"No questions, Isaac. Thank
you for everything." Catherine held her friend back.
"Leave us now!"
The black man pulled away and
tried to decide what he was seeing through the half-light.
The tunnel was occupied by a dark figure, huge
and still. It
turned to face them and called softly, "Catherine?"
Catherine moved into the tunnel.
"I have to take him home!" And after that moment Isaac no
longer trusted his eyes. But he was street-wise,
and he knew his job here
was done. He would leave the rest to Catherine Chandler.
Catherine was dimly
aware that Vincent's eyes did not focus upon her as she threw herself against
his chest and whispered, "I'm here."
Vincent brought his arms around
her. "I knew you were close by."
She dug her fingers into the
thick fabric of his cloak and held him
tightly as she looked up into his face. "I was never giving up."
He was gazing into
empty space over her head. She tried to will him to look at her,
to reassure her that the hurt was not real.
She caught a
glimpse of Father a few yards away as Vincent's right arm came up over
her shoulder. His weight fell against
her, and she staggered.
With his ragged breath in her ear, she guided him toward the waiting
man. Her left arm slid under Vincent's
cloak, and she was horrified
to feel his shirt matted with something warm and sticky.
Father's face was a study of
fear and rage. As they drew near him he did not speak. Catherine
could sense the anger flaring in him and knew it centered
upon both her and the men who had done this to his beloved son. She
was certain Father was silent only because the words he had to
say would be distressing
to Vincent, and Vincent had enough pain already.
There was movement further up
the Tunnel, and Kipper came running toward them. He slid
to a stop, and Father laid a hand on his shoulder. The
boy asked, "Father, is Vincent...?"
"Kipper. Go find Winslow.
Tell him to bring several men here at once. Our security
has been breached, and we must seal
this entrance
immediately."
"Winslow's already coming.
Pascal said one of the helpers sent word on the pipes
that Vincent was hit by a car while he was trying to open a
grate in the street."
"Hit by a car?" Father
turned and put his hand to his son's
face. "Vincent, how...?" It was then he saw the blankness
in Vincent's eyes. "Vincent,
look at me." The blue eyes traveled to where the voice should
be, but Father saw no recognition in them. "My God, what
have they done to you?" There was no
answer as Vincent tried to pull himself erect, and his right leg gave
out beneath him.
He struggled to regain his balance
while Catherine steadied herself. She was aware of more dampness at
his side. "Father, I think he's bleeding."
"Bleeding? Where?" Father
responded with alarm.
With her free hand she pushed
the heavy cloak aside, and Father followed her gesture. He gently
probed beneath the layers of fabric and found a dark
stain which was spreading slowly down Vincent's side. At his touch,
Vincent winced sharply and gasped for his next breath.
Father pulled away
his hand and stared at it in horror. "I've got to stop that. But
I can't see a thing here in this light and I need my medical bag. Vincent,
can you walk?"
There was no response, and Catherine felt him fall even more heavily against
her. "Kipper, help her. We have to get him back
home."
Catherine and Kipper
had struggled only a few feet with Vincent when Winslow's great
form emerged from the darkness. Three men followed close behind
him. Father interrupted their questions with snapped orders
and instructions. As the three men moved
to work on the open tunnel entrance, Father turned
to Winslow who was staring at Vincent. "Winslow, we need you.
Kipper, get out of the way and let Winslow help Catherine."
The big black
man pushed Kipper aside and reached for
Vincent. "Help...hell. I'm carrying him."
Father shook his head. "No, I
don't think you can."
"You just watch me!" With strength
born of years of heavy labor in the Tunnels, Winslow
bent to place one arm behind Vincent's knees and the
other behind his shoulders
and lifted him. Vincent let out a roar of pain and confusion.
Fangs flashed near Winslow's cheek and long claws
raked across his face leaving thin trails
of blood.
"Vincent! No!" Catherine
grabbed his arm and laid her other hand against his face. "Let him help you."
Winslow's face reddened beneath
his dark skin as he braced his legs under his heavy burden, and Vincent's
right hand fumbled urgently for a hold on the front of Winslow's shirt.
"Do I take him to the hospital chamber?"
"No." Father tucked
Vincent's cloak about him. "Vincent's chamber is closer.
Take him there." He turned. "Kipper."
The boy looked up expectantly.
"Kipper, go find Mary. Tell her what has happened, and tell her to meet
us in Vincent's chamber. Tell her I need my bag, hot water, bandages...and
I need a surgical pack. Run, boy!"
Catherine stood watching numbly
as Winslow carried Vincent into the Tunnel with
Father limping just behind them. Father had not given her so
much as a glance as he left her
standing there alone. For an instant she felt like a misplaced intruder,
but then she looked down at her left hand and
saw the red stain of Vincent's blood. All uncertainty
vanished. Yes, she belonged here. They were carrying away the most important
being in her life.
She belonged with him, and she would not allow Father or any of them to keep
her away. If Vincent had felt her presence
in the streets,
he still needed to feel it now. With the memory of his voice,
she followed the ragged group into the darkness.
Images and sounds blurred into
a distorted haze. Vincent had sensed Catherine's
presence more than heard her voice, and when he had felt her
warmth against him, all the urgent
terror had gone. There were things he wanted to say to her, but
his thoughts were lost in a smothering pain. He
wanted to hold her, touch her, feel the safety of her nearness,
but waves of murky darkness threatened to rob him of all
sensibility. And ultimately
all he could do was cling to her and follow her guidance as she
directed his steps.
He was dimly aware Father was
near and that he was angry. Some bit of remorse deep
within Vincent told him he should apologize to Father, but
he wasn't sure why, and even if
he could remember, he was certain the words would not come.
Other people pressed close. Motions,
voices, and anxiety all melted together into a senseless
whole, indistinct, and seeming of very little importance.
There was only one reality, and that was Catherine. She was there,
encircling him, supporting him, and giving strength to the
one small part of him which
held to consciousness and awareness.
Father was very
close now. Vincent blinked hard trying to make some sense
of the haze. Father's hands were on him, then a white
hot pain tore
through his left side. He gasped and held his breath waiting
for the agony to subside. Catherine? He tried to call
her name. He was losing
her. In near panic he searched for her presence. There were such
dark places in his soul, and he had to find her before
they were both lost
forever. Just when he glimpsed her smile in the darkest
place of all, there was a great upheaval, and Catherine was ripped
from him. His feet
left the floor, and the world spun about him in sounds and
sights and smells that he had known forever, but had never known. He
roared and struck out
at the force which had taken Catherine from him.
"Vincent! No! Let him help
you."
The roar died
in his throat, and the bond he shared with Catherine
slipped into place. There was warm strength from some other source,
and he reached
out and tangled his fingers in it. Then in the warmth of her touch
he let the haze engulf him.
Mary was waiting
in Vincent's chamber when Winslow's bulk filled the doorway.
Kipper had told her Vincent had been hurt, but she
was not prepared
for the sight before her. Vincent lay in Winslow's arms panting heavily
and making the faint wounded animal sounds she remembered from
his boyhood. A trickle of blood came from his parted lips, and
while he did not seem to be unconscious, there was no evidence
that he was aware of the activities about him.
She looked at Winslow's cheek and recognized
the mark Vincent had left on other loved ones when he
had lost himself.
Father came in behind them and
took up the bag which Mary had left on the table. "Winslow, put him on the
bed and get him undressed. I want to see what we're dealing with."
He put the bag beside the bed and hobbled to the basin
of hot water which also sat on the table. With
a jerk he removed his
fingerless gloves and began to wash his hands. He
glanced toward the bed as Winslow rolled Vincent's body to one side to loosen
his shirt. "For God's
sake be careful. There's a deep laceration on his left side, and
I am certain he has broken ribs. He's bleeding internally."
Father heard a gasp from the doorway
and looked up to see Catherine in the shadows. He
frowned heavily. "Mary, get her out of here."
"Father," Catherine pleaded,
"please let me stay."
The older man's voice crackled
with a warning. "Mary, I don't have time for this."
The woman came to Catherine's
side. "You are Vincent's Catherine, aren't you? It has been
a long time." Catherine remembered the gentle voice of the woman who had helped
Vincent during the ten days he had cared for her here. "He is in good
hands. Father is an excellent physician, and the best
thing you can do for Vincent right now is to stand
back and let Father work."
Catherine's chin trembled.
"Will he be all right?"
"I promise I will come to you
as soon as we have news."
"If he asks for me..."
"I don't think he
will. I am quite certain Father plans
surgery. Vincent will be asleep and will not even know you are gone."
Catherine looked from
Mary's gentle eyes, to Vincent, and then back again.
"Catherine, please."
The older woman did not want to anger
Father further.
Reluctantly Catherine
nodded and turned back into the darkness of the Tunnel.
When Mary reentered the chamber
Father was bent over Vincent, speaking partially to
Winslow and partly to himself. His fingers probed gently at the
ragged tear in his son's side, and Vincent moaned.
Father's head tilted so he could see through his reading glasses as
he examined the wound
a second time. "There is something
in there...almost like shrapnel...maybe glass or metal...it's
hard to tell. It must have happened
in the explosion. It broke these two ribs upon entry
and is lodged there..." He probed more deeply, and Vincent jerked
back sharply on the bed. Father looked up. "Mary, prepare to assist."
As she scrubbed and gathered
up the surgical pack, Father sat back. "A severe bruise on his
right thigh...probably from the impact with the car. Without
X-rays I can't be certain whether there is bone
damage...but there is no dislocation. Assorted
other bruises...small burns." He hesitated.
"I am concerned about this." He touched an angry swelling
which was developing behind Vincent's left eye and above his ear. "He has
taken a heavy blow
here in the temporal region. That would explain his disorientation,
and..." Father pulled his hand away and was silent.
Finally Winslow could stand the
silence no longer. "What, Father?"
Father let out a slow breath.
"Did you notice in the Tunnel...when he looked at
us?" There was a tremor in his voice. "Between that blow and
the flash burns across his face
and eyes...I think it is quite possible he is blind."
Mary and Winslow traded alarmed
glances, and Winslow backed away from the bed giving Father room to work.
"Mary, sodium penathol?"
"Right here, Father."
"We must be very careful.
Severe shock is setting in, and I don't want to risk depressing
his system further. Winslow, get some heat in here.
This is going to take a
while."
Time meant little
in the Tunnels. To those who worked in Vincent's chamber
it meant nothing, but in the outer Tunnel Catherine hung
onto every second, trying to distinguish words from murmured
conversations, and seeing again the expression on Vincent's face as Winslow
carried him away. Once, she ventured around
the bend and stood behind the iron latticework at the door.
Mary glimpsed her there and waved her away. At last, she sank
to the floor and hugged her knees
to her chest, remembering again the fear
she had felt in this place the first time Vincent brought her here.
He had been there for her, and no matter what Father said, she was going
to be here for Vincent.
Father was almost finished.
The surgery had gone well. A three inch piece
of metal, possibly part of a pipe bomb, had
been removed from Vincent's
side. Satisfied the sutures would hold, Father bound Vincent's left
arm to his body and tended his right leg. Then Father
turned his attention
to Vincent's face. He was relieved to find no evidence of
a fracture there, but the trauma had been severe and would
have to be carefully
watched. He treated the burns with an antibiotic salve,
and placed saturated compresses over Vincent's eyes. With Mary's
help, he taped
the compresses in place and bound a gauze bandage about his son's head.
When Father sought out his bag
and pulled a hypodermic needle from it, Mary was under the
impression he was finished. She laid the tape on the
bed and edged
quietly toward the door. With his back to her, Father decided
to smooth the bandage with one more piece of
tape, and he
extended his free hand expectantly. When
the hand remained empty he turned and frowned severely. "Where are you
going?"
The woman pursed her lips defiantly.
"I am going to reassure that young woman."
"Is she still here? I told
her to leave us. She has no further business here."
"Father, she cares for him."
"Cares? Look at him, Mary.
This is what her caring has done to him." He tore angrily at the tape
and secured the gauze.
Mary watched a moment
in silence, and when Father glanced up again she was gone.
Catherine was still waiting on
the Tunnel floor. Her face was streaked with dust and tears
of frustration. As Mary approached, the young woman
jumped to her feet and wiped
one hand across her face. "How is he?"
"He's asleep. Father gave
him a sedative, and he is resting quietly."
"You said surgery..."
"Father removed a metal fragment
from his left side. There is no reason why it should
not heal satisfactorily..." She hesitated, her
brow wrinkling.
"There is something else." Catherine
gripped Mary's sleeve. "Tell me."
"His eyes. It may be nothing...we
won't know until Vincent is more responsive...but
there is a possibility he is experiencing temporary
blindness."
"Blindness?" Catherine's memory
flashed back to the unfocused blue gaze which had gone over her head
when she had rushed into Vincent's arms. "I don't understand.
He found his way to the tunnel entrance...he..."
"We don't know it for certain,
Catherine. There was a blow to his head and minor
burns. Father is taking every precaution.
As a rule,
traumatic blindness corrects itself when
the shock and swelling pass...when you see Vincent you will
find his eyes are bandaged, and I
wanted you to understand why."
The younger woman peered into
the darkness behind Mary. She needed to go to him. "Does Father
know I am still here?"
"Yes."
Catherine's eyes made a silent
plea.
Mary laid her hand gently on
the young woman's sleeve. "Dear, you have to try to understand Father.
He is such a stubborn man, and you
have touched upon the
most tender part of his life."
"Vincent."
Mary nodded. "Vincent." She paused.
"Vincent has always been special to all of us, but with Father...it
is more like an obsession. He is
fiercely protective.
As if he alone can will away all the hurt and
injustice the world would inflict upon the boy."
"And he blames me for what has happened."
Mary smiled sadly.
Catherine trembled, her voice
low. "Father told me earlier that he considers
my relationship with Vincent to be a tragic mistake." Her eyes
misted. "Do you agree with him?"
"Catherine, you must remember
you had almost no part in initiating this relationship. It
was Vincent who found you...Vincent who chose to bring
you here. And when you left, it was Vincent who sought you out
again." She hesitated. "This evening...did you ask Vincent to accompany
you?"
Catherine shook her head.
"I thought not.
My dear, those of us who brought Vincent through his youth frequently
fail to realize he is no longer a
boy. He is a man...responsible for his own
actions. Only he can determine whether those actions are a mistake."
She felt a shudder pass through the young woman. "Catherine, you
are tired. Come. I will take you to my chamber. You can have a
cup of tea while I help Father clean up here."
Catherine pulled away with
a start. "No." She looked again toward
Vincent's chamber. "I am staying here. Father can forbid me to come
into the chamber, but I won't
go away. Vincent is going to need
me...sometime...and I am going to be here."
"Mary! Where are
you!" Father's impatient call came from the chamber beyond the
bend.
"I must go. Are you sure
you will be all right here?"
Catherine nodded and watched
the older woman turn and walk from sight. Suddenly
Catherine's weight was again too much for her knees, and
she slid down the tunnel wall into a huddle on the floor. Her
lips trembled as they formed one word. "Vincent."
Catherine did not
know how much time had passed when Winslow came from the chamber and walked
past her. He did not speak, and she could read nothing
from his expression. She must have dozed after that because she was
suddenly startled by Mary touching her shoulder.
"Catherine."
She sat up straight. "Vincent?"
"Out of danger. He's asleep...you may
see him now if you like."
Catherine grasped at the words.
"See him?"
Mary nodded. "Father is
asleep in the big chair. I could not persuade him to go
to bed. There is nothing more for me to do. If you would like
to sit with Vincent I believe
it would be all right."
Catherine needed no further approval.
As she crept quietly
into the chamber her first sight was of Father asleep in Vincent's
chair. He still wore his reading glasses, and his
chin rested upon his chest as he
snored softly. Mary had tucked a blanket around him and had extinguished
the nearest candles.
Then Catherine froze at a low sound
from the direction of Vincent's bed. When she turned to
look at him she was flooded with a sense of deja vu. It was the same room,
the same bed, the same smells of disinfectant and medicine. But
this time it was Vincent lying there with his eyes swathed in bandages.
She wiped her hand across her eyes and came to his side. He was
sleeping fitfully, his shoulders trembling slightly as he panted
through open lips. The bandage covered
only his eyes and exposed a bruise across his left cheek. The
golden hair which had stunk of old beer had
been washed. Where it escaped from beneath the bandages it lay in soft
waves upon the pillow. He wore a white cotton nightshirt,
but the left sleeve lay empty. A blanket was pulled over his chest,
and the fingers of his right hand worked in cat's paw motions upon the covers.
Catherine sat in a chair beside the
bed and very gently laid her hand upon his
restless fingers. The result was immediate.
The panting stopped and Vincent's hand was motionless beneath
hers. There was a response she could barely hear, "Catherine?"
"I'm here." The hand
beneath hers turned and gripped her fingers. She whispered, "I
thought you were asleep."
He made an indistinguishable sound
which meant no. Then softly, "Where am I?"
"Safe. Home...in your
own bed. Father is here...asleep in your chair just a few feet
away."
"Mmmm..." It was a sound she
had heard him make before which meant "I know" or "of course".
His breathing eased, and he rested more quietly.
"Vincent?" She softly
spoke his name, but there was no response.
Catherine touched his face gently and satisfied herself that he was truly
asleep. After several moments
she tried to take her hand from his, but the large fingers held
their grip on hers.
"Even in sleep, he will not let you
go."
She jerked her head up
to see Father observing her through lowered eyes. He had not moved.
She hesitated and turned back
to Vincent. "Thank you, Father."
He pulled his glasses off and
set them on the table. "Why do you thank me?"
Catherine whispered, "For helping
him."
"Catherine," he frowned at her, "I
did not help him for you."
She tried to steady her voice. "I know
that."
Father's eyes moved
to Vincent and noted the gentle breathing and the calmness which had
come upon him. None of Father's drugs could produce the
effect this woman's touch had upon his son.
Catherine's quiet words interrupted
his thoughts. "Father, he's the most important thing in my life."
Her voice trembled, "I believe he needs
me...I have to
stay." She turned her eyes to plead with him. "Please don't send
me away."
Father rested one elbow on the
arm of the chair, put his hand to his forehead,
and hid his face. "I should. I should send you away and forbid
him to ever see you again...but if I did..." Father's voice
broke in a near sob. "If you stay I believe it will destroy him...but
if I force him...to choose between us..." He paused. "I fear I
shall lose him either way."
Hot tears suddenly burned Catherine's
eyes, and she turned away from Father.
She did not want to hurt this man. His love
for Vincent was beautiful,
and she was certain much of the beauty in Vincent had
its origins in Father's love.
She caressed the soft golden
hairs of Vincent's hand and finally put her other arm on the bed beside him
and lowered her head to rest upon it. At least
Father had not sent her away.
Mary came into the chamber several
hours later. Father was still much as she had left him...asleep in the
chair. Catherine was sleeping in a
chair near Vincent's side with her head
resting on his bed. The claws of his right hand were curled protectively
upon her light brown hair. When Mary
was satisfied that Vincent was resting comfortably she added a
few coals to the fire in the hearth and slipped quietly from the room.
Catherine awoke to
a change in Vincent's breathing. He was panting restlessly
again.
"Vincent, can you hear
me?" She touched his face. "It's over. You're going
to be all right."
His mouth was slightly
open, and she saw his tongue slide across the inside of his upper lip.
His voice was a hoarse whisper, "Thirsty."
Catherine glanced at Father.
He was awake, watching both of them, and he nodded toward a water pitcher
nearby. She poured a drink and held
Vincent's head up gently
as she touched the glass to his mouth. Just a little of the water
moistened his lips and trickled down his
throat before he choked
and turned his head away. His left shoulder moved in an attempt to lift
his arm and push the glass away, but the tape held firm.
His left arm did not move. A low
growl rumbled through his chest as his right hand came up
to his face. For an instant Catherine was afraid he was
going to tear the bandages away. She dropped the glass to the
floor and clasped his hand quickly, pulling
it back down to the blanket.
Catherine felt Father at her side,
and she looked up at him anxiously. "Father?"
"It's all right,
Catherine. Just do what you are doing. Vincent, you are
home safe. Be still. You are safe now."
"Father, I don't think I can hold him!"
Vincent's hand reached again for the bandages in spite of
Catherine's efforts, but suddenly she leaned
forward and held his fingers against her cheek.
"Vincent, it's me. Please. Don't." She brushed
the back of his hand with her lips. His
breath heaved, and his head pulled up from the pillow, but his
arm relaxed in her grasp, and he surrendered control to her. In a moment
his head fell back, and he
shuddered.
When Father was certain the crisis
had passed, he reached for his bag. "Catherine, may
I have your chair? I want to check his vital signs." She
moved to sit on the bed without
releasing the long fingers. Father made his examination quickly
with very little reaction from Vincent. As he
made a series of notes in
a small notepad, Catherine looked at him for answers.
"Acceptable," Father answered,
"considering what he has been through." He touched a hand to his son's
shoulder. "Vincent, do you hear me?" There was no response. Father leaned
back in the chair and closed his bag. Then he sighed
and ran his fingers through his hair.
Catherine felt his gaze settle on her.
He looked at her so intently for such a long time
that she began to feel uncomfortable under his stare. She
finally whispered defensively, "I have to stay."
Run
to the Sea