Cautiously he opened his eyes and found himself lying facedown upon a wide expanse of stone beside the river. Slowly lifting his head, he peered through the golden light. "Owl Woman?" She was gone.
Pushing himself into a sitting position, he wondered why he had lost consciousness. He had been running at great speed through the river passage. Before that, he had fallen, hitting his head, but the injury had been minor. Appraising his physical condition, he looked down at himself. Shreds of his vest and shirt hung over his exposed chest, but there was no evidence of damage to his flesh. Other than a tenderness around the bump on his head, he appeared to be in good health.
Again he experienced a nagging urgency. Something demanded his attention. Closing his eyes, he sought and found a name. Brigit O'Donnell. He was on his way to find her, and he feared he was already too late. Rising to his feet, Vincent turned his face toward home.
***
The final phase of his journey was easy. Every bend was increasingly familiar as Vincent drew nearer home, until at last he was in the home Tunnels themselves.
Silence and quiet pipes indicated the hour was very late as Vincent approached the quarters he and Father shared. Encountering no one in the Tunnels, Vincent went to his own chamber and deposited his packs. He needed information, but everyone in the Tunnels seemed to be asleep. Of course there was the possibility Father would still be awake. Frequently the older man sat up enjoying the privacy of the later hours.
As he neared Father's chambers, Vincent could see a light. Emerging from the Tunnel, he stood at the top of the steps and looked down into his father's study. Fondness lit his eyes as he saw the figure draped asleep over a book at the table. Entering the chamber, he noted the uncomfortable angle in his father's neck. Vincent felt no guilt as he softly touched the sleeping man. "Father."
"Mmmmm?" The older man inhaled sharply. Unfocused, his eyes blinked as he lifted his head and brought one hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. Groggily he murmured, "I'm sorry. I guess I fell asleep."
Vincent stood back and smiled. "You will regret this in the morning."
"I know. I..."
Suddenly Father was fully awake. "Vincent!" The older man came up from his
seat, and Vincent's hand on his shoulder gently pushed him
back down. Kneeling beside the chair, the cloaked figure
accepted his father's almost desperate embrace. "Vincent, you're
home." Holding the massive form closely, Father turned his face into
the golden mane and kissed him. "Thank God, you're
home." For a moment they shared the
caress, then Father pulled back. "When did you get back?"
"Just minutes ago."
"Are you well? Let me look at you." The older man ran his eyes over his son, noting the torn clothes. "Are you all right?"
"I am well."
"Are you sure? You look thin."
Vincent shook his head. "You always say that."
"Well," Father ran his fingers along his son's cheek, "it is always true."
With another smile, Vincent conceded. "Perhaps you are right." He reached for a chair and pulled it beside Father's. With his hand on the back of the older man's chair, Vincent leaned forward. "Father, I need to know today's date."
Father frowned. "Today's date? Whatever for?"
Vincent waved the question aside. "In a moment. Tell me. Do you know today's date?"
The older man's brow creased, and he shook his head. "Is it before or after midnight? I don't know."
"In the morning. What will it be in the morning?"
"October 30, I think. Yes, William went up for a paper after lunch. Tomorrow is October 30."
Vincent sighed deeply in relief.
His father stared at him. After a pause he asked, "Why should that concern you?"
"It is a long story."
Father put his hand on his son's arm. "I have the rest of the night to listen. If I heat some tea, will you tell me?"
Vincent nodded. "I have much to tell."
***
Vincent recounted the trip itself, but he did not share his concerns about Catherine. Touching only briefly upon the physical wonders he had seen, he described the mystical beings he had encountered. Father's brows lifted at the description of the Owl Woman, and he reserved his explanation of her presence for some other time. Vincent described his confrontation with the dark beast, but did not share the conversation itself. The incident disturbed Father, but it did not surprise him. He and Vincent had faced that threat together before, and it was a secret they shared with no one else. Through mutual agreement, they understood not even Catherine would be told of that terrifying darker side.
Brigit O'Donnell and her writings were of great concern to Vincent, and when Father confessed he had never read "300 Days", Vincent retrieved the book from his own chamber. As he held the volume, Vincent handed the bookmark to Father. "Read this. You will see Brigit O'Donnell is making a television appearance here in New York tomorrow, and the next day she will attend a Halloween masked ball." He gave the book to Father.
Father frowned. "Why is this important to you?" He watched his son straighten in his chair, and he noted the disturbance in the blue eyes. "You have told me about everything...except the decisions you set out to make." He leaned back in his own chair, and after a long pause he asked, "Did you keep our agreement, Vincent?"
His son cocked his head. "If you are asking about the bond..." He sighed."I have had no contact with Catherine." He looked into his father's eyes. "Have you?"
Father ran his fingers through his hair. "No. She has made no attempt to communicate with the Tunnels." He fingered the book. "However...," he paused, "Brian and Kipper reported they saw her leaving a limousine...outside her apartment building two days ago. She was well. The boys hid, and she did not see them." He added, "She was with a white-haired gentleman."
Vincent's shoulders relaxed at the reassuring news. "Her father."
The older man nodded. "That was my assumption, yes." After a silence he asked, "Vincent? You have not told me your decision. What of Catherine?"
Pushing his chair back, Vincent stood. "Father, I have to see Brigit O'Donnell."
Father frowned severely and shook his head. "I'm sorry...I don't believe I understood you."
Vincent took a deep breath. "Did William leave the newspaper in the dining chamber?"
"He usually does. Why?"
"Father, read "300 Days",...now. I must find that newspaper," Vincent stooped to kiss his father's hair, and he strode from the study.
***
An hour and a half later, Vincent was in his own chamber writing in his journal when he looked up to see Father in the entrance way. The older man looked around noting two unpacked leather packs on the floor and a carefully folded newspaper on the table beside his son's journal. "May I come in?"
Vincent put the cap on his fountain pen. "Of course. Did you read Brigit's book?"
"I did." Father lifted the book in his hand. "Now you tell me why it was so important that I read it tonight."
His son lowered his eyes. "I felt it would help you understand."
"Understand what, Vincent?"
Vincent pushed the newspaper in Father's direction and pointed at a circled article. Father read the headline, "Masked Ball to Fete Irish Peace Activist Brigit O'Donnell". The older man looked up questioningly, "What is this?"
"Read it, please."
A few seconds later Father looked up from the paper. "It says Brigit O'Donnell is to be guest of honor at a ball...Halloween evening." He frowned as a frightening thought entered his mind. "Vincent, what is this all about?"
Vincent looked up into his father's face. "I am going to that ball."
Father's breath exploded in a gasp. "You can't be serious."
"I am completely serious." Challenge was building behind Vincent's eyes.
Taking the newspaper with him, Father went to his son's bed and sat down. "What can you be thinking of?"
Vincent stood and faced his father. "I must see Brigit O'Donnell."
"Why? What earthly reason could you have...to take such a risk?" Father's face contorted in doubt and disbelief.
"The risk is small. It is a masked ball. All the guests will be in full costume."
"There is always a risk." Father breathed deeply and tried to calm his voice. "Why, Vincent?"
"I need to talk with Brigit O'Donnell."
"What can you possibly have to say to a woman you have never met...a woman who has no idea you even exist?" The older man was trying desperately to hide his growing panic.
Vincent began to pace. Choosing his words carefully he explained, "Father, this book spoke to me." He pointed at the volume which Father had laid on the table. "When I was alone, facing impossible decisions, Brigit's words spoke to me as clearly as you speak now."
The older man shook his head. "Hallucinations, Vincent. You were alone and under great stress. You can't really believe you walked along the underground river with Brigit O'Donnell."
Vincent shook his head. "That isn't what I meant." He sighed. "I can't explain the Owl Woman...that isn't important. What is important is the message in Brigit's book. She says nothing is more important than love. She says love is the truth which transcends all other truths...that loveis the only thing worth living and dying for."
Father's voice broke as he whispered, "Her husband did die for it."
"Exactly."
The older man came to his feet. "Well, I'm sorry, Vincent, but I find it very difficult to take comfort from that." He threw the newspaper onto the table next to the book. "When you left I had hoped you would return with sensible decisions made...and a more objective outlook. "He paused. "Instead you come back full of wild ideas and dangerous intentions...My God, Vincent. When you left, you wouldn't even go Above to perform simple errands...and now you tell me you are going Above into a public gathering of strangers!" Father shuddered. "It's not even a safe gathering for the invited guests." He thumped the newspaper. "It says here that the guest list is restricted and strict security will be enforced due to threats made upon Brigit O'Donnell's life."
Vincent nodded. "I know that."
"And still you intend to go."
"I have to go."
"Why?" Father's face was contorted with frustration. "Why do you have to go?"
Vincent stood, towering over his father. For a moment, they looked into each other's eyes, then Vincent turned and moved to his dresser with his back turned. His voice was quietly controlled. "Father, you sent me to make decisions. I tried. I truly tried. I sought answers, and all I found were more questions. I searched my heart, I remembered your words, I tried to consider what was best for Catherine. Then finally I read Brigit's book...Father," he turned, "her words were like magic. She reached inside me and touched my inner-most feelings. Her words shed light upon dark corners of my soul. She wrote with a strength and a conviction which spoke to me. It was as if I knew her and Ian...as if she knew my questions and gave them life."
Father almost whispered, "And you believe she has your answers?"
"I don't know, Father." Vincent turned to face the older man. "I know only that I must speak with her. I can't make those decisions until I see Brigit."
"And Catherine? Are you going to tell Catherine you are home?"
Vincent sighed and shook his head. "I can't. I can't see Catherine until I have spoken with Brigit."
Father's voice broke, "Vincent, this is madness. How can you expect me to understand?"
Vincent came back to his father and rested his hands upon the trembling shoulders. "I don't expect you to understand." He reached for Father's cane which leaned against the bed. Putting it into his father's hand he stroked the aged knuckles tenderly. "It will be morning soon, and you have had no sleep. Go to bed, Father."
"And you? Are you going to get some rest?"
Vincent nodded. "As soon as I complete my journal entry."
Father limped to the entrance, then he turned and let his glance settle on the table. Returning, he picked up"300 Days". "May I? Perhaps if I read it again..."
"Of course, Father. Keep it as long as you like."
As the older man returned to the doorway, Vincent stopped him one more time. "Father." When his father turned, Vincent asked, "Are the children collecting pumpkins tomorrow like they do every year?"
Father was surprised by the change in Vincent's thoughts. Quietly he nodded. "Mary said they want fifteen or twenty this year. I can't imagine why they need so many."
"Every child needs his own Jack-o'-Lantern, Father."
"As I recall, that was an idea that originated with you and Devin."
Vincent hid a near smile. He asked softly, "Do you think they could use some help in their collections?"
The older man nodded. "The boys asked me if you would be back in time. I think they would welcome an extra pair of hands...if you are volunteering."
Vincent cocked his head. "Do you still have the policy that only those who share in the work are privileged to listen to your Halloween evening ghost stories?"
"I do."
"Then please consider me a part of your audience."
A new light shone in Father's eyes. "Welcome home, Vincent."
"Thank you, Father." Vincent watched his father limp into the Tunnel, and then he returned to his journal.