Kaleidoscope ~ Guards
Cynthia Hatch
Part 17
He led her out the opposite way from the route Denton had taken when he brought her here. There was a low door in the wall, and he opened it to reveal a subway tunnel. It was still in use, she knew, from the proximity of the trains that had passed when they were inside, and she looked at him questioningly.
"It will be several minutes before the next train, Catherine. We have time to reach the other door.”
She wondered if his acute hearing could pick tip the sound of approaching trains before they presented any danger. At the next door he stopped. "This will take you to the parking garage of the building next to yours. Only an alley separates them. No harm will be done if the police assume this is the route Mitch has taken. Will you be alright, if I leave you here?”
"I’ll be alright, because I'm coming back down, as soon as I possibly can." She hugged him quickly and opened the door,
There were several uniformed men combing her own building's garage when she entered, so it would be easy to set them on the wrong trail. Her relief that they hadn't found the passage through the sub-basement was considerable. Joe was alerted, and he arrived at her apartment with a retinue of investigators, but she was pleased to see, not yet any reporters. They sat drinking gallons of coffee, going over the details of her abduction.
Mitch had given the guard outside her door a dose of the same anesthetic he'd used on her. He'd been found stuffed in a utility closet. shortly after she had failed to show up at the office. She told them about coming to, as she was being carried through what might have been a subway tunnel, and about Denton’s waiting for someone to give him the all-clear so he could move his merchandise and head for Rio. She pretended ignorance about the nature of the explosion, which wasn't hard to do. A contingent was sent to the site, and she prayed that Vincent and Mouse had had time to obscure any evidence that might lead them to search further. Someone would be posted nearby in case Denton's con-tact was still to show up.
Joe kept telling her she should see a doctor, but she assured him that by some miraculous quirk of fate she had happened to be safely out of the way when the roof collapsed, killing her abductors. She insisted that she was filthy, but fine. At last they seemed satisfied and got up to leave, but Joe lingered behind,
"I don't know what to say to you, Cathy."
"About what, Joe?"
"About how sorry I am. I swore I was going to protect you. I fought with you about keeping the guard, and I actually won, but when the time came, the psycho got to you anyway. I feel really bad about that. These last few hours have been some of the worst I've ever spent - not knowing if you were alive or not.”
“Oh, Joe, thanks for caring," she said, giving him a hug. "You did everything you could. If there's one thing I've learned today, it's that we can't always protect the people we care about no matter how much we want to."
“Yeah, well, I’m really glad you're okay. Take the day off tomorrow. Get some rest."
"Tomorrow's Saturday, Joe, but thanks. I appreciate the thought.”
When he was gone, she hurried to take a shower, and then a hot bath, wanting to wash away even the memory of Denton. She scrubbed her face several times and brushed her teeth for five minutes. The clothes she'd been wearing, she threw in the trash, but thought she should retrieve them, have them cleaned, give them to someone for whom they would be just clothes and not reminders of those glittering eyes, that repellant touch. The blouse was beyond repair, and she had no compunctions at the thought of its being reduced to ashes. She wasn't hungry, but forced herself to eat, aware of only one overriding need, and that was to be with Vincent. It was strange to think they'd spent so much time together today with hardly a word spoken between them, but there had been communication of a kind. and now her captivity was over. She could walk out the door with no policeman tagging along: she could lead her life again in the richness of its own secrets.
It was twilight when she went to the drainage tunnel. She strolled casually around the entrance for a minute till certain that no one was watching, and then hurried inside. The door slid open before she even reached it, and she ran into his arms.
"It went well, Catherine?"
"Yes, I think so. They didn't find the access from my basement. They assumed Mitch had gone through the subway tunnel.
"Did you and Mouse block the passage that connects them?"
"Mouse contrived a pile of rubble that looked as though it had lain there for years - a true work of art."
"He seems to have done more than his share today, Vincent, but I still don't understand how that happened. Please, tell me."
He put his arm around her, and they started walking. "It was you, Catherine. who reminded me I should check on Mouse, find out why he had been so conspicuously absent. He was working in a chamber above the one we were in today, tapping the electricity from the subway tunnel."
"Wouldn't they be able to trace the drain?"
"This is Mouse, Catherine. He had a complex plan for avoiding that, which I won't pretend to understand. He intended to bring a great deal of power down to the hospital chamber so that Father might use more sophisticated equipment. I have no doubt he could have done it, but his plan required creating considerable access between the two chambers."
"And that meant explosives."
"Yes. There was little danger of alerting anyone above. That area is a vacant lot. When he had last checked the cavern below, it was empty. The greatest danger lay in damage to the subway tunnel, should he become overly enthusiastic with the explosives."
"Which he's been known to do."
'Yes. I insisted that he read thoroughly on the subject and draw up an exact plan that we would go over together, a plan that he would promise to observe scrupulously."
"That's not his usual way of doing things, is it?'
"No, but he enjoyed the challenge. We spent yesterday going over every detail. He is very proud that his calculations were so exact.""But he won't be able to use it now, will he? Not when the authorities know about those chambers. He must be very disappointed."
"He considered saving our lives a just compensation for the loss, Catherine."
"He did save us, didn't he? We'll have to find some way to thank him. You knew all along that the roof of the cavern was going to come crashing down?"
"It was the diversion we needed."
"But how did you know when he was going to do it?"
"That was the part of the plan I insisted he follow most closely. We studied the subway schedules together, calculating when each train would be passing. It was crucial that if our figures were wrong and the outer wall should be damaged, there would be time to clear any debris that might reach the tracks."
"So you picked a specific time. But there were no clocks in that chamber, Vincent. How did you know what time it was?"
"From the trains that passed, Catherine. It was a simple matter to count the minutes that passed from one to the next.""No wonder you were so quiet. I thought you were trying to make Mitch nervous."
"That was only part of it."
"What if Mouse had run into problems, and it had taken longer, or what if he'd gotten done sooner and couldn't resist doing it earlier? Mouse isn't exactly known for his self-discipline." She was thinking how critical the timing had been that had allowed her to escape unharmed. One moment she had been standing under the doomed portion of the roof, the next Mitch had unwittingly taken her to safety, but a few seconds delay and he would have... She shuddered at the possibilities.
Vincent had no trouble interpreting her train of thought. "There was no danger of that, Catherine. I knew what was happening above us every moment."
"How?"
"I could hear Mouse and Jamie moving about the chamber. It was only at the end, when the charges had been set, and they went out into the passage, that it was difficult to tell. I had to put my ear to the wall to make sure they had left, that they were ready to detonate."
"I knew you were thinking of something else. I thought - I thought you were trying to ignore what was going on.""Catherine, no." He stopped and looked at her, his eyes dark with the knowledge of the desolation she must have felt at that moment. "I had hoped you could feel the assurance I was trying to give you that all would be well."
"I did feel it, Vincent. It's what kept me going. I just couldn't reconcile it with your behavior. I was confused."
He fell silent, until they reached his chamber. The candles were already lit, and he stopped to throw his cloak over a chair before turning to her. "I would not blame you, Catherine, for doubting me. I've promised to watch over you, to protect you, and today....I have never felt so powerless. To stand there and watch him..." He turned away abruptly, and she stayed where she was giving him time to put the thoughts that tormented him into words. "It is what I am, Catherine. All I have ever had to offer you was my protection, and today when you needed it most, I failed you."
"No, Vincent, you didn't. Do you think I don't know there were times when you could have made it out that door - that you didn't even have to be there in the first place? You were there because of me, and your presence gave me the strength I needed. I know the things he said, what he did, were as difficult for you as they were for me, but we can't protect those we love from every hurtful thing, no matter how much we're willing to sacrifice, not when the circumstances are beyond our control." She moved around him now, trying to get him to look at her. "I am grateful for the protection you've given me more times than I can count, but if you think that's what I value in you, that it's what I want most from you, then I've been doing something terribly wrong."
He shook his head. 'Catherine, you've done nothing wrong." His eyes met hers. "Perhaps you should sit down."
"Why?." she asked, surprised that the word seemed to take on several syllables.
"Because I believe that delayed reaction you spoke of is about to begin."
He was right, she realized. The tension of the ordeal, her fear for him and for herself, were breaking loose inside her, threatening to erupt in tears. It only took the compassionate look in his eyes to release them, and she began to cry. He put his arm around her, guiding her to the bed where he sat down and pulled her close. Her tears were soaking his muslin shirt, her body shaking, as he murmured words of comfort against her hair. It was several minutes before she sat back and wiped her eyes. "You could never fail me, Vincent."
"Catherine. every time he threatened you, touched you. and I did nothing, I felt I was breaking a promise that I made to you long ago."
"Like the one I broke this afternoon?"
He looked at her, uncomprehending.
"Two days ago, Vincent, I swore to you that no one would ever kiss me but you, and look - it's already happened."
"What he did to you was not - a kiss." He all but spat the word in his vehemence. "'You're right, Vincent, it wasn't. He never really touched me; he never could have, no matter what he'd done, not in the way that you did, just by being there, but you see what I mean - we can't always safeguard our promises from some outside force."
"Or an inner one," he said quietly, his head bowed, and she knew his self-reproach had led him straight back to his most persistent demon - the fear that her greatest danger lay in himself.
"Vincent," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. She spoke softly hoping the sight of her tear-stained face would reclaim his attention. He looked at her, and she gingerly touched the swollen flesh beneath the cut. The wound was clean now, merely a thin line. "You didn't need stitches. There wasn't any fracture. What did Father say?'"
"He said..." Vincent hesitated. "What was the medical term he used? Oh, yes - he said it added another intriguing texture to my face."
She returned his earnest look with a blank stare, until it dawned on her that he too was trying to alleviate their somber mood. She smiled, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. "You remember me saying that?"
'How could I forget?"
She wondered if the memory of what had followed that comment would prompt him to kiss her, but he stood up suddenly and went to the table.
"I have something for you." He held up the crystal, its golden chain intact again and returned to slip it over her head.
"Thank you, Vincent. I wish I could promise you I'd never take it off again."
"'It's only a symbol, Catherine. The real promises are the ones we make in our hearts." He stood looking down at her upturned face a moment and then moved back to the table. One of the candles glowing there seemed to hold some fascination for him, as he stood observing it, idly turning the clay dish that held it.
After several minutes of silence, she summoned the courage to ask him a question. "Is there some reason, Vincent, that you - that you haven't kissed me?"
"Yes," he said quietly.
She thought of Denton's perverse monologue, the crude way he'd treated her, his brutal touch. "Did it spoil something for you today, watching Mitch with me?"
"Catherine, no! He turned, realizing the direction her thoughts had taken, and came swiftly to the bed, kneeling beside her, taking her hands in his. "I only thought that after what you had been through, you would prefer a more spiritual kind of comfort."
"Your kiss can be very spiritual, Vincent." She was looking down into the blue of his eyes, thinking how strange it was to see heaven beneath her instead of above.
"Then I give it to you gladly, Catherine."
He guided her face gently downward, and her mouth settled into his with the sweetness of a homecoming. The passion was there, all the bright, vivid colors of it like flowers waiting to spring from the earth, but this time their communion might have been a soft blanket of snow, pure and protective, shielding the tender promise of things to come, until the bitter winds had faded. The exquisite tenderness of it brought tears to her eyes again.
"What is it, Catherine?"
"I just never dreamed it was possible to love anyone as much as I love you."
"So many tears,' he said softly. "Tell me what I can do."
"I'm so tired. Vincent, but I don't want to leave you. If I could stay here tonight, sleep close to you, wake up to see your face, I know that would be my reality, and everything that happened today would be only a bad dream, Do you think that would be possible?"
His hesitation was so brief that she doubted anyone else would have noticed it, a fraction of a second merely, but she recognized it and recognized as well every emotion that sped through him in that instant. "Anything is possible, Catherine. I can imagine no greater peace than to know for one night at least you are safe - in my arms." He stood up and removed his boots, and she followed his lead, kicking off her shoes. By tacit agreement it was the extent of their undressing. He arranged several pillows at the head of the bed, but didn't turn down the covers. Instead, he shook out a quilt that had been folded over the end of the bed, and lay down, pulling her into the crook of his arm.
She snuggled up against him, her hand on his chest. Immediately, a feeling of safety and tranquility settled over her, along with the happiness that had been briefly overshadowed by the day's terrors. She started to pull one leg up over his, but thought better of it. She was truly exhausted; the island of refuge he offered her allowed her to relax and realize how sleepy she'd become. Still, part of her refused to ignore the warmth of his powerful body stretched along hers, the touch of his fingers on her arm, She moved her hand across his chest and felt his heart skip a beat.
"Vincent, do you think we can do this?"
He looked down at her. "If it's what you need, Catherine, then -yes, we can do it. You should sleep now." His eyes caressed her face, but he didn't kiss her goodnight, turning back to an examination of the ceiling.
She could feel herself drifting off now, but she resisted, knowing there was something important she needed to say. "Vincent, do you realize the significance of what happened today? There were so many times when I felt that a part of you wanted to let go, to destroy those men no matter what the cost, but you didn't let it."
"I couldn't, Catherine - not if it meant harm to you."
"I know. Doesn't that tell you something about that other concern of yours - about the nature of your control?" Half-asleep now, she was scarcely aware that she'd brought one knee up over him to cuddle closer.
"Perhaps. Under the circumstances, Catherine, I sincerely hope you are right."
The meaning of his words didn't filter through, as sleep finally enveloped her. The dream that followed was like most dreams, essentially absurd. Scenes kept changing; people popped up incongruously, but she didn't mind, because the core of it was so pleasant. She was strolling down a path with Vincent. He was holding her hand, and they both felt very happy. It didn't bother them that one moment the trail wound through a landscape of trees and bushes, the next through city streets or the familiar warren of the tunnels.
Passing through a field of poppies, they encountered Father who asked if they knew when the next train was due. Vincent informed him it would be along in three weeks and seventeen seconds. Father thanked him and politely vanished. In an apple orchard Eric was playing chess with Joe Maxwell.
"You shouldn't have castled, Joe - not with the knight in that position," she instructed him.
"Cath. you don't even play chess. Does that make any sense to you, Vincent?"
"Oh, she always makes perfect sense," Vincent assured him.
The path opened onto a sandy beach. Clear, blue waves pounded the shore. "I don't think we can go this way, Vincent."
"Why not?" he asked her.
"Well, it's just so ridiculously Freudian, don't you think?"
"Freud knew everything. Catherine.""I thought you said it was Shakespeare."
"Yes, Freud and Shakespeare and Mouse."
At some point during the night Vincent turned to her in the depths of his own sleep, his breath warm on her neck, and the character of the dream began to change, until soon there was nothing absurd about it at all.
THE END