Run to the Sea Father waved her words away. "That was not what I was thinking."
~ Chapter 2 ~
by Sue GlasgowHer eyes went to Vincent's face. "What were you thinking?"
Struggling up out of the chair, Father grimaced and leaned heavily on the chair arm as he reached for his cane. He muttered, "This hip is always at its worst first thing in the morning." He straightened. "Do you put anything in your coffee?"She glanced up in surprise and shook her head no.
"Mary will have a pot in my study by now. I'll be right back." He motioned toward her grip on Vincent's hand. "Will you be okay for a few minutes?"
She nodded as he limped from the chamber. Minutes later he returned with two mugs tied by their handles through his belt and a full pot of coffee in his free hand. He set the pot on a pad on the table, freed the cups, poured the coffee, and handed her a steaming mug. After lowering himself into the chair by the table he sipped from his own cup. He let the brew warm him for a moment, then let out a long breath. "I was thinking..." He shifted his weight into a more comfortable position. "It has occurred to me...that it would be...prudent...for you and me to arrive at an...understanding."
"Understanding?" She was unsure where Father was leading.
He blew the rising steam off his coffee. "Yes..." He paused. "A truce, of sorts."
"Father, I don't want to be at war with you."
"Good." He nodded affirmatively and said a little more positively, "That's good...I mean, you and I have a common purpose here. Correct? We are both here for Vincent's welfare. The only important thing...right now...is for him to be well."
She nodded. The furred fingers in her hand had relaxed, and the urgency was gone.
Father resumed, "Now, don't misunderstand me." He frowned. "My feelings have not changed. I still contend only tragedy can come of this relationship." He paused. "We will deal with that when Vincent is well. But...for now..." He halted, then continued, "Catherine, I am not so blind that I cannot see what you mean to him. And...if we can use your...bond...to bring him through this...safely..."
Catherine interrupted softly, "Father, that's all I can ask...for now."
He nodded. "So be it. I..." He stopped and took a cloth from his pocket and blew his nose into it quietly. He put the cloth away and wiped a sleeve across his eyes. Then he leaned back and held the mug between both his hands and waited.
Catherine sighed with relief and very gently moved back into her chair. She sat, eyes on Vincent, silently sipping her coffee.
***
Catherine was again resting her head on Vincent's bed as she held his hand. Suddenly she became alert as he moved restlessly.
His voice broke the silence. "Leave me alone."
She looked up in confusion. He was snarling, and his fangs were bared in the candlelight. She tightened her hold on his hand and waited for him to say more, but he was quiet. "Vincent?" She turned to Father who had also been alerted. Both of them watched, but Vincent's outburst was over, and he was apparently sleeping.
"Father, what is happening? Shouldn't he be more lucid by now?"
"Not necessarily. Several factors are involved...he was fairly incoherent when we found him, and I can never be certain how he will react to anesthetic...and he is in darkness...with no reference points to cling to." Father's look went to Vincent's hand enclosed in both of Catherine's. That last statement was not entirely true. There was one reference point.
***
Catherine had no idea how much time had passed. In the Tunnels days and nights melded into a sameness. She dozed at Vincent's bedside. Mary came, and the older woman insisted that Father go to his own chamber to sleep. The two women watched over Vincent together, and Catherine was very grateful for at least one sympathetic person Below. There seemed to be a great sadness in Mary, but Catherine honored the Tunnel society's attitude toward individual privacy, and she did not ask Mary about her past. Hours went by uneventfully with no change in Vincent. After Mary left, a food tray was brought in, and Catherine could not remember whether it was lunch or supper. Once she heard several children outside the chamber doorway, but someone came and sent them away. Father returned to Vincent's chamber a while later. He had changed clothes and combed his hair, but Catherine doubted he had slept.
After he had again examined his son, Father sank heavily into the chair beside the table and removed his glasses. He spoke to Catherine, "You look tired."
"I'm all right." She was still at Vincent's side...still holding his hand.
Father sighed. "This could go on for a long time. I want you to go rest. You may use my chamber. It is closer than our guest facilities."
She looked up in alarm. "You said you wouldn't send me away."
"I am not sending you away. I am sending you to get some sleep."
She chewed her lip and turned to watch Vincent's face.
After waiting for a response which did not come, Father finally said, "Catherine, it will do no good for you to exhaust yourself. When he wakes up..."
"Why doesn't he wake up?" She turned to the older man with desperation in her eyes. "It's been so long."
"His vital signs are good. I have every reason to believe he is recovering satisfactorily."
She shook her head. "I keep thinking about the things I saw..." Her chin trembled as she whispered, "They had chains on him. Isaac and I found them...broken."
Father looked away. "I thought...I suspected that. I cleaned the abrasions on his wrists."
"Father, what if he...," she stopped.
Realizing Catherine was very near tears, Father pushed himself against the table and stood. He limped over to her and reached down to her hand which clasped Vincent's. Gently he pried her fingers from the furred fingers of his son. Vincent sighed softly and remained quiet. "Catherine," Father whispered, "can you find my chamber alone?"
She nodded.
He took her hand and helped her to her feet. "I will have someone escort you there if you like." She shook her head no, and he went on, "Just a few hours. I will send for you if there is any change." He released her hand and touched her arm. "If you want, I can give you something that will help you sleep."
"No. I want to be awake for him when he needs me."
He nodded. "Very well." When she still lingered, he said, "Go on. I'll see you in a few hours." He was not at all sure she would go, and he gave a sigh of relief when she went out the doorway. With a silent concern he moved to the chair she had just vacated and took up her vigil.
***
Vincent looked up through the darkness. Catherine had been there...Above. And now she was not. There had been a link between them, but now it was gone, and he felt a slow panic building inside him. Her name tried to come to his lips, but he could not find his voice. Then in the space where she had been, there was something else. Jeering laughter. And those faces. Mocking, laughing, stripping him of all the humanness in him...trying to reduce him to the animal they believed he was. He felt the shadow of that beast in him, and it was there that the panic centered. They wanted him to cry out, but he knew he must not. In his helplessness his silence was his only claim to dignity and pride. Pride...he tried to hold his head up in pride. Heavy chains bit into his wrists, pulling his shoulders back into an unnatural bind, and he turned his head from the stink of liquor on their hot breaths as they came too close to his face, shouting words he could not understand. But he would not let them have his pride. Then his breath was taken away in a cold spray of something which stunk and burned his already blinded eyes. Humiliation smelled in his hair and dripped from his face...stinging the burns...burning him deeper than the heat of the torch. He did not know if it was the flame of the torch or the wrenching of his dignity from him that gave him the strength he needed to break free. With a great roar and a surge of power Vincent tore the chains loose and raged across the room, blindly ripping and clawing through everything which stood between him and freedom.
"My God!" Father jumped from his chair as Vincent came up off the bed. "Vincent, no!" Father jerked back as claws cut through the fabric of his shirt, but missed his flesh. It had happened instantly with absolutely no warning. Vincent had been deep in sleep, and now he was sitting on the side of the bed, roaring and flashing fangs and ripping at the bandages which held his left arm immobile. With strength Father would have thought impossible, Vincent came to his feet and crashed against the chair Father had just vacated. His hand found a grip on the arm rest, and with a mighty heave Vincent sent the chair sailing across the room. It slammed into the writing table, knocking it over and sending everything, including lighted candles, to the floor. Vincent fell back onto the bed and came up again battling enemies only he could see. With a lurch to his right he collided with his wardrobe and sent the nearby statue crashing to the floor. It did not break, but its fall brought Vincent off balance, and he clawed the air for support, bringing his hand in contact with the upper edge of the wardrobe. Father saw the huge piece of furniture teeter dangerously, and he grabbed Vincent's shoulders, bringing his son back barely to safety as the wardrobe fell forward with a great crash. Vincent staggered backwards fighting to stay on his feet, then he felt the presence of the man behind him, and he turned on Father. Only Vincent's blindness saved the older man from the vicious swipe of the clawed hand. "Vincent, stop!" His voice had no effect, and Father blocked his son's next attack with his cane. Suddenly Father felt a strong hand on his arm, and a young man named Mark was behind him pulling him toward the door. In the next instant, Father was watching from the relative safety of the Tunnel as Vincent stumbled against the fallen furniture and tore again at his bandages. "Mark, get Catherine! Hurry! Before he kills himself!"