needed there.

Images flashed through him, much as they had filled his restless dreams, and he struggled to find words to match their wonder. At last, he opened his eyes slowly and reached for a favorite book. Since childhood it had been his habit to turn to books to soothe and support and explain his often tumultuous emotions. The words of others had never failed him and, more than once, had formed a lifeline back to a world of safety and sanity.

He hunted through the pages, finding resonance in a few lines of one poem, a stanza of another, but nothing that would fully express his feelings, feelings that were at once too strong and too fragile to be contained in mere words. An hour later he sighed and set the book aside. A smile touched his unique features as he told himself that perhaps this time there truly were no words.

He scanned the room, and almost at once his gaze fell upon the row of well-worn journals resting on a narrow wooden shelf along the far side of his bed. Within seconds, he was stretched out upon the bed, comfortably leaning back against a pile of mismatched pillows as he reached for the last few volumes. He opened the first one and slowly paged through it, stopping only when he reached an entry dated February 1983.

Vincent remembered that time as vividly as if it had just occurred. Restless with an inner pressure that defied definition, he had gone Above into the park in the darkest hour of night. There had been a wild, frigid wind tearing through threatening snow clouds, ripping them into inconsequential, tattered wisps to reveal a sky filled with icy shimmering stars. His long-legged strides had taken him out into that wind, and he had welcomed its relentless urgency, for it seemed to echo the impulses that surged from deep within him.

Not far from the tunnel entrance he reached a steep, granite outcropping, its rocky surface slick with the frozen remains of a recent storm. Unfaltering, he’d climbed to the top and stood upon that stark pedestal, gazing up at the brilliant, starlit sky. He had felt himself filled with sensations so strange and unexpected that they took his breath away. They overpowered him, barricading the mastered lessons of a lifetime behind an impregnable wall of possibilities. For one miraculous moment he was filled with hope.

He never knew how long he had remained there, a silent, sculpted sentinel sheltering strange new secrets of the soul in a dark and beautiful night. At last, his body nearly frozen but his heart still flaring with brilliant sensations, he had made his way homeward. Within the familiar confines of his chamber, he felt as if he had returned to himself, much the same yet somehow changed, as if some alien force had taken root within him. He imagined tiny tendrils growing in the darkest reaches of his heart, and knew their illusive fragility to be the antithesis of their immutable strength. He felt the promise that they urged upon him, a belief he had long ago pretended to renounce. And he understood that for all the days left to his life, he would be forced to deny their power, even though he needed it as he needed air and water and food. For although he had learned not to believe in it, he had never been able to abandon the need to hope.

Vincent's focus returned slowly to the present. He felt strangely exhilarated having relived the unique events of that long-ago night, and he wondered if there had been a purpose in them even greater than he had once imagined. Perhaps, he mused, it had been an omen of sorts, a gift to nourish hope in him when there appeared to be no reason for its existence. Realizing he still held the journal in his hands, Vincent looked down and began to read the words he had written late that night.

One day,
I shall know...
Of all the miracles and wonders
My heart is yearning for
But only in my dreams.
Of all the light
That comes to me in tiny sparks
From stars
Like falling tears.
Of all the love,
That calls to me
Through voices in the night.
I don't know how to answer
--Yet--
But one day
Love will have a face,
A name,
And hands
--Yours--

So many years ago, despite what harsh reality told him, he had dared to dream. But even in his wildest moments of free-flying imagination, he had never conceived of the joy he had finally found in Catherine. Her words echoed through him once again.

"Vincent, I believe our life together began a long, long time ago."

His eyes were luminous with wonder. Could it be possible? Had their bond existed even before their conscious awareness of one another's existence? Their dream, the life that was meant to be. Perhaps it truly was their fate, a joyous destiny that they were now free to welcome and embrace.

A small, unnoticed tear traced its path along the fine, strong lines of his face as he set the journal aside and reached for a second volume. Its leather cover was cracked and worn from handling, although it had not been opened in over a year. The words it guarded within were so familiar that they might have been inscribed on Vincent's heart, and he no longer needed mere vision to see them.

April 12, 1987.

Tonight my life was changed forever.

Her name is Catherine.

He turned the pages reverently, knowing that they stood in mute testimony to a miracle. Soon his fingers came to rest on the entry he had made only hours after leading Catherine back to the threshold to her world. He had tried to rejoice in the knowledge that he had given her his comfort and his help, for that was all he had to offer, and it had been his gift that would now restore her to her rightful place Above. But the giving of it had taken more inner strength than he had realized he possessed and it had nearly broken his heart.

When he returned from that bittersweet journey, he forced himself to confront the feelings that had been growing within him from the instant that he'd touched her, from the first time that he'd heard her voice, from the unbelievable, heart-stopping moment when he knew she trusted him. He had withheld a fragment of the truth when he told her that he had never regretted who he was until that one, brief second when she looked at him in fear. Throughout his life there had been many regrets, and some still scarred his trusting heart, but never any so deep as those he would know because of her. Through no fault of her own, she had awakened in him the dormant seeds of hope, ones which had lain in wait only for her to bring them to life. And with that flowering hope came razor-sharp thorns to pierce him to the soul. Thorns that scarred his gentle spirit each time he gathered the tender blossoms to his heart, only to thrust them away in the misguided belief that they could not belong to him.

He remembered how she had come into his arms that first time, in an embrace of heartfelt gratitude and unconditional trust. He had never before held a woman in that way, and he was shattered by the feelings that had rushed and rocketed through him. Even in that moment of exquisite joy and pain, he had known there would be nothing beyond it, yet he could not entirely mask the flaring of insidious hope that illuminated his eyes and wracked his body. Only the potential danger from unexpected voices above was capable of breaking the enchantment, and with lifelong warnings echoing in his head, he had run from her, believing he would never return.

He had run until his strength had given out, and then he’d walked aimlessly for many hours, alone with only the demons and angels of his mind for company. The thoughts and feelings clamoring through him had finally attained a single voice in the small, poignant lines of a poem that had whispered from his heart. He ran his fingers gently over the written words, hearing them in his mind and remembering the pain with which they had been written.

       First Sadness

Since I can offer you no choice,
You must pretend you never heard
The note of longing in my voice,
Beneath the light and casual word.

And make believe you do not see
The tremor of my fingertips,
And looking quietly up at me,
Forgo the promise of my lips.

He was able to smile as he reread that valiant request, for now he knew it was one Catherine would never accept.

A distant metallic tapping drew his attention, and out of habit he listened to the messages of the sentries announcing all was safe and well in the late hours of the night. Vincent knew there was another day of hard physical labor awaiting him, followed by a late afternoon literature class, for which, he recalled with a twinge of guilt, he was less than well-prepared. With a sigh, he told himself he needed the strength of sleep, but his restless heart resisted his reasonable mind.

Rising from the bed, he stretched his arms above his head, twisting and turning to relieve the tension in his weary body and then strode toward his desk. In the center drawer he found his favorite silver and black fountain pen and a new, leather-bound journal, a gift from Catherine. He ran his fingers over the supple covering, immediately wishing he were caressing Catherine's soft skin and silky hair. How good it felt and how right to be able to think of her in this way without succumbing to feelings of shame and disgrace. A tremor ran through his powerful body, speaking to him of the longing he felt for her in so many ways, urging him to go to her now, regardless of the lateness of the hour or the understanding that in just a few days he would be with her again.

His hoarse whisper broke the silence of the room. "Tomorrow, Catherine. Tomorrow." He knew the simple words were much more than a promise.

With effort he submerged his potent feelings and took some small comfort in the knowledge that he could express them in words when he could not in deed. For all his life that expertise had served him well, but as he uncapped the pen and opened his journal to a pristine new page, his mouth curved into a wry smile. Somehow he knew that particular skill would never be quite so effective again.
 

Possibilities

Peggy Garvin  

The seeds of hope were planted long ago;
And lying dormant barely touched his soul,
Until her spirit wakened life in them;
Yet thorns ‘neath flowers always took their toll.
Now destiny is finally fulfilled –
A life together truly can begin.
And love beyond beginnings is their guide
To possibilities from deep within.
 

Chapter Two

Early spring rain traced crystalline paths through the smoke and soot veiling office windows high above the city streets. A sudden gust of wind transformed the rain’s gentle, soundless passage to a pelting assault, rousing the attention of those who were safe and warm behind barricades of brick and glass.

"Geez, look at that rain! Wouldn't you know it'd start up again right in time for rush hour?"

Catherine turned in her chair to look at the source of Joe's annoyance. "Well, they did predict a storm for today, and it has been raining on and off since this morning," she began as she swiveled back toward him. "Not that it's something you would have noticed since you've spent the entire day in your office."

"Yeah, I noticed all right, but I just hoped it would've stopped by now." He ran a hand through his unruly, dark brown hair and grimaced at the sight and sound of the ever-increasing storm.

Catherine looked up at her boss, noting with amused interest the deepening frown on his handsome face. "What's the matter, Joe? It's only a little rainstorm. Afraid you're going to melt?"

Her teasing voice changed his scowl to an embarrassed grin. "Nah, probably not. But I've got some plans for tonight and they don't include a monsoon."

For the first time she noticed his new charcoal grey suit. Its finely tailored lines and neatly pressed creases were an extreme contrast to his typical end-of-the-day rumpled look. The image presented her with an unexpected opportunity, one she found she simply couldn't resist. She leaned back in her chair and pointedly let her gaze travel up and down his body as her mouth curved into a speculative grin. Raising her eyebrows, she watched his face redden as he glowered at her. "Now let me guess. You have a new subscription to 'GQ'... Wait, that couldn't be it -- they don't do a swimsuit issue. Oh, I know! You're going out to take a deposition for that big hearing we've got coming up -- Bloomie's vs. Saks Fifth Avenue, right? But, no, not this late in the day. Gee, I wonder what all this could be about?"

Fully enjoying herself, she tilted her head back and frowned in concentration while wondering just how long his patience would last. Then with a swift, abrupt motion she sat up straight and slapped a hand against the desktop for emphasis. "I've got it! It must be that you have -- as you're so fond of accusing me -- a hot date for tonight. Am I right?"

He tried to maintain his disgruntled glare, but his dark eyes flashed with undisguised amusement. "You're a regular Sherlock Holmes, aren't you, Radcliffe? I don't know why you're wasting your time in the DA's Office when you could be making a fortune working for one of those psychic hotlines."

"And leave all this glamour and prestige behind? Not a chance, Joe! And besides, my fortune-telling skills really are pretty limited, so I guess you'll just have to tell me what you're up to."

"And you won't quit until I do, will you?" He smiled as she shook her head. "But with your connections, I thought you'd already know."

She frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You're the one responsible for all this. Don't you remember what tonight is?" He reached across the desk and pulled her calendar out from under a pile of file folders. "Look -- Tuesday, April 2nd."

She leaned forward to read the notation. "Oh, Joe, I forgot all about it. You're taking Jenny to the Mayor's testimonial dinner tonight. I talked with her a few days ago and she's really looking forward to it."

"Yeah, well, it's not going to be all that exciting, so I hope she's not expecting too much," he answered quietly.

The worried expression on his face reminded her of a shy, young boy getting ready to leave on his first serious date. Her voice was warm and soft when she answered him. "I don't think it's the event that she's looking forward to, Joe."

"You sure, Cathy? I mean, if it wasn't for you convincing me it'd be okay, I wouldn't have asked her in the first place. We haven't seen much of each other in the past few months. Not that I didn't want to, but --"

"I don't think Jenny's been avoiding you on purpose," she quickly reassured him. "She really does travel a lot on business and her schedule has always been erratic. But I know she likes being with you. She told me that a long time ago."

Catherine's thoughts immediately reached back to the dark, terrifying night a year earlier when Joe and Jenny had come together in their desperate fear for her safety. She remembered how her friends' efforts to stop the demented acts of a stalker had given rise to a new and unexpected relationship between them. And the near tragedy had brought a greater intimacy to the precious gift she shared with Vincent in the deepening awareness of their bond's limitless possibilities.

She looked up again at Joe and knew his thoughts had led him in a similar direction. "It's all right. It's been almost a year now and, really, I'm over it."

A thoughtful smile softened the tension in his face. "It's kinda hard to believe that something really good came out of such a terrible experience, but somehow it did."

Her lips curved in a small, secret smile. In Joe's words she heard an echo of Vincent speaking to her of the wonderment he’d felt as she marked the first anniversary of a dark and devastating night by offering him a promise of dancing light. With effort she smoothed a revealing tremor from her voice. "I couldn't agree with you more, Joe. But look at the time! Aren't you supposed to be picking Jenny up at 6:30?"

He swore softly under his breath. "Yeah, and in this weather it's gonna be murder trying to get a cab."

Together they turned toward the darkened, wet-streaked window. Catherine rose to peer out at the night sky, blinking in an effort to see beyond the multi-colored lights reflected in the random patterns of the raindrops. "Well, you're in luck. I think it stopped." She turned toward him. "Now get going -- and have a great time!"

He returned her grin before heading toward the door of the small office Catherine now shared with another attorney involved primarily in research. Just as he reached it, the provocative sound of her laughter made him pause and look back at her.

"And remind Jenny she promised to call me first thing tomorrow morning!"

"No way, Radcliffe," he retorted, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his grin broadened. "You better hope your psychic powers are working overtime tonight, 'cause that's the only way you're gonna hear about it."

Their shared laughter echoed in the still air moments after the door slammed shut behind him. Unwilling to sacrifice more than another minute to this part of her life, Catherine hastily organized the piles of paperwork on her desk and then reached for her raincoat and umbrella. She felt her heart quicken its pace as her thoughts leaped forward in anticipation of what she hoped the night might hold. She had plans of her own that had nothing at all to do with legal casework or testimonial dinners.
 

///////////////////////////////////////////

As Catherine hurried home along rain-slicked city streets, a unique figure made his way toward the same destination, traveling a pathway through a world unknown to the millions who lived just outside its wondrous reaches. With his ebony cloak billowing about this powerful body, Vincent increased his speed to a steady, loping run. Through the potent intensity of their bond, he could sense Catherine's yearning for him, and he wanted to be there, waiting for her, his arms open wide to welcome her home.

Their shared anticipation sped him onward, and he reached her balcony, his booted feet thudding onto the dampened bricks, just as she flung open the glass doors in search of him. Even before their eyes met, they sensed the restless energy within their bond, an endless, vibrant current that flowed between them. Then, in a heartbeat, they were in each other's arms, feeling the labored gasping of their breath and the frantic throbbing of their hearts gradually ease to a slow, pulsing rhythm.

Sighing, they eased apart just enough to look into each other's eyes. His gaze was full of hopeful expectation and yet he waited, suppressing the wild urgency that ached within him, kissing and caressing her with only the heat of his eyes. Then, with a delicious shudder, he felt her bury her hands in the thickness of his hair, pulling him closer as she parted her lips and raised herself up for his kiss. In an instant, his mouth covered hers hungrily, but his kiss was gentle and restrained. The sensation was at once soothing and arousing, like the sharp, sweet tang of ripe strawberries offered on a hot, dry summer day.

Catherine drank in his sweetness, quivering against him as he adored her with a series of slow, shivery kisses. When for just a moment she felt his tongue tentatively trace the soft fullness of her lips, she felt as if she might dissolve into a million shimmering raindrops scattered across the night sky. She eagerly returned his gentle offering, and yet somehow found the strength not to push him farther than he was willing to go. For now she was content to savor every moment of his tantalizing caresses, knowing that he sensed the delight and desire spiraling through her and rejoicing that he shared in it.

All too soon, he raised his mouth from hers and let his gaze wander over the sated beauty of her face, needing to see with his eyes the promise heard by his heart. Her lips were still warm and moist from his kisses, and the seductive sight sent shards of desire slicing through him. Moaning softly, he clasped her body more tightly to his and with an endearingly familiar gesture, buried his face in the lush softness of her hair.

When he whispered close to her ear, she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin like the renewing promise of sunlight. Like an eager rose, she swayed closer, absorbing his heat and light into her very soul.

"I love you, Catherine," he murmured. "I will always love you."

With a smothered sob of pure joy, she wound her arms more tightly around his shoulders, clinging to him as if she could never bear to let him go. For untold moments they stayed as they were, unwilling and unable to part. No hesitancy remained in their eagerly sought embrace, and yet they were aware of an unmistakable sense of tenuous restraint, a banked fire only waiting for the final windstorm that would send it gloriously out of control.

At last, Catherine leaned back in Vincent's arms so that she might fill her eyes with the sight of him as her heart was filled with his love. Her lips curved in a slow, delighted smile as she took in the slightly dazed expression that softened his fiercely beautiful features, knowing that it told of the unmistakable pleasure he found with her.

"Vincent, has it only been two days?"

Her breathy voice sent shivers down his spine, and he could feel his hands tremble where they came to rest at her waist. "I think it has," he answered slowly, his voice low and husky. "But it seems like a lifetime."

"Yes, but now you're here and nothing else matters." A cool, damp wind swept over them and she shivered despite the warmth of the man she held in her arms. "It's still so cold out. Will you come inside? We can sit by the fire for a while, if you'd like."

He pulled the folds of his cloak around her, offering a shared shelter from the cold night air. "I would like that very much, but I can’t stay. The spring rains have started early this year and are causing a hardship for us Below. We’ll be working around the clock for the next several days, shoring up weakened supports in many of the outer chambers and making sure all the emergency flood control systems are in good working order." He knew the disappointment she could not hide was mirrored in his eyes. "I came only long enough to let you know and to see that you were safe and well. I'm sorry, Catherine."

"I'm sorry, too," she answered softly. "But it can't be helped, can it? I know you have responsibilities in your world, and I can't selfishly try to take you from them." She raised a hand to smooth the tawny wildness of his windblown hair. "Although I have to admit I'm very tempted," she added, slowly trailing her hand lower and then gasping sharply as he turned his face to press a slow, lingering kiss into her palm. The burgeoning freedom he had begun to allow his long-suppressed sensuality had become a source of constant delight to both of them, an alluring enchantment that Catherine encouraged and Vincent shyly offered.

She smiled as she burrowed her hands beneath his cloak until they rested on his broad shoulders. "You're not trying to make this any easier, are you?" she joked, shaking her head in mock reproach.

"No, I suppose I'm not," he agreed with a small but unrepentant smile. He knew he would never entirely lose his sense of amazement that even his slightest touch had the power to stir and arouse Catherine. It was a gift he had never dreamed his life would hold.

Her expression grew serious. "Vincent," she began, her voice so low he found himself leaning closer just to hear her. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said two nights ago, about your wish that we might truly be together, that you believe it will all be possible. That is what you meant, isn't it? Please, I have to know it wasn't just a dream."

He pressed his lips to the cool silk of her hair, warming the places he touched with his breath before drawing back to look down into her troubled eyes. "No, it was not a dream, although perhaps it was a dream come true..." He paused, watching carefully as the tension in her face slowly relaxed. "I, too, have thought of little else, and I'm filled with wonder at the truth in every word, in every wish we shared. Until that moment I was still unable to believe that our dreams would become a reality, no matter how much we wanted them to. But the doubts, the fears, they're all disappearing now and my heart is filled with possibilities. A life with you, Catherine, a life complete in every way...I could want nothing more."

The hushed words of his heart sounded to him as loud as thunder echoing and reverberating around and within them. Overwhelmed, he lowered his head to seek familiar refuge behind a curtain of bronze and gold. Yet before he could feel the urgent touch of her hand, he raised his head and looked again into her eyes as if to probe into the very depths of her soul. "Is it true then, Catherine, do we go forward? Is that truly what you want as well?"

For brief moments she felt as if she might drown in the flood of emotions his words had released in her. He was still unsure, not of their love itself, but of its rightful place in his life. He would leave the final decision to her, not out of fear or doubt, but out of the deepest respect and reverence for her freedom. She knew then, beyond any doubt, that she would joyfully spend the rest of her life nourishing and protecting his great and vulnerable heart, helping him learn just how much he deserved to be loved. She would cherish every moment they would have together, and, in loving echo of his own words, she would want nothing more.

As she looked up at him, an inner light seemed to reach from her heart to his. Its illumination reflected in the shining depths of her eyes and warmed the hushed certainty in her voice. "Oh, yes, it is what I want -- to go toward love, Vincent, with you, always with you. Only with you."

With hands as gentle as an angel's wings, she reached up for him, cradling his face for long moments before drawing him willingly forward. Their lips met in a kiss so full of tenderness and trust that it brought tears to their eyes. Sighing softly, Catherine rested her head against his chest, and for several minutes they were content to simply hold each other, knowing with unquestionable truth that within that embrace they held everything.

Too soon, and with heartfelt regret, Vincent reached to pull his cloak from her shoulders, knowing it was time for him to leave her. As he did, he felt the heavy woolen fabric slide forward and then catch abruptly, snagging against the buckle that trailed from the belt of her raincoat.

"Here, let me help," she offered and reached down just as Vincent gave the garment a swift, hard tug. With a tearing sound the cloak flew up and outwards, slapping against the soaking wet branches of a tall juniper that flourished in a nearby planter.

Catherine shrieked as icy droplets sprayed over them, wetting their faces and hair, and sending frigid rivulets snaking under their collars to tremble across hidden skin.

"Catherine! Are you all right? I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to -- "

Shivering with laughter, she rushed to reassure him. "It's okay, Vincent. Really, I'm fine -- just surprised! How about you? Are you all right?"
"Yes." He nodded, somewhat embarrassed by the situation he had inadvertently caused. "But you must go inside and get warm and dry. Please, Catherine, you shouldn't stay out here like this."
"All right," she agreed, tilting her head to look up at him invitingly. "But before you go, I think we can find something else to do that will help us warm up."

He smiled as he lowered his mouth to caress hers one last time, savoring the waves of heat that instantly flared within them. Moments later he took a single step backwards, slowly breaking the contact they craved, for he knew if he did not, they might linger for hours in the cold, wet darkness, easily disregarding their health and comfort. As he looked at the dreamy expression on her still upturned face, he saw a single sparkling raindrop fall from a tendril of hair to trace a path along her forehead and down the curve of her cheek. He could not resist the urge to follow the moist path, trailing one gentle finger along the rain-dampened softness of her skin until he reached her slightly parted lips.

Catherine remained perfectly still, lost in the pleasure of the unexpected moment, wishing it would never end. She felt Vincent hesitate at her mouth and then heard him take a shuddering breath. Before he could pull away, she touched the tip of her tongue to his trembling finger, tenderly stroking the work-roughened skin and sharp claw.

Vincent gasped at the sensations bolting through him from the deceptively delicate caress. "Catherine," he rasped, forcing himself away from her. "When you touch me like that -- I had never imagined..."

She tilted her head in unconscious imitation of the gesture she so loved in him. "And there's so much more just waiting for us, Vincent, beyond anything we have ever imagined. But I know that you must leave and what we've shared will have to be enough...for now."

"Yes, for now." His voice was hushed. "Will you come Below this weekend, three days from now?"

"Yes, of course I will." Somehow she found the power to turn from him, and then looked back a final, irresistible time. "Until then, be well and know that I love you."

"As I love you," he whispered, and then he was gone.
 

///////////////////////////////////////////

It seemed to Catherine as if the time would never come, but at last it was Saturday morning and she was nearly ready to journey Below. She had arranged to take the day off from work on Monday, allowing her precious extra time with Vincent, but the joy she felt was clouded by the uneasy anticipation of another meeting, one she knew was sure to come. During the three days they had been apart, Catherine had found herself spending a great deal of time thinking not only about Vincent, but also of another well-loved and compelling member of the Tunnel world. Her thoughts of this man were troubling, and they led her deeper and deeper into a muddled labyrinth full of unresolved fears and misplaced doubts.

She sighed heavily as she closed the suitcase containing the clothing she would bring Below. She knew that while a confrontation with Father might be avoided for a while, its eventual flare-up was as inevitable as the rising of the sun. And because of his horrifying declaration to her in the recent past, she could not even guess what might come to pass when the two found themselves together without the enforced restraint provided by Vincent's presence. The thought filled her with dread, and yet she could not help but hope the pain it promised to bring might be somehow faced and subdued.

As she sat on her bed, she let her thoughts carry her back two weeks to the time when she had impulsively run to Father, eager to share her hopes and dreams for the future. "What a disaster that was," she murmured aloud, shuddering as she saw in her mind's eye the anger and terror that had transformed his familiar face to the countenance of an irrational stranger. She still could hear his words. The vicious timbre of his voice as he had rejected her generous ideas to offer much-needed help and financial support to the Tunnel community. The malice underscoring a tone of distorted pleasure when he had denied her the right to be part of that world. Even her sudden understanding of the deep-set fears and festering anguish that had given impetus to his assault, had not eased the pain that had stabbed through her, penetrating to her heart.

Shaking her head, she sighed again as her thoughts refused to let her escape their insistent voice. What will we do now, Father? We can't ignore what has happened. And how long will it be before Vincent knows? I should never have promised to keep this from him, and yet I can't even think of what knowing about it might do to him, to all the wonderful new pathways that are opening for us...

It was that disturbing idea which drove her to her feet with more fervor than her dejected spirits could have inspired. "I won't let you come between us," she vowed, her voice strong and certain in spite of her distress. "Not you or anyone else. Nothing will change what's meant to be."

She grabbed her suitcase and keys and then headed for the door. "There must be a way," she said aloud. "A way we can find peace with each other, a way for all of us to be happy..." She heard a world of unspoken wishes in her words, and felt her heart fill with hope. They could find the answers. Somehow the respect and affection Father and she truly felt for each other would help sustain their relationship until their difficulties could be resolved at last. But even as that hope began to bolster her confidence, she knew she could not ignore the very real possibility that all her hopes and dreams could still be lost, sacrificed to a long-ago sorrow whose power to destroy had never died.

As she made her way Below, Catherine determinedly pushed aside her fears and filled her heart with nothing but the happiness and anticipation that grew with every step she took toward Vincent. She had no desire to upset him with the anxious impulses that were sure to reach him through their bond. That time, she knew, might come all too soon.

Her feet raised little clouds of dust as she ran forward through the shaft of murky bluish light toward the brick-edged threshold leading to the tunnels. Much to her surprise she heard nothing but the fading echo of her own footsteps and the rasping hush of her rapid breathing. The familiar sound of his husky voice calling her name, welcoming her into his world and into his arms, was strangely absent.

"Vincent?"

Her voice fluttered in the air, evaporating unanswered and unnoticed. She shivered, knowing that her unsteady nerves had put her on edge, but the thought did little to calm her. Where is he, she wondered. It's so unlike him not to be here, especially when he's expecting me. Oh God, I hope nothing's wrong. Maybe he's sick or hurt and no one thought to tell me. Maybe there's been –

Without even realizing she did so, Catherine dropped her suitcase and began to run, racing over stretches of uneven, rocky flooring with the faultless grace of a wildly panicked cat. She traversed the complex passageways with unerring precision, navigating each twist and turn on the now familiar route with no conscious awareness except the knowledge that each rapid footfall brought her closer to Vincent. So intent was she on that one, all-consuming goal that she did not see the dark, oily patch coating a small section of the concrete floor until she was almost upon it.

In a desperate attempt to avoid it, Catherine twisted her body to one side, pivoting recklessly and much too late. The frantic movement sent her spinning out of control. Instinctively, she raised her arms to protect herself seconds before she collided with the rock-rough walls. The force of the impact threw her backwards, and as the leather soles of her boots touched the slick oily floor, she felt herself sliding helplessly.

Unable to resist, her body stiffened in mute refusal of the inevitable impact. For a moment, she broke her fall with scraped, bleeding hands, but could do nothing to prevent the awkward wrenching motion that sent sickening jolts of pain shooting through her right leg from ankle to knee. It was the last sensation she felt as she continued to plunge forward, striking her head against the smooth, filthy floor.  

///////////////////////////////////////////

Gentle, murmuring sounds beckoned Catherine. She felt drawn by their reassuring resonance, but could not quite make her way to them through the thick, murky fog that surrounded her. Moaning softly, she pushed onward, struggling to emerge from the opaque cloud that weighed heavily upon her.

"Catherine?"

The sound of her name rasped low and harsh cleared away the last traces of smoke and mist with the indomitable force of an Arctic wind. Yet there was no icy destruction leveling everything in its path, only heat and light calling her forward into a blazing azure sky.

Blinking painfully even in the subdued light of the hospital chamber, Catherine forced her eyes open to see the one sight she found most beautiful in all the world. The barely disguised terror in his expression brought her to full awareness, and with a trembling hand she tried to reach out, needing to touch the warm reality of him as he knelt at her bedside.

"Catherine, no, your hands -- they're hurt. You must try to lie still. You're safe. You'll be all right now."

As she let him lower her hand back to the coverlet, she heard another voice call her name. Its familiar tone was distorted by a melding of anxiety and relief.

"Catherine, can you hear me? Catherine?"

She managed to tear her gaze painfully from Vincent to focus on the worried face of the older man who hovered nearby, peering intently at her from just beyond his son's shoulder. "Yes," she whispered, her throat dry and scratchy. "I can hear you, Father."

"How do you feel, Catherine? Do you know where you are? Are you in much pain? I need to examine you again now that you're conscious, but I don't want to cause you further discomfort."

"It's all right. Please, do whatever you have to do." Catherine managed a faint smile and watched the sight bring a tremendous sense of relief to the two men watching over her. "I know that I slipped and fell in one of the tunnels, and I think I managed to hit every inch of my body on the way down."

"That seems to be an accurate diagnosis," Jacob agreed with a wry smile before turning to Vincent. "Will you please go and call Mary in? The sooner we complete our examination, the sooner we can get Catherine tucked up for the night as comfortably as possible."

Immediately sensing his reluctance to leave her even for a moment, Catherine captured his steady gaze with hers. "It's all right, Vincent, really. I'll be fine. And, as Father said, the sooner he can finish patching me up, the sooner we can be together again."

Jacob’s eyes narrowed slightly at the innocent comment, but he remained silent, knowing this was neither the time nor place for a confrontation.

"All right, Catherine," Vincent replied, his voice heavy with concern for her. "I’ll be back in just a few minutes." As he rose to his feet and began to turn toward the entryway to the chamber, he was halted by the sound of a gentle laugh.

"You'll be back sooner than that," Mary called out. "I was just on my way in to see how our patient is doing." She hurried forward, her long woolen skirt and starched apron making an efficient rustling sound. "How are you feeling now, Catherine?"

"I have a headache and my right ankle is throbbing, but, all things considered, I'm okay."

"Now that you're awake and we can see that you don't have any signs of concussion, we'll be able to give you something for the pain and you can get some sleep. In just a few days you'll be as good as new," Mary assured her with a warm, familiar smile. "We'll all take good care of you -- that is, if Vincent lets the rest of us have a chance!"

As all eyes turned toward him, Vincent nodded self-consciously, acknowledging the truth in the gently teasing words. A ghost of a smile whispered across his lips. "I'll think about it, Mary," he answered, his voice lighter than it had been during the two hours he had waited at Catherine's bedside. "But I'm not making any promises."

"Well, I am making one or two," Father declared briskly. "And the first is that I intend to remove you bodily from this chamber, Vincent, if you do not do so under your own power. Go on now, and let Mary help me tend to Catherine. You're not doing anyone a bit of good hovering about."

Vincent felt a prickle of annoyance rasp through him, but knew it was pointless to argue. He looked down at Catherine and, dropping to one knee, leaned forward to cradle her in his arms, speaking close to her ear in a low, husky voice so that only she could hear his words. "As soon as the examination is completed, Catherine, I will come back for you and carry you to your bed. You will want for nothing."

"I know, Vincent," she whispered, curving her lips into a smile that brushed the side of his strong, down-stubbled jaw. "I know you'll always take care of me."

Drawing in a deep breath, Vincent raised his head and, still holding her gently in his steel-muscled arms, he touched his mouth to hers in a kiss as breathtakingly brief and brilliant as a shooting star. He lowered her to the bed again with painstaking care and then rose to his feet and left the chamber, never seeing the reaction of those he left behind.

With joyful tears filling her eyes, Mary let her gaze wander from the drowsy smile on Catherine's glowing face to the purposeful strength in Vincent's bearing as he strode away from them. Smiling tremulously, she glanced towards Father and only with great effort was she able to smother a sharp gasp at the sight of his face. Eyes hardened to slate-brittle greyness betrayed the surge of anger and fear that he struggled to suppress, and his lips trembled slightly as he drew in a shallow breath. Instinctively, Mary reached toward him. The sudden movement drew his attention, and for several moments Mary watched him stare at her as if she were a stranger.

"Jacob? Jacob, what is it?"

The quiet insistence of her voice anchored him. Curtly shaking his head, he turned away from her toward the woman who had fallen asleep on the nearby hospital bed. "It's nothing, Mary. I'm fine. Now help me finish the examination so we can get this over with once and for all."

Wordlessly, she followed his instructions, carefully noting that a healthier color was slowly returning to his ashen-toned skin. The calm before the storm, she mused silently. It's ending at last. And where will it leave us? Oh, how can you do this, Jacob, how?

Although she felt a sense of heaviness and foreboding in her heart, Mary's hands continued their tasks with calm efficiency. Less than ten minutes later, she summoned Vincent from his relentless pacing in the chamber anteroom. "Catherine has awakened, but Father has given her an injection to lessen the pain, and she'll be asleep again before long. Now you mustn't worry! She'll feel much better in the morning."

"Thank you, Mary," he managed before striding past her to Catherine's side. "Will she be all right, Father?" he asked, his gaze riveted on Catherine's pale face.

"Yes, Vincent, of course she'll be fine. This is not serious. She has a few scrapes and bruises. Her right ankle is sprained, so she'll need assistance getting about for a few days, but there is no need for undue concern." The older man frowned as he heard his voice betray more than a trace of the feelings he had not been able to conceal. He looked up at his son and noted thankfully that the sentiment apparently had been lost on him. "Be careful now when you pick her up. And when you get her settled in her bed, be sure to keep her ankle elevated on a firm pillow."

Vincent listened to the instructions as he bent forward and then, trying not to disturb her, straightened carefully with Catherine in his arms. His heart filled with happiness as he felt her sleepily wrap her slender arms around his neck and rest her head against his broad shoulder.

Catherine opened her eyes slowly. "Thank you, Father, Mary, for all your help. It was so foolish, getting hurt like that, but you've made me feel much better. I appreciate all you've done."

Her gratitude sent threads of guilt winding through him, and Father winced slightly in response. Managing a small, but genuine smile, he reached out to secure the blanket draped around her slight form. "Not at all, my dear. Now I trust Vincent shall not be far from your side for some time, so if there's anything at all that you need in the night, should you feel any further discomfort or pain, just call out and we will see to you."

"Of course we'll help if we're needed," Mary added. "And now we'll all say good night. It's time Catherine gets the rest she needs."

Resisting the urge to thank the older woman profusely for her kindly intervention, Vincent took advantage of the opportunity to carry Catherine out of the hospital chamber and down the winding passageways. Already feeling the effects of the medication, Catherine began to drowse in Vincent's arms as he moved evenly and swiftly toward their destination. Moments later she roused herself only long enough to find she was safe and warm under layers of soft, well-worn comforters in his bed. From under drooping eyelids she watched as he carefully arranged a lighter covering over her injured ankle and made sure her foot remained securely elevated on the prescribed pillow. With a sigh she whispered his name.

At the breathy sound of her half-asleep voice, Vincent turned and immediately came to her side. "Sleep now, Catherine. I will stay nearby and watch over you," he promised, noticing her eyes close even as she tried to look up at him. Slowly backing away, he lowered his tired body onto a large, ornately carved chair that he had dragged forward to face the bed. With a heavy sigh, he rubbed a weary hand across his face, and then he heard her call his name once more.

"Vincent?" Her eyes were still closed and he knew that she was far more asleep than awake, perhaps even unaware of what she was saying. "Vincent?"

Resting his elbows on his firmly muscled thighs, he leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers. "Yes, Catherine, what is it?" he whispered.

"This is your bed. Am I going to stay here in your chamber?" she murmured sleepily.

"Yes, you will stay here for now and I will be close to you," he assured her.

"But, Vincent," she continued, her voice now so indistinct that it was less heard than felt in his heart. "I thought you said you would carry me to my bed..." Her voice drifted off into sleep.

He hesitated for the briefest of moments, feeling more regret than relief in knowing that she would not hear his answer and his promise.

"Catherine, I did."
 

I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,
The fragile secret of a flower,
Music, the making of a poem
That gave me heaven for an hour.

First stars above a snowy hill,
Voices of people kindly and wise,
And the great look of love, long hidden,
Found at last in meeting eyes.