Kaleidoscope ~ Guards It wasn't worry or fear that threatened to unnerve her. It was frustration. She felt like a caged animal with the guard outside, bound to go with her wherever she went. She wanted desperately to go below, had planned to return last night. Now it was Sunday, and she still hadn't seen Vincent, couldn't even slip out to send a message below. She had thought of a hundred wild schemes to distract the guard, none of them feasible. She was a prisoner. She wished her mysterious stalker would show up; a confrontation would be preferable to being cut off from a part of herself.
by Cynthia Hatch
Part 12
At three the guard knocked on the door, and she opened it. “You've got a visitor, Miss Chandler. I didn't frisk him, but my nose says he's not our man.
"Eric!” She hugged the boy enthusiastically. “I'm so glad to see you. Come inside.”
She closed the door and locked it. Only one person would have made her happier at that moment than the owlish little figure looking up at her. “Is everything alright below?"
“Sure, but Vincent asked me to come see you. He sent this.” It was the Browning book and in it a brief note, signed with a familiar V. He knew she was safe, but that something was preventing her from communicating. “He thought you might want to write him a note.”
“Yes. Yes, that's great. Would you like some ice cream, Eric? I'll fix you some, and you can watch TV while I write to Vincent.”
She hoped she wasn't corrupting him, but she needed time to write everything she wanted to say. There was no way to spare Vincent the news that she was being threatened. He'd already been thinking in that direction. She had to explain the reason she'd been forced to accept the guard, had to warn him away, reassure him that she was well protected. And there were other things she had to say, confident that Eric could be trusted not to read the message. She sealed three pages in a pink envelope and returned to the living room, hating to curtail the boy's enjoyment of the movie he was watching, but she couldn't bear to leave Vincent in suspense one moment longer than necessary.
"That's okay,” Eric said, when she asked him if he'd mind terribly hurrying back to the tunnels. “I know this story anyway. I read the book.”
She tucked the envelope inside the clothes she'd borrowed from Jamie and bundled them into a Bloomie's bag. “The clothes are Jamie's,” she told him, “but the message inside is for Vincent. You got that?”
“Yes. Thanks for the ice cream, Catherine."
“There's more where that came from - when ever you want to come back.” She kissed him and let him out the door.
She still resented her captive status, but knowing that Vincent would soon be holding her note in his hands, reading her words of explanation and love, made it easier to bear. She took the book he'd sent her out onto the balcony where she read until dark, letting the verses trigger her own warm memories, and hoping he would feel what she was feeling and remember, too.
Joe wasn't in the office on Monday. She'd talked to him and knew he was better, but an Italian mother could be almost as formidable as her own armed guard and it wasn't till Tuesday that he stood at her desk, asking what she'd found out.
“Nothing so far, Joe. I can't find a release record for anyone I've had anything to do with. How do we know he isn't Just some kook who saw my name in the papers?"
“We don't. But the kooks are harder to find. These guys we can pin down, so we hope it's one of them. I still think there's a reason he went after me, and that makes him as somebody who's been through this office.
“It could go back a ways, Joe. It might even be someone who's out of state."
“Then we'll check that, too. We're not giving up on this thing. Radcliffe - not until we've got him.”
Tuesday evening Eric came again. She tried hard to make the note she wrote sound optimistic, but she missed Vincent so much. This siege by an unknown adversary could go on indefinitely. She'd much rather take her chances against the man who had threatened her, than remain isolated from the one thing that mattered most to her, but with Joe involved, there was little hope of release.
She tried to reason with him the next day. “We can't go on wasting the taxpayers' money. Joe. This guy may have panicked after what he did to you. He could be on the other side of the world by now.”
“Or he could just be waiting for us to get careless and do something stupid, like get rid of the guard. Give it up. Cathy. You've sweet-talked me out of protecting you before, and I've lived to regret it. It's not gonna work this time.”
"Has anyone told you that bump on your head has made you unreasonably stubborn?”
“Stubborn - me?" he said with an incredulous grin. “Oh, that's rich, Cath. You wrote the book on stubborn, but you're not getting away with it this time out. I happen to think you're worth more to this office in one piece. Case closed."
She sighed at his retreating back and went back to a futile search for a clue to her nemesis' identity. Did he guess what a wreck he was already making of her life? Her resentment was doubled, knowing what this was doing to Vincent. The man, whoever he was, couldn't know that the misery he was inflicting on her was felt just as acutely by someone else. It was a thought that would return to her with new impact in the not so distant future.
She considered having dinner out with friends, but who wanted a policeman hovering over the meal like Banquo's ghost? It was easier to eat alone at home. At least there she could lock the door and not have to see him. She picked at her food, feeling listless and trapped. This situation was draining her energy, changing her from a self-reliant person to a pawn in some demented game.
She went out to the balcony, ignoring the false cheer of the city lights in favor of the dark, brooding space that was the park. The lights that glowed at intervals among the trees seemed like stars in a heaven that was just out of her reach. Her heart ached at the thought of him so near, and yet so far.
“I'm here, Catherine."
She spun around, and he moved out of the shadows, pulling the hood back from his head, the moonlight making a halo of his hair. “Are you real?” she whispered.
“I'm real.” He held out his arms, and she flung herself into them. pressing against him to prove that he was solid and not some vision conjured by her loneliness.
“I needed to see you so much,” she gasped against his chest.
“I know.”
“But this is too dangerous. You can't be here. There's a policeman just outside the door." The words were all logic, but she was holding onto him for dear life, her arms locked around his neck. Gently, but firmly, he extricated himself from her embrace, moving her far enough away to look soberly into her eyes. “If it frightens you for me to be here. I'll go.”
“No - don't. It is scary, knowing I'm being watched. They're on the alert for someone getting to me. If the guard guessed I wasn't alone... We're so vulnerable, Vincent, but I'm not sure how much longer I could have gone on without seeing you. Let me just check and make sure the chain is on the door - and the bolt.”
She forced herself to leave him and went to the front door. As she slid the chain quietly into place, she started at the policeman's voice so close by.
“Everything okay in there?”
“Fine. I'm Just locking up.” She turned on the radio, loud enough to create a cottony barrier of music between the sharp ears of her watchdog and the voices from the balcony. Outside, she closed the French doors behind her.
Vincent was leaning against the low wall, his back to the city. “Tell me."
“I'm not doing all that well. It Isn't the threat, Vincent. I can handle that, but I feel like I'm being forced to be somebody else, someone with no rights, no choices. I hate this person for coming between us.
“No one can come between us, Catherine. You are in my thoughts every moment. I'm always nearby. When he shows himself, I will be there.”
“But I don't want to wait for that to happen, so that we can be together. I feel like a captive.”
“It's right for your friends to want to protect you.”
“I know,” she acknowledged, “But these four days apart have seemed like forever, and we have no way of knowing how long this may go on."
“We're together now.” he said, and she realized she was squandering the precious moment in complaining.
She went to him and relaxed against his chest, her head on his shoulder. He held her, slowly stroking her hair, and the nervous tension began to fall away. Her eyes closed. “That feels so nice,” she murmured.
“Yes."
The music from the radio wafted out to them - violins and flutes, rising and falling along with the tympany of honking horns and the plaintive note of a siren from somewhere down in the streets. The
night air had grown cool. and he wrapped his cloak around them both, creating a cocoon that neither outside threats nor her former anxiety could breach.“Is that better?” he asked, softly.
“Better than better,” she confirmed, “I wish we could stay like this forever.”
He didn't answer, but nuzzled the top of her head. She knew he liked the scent of her hair, that this was a natural gesture of affection for him, like the kisses he planted on Father's salt and pepper curls, but this was different - more exploratory. There was a strange intimacy in it that thrilled her. She reached up and gently combed her fingers through his hair. For so long she had wanted to do this, almost as long as they had known each other, but she always resisted the urge, not sure if he would allow it. Now she knew that he would, and the knowledge of how far they'd come touched her anew.
Only she knew the giant leap of faith required of him to permit another person this close - faith in her and in himself. She wondered, not for the first time, what she'd done to deserve this, why fate had allowed her to be the one to break through his defenses, to win his heart. She knew there must have been women below who'd been drawn to him; everyone was in some way or other, and it was impossible to imagine that any female who knew him could be oblivious to his unique magnetism.
And yet he risked everything, only for her.She hadn't had to earn his love; he had been waiting to give it to her. From that first night he'd found her, he'd surrounded her with its healing power, supported her first halting steps toward a new life on a great, billowing wave of love that swept her easily toward the best part of herself, cushioning her fall when she stumbled. No, she hadn't had to earn it, but she'd tried hard every moment since then to deserve it. to justify his faith In her.
She had never been one to philosophize, but had anyone asked her in the old days what she thought about the workings of fate or the possibility that a greater power somewhere beyond time had long ago determined the path she would take, she probably would have responded with a condescending laugh. Daughters of corporate lawyers, very successful ones, had no need for idle theories. They had only to ask, and whatever they wanted would be given. She would have looked down from the heights of her expensive educatIon at anyone expounding notions of predestination and announced that free will was everything. It was easy to believe the illusion of free choice when all the choices were available to her, when her money could buy what she fancied, her social connections could open any door she cared to pass through. Her privileged status had allowed her to take everything for granted, a pretty poor philosophy, she thought now. But since that night, two years ago, she'd been compelled to acknowledge that other forces were at work.
What she felt for him was too deep, too infinite, to have only just begun; its origins lay somewhere far beyond the limits of her lifetime. Their bond had only been waiting to manifest itself that dark night in the park, so perhaps that explained why only she could stand here now, her fingers playing gently through the thicket of his hair. She didn't try to smooth it down, liking the stubborn wildness of the shapes it took. The strands were silken to her touch, but there was so much of it; her hands were lost in it. The thought of some other woman standing, molded against him, indulging herself in this incredibly pleasant pastime, suddenly twisted within her, and she felt an irrational stab of resentment.
“What?” He looked at her curiously.
“You felt that?” she asked with a small embarrassed laugh. “I was just feeling jealous at the idea of someone else being this close to you."
“Catherine.” He tilted his head, looking at her as if she might be losing her mind; his tone implied her comment didn't deserve the dignity of a response.
“Don't pay any attention to me,” she said, reaching up to stroke the pale gold at his temples. “I'm Just in a whimsical mood.”
“How can I pay no attention to you, Catherine, when you touch me like that?” He still seemed to think her sanity was in doubt.
“Do you like it?” she asked, shyly.
His answer was to lower his cheek to hers and hold her closer. The smallest sigh of pleasure whispered past her ear. She rubbed her face against his, liking the way the stubble of his whiskers teased her skin, sending a thousand tiny currents flowing to join the stronger ones that coursed deep within her.
He pulled back, looking at her cheek. “Your skin is so delicate. You'll scratch yourself.”
“I'm not so fragile as all that, Vincent. It feels wonderful to me. Differences can be nice, you know."
“Yes,” he conceded, “very nice.” He brought his hand up to soothe her flushed face with the downy back of his fingers. "Your cheek, Catherine - it's so smooth.” His blue eyes studied it with fascination, and a thought came unbidden to her mind; if he could feel such wonder at her face, so much pleasure from the touching of it, what on earth lay ahead. as their journey progressed? She couldn't comprehend the passion that would rise when at last he discovered those other possibilities, the hidden wonders suddenly open to him. The enormity of the sensual venture yet to come Jolted through her, leaving her breathless. He could take her farther with these simple caresses than she'd ever gone in her most ardent lovemaking with anyone else. Perhaps it was the incredible intensity he directed at her or the fact that he so effortlessly engaged every ounce of her being - her heart, her mind, her soul, her body. It was all the same; with him everything became everything. How far could the human senses be compelled, before shattering into a million pieces, never to recover? She thought it would be worthwhile finding out.
The hunger sweeping through her had reached him, and she could see that he was lost in it. He had tensed against her, his eyes slightly unfocused, as they moved to her lips. She wanted nothing more than to surrender to that look, to offer him everything right here and now, but he'd told her they must go slowly, had made her promise that she would try to be as strong as he was in controlling their progress. She wanted to prove to him that his trust was not misplaced, that she could do her part to insure that they completed this journey safely. The knowledge that it was up to her at this moment, that he might be past the point of being able to control what happened next, was almost unbearably exciting, the temptation to let go and give herself up to the primal force that was pounding in him was overpowering, but part of her knew that the greatest gift she could give him right now was the proof that she'd heeded his warning, could sacrifice this moment for the sake of a future that must be approached with care.
With a superhuman effort she willed herself to move back in his embrace, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders. She inhaled deeply, resisting the words of love and longing that threatened to tumble out, and said, as casually as she could, “You know, Vincent, my face is really rather boring.”
"What?" He took a shuddering breath and blinked at her. She watched the blue of his eyes crystallizing back into focus, as he looked into hers.
“I said," she continued, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from his cloak, “that my face is actually boring compared to yours."
He didn't answer, and she went on, giving him time to recover. “You said my face was smooth, and I guess it is, but yours has so many different textures. It's far more intriguing to look at, believe me."
The slightest smile curved his lips, and she knew it was less a response to what she was saying, than an awareness of what had just been accomplished. She'd succeeded in reining in his passion, and the sharp look he gave her had something of respect and gratitude in it. “Most people who see this face, Catherine, are not what I'd call intrigued.”
“Then they're blind,” she said firmly. “They'd probably walk by the Mona Lisa and see only an overweight woman with a silly smile."
"At least they wouldn't scream.” His tone was playful, matching his mood to hers.
“I haven't screamed at you lately, have I? You know, I probably wouldn't have done it the first time, if you hadn't come up behind me so unexpectedly.”
“You have my apologies."
“That's okay. I don't hold a grudge. I actually forgave you a long time ago - maybe you noticed.”
“It had occurred to me, yes."
“Good. I'd hate to think there were any bad feelings between us."
He was sitting on the balcony wall now, his legs in their high boots, crossed, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. He watched her, eyes twinkling, enjoying the odd ritual she was performing, a kind of exorcism of the power that had nearly engulfed them. “I can honestly say I'm aware of no bad feelings between us, Catherine.”
She shot him a quick look. His voice was more adept at making subtle inflections than any she'd ever heard, but his eyes were pure innocence. “Well, that's okay then. Everything's fine, which reminds me -how's Mouse? What's he been up to lately?"
“I really don't know. My mind has been on other things. I can't recall seeing him for days now."
“That sounds ominous, Vincent. Maybe you'd better check up on him.”
He nodded. “That's true, Catherine. I should.”
“But not right now,” she added, hastily.
“No, not right now."
She'd succeeded in defusing the danger, and now she allowed herself to approach him again, standing beside him at the wall. “It's funny, isn't it, how New York never really sleeps? There are people walking round down there, as if it were noon. I wonder if it's like that anywhere else.”
He had turned to follow her gaze. “There is so much life in this city, Catherine. Perhaps, there are not enough daylight hours to contain it. It spills over into the night.”
“And there's too much life for the city to hold, so some of it, some of the best of it, is going on underneath.”
“Yes.”
She turned to him, their faces on the same level now, and his eyes captured hers. “I meant what I said about your face, Vincent. It is rough down here, but it's a nice roughness.” She let her fingers touch him lightly, “But then it's so smooth.” Her fingers drifted up over the high cheekbones and around to stroke his brow. “and there are these interesting creases here. Your eyebrows are silky, like your hair, but this," her touch wandered to the downy fur of his nose. “This is completely different, so soft.”
She leaned towards him, letting her own nose rub against it. The sensation was warm; it tickled.
She was never sure at what point her intent had altered. She had meant simply to explore his face dispassionately, to let him know how serious she was about its appeal to her, but somewhere along the line she had been caught up by another design, one she had no will to thwart, and he didn't try to stop her. She let the tip of her nose trail down his, down the entrancing line that graced his upper lip. “And your eyes,” she said softly. He closed them, and she kissed them gently, brushing her lips along the feathery lashes, the touch of them enough to coax responses from her that were altogether out of proportion to their faint pressure. “And the way your mouth curves down, these secret places in the corners.” Her lips puckered so that she could place a kiss in first one and then the other. She hovered there on the brink and felt the pressure of his hand as he grasped her right arm. He pulled one knee back and brought her around to stand between his legs. His hands cupped her face, and they stared into each other's eyes a moment. She was incapable of reading what she saw in his, incapable of anything but the sheer sensation of falling, as he drew her face to his. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed into him, while his arms held her fast.
The kiss was his. She had no wish to determine its course, only to follow where he led, but their desires were so indivisible that every movement, every change in intensity, was orchestrated by their bond to produce a music that was theirs alone, every note pure and true. She gave herself up to his control, feeling like she had become some exquisite instrument of that music that only he could play. Somewhere on the other side of eternity, he released her, but he still held her face in his hands, unable to withdraw completely from the source of his desire. His eyes, that were fixed on her parted lips with taut concentration, were suffused with passion, but she sensed he was struggling to break the spell, to regain some rational perspective.
From some dim inconsequential place deep inside her, she felt a twinge of sympathy for his struggle, a vague inkling that she should be trying to help him win it. His breath came sweet and harsh against her face, but instead of alerting her to how close he was to losing, how much he needed her support, it only seemed to fuel her own desire. She wanted that breath, wanted to make it her own, wanted all of him with an insistence no reason could penetrate. He looked into her eyes, seeking something there that would stop hint and found only an undisguised plea. Her voice, when she found it, was a mere whisper, but the words couldn't save him. "Don't stop, Vincent. Please, don't stop.”
A sound escaped him that was somewhere between a growl and a groan. Whatever it was extinguished the last faint voice of conscience within her in an onrush of fire. He stood up suddenly. bringing her with him. His arms tightened around her, until she could hardly breathe. One hand came up to hold her head, his fingers in her hair. His touch was gentle, but when he met her lips again, it was with a fierceness that was new to her. She felt it then - the force of that power he always kept in check. It was primal, almost savage in its intensity, but there was nothing hurtful in it. She could sense that the turbulent violence of which he was capable had been directed instead into this onslaught of sensual conquest. She felt no fear, recognizing that only a passion as great as his, could ever hope to quench the terrible thirst increasing within her, evidence of the mysterious balance inherent in their bond.
Her lips parted willingly under his. She welcomed his invasion; the shock waves it shot through her carried messages whose symbolism drew everything inside as taut as wire, while outside she dissolved into a softness that yielded eagerly to his touch. She felt drunk with the taste of him, meeting his every challenge with an equal fervor. She'd never been particularly aggressive sexually, and he certainly didn't need any encouragement, but she wanted suddenly to devour him, to make him her own in some primitive way.
What he was doing - to her lips, her throat, her ear - had she taught him that? Had she done it first? No, be was ahead of her, inventing ways to elicit the soft moans that pleased him, yet no sooner had he done them, than she was convinced she would have died if he hadn't - from the unendurable longing for just that specific touch. She brought her hand to his lips, hypnotized by the power they had to arouse her, but his response soon had her fingers pulsing still more fevered messages through her blood, and she withdrew it to offer her hungry mouth again.
His hands were moving over her back, and she willed them to violate the perimeters he had so obviously set. She had no doubt that he felt her urging, but this physical harmony, the last link in their connection, was making it possible for her to read his intentions as well, and she knew with sudden clarity that he was fighting her, that he had, in fact, retained some vestige of control.
She broke from him, her voice quivering, "You don't have to hold back, Vincent. Do what you want to do.” She had never seen such wildness in his face, except when he was in the grip of that other instinct. His breathing was labored, his mouth open, his eyes trying to see something beyond their mutual longing. “We could go inside,” she breathed shakily, glancing at the doors to her bedroom, or we can stay here. I don't care. I just -“ She threw her arms around him again, her nails digging into his cloak. Burrowing under his hair, she found his ear and kissed it, her vocabulary exhausted except for the single word please that she heard herself whispering over and over again. She felt him take a long breath, that came out again as a gasp, and he moved away from her in one quick step.
Deprived of the hard warmth of his body, the night air hit her with the force of an Arctic wave, but her trembling had nothing to do with the temperature. She looked at him, knowing the aching need was unmistakable in her expression.
He backed away several more paces. The wildness had left his face, but he was still panting. He passed his hand over his eyes, shielding himself from the affect her expression had on him, and stood there a moment, then walked purposefully towards her, his gaze lowered. When he reached her, he grasped her firmly by both arms and raised his eyes to look hard into hers. “No, Catherine!” He released her abruptly and stalked over to the far side of the balcony to stand with his hands on the wall, his back to her.
She sat down on the bench, her mind a whirl of confusion. She had to clear it. He needed her, but what did he need her to do? She looked across the terrace. She could see only the sweep of his cloak and the golden hair streaming over his shoulders. Her heart overflowed with love, and she wanted to go to him, but she realized for the first time what she'd done to him, how thoroughly she'd broken her promise. She had been so sure that her impulses were under control, so smug that she'd been the one to divert the first tide that had threatened to carry them out to sea. How naive to think she'd conquered it, when it was only ebbing out to return with renewed energy. She had teased him; there was no other word for it, and, of course, he'd responded. Hadn't she been taught not to play with fire? She had pushed him shamelessly to a point where he found it necessary to reprimand her, as if she were Mouse or one of the children. She had betrayed him, just when he had trusted her most. The thought of it and the pent-up tension inside her brought tears to her eyes.
“Vincent,” she called across the hateful space that separated them. “I am truly sony.
He turned. “Catherine? Why are you crying?” He closed the space between them in a few quick strides and knelt beside the bench, his eyes filled only with concern for her.
“Because you were counting on me, and I let you down." She wiped her eyes.
He looked down for a moment shaking his head. “Catherine, you have never let me down. I'm sorry if you thought I meant you had. That no I spoke so sternly was for my ears as well. We both needed to stop, to consider. This is all so new.” He was looking at her now. She knew her tears were causing him pain, but they wouldn't stop. He reached up and wiped them away with the back of his hand. “I told you that this journey would not be an easy one, that we would each have to be on guard. Earlier tonight it was you, Catherine, who were strong. I have simply taken my turn, as you said we must do.
“Oh God, Vincent,” she attempted a watery smile. “that means it's my turn next, and I don't think I can do it.”
He looked at her solemnly. "Then I will do it for you."
The tears were slowing under his steady, encouraging gaze. “I didn't make it easy for you, Vincent."
“No,” he said truthfully, “you didn't make it easy.” He pulled her forward until her head was resting on his shoulder, his arms snugly around her. “But the fault was mine as well.” He paused, and then asked softly, “Did I frighten you, Catherine?"
“You know the answer to that. Did you feel any fear in me?"
“No, but there was a fear. It must have been my own."
“Of what, Vincent?” She pulled back to look into his eyes.
He hesitated. “Of losing myself. Of being swept away by a power that eclipses all reason."
She forgot her tears completely, touched by the uncertainty that crossed his face, and the trust he had in her that prompted him to confess it. She laid her hand on his cheek. “Vincent, that fear - I have felt it; everyone has. It's scary to let yourself be so vulnerable, to open yourself to another person and allow your feelings for them to take over. It's usually called losing your inhibitions. There's nothing unnatural in the fear of it. It's very human.”
She watched relief gradually calm his features, until his eyes found her lips. They must have appeared bruised or swollen, because his expression darkened, and there was a terrible note of fatalistic despair in his voice. “Did I do that?” he rasped. “Catherine, I hurt you.”
“No! No, you didn't. That happens sometimes when lovers have been - enthusiastic. It doesn't hurt. They're just a little tender. I wish they would stay that way, so I could feel your kiss, always, but the tenderness will be gone soon.” She doubted that her explanation would have been sufficient to quell this particular fear; it was the one she knew haunted him most, but he could feel the truth of her sincerity. Still, she sensed some minor struggle going on, and her heightened sense of their connection told her suddenly what it was. “Yes, Vincent, it is the right thing to do.” She smiled her encouragement.
His eyes flickered at this reading of his thoughts, and he touched her chin, gently guiding her face to his to place the lightest of kisses on her mouth, a reminder that his love could be soothing, as well as wild.
It was a reminder that touched her heart as surely as his most passionate caress, and she wanted to give him something in return. “No one will ever do that but you,” she said quietly.
He looked at her, not understanding. and she took his hands in hers, letting him see the promise in her eyes. "These are your lips - for your kisses only, now and forever."
The enormity of her commitment prompted a parade of conflicting emotions to pass across his face. It was not the kind of pledge his solitary life had prepared him for, and she could see his reluctance to accept it. “Catherine,” he said finally. “forever is a very long time.”
“No, I'm Just finding out - it can never be long enough." She could feel the conflict within him - his wish to do what was best for her, his fear of being the cause of something she might later come to regret, his joy and wonder at a gift too precious for imagining. "If you only knew what an easy promise that is for me to make,” she said gently. “it wouldn't trouble you so."
He shook his head. “I cannot accept such a promise. No one knows what the future holds. If you were one day to look back and feel sadness because of it, because of me --"
“I didn't mean it to be a burden to you. It's not your responsibility, Vincent. Whether you accept it or not, it's Just a fact. I could never bear the touch of another man - not ever again."
The truth of her words was self-evident in their bond. She knew he felt it, had for some time. It was only her speaking of it that stunned him; he had never expected to hear vows of fidelity outside the realm of his most secret dreams. He knew she required no reply, and she sat quietly, her hands in her lap, tuned to his shifting moods, as he had always been to hers. She could tell when he accepted the inevitability of her pledge, felt the peace that descended over him, followed by something else - some grappling with an issue she couldn't even guess. His head was bowed, when he found the words he needed.
“Catherine, you must promise to tell me if I ever do anything that is what you call - unnatural, that is not the way a man should love a woman." He looked up, and the pain in his eyes was palpable.
“Oh, Vincent,” she said, taking his head in her hands. “I don't believe that will happen, but, yes, I promise to tell you if it ever does. All lovers should tell each other what pleases them and what doesn't, only,” she gave a little laugh. “it hasn't been necessary - not for us. You know what I'm feeling, what I want; you feel what it does to me, when you give it to me. You can't still have any doubts that what you're experiencing is my desire as well.”
“No,” he admitted. “Not anymore." The statement was simple and sincere, but the irony implicit in the words sent the blood rushing to her cheeks, and the memory of her unabashed pleading made it difficult to meet his eyes. She could never have imagined herself doing such a thing, but then she'd never guessed she was capable of such an all-consuming desire. “Catherine, I didn't really want to deny you. You know that.”
“I know,” she answered, daring to look at him. “But would it have been so wrong?”
“Yes.” And there was not a hint of doubt in the word. “It would have been wrong. You were feeling troubled tonight. This man who threatens you has made you feel helpless. We can no longer tell what time we may have together, and that uncertainty has caused you to want to make the most of every moment that we share. We must not let him control your life, determine what we do together. Whatever happens between us, Catherine, will be for its own sake, for the sake of love alone, nothing else.”
She nodded slowly. “You're right, yes. And I will try, Vincent, not to be so - so insistent.”
“Catherine, your insistence was the sweetest music I have ever heard. Know that I will cherish it, dream of it, while we are apart.” He took her in his arms, cradling her head next to his. “I must go,” he whispered, but he held her a moment longer, then rose to pull the hood back over his head. “You should go inside. The wind is cold.”
“I will. I just want to watch you go.” She stood and moved reluctantly to the dining room doors.
“Let those who care for you protect you, Catherine.” he said and dissolved into the night.
She sighed and entered the apartment. For once her timing had been good; there was a loud knock at the door. As she approached it, the guard called out. "We're changing shifts here, Miss Chandler."
She opened it, as far as the chain would allow, and saw an unfamiliar freckled face in uniform. “This is Officer Brody. He'll be here the rest of the night. We'll change again when you leave for work in the morning.”
“Okay, thank you. I'll be going to bed now." She closed the door and turned off the radio. Her endless supply of keepers got a break from all this, but she never did - well, almost never.
She lay in bed reliving as much as she dared of the evening, wondering if he was doing the same. Just before she fell asleep, it occurred to her that she hadn't told him that she loved him. Somehow she suspected that he'd gotten the message.