When the Phoenix Sings ~ 14

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           They  sat  together  on the tunnel floor,  some distance from the bricked  chamber  below  Catherine's  building.   Vincent  was  leaning against the wall,  one long leg extended,  and the other curled beneath it...creating a space for Catherine against the  warmth  of  his  body. Both  his arms were around her,  with her back against his chest as his low voice rumbled gently into her hair.
          "I  first  became aware of these feelings soon after Father's wife died.  After Margaret was gone,  I saw  what  her  love  had  meant  to him,  and it was then that I saw the need in my own life."
          He paused and sighed. "No, that isn't true.  I had experienced the feelings long before that,  long before I found you in the park,  but I had never allowed myself to acknowledge them.  It  was  after  Margaret died  that...even though they frightened me...I accepted the reality of those feelings.  It was then that I finally was able to define them  on paper."
          "On  paper?"
          He nodded,  "I wrote them in the form of a letter to you,  but the letter was never meant to be seen,  by anyone...the letters are  tucked away safely with my journals."
          "Letters...?"  She turned to look up at him.  "There are more than one?"
          He nodded again in silence.
          She asked  quietly,  "Is  it  possible  that  I  might  read  them someday?"
          He  lowered  his  head,  averting  his  eyes,  and  he  whispered, "Possibly...some  day.  Sometimes  when  we  are  together  like  this, anything seems possible."
          She  touched  his  face,  gently  stroking  her  hand  across  the roughness of his cheek.  "Tell me what you wrote in that letter...after Margaret died."
          The  wrinkle  between  his eyes deepened,  his eyes reflecting the vulnerable fear that had come with her request.
          "Catherine."  Doubt muffled his voice.
          "Please."
          He  shook his head once,  not as a negative gesture,  but as if he were in a struggle,  battling with the walls...the  limits...which  had been  carefully  crafted to protect those he loved from the part of him
     which he could not trust.  At last his voice began softly, in a whisper barely heard.  "From the time that I was young,  I dreamt of being held close."  He  hesitated,   resisting  the  fears  that  came  with  this admission.  "I dreamed that a woman  would  want  me...would  love  me. That somewhere there was a woman who would desire my love,  someone who might even be dreaming of me..." He lowered his head with a shudder, as if he were still certain that such a dream could never come true.
          The words of that long ago letter were coming back to him,  filled with the anxiety and wonder that he had felt after Margaret's death two years  ago.  It  was  as  if he could see the printed words before him, carefully hidden from the eyes of the world.  He spoke them now to  the only person who could be trusted with his innermost secrets. "I dreamed of  holding  someone  in  my  arms,   holding  her  and   feeling   her heart...beat  within  mine.  Sometimes  I  ached  to  be  held tenderly against the breast of a woman...to have my head stroked gently  and  to hear a voice whisper, all is safe and well."
          He looked up, his hand gently rubbing her shoulder.  "That is what your love has meant to me,  Catherine.  After I met you,  the  feelings were  no longer just vague longings...you gave a name to those feelings and a face to those dreams.  You have loved  me,  accepted  me.  And  I finally  believe  that  you  truly  care."  His  eyes  clouded with the thoughts that now must be spoken.
          "But,  Catherine,  always  I have had to believe that this love we share is different from the love between other men and women.  It is to be expressed through our bond...through the touching of our souls."  He paused,  his voice becoming softer still.  "Never did I allow myself to dream of a physical expression.  Because of who I am,  I have  believed that our love must remain chaste and pure."
          Catherine started to speak, but he shook his head, silencing her.
          He  whispered,  "Every  time  I  hold  you I have always felt such peace,  but since we have begun  to  kiss,  to  hold  each  other  more intimately...I  have  begun  to  feel  a hunger stirring inside me.  At  first I didn't know what it was.  And when I finally realized...finally gave it a name..."  A ragged breath  escaped  his chest,  "That  hunger terrifies  me.  It  threatens  me  with  the loss of control,  with the possibility of losing myself.  And tonight,  as  we  danced,  my  fears became real."
          Catherine pulled his arms more tightly around her,  wondering what he could be thinking of.
          "I lost myself...when Royce  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder  as  we danced.  I  had  lost  myself  in  our bond...in the passions that were happening between us.  When Royce came to us  on  the  dance  floor,  I didn't want to let you go,  but even beyond that, I did not want to let Royce take you into his arms.  It seemed to me in that moment, that you belonged to me, that he had no right to hold you."
          "Vincent,  I wanted to belong to you."  She  turned fully  in  his arms, facing him.
          "No," he shook his  head.   "People  are not  possessions,  to  be owned...I  gave  no thought to your feelings.  I could think of nothing but myself, and my need for you." He paused painfully and a tear traced its way down the curve of his cheek. "Catherine, if you had not stopped him, I think I might have hurt him for wanting you."
          Shaking her head, she said quickly, "I don't believe that."
          "Catherine,  I  have  hurt other men."  His arms slipped away from her, his hands resting tensely on the floor at  his sides.
          "For endangering me...not for wanting me."
          "But there has never been a time like this night before..."
          When he fell silent,  she sought to help him find the words.  "Was it the dance?"
          He nodded.  "...And before."
          "Before?"  Her mind moved back in time and centered  upon  Royce's drawings.  "Do  you  mean  the picture?"  The tear slipped further, and Catherine smoothed it away with her fingertips.
          For a moment, he again tilted his face upward.  Then he closed his eyes, lowering his chin,  and holding very still.  At last he looked at her,  blinking  away  the  tears.  "Catherine,  recently my dreams have changed.  They no longer end with your hand upon my  hair...with  words softly spoken." His chin quivered slightly, matching the tremble in his voice.  "In  my  dreams  now...  When  I  dream,  I see you...coming to me...and the look in your eyes,  is the look  of...desire  which  Royce captured  on  his  canvas."  For a moment his voice was lost.  "You are coming to my bed.  And the hand which caresses your breast...is mine."
          Catherine  stared  at  him  in  stunned  silence.   This  was  the fulfillment of everything...her every hope, every fantasy, every prayer she had uttered.
          She  had  begun  to believe this moment might never come...she had begun to believe that Vincent,  in all his strength  and  power,  would never  find  the  courage  to  bare these thoughts to her.  And now her heart swelled with a  joy  so  overwhelming  that  she  could  find  no way...no  words to tell him.  She thought gratefully of the bond.  Even when words could not express  the  depth  of  her  feelings,  he  would know...through the bond...how deeply he had touched her.
          When  at  last  she could speak,  the words came softly,  tenderly caressing the man who heard them.  "Vincent,  your dream is  beautiful. Your dream is my dream."
          He shook his head, and then lifted it slowly until his tear-misted eyes met hers.  He had uttered the most forbidden of all thoughts,  and the words could not be taken back.  Even  though  he remained  certain that he had no right to Catherine's physical love, his desires had been laid bare before her.
          With a whisper, he shook his head again,  reciting the credo which had controlled his life for over thirty years.  "It is a dream that can never be."
          Shaking her head slowly,  she reached up,  taking his face between her hands.  "Vincent, those are just empty words...ours is a dream that has to be."
          Cradling  his  head,  she  gently  pulled  him  downward,  and she stretched to kiss first one of his eyes and  then  the  other...kissing away  his tears,  brushing the softness of her cheek against the bridge of his nose.  She felt him shudder,  then he closed his eyes  and  gave himself into her embrace.
          She held him,  moving her fingers to the back of  his  neck  where they  burrowed  beneath his hair.  At last she felt his arms come up to encircle her,  and for a long time they sat holding each other  in  the dimness of the tunnel.

          At last,  somewhere in the distance a tapping on the  pipes  broke the silence,  and Vincent lifted his head.  He took a deep breath,  and then murmured softly,  "It is very late, Catherine.  It is time for you to  go  home."  He pulled back from her and pushed himself to his feet. Extending his hand, he helped her up, then,  still holding her,  he led her forward into the passageway.
          As they walked in silence, Catherine knew that she couldn't  allow this  moment to slip away.  She knew that this time was right,  and she knew what it was that she must say.
          Minutes later,  they stood at the base of the ladder which led  to Catherine's apartment building Above.  In the fall of pale light  which belonged to this place, Catherine turned and spoke.  "Vincent."
          She  felt  a  small responsive squeeze on her hand,  but he didn't speak and his eyes refused to meet hers.
          "I  have  come to a decision.  I made it weeks ago,  but I've been waiting for the right time."
          Still there was no answer.
          She continued,  "I know you argued with me when I wanted  to  come stay Below..."
          Now he knew what she was going to say,  but she was determined not to give him the opportunity to interrupt. "We've been over this so many times,  and I've always let you talk me out of it...for one  reason  or another."
          She took a deep breath.  "I'm giving thirty days' notice on my job on Monday." He started to speak.
          "Let me finish...please.  There are still  more  decisions  to  be made.  Maybe  someday  I'll stay Below as much as Rebecca and Jamie do, but for a while I'd like to have some sort of  responsibilities  Above. I've  talked with a social agency and a realtor about building a center for the homeless...Right now that isn't much  more than a thought.  But one thing I know for sure.  I'm coming to live Below."
          A look of almost physical pain darted across his face as he turned his head, still refusing to meet her eyes.
          "I'll take the guest chamber if I have to..." With  determination, she lifted her fingers to hold his chin, compelling him to look at her. "But I believe that when two people feel as we do, love doesn't have to be chaste to be pure...and I would much prefer to share  your  chamber, with you."
          "Catherine."
          It was all there in his eyes,  just as she had expected.  All  the excuses  and  fears...but  now they had lost their validity.  The dream stood before him, waiting to be claimed.
          "Good night,  Vincent."  Refusing  to  allow  him  to  gather  his defenses,  she  stretched  up to kiss him warmly on the lips,  and then turned to the ladder and grasped the metal rungs.
          He stood just behind her,  protecting her ascent as he always did.
          When Catherine was two feet above the  floor,  she  hesitated  and smiled to herself,  realizing that there was a piece of his dream which could be given to him now.
          Turning, she released her hold,  knowing he would catch her before she fell.  With her heels still on the ladder,  and his arms supporting her weight,  she put her hands on his  shoulders  and  looked  down  on him...his  face  even  with  the  crystal  which  glittered between her breasts as he looked up at her.
          Then  she  took her hands from his shoulders and again cradled his face between her palms.  With great tenderness,  she turned  his  head, bringing  his  ear  to  her  breast,  holding  him  against her gently.
          "Listen," she said.  "Can you feel my heart beat?  It beats within yours, Vincent." Then stroking his head gently, she whispered,  "All is safe and well."
          Pressing her lips once more against his golden hair,  she returned to the ladder as his arms reluctantly released her.  Feeling the warmth of his blue gaze upon her,  she climbed until,  smiling down at him one last time, she stepped into the world Above.
 

                                   *  *  *

          Catherine's feelings were a tumble of conflicting emotions as  she unlocked her apartment door.  Stepping into the room and  shutting  the door behind her, she closed her eyes and leaned against it.
          The  memory  of  Vincent's voice filled the silence,  warming her, exciting  her;  his  eyes were everywhere in the darkness,  eyes misted with haunted sadness and guilt...and glittering with passions carefully hidden away,  only to be glimpsed in the rarest of  moments.  The  firm pressure  of  his  hand  still  warmed  the  small  of  her back as she remembered how they had moved together with the  seductive  rhythms  of the  music...his  inhibitions falling away,  one after another like the blooming of a rose on  the  dance  floor,  culminating  in  a  pressure against  her  spine which had said to her and to all those who might be watching, "This is mine.  This moment, this love, and this woman belong to me."
          She had taken the first step toward joining him in his world,  and now the dream was a reality so close that they needed only to reach out and claim it.

          Opening her eyes,  she pushed away from the door and  switched  on the lights as she turned to lock the  dead bolt behind  her.  Then  she glimpsed  something  white  on the floor. A note had been pushed under the door.  Probably a belated message about  Winterfest,  she  thought. Some last minute item that was no longer relevant.
          She  picked it up and unfolded the paper.  With a frown,  she read words that had  nothing  to  do  with  Winterfest.  It  was  a  message handwritten  in  large  block  letters,  stating  that  if she would be outside Smyth's Bookstore an hour before dawn she would be given a copy of the book she was seeking.
          Her frown deepened.  The book she was seeking?  That could only be a copy of Captains Courageous for Father.  Turning the note  over,  she  found  no signature,  nothing to indicate the sender.  With a glance at  her watch,  she calculated that she had  about  an  hour  to  keep  the
     appointment.
          She sighed.  She was tired,  and she wanted nothing more  than  to climb  into  bed  and  to  savor the beautiful thoughts of the evening. This note was an intrusion from the real world,  and,  for this  night, her world had centered itself in Vincent's love.
          Still, Father was a very important part of Vincent's world, and if there  were  any chance that she could give him this gift...  She could easily imagine the pleasure in Father's eyes,  and the pride that would be in Vincent's.
          She looked again at her watch.  She was not fond of being  on  the streets  of  New York City alone at this time of night,  but she wanted that book very much.  And as  neighborhoods  went,  Smyth's  was  in  a decent  part of town.
          She had no idea who could  have  written  the  note,  but  if  the meeting had to be under the cover of darkness there seemed a likelihood that  the book was stolen,  taken from a private collection or possibly smuggled from some library.  Still,  how dangerous could a  book  thief be?
          Making  up her mind almost instantly,  she went to her bedroom and pulled  off  her  dress.
          Minutes  later,  clad in casual clothes and a heavy coat,  she had left her apartment and was on the sidewalk outside her building hailing a taxi.
 

          As Catherine climbed from the  cab,  she stepped  onto  the  snowy sidewalk  and looked both directions,  cautiously searching the shadows for any indication of danger. Seeing nothing,  she paid the  fare  and watched while the taxi pulled away from the curb.
          A streetlight at the corner did little to relieve the darkness  as she  stood  listening  to  the silence.  The distant lamp seemed on the verge of extinguishing itself as it  sputtered,  threatening  to  short out.  For a moment,  the electrical sizzle was the only sound she could hear.  The city almost always  hummed  with  its  own  sounds...motors, voices,  sirens.  But sometimes,  in these very early hours, especially in the winter,  the streets  became  strangely  quiet.  She  loved  the silence  when  she  was  with  Vincent,  but right now she found little comfort in the stillness.
          Smyth's Bookstore stood in the deep  shadows  between  a  darkened coffee  shop  on  the  left and a very dark alley on the right.  Moving carefully across the icy  sidewalk,  Catherine  approached  the  shop's front door,  trying to peer inside.
          Suddenly the silence was broken by sounds in the alley.  Something swished through the snow, and somewhere down the passageway a trash can fell over and lost its lid.  She heard the yowls and hisses of a  brief cat fight.  And then it was over and the silence returned.
          Catherine  put  one hand to her throat and felt the heaving of her chest.  Cats.  She  had  just  about  panicked  at  the  sound of cats. But now the alley was again quiet.  Finally, taking a deep breath,  she returned  her  attention  to  her mission.  In the darkness,  she could barely  discern  a  crack which ran the full length of the glass in the bookstore's door.  As she stepped closer,  something  crunched  in  the snow  beneath  her  boots, and  she  glanced  down  at  the pieces of a  shattered bottle.  With a sigh,  she wondered if the man who had thrown the  bottle  at  the door had been so bored that he had found momentary pleasure in the sound of tinkling glass.
          Lifting her gaze,  she extended her gloved hand toward the  latch. Of course,  the door would be locked, but...
          With a gasp,  she snatched her hand away.  Something in the  glass had  moved.  Uncertain whether the motion was inside the store or if it had been a reflection,  she staggered back,  colliding with the  silent shadow behind her.
          She spun and gasped his name as she fell  into  the  arms  of  the hooded figure.  "Vincent." She collapsed against his heavy fleece vest, her heart pounding against  her  ribs,  making  further  speech  nearly impossible.
          "Catherine.  I'm  sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."  His voice rumbled softly above her hair.
           With effort, she pulled back from him just enough to look up into his eyes.  Unable to find her voice,  she  shook  her  head,  and  fell against  him  again.  His  arms  came  around  her,  and  instantly the frightening stillness was replaced by the  reassurance  of  his  great, calm strength.
          "Are you all right?"  he asked.
          Closing her eyes,  she breathed deeply,  waiting for her heart  to slow its pace.  At last she nodded and whispered. "I am now."
          Still  holding her,  he murmured softly.  "This is not a safe hour for you to be alone on the streets."
          Finally  trusting  her legs to hold her up,  she lifted her weight from his chest, remaining in his arms.  "Is that why you followed me?"
          With a slight frown, Vincent shook his head.  "Catherine, I didn't follow you."
          "But..."  She looked up at him in  confusion.
          "Catherine,  an  hour  ago  I left you at your apartment building. What brought you here?"
          She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the note.  "When I got home,  I found this under the door."  Handing it to Vincent,  she watched  as  he  read  it.  And  then to her surprise,  he put his hand  inside his vest and withdrew a similar piece of paper of his own.
          "This was on the floor at my chamber entrance when I returned from your building."  He held the two notes,  comparing  them,  finding them identical.
          Now it was Catherine who frowned.  "Someone sent for us both?" She peered out from the security of Vincent's embrace,  staring up and down the sidewalk. "Vincent, lots of people Above know I am hunting for that book...but  who could possibly know about you?"  An involuntary shudder      passed across her shoulders.  "If it was a helper,  he never would have asked us to meet him here." She paused and whispered, "And if it wasn't a helper...Vincent..."  Urgently, she reached up, clasping the edges of his hood,  and she pulled it protectively about his face until only his eyes  were  visible,  "...you  could  be in great danger."  Her fingers lingered against the warmth of his cheek.
          Vincent's hands came up, taking her hands in each of his. "There's no one here,  I'm certain of it.  I arrived several minutes ago,  and I have searched the streets carefully."
          "But the notes said we would be given a copy of the book.  I don't understand."  She shook her head in confusion.
          Responding  to  Catherine's  concern,  Vincent  lifted  his  head, sweeping  the  darkness  again  with his gaze.  Peering past Catherine, he read the sign on the glass door behind her.  "Smyth's Bookstore." He  looked down into her face.  "This is the store where you found my first edition Tennyson."  It was partly a question, partly a statement.
          She nodded. "That's right.  But the store has been out of business for months.  I was here about three weeks ago.  I told you about it."
          Vincent released her left hand.  "You told  me  there  were  still books on the shelves."
          Catherine nodded again.  "I tried to find out what happened to Mr. Smyth.  The waitress at the coffee shop said everything is just the way he left it."  She paused a moment,  then asked,  "Vincent, do you think Mr. Smyth sent us those notes?"
          Casting  one  last  look down the empty street,  Vincent murmured, "It's possible.  Perhaps our answer is inside the bookstore."
          "I was about to try the lock..."
          Vincent nodded, then stepped between Catherine and the door.  "The store is the one place I've not yet searched."  His arm extended toward the  door  and  his fingers enveloped the latch.  He rattled it gently, and then stepped closer to try it more firmly.
          At  that  moment,  Vincent's  gaze  moved beyond the door into the  gloom  within.  Catherine  felt  him stiffen,  and his grip on her hand tightened.  Unable to see around him, she whispered, "Vincent.  What do you see?"
          His  voice  came harshly,  "Catherine,  something's burning in the back.  The store is on fire."
          Startled,  Catherine  moved  in front of him,  looking through the grime on the door into the dark building.  Suddenly she saw it too.  An orange glow reflected against the rear  shelves,  then  the  glow  grew brighter and raw flames split the blackness.
          "Oh, my god.  Vincent..."
          Pushing  her back and shielding her with his body,  Vincent kicked at the door,  splintering the wooden frame as the glass fell in  shards to the floor.  His voice rose above  the  sound  of  shattering  glass.
     "Catherine,  there is a fire alarm box in the  next  block  across  the street."  He  indicated  the direction.  "You must find it and send for help."
          Clinging to his arm, she resisted.  "Vincent, what're you going to do?"
          He  attempted  to  shake her free as he moved through the doorway. "There may be someone inside." For an instant,  he looked directly into her  eyes.  "Catherine, go for help."  Pulling free from her grasp,  he moved into the bookstore, leaving Catherine alone on the sidewalk.
          She  watched  as  he  left  her.  At first he was invisible in the darkness,  but  then  as  he  moved  further  into  the  building,  his silhouette was clearly outlined by the flickering gleam  of  the  fire.
     Terrified of leaving him alone in the burning  store,  she  called  his name  again.  But  then  he  disappeared completely,  and she heard the first crackle of flames as something in the rear of the store collapsed in upon itself.
          The  sound  shocked her into action.  Resisting the urge to panic, trying not to imagine the full extent of Vincent's peril, Catherine ran to find the alarm.