Run To the Sea
Chapter 3
by Sue Glasgow

---

Catherine had heard the crash as she lay on Father's bed.  She could  not  even remember running through the Tunnels.  Her first sight was of Father  standing  outside  Vincent's chamber as terrible sounds came from within.   "Father!  What's happen..." 

She  saw  Vincent  then.  His  room  lay  in  shambles  around his feet,  and the nightshirt and bandages over his left  arm were in shreds.  The white cotton was streaked with red  stains  that  had  not  been  there before.  His roars filled the chamber and echoed in  the Tunnel beyond as he struggled to keep his balance while his right leg  threatened to give out beneath him.  The motion brought his  back  toward  Catherine.  Without  hesitation  she  was in the chamber fighting her way  across fallen furniture  and  the  scattered  contents  of  the  wardrobe  shelves. "Vincent!" She finally reached him and threw her arms around his  shoulders clinging to his back.  "Vincent!  Stop! Stop it!" 

She tried to  hold his right arm as he clawed at himself and tore at the bandages  over   his eyes.  "Stop it.  Vincent,  you are home...it's over. It's over!"  He staggered again,  his weight carrying them both backward toward his  bed.   Catherine  knew they were going to fall,  and she pulled him with all her  strength.  With a muffled thud they were both on the bed.  Catherine  was   pinned  beneath him with his body partly on top of her.  For a moment she  was afraid he was going to get up again,  but she threw both arms  around   him  and held him tightly.  She called his name over and over in his ear,  and finally he seemed to hear.  The roaring stopped,  and his right  hand  hesitated in mid-air,  then came to his face and felt the bandages across  his eyes.  Catherine moved  one  of  her  hands  to  grasp  his  fingers.  "Vincent, it's Catherine.  Stop this."

 His  voice  came to her,  strained,  and harsh almost beyond recognition.  "Catherine.  I can't see."

"I know, I know." She held his hand firmly, and tried to wiggle free from  beneath him as she felt his weight bruising her.

Gradually Vincent's breathing slowed  and his rage vanished,  leaving him  panting and still.  She held him against her and whispered soothing words and sounds against his hair.

Father watched from the doorway.  When he was certain his presence  would  not  aggravate  Vincent  he  came  into  the chamber and extinguished two candles which still burned on the floor.  He picked up the chair, placing it near the bed.

Vincent heard the sounds. "Father?"

"I am here, Vincent."

"Father, help me," he pleaded.
 

Catherine clung tightly,  holding him...terrified of what he might  do to himself...and of what he had already done.  Vincent was quiet now, except for  muffled  moans  which escaped with each breath.  His legs still hung off the side of the bed, but his body lay heavily against her, and slowly she could feel him relax in her embrace.  His head came back  and  rested at  her  throat with her mouth near his ear.  She whispered to him softly as Father gently  examined  Vincent's  left  shoulder.  There  were  claw scratches,  long  and  shallow.  The  shirt and thick wrappings had taken most of the damage,  and Father's concern centered upon the  broken  ribs and  the  incision  beneath the bandages.  Fresh blood stained the gauze, but the bleeding did not seem  excessive.  Unwilling  to  have  Catherine break  her  soothing  effect  on  Vincent,  Father placed several pillows behind her back and helped her into a more comfortable position. Mark  helped Father find his medical bag,  and while Catherine distracted Vincent's attention Father was able to  redress  the  wounds.  Amazingly, the  stitches  had  held.  Even  after Father had finished his work and a fresh shirt had been pulled over Vincent's shoulders,  Catherine did  not release her hold on him.

It  took  three  people  to  lift the wardrobe back to its place.  Father supervised Mark and two of the oldest boys as they straightened the room. They worked quickly and quietly, and Catherine was aware of their concern each time their  glances  fell  upon  Vincent.  By  the  time  they  were finished she was certain the man in her arms was sleeping,  and only then did she slowly pull herself from beneath him and crawl from his  bed.  At last he was again on his pillows,  and Catherine knew she was not leaving his chamber again.

Father agreed Catherine must remain near.  She asked  him  where  Vincent had slept during those ten days when she had occupied his bed, and Father recalled  a  pallet  Vincent  had  laid out on the floor of the vestibule which overlooked his chamber.  Catherine could clearly remember Vincent's voice coming from up there at the top of the  ladder.  The  decision  was made,  and  Winslow  brought a mattress and a stack of blankets up to the loft.

***

The  next day passed much as the day before.  Occasionally Vincent seemed to struggle with consciousness, but he never responded to their questions or spoke.  Even Father was becoming concerned,  but he refused to  reveal his concern to the frightened young woman who watched over his son.
 
  Catherine  was  dozing on the pallet in the late evening when at last she heard Vincent's voice, and Father called, "Catherine,  I think you better come down."

At  the  bedside  she  could sense the change.  Vincent's head was turned toward the sound of Father's voice,  and he  was  breathing  rapidly  but quietly through his mouth. Although she could not see his eyes, she could see lines of pain across his face even as she reached for his hand.

"Catherine?"

"I'm here."  She grasped his hand tightly in both of hers.

Father  was drawing a liquid into a hypodermic syringe from a small vial.  Catherine watched as he slid the  needle  into  the  flesh  of  Vincent's forearm. "Morphine."

"How long has he been awake?" she asked softly.

"Just a minute or two."

 "Catherine?"  Vincent sought her voice, lifting his head.

She gently put a hand against his shoulder.  "Vincent, don't try to move.  You're hurt."

He lay back panting. "How?"

It was Father who answered,  "You'll be all right.  You have broken  ribs and sutures."

Vincent  pulled his hand out of Catherine's grasp and put it to his face. "I can't see."

Father and Catherine exchanged  glances,  then  Father  said,  "It's  all right, Vincent.  A preventative..."

"I was blind."

Father frowned. "Vincent, tell me.  Did you have any vision at all?"

"Mmmm..."  It was affirmative.

"Tell me what you could see."

"Blurs...colors, images, ...blurred together."

Father sighed in relief.  "Like opening your eyes underwater?"

Vincent nodded once.

"That's good, son.  Good."  Father answered Catherine's questioning look.  "I have every reason to believe this is temporary.  We will give it a few days..."

 "Tell me,"  Vincent asked.

"Flash burns,  Vincent.  And a blow to your head.  If we are careful your eyes  should  heal  spontaneously.  You rest...keep them covered...mostly just rest."

Vincent shifted slightly and winced. "Can't move."

"I want you to stay still.  I have immobilized your  left  arm,  and  you have a badly bruised leg."

For  a moment Vincent searched his memories,  then one stood out from all the rest. "Explosion... Catherine was in...,"  He lifted his head again.

She took his hand again.  "No. I was not in there.  I was clear."

"Clear?"

 "I'm okay.  All that matters now is you."

 Father nodded. "That's right...Vincent, you must not move.  I want you to rest...sleep if you can."

 "How did..."

 Catherine's fingers moved to silence Vincent's lips.

 Father agreed,  "Thank you,  Catherine.  I do not believe he  understands the importance."  He looked at her. "Do you?"

 "Yes, sir."

"Good.  Now if you would be so kind as to sit with him...I am very tired.  I am going to bed." He stood with the help of his cane. "I will return at  midnight, and then you will sleep.  Agreed?"

Catherine nodded submissively.  Her eyes glistened as she reached out and touched Father's arm. "Father, how can I thank..."

He smiled tiredly. "I told you I did not help him for you."

She smiled. "I know.  Thank you any way."

***

The next morning Vincent was much better,  and Catherine felt it was safe to leave him and go Above to pick up prescription medicines which  Father had  ordered  for Vincent through a physician helper.  When she returned, she brought with her the medicines,  a suitcase of  personal  belongings, and  the assurance she had made a  suitable explanation of her absence to her employer and her father.

Father  was  still suppressing his son's pain with morphine,  and Vincent had slept through most of her absence.

The older man welcomed the arrival of the medicine and nodded as he  read the labels.  "Good,  good.  Thank you,  Catherine.  This will  help."  He looked at his patient. "He tried once to pull the bandages from his eyes, but he is quiet now.  I believe I'll take time to put these away."

Catherine  climbed  down  from  the  loft where she had put her suitcase. "I'll be here."

"If you need me I will be in my study or the hospital  chamber.  You  can send anyone.  Someone is always within calling distance."

"I know."

***

Catherine  was sitting at Vincent's desk leaning over paperwork which she had brought from her apartment.  She felt  rather  than  heard  Vincent's awareness.  Immediately she was at his side. "Hello."

His voice was slurred by the morphine, "You were gone."

"For a little while.  I'm back now."

 "You went Above."  It was almost an accusation.

"That's right...to get medicine for you."

He did not respond.

She finally asked, "Are you thirsty?"

He nodded.  He swallowed the water she offered,  then laid back his head.  He seemed to drift back to sleep,  but then Catherine heard him  whisper, "You must let your fear keep you alive."

"Vincent?"  She received no response.  Watching him until she was certain he was asleep, she finally returned to her paperwork.