While The Fountains Echo Part Two It was with a startling sense of da-javu that Vincent found himself walking through the park that very night, when a large vehicle sped through the park gates, and slowed to a halt before flinging a lifeless form from out of its side. Hesitating just long enough, until the vehicle was out of sight, Vincent padded, oh so softly, towards the still form lying upon the grass, his heart in his mouth. And with a sense of unreality rolled the figure over to find himself looking down into Catherine’s dear face. Vincent gasped, dropping to his knees, bending to seek a pulse against her neck, drawing a breath at last when he found a glimmer of life beneath his fingers, and blinded by his tears, he gathered Catherine up against his chest and carried her Below. *** *** *** “Who would have done this thing!” Father exclaimed, his eyes filling with tears, as Peter Alcott, Catherine’s doctor and long term friend of both the Chandler’s and the Well’s family, examined Catherine carefully. “Someone with a knowledge of medicine Jacob. They certainly knew what they were doing, look at these punctures in her arms, I can’t ascertain how much of a drug she was given but certainly more than enough to make her sleep. She’s comatose Jacob, and there is no telling when she will wake from it, if ever.” “She has to do. She is the only one with knowledge of young Jacob’s whereabouts, the only one who could possibly tell us anything.” Father fumed, marching up and down, an action he had inherited from Vincent. Peter shook his head sadly, “Even if Catherine awakens Jacob, there is no telling what her memory will be like. You have to prepare yourself and Vincent. She may not know any of you.” Father sighed, flopping himself wearily into a chair, and could only stare at the gentle rise and fall of Catherine’s breast as she remained sleeping, “Is there nothing that can be done, what if she were taken Above, would her chances be any greater Peter?” “Not necessarily, and we cannot be sure that she will be any safer up there. Whoever did this to her may have hoped that she would die, personally I think everything that can be done for her, can be done just as well down here as up Above Jacob, and there is always Vincent to think about, he will want her near him.” Father nodded, yes Vincent, he would want Catherine nearby. His adopted son had already undergone more than enough grief already in the three days of Catherine and Jacob’s disappearance, and now this! Vincent would not be able to bare another separation. “The best you can do is have familiar people sit with her, and talk to her. You know as well as I Jacob that comatose patients often respond to voices that they know. And I will come to see her daily too.” A shuffle at the doorway turned Father’s attention away from Peter, and he was not surprised to find Vincent there. Yet he was stunned by the younger man’s pallor, and feared for him, “Vincent, come in.” He told his son gently, hurrying to take up the large furry hands within his own. While Peter explained the last few comments he had just made to Father again to Vincent, he was worried about the younger man, something obviously distressed him more than Catherine’s condition. “What is it Vincent?” Peter asked at last, concern over-riding his curiosity. “Catherine may be pregnant Peter, is there any way that you can establish if this is so?” Startled Father looked up, “Pregnant, is this what Jamie told you the other day Vincent?” “Yes. Though Catherine wasn’t sure of it herself.” Peter frowned, “Do you have any idea of how long Vincent?” “No.” “Try to think, it would help. When was her last period, can you remember?” Vincent shook his head, “I have been trying to remember since Jamie told me, I do not know.” Peter frowned, “This could be complicated Vincent. I don’t know for definite what drug was used on Catherine, but I believe it to be morphine and it might have harmed the child, and I have to ask you to make a decision here. Obviously not straight away, but before the child is developed much more, you will have to choose Vincent whether to terminate its life or not.” “No!” Vincent roared, “How can you say that Peter?” “Because of the facts Vincent. The child might be deformed by the drugs injected into Catherine, in the long run, it might be the kinder way.” Peter told him matter-of-factly, trying to stand back from the situation, though inside his heart was racing. Catherine was like a daughter to him, and the thought of being forced to perform an abortion on her was abhorrent. Pacing the chamber, Vincent’s fury rose and fell, it was too much, the decision was not his to make, “I cannot do it Peter, I cannot take that risk. Is there no way of telling if the child has been affected?” “Yes there are ways, but Vincent you have to realise, these tests will need to be performed Above, and they might open up more than we are prepared for.” Hanging his head, Vincent sighed, “Then what would you suggest Peter?” “From a personal view or from a medical view?” “I don’t want to know the medical view Peter.” Vincent reasoned. “Then I cannot give you one. Personally I would hate to perform a termination, I never have liked doing it to anyone, but to Catherine, it would be unbearable.” “We have had deformed children living here before Peter. It would not be the first, and any deformity has a merit of life, of love to give and be given, personally I think we should leave well alone, whatever comes and all that. Besides in the normal scenario a child might be affected by such a drug Peter, but a child with such a genetic makeup as Vincent’s, well we might find in the end that it could prove to be a life saver.” Father mused, without taking his attention from Catherine. Peter nodded, “I’ll go along with that, if you are sure. What about you Vincent?” Speechless, Vincent could only stand and stare with gratitude at his father, nodding his agreement, his eyes brimming over with unshed tears, as Peter went on, “Well the next step then is to ascertain how far on she is, and get the appropriate vitamins into her. We have to assume that Catherine has only missed one period, but nonetheless, a simple examination could reveal more. Hold this will you Vincent, I’ll see if I can find out anything now.” Vincent took the stethoscope from Peter’s hand, watching with avid interest as Peter pressed his fingers firmly along Catherine’s abdomen, feeling for the stretched uterus beneath his fingers, and nodded when he encountered it a few inches below her navel. “Yes its here, I’d say about two months, maybe three. That’s not long Vincent, not long at all after Jacob you two should have been more careful.” He scolded. Embarrassed, Vincent turned away, leaving Peter feeling instantly remorseful. “But then I have never known a couple love one another as much as the two of you, so you can be forgiven.” He added, trying to take the sting out of his earlier words to Vincent. “At least any development that might have been affected by the drug will have at least taken place by now. It is possible that nothing untoward will have happened as regards missing limbs, etceteras, but the child’s growth could be stunted however. And Vincent you also have to realise that the child could be born before Catherine awakens.” “Perhaps its birth will bring her out of the coma Peter?” Father questioned. His obvious concern evident in his tone. “Yes it may well do, but you have to be prepared for the worst nonetheless. Look, there is nothing more I can do here today, and there are many things that Catherine will need, so I should leave now, and get on to that, and bring those things down here tomorrow. In the meantime, do as I say, have people come and visit Catherine, sit with her, talk to her, read to her, and hopefully she will recover faster than we dare to hope for.” “Thank you Peter, whatever would we do without you.” Father told him gratefully, as Peter straightened, a wry smile on his face, “Oh, you don’t really need me Jacob. You are a good doctor too, you just haven’t the faith in yourself that you should have. I’m quite certain you don’t really need me.” “Oh yes I do Peter, if only for moral support, yet more often for far more. You are an asset to those of us Below, and never let me hear you say otherwise, besides who would look after me if I get sick, I need you Peter and don’t you ever forget it.” Father told him sincerely, though deep inside he was immensely chuffed at Peter’s confidence in his own abilities, and somehow that made his day feel a little brighter. *** *** *** For Vincent the long wait was doubly unbearable. Able to feel his son’s emotions, he knew that the child lived, but could not be sure if he were in the same comatose condition as Catherine, neither could he establish where the child was being held. The grief Vincent abstained from the loss of his child went far deeper than anyone would care to acknowledge, fear making them want to hide behind ignorance, hoping that Vincent did not lose sight of what he was now, to what he had once been in the days before Catherine. Many had seen him do battle with the beast, and it was a frightening experience that none wanted to undergo again, least of all have it brought about by Vincent himself. Father tried his up-most to involve Vincent in all kinds of activities in an attempt to try to take his mind off of things, but he was not to know, could never know the true makeup of his son, for underneath those leonine features, beneath the muscle and sinew of the man, the beast was ever present, ever a heartbeat away, and waiting for his chance to seize and dominate the man. For Vincent the grief of his lose and his ever-present combat with the dark one was a constant battle against insanity. Pacing his chamber became his only outlet for his frustration, that and killing. But he had sworn to Catherine that he would kill no more, that to do so was giving glory to the beast, giving reign to the beast, and if he were to remain as a man capable to love her, then the days of the kill had to be over. As the days went into weeks and there was little change in Catherine, Vincent had the added pain of his son’s emotions vanishing from his heart. At first he had felt a distance between them, and then a gradual tapering off of the sense of his son’s feelings. It grieved Vincent, it was the final torment, all he was able to establish was that his son lived. He felt he would know had it of been otherwise. And the grief the feeling brought almost made him lose his mind, because he had to face the truth that even if Catherine should awaken, it was unlikely that their son would ever be returned to them. The added pain of how Catherine would react to that caused Vincent to slip further away from the man that he had become, although he still maintained tight control over the beast. Father was terrified for him. Watching him pace the chamber, day in day out, lost to the night, not knowing where his son went, always grateful to hear the pipes announce his return just before dawn. The toll on his son’s health was leading somewhere, to a place Father had seen twice before, and had no wish to return to. That last time, it had been Catherine who had brought back the man, but who would have the courage to go in her place should it happen again? Watching as Vincent sat for short moments, flicking through a book, that Father could tell he was not reading, and then jumping up to pace the room again, Father grew agitated. The measured control that Vincent fought was so apparent, and Father knew it was only a question of time before his son snapped completely and became unreachable. Over the weeks Father had tried all the words of comfort, all the words of encouragement that he could find, all to no avail. His brooding, grieving, adoptive son was almost over the edge, and Father was powerless to stop him. Only Catherine could do that, yet she had shown no signs of awakening, even though her child grew at an alarming rate beneath her heart. So it was always a pleasure to have Peter arrive, providing a welcome distraction from Vincent’s raging thoughts. After he followed the doctor down the tunnel towards the hospital chamber, he watched every little thing that the doctor did to his wife, taking her temperature, monitoring her heart beat, lifting her eyelids, shining a torch into them, providing physiotherapy for her limbs. This day as Peter went through the motions, he straightened before completing his task of manipulating her joints, and turned to speak, “You know Vincent, there is some new evidence about comatose victims. New evidence is often taken with some scepticism, but I can see no harm in trying it anyway. As you are aware, familiar voices can trigger a response in a comatose victim to awaken, yet now it is also thought that certain places can also do the same, and in many respects much more. A sound, a scent, the touch of sand upon bare feet, those kinds of things, the salt spray of the sea upon the skin, the touch of a stiff breeze blowing through the hair, all these things can bring a comatose victim around in time.” “What are you suggesting Peter?” For once, Father was quick to notice hope flare in Vincent’s sullen eyes, and held his breath and waited. “There must be so many places Vincent where you could carry Catherine, or have someone help you. It is a blessing that she is able to breathe by herself, without the aid of a life support machine. Catherine is alive, Vincent. Her brain may not be showing any activity on this monitor, but she is still here. The colour of her skin tells us so. She looks just as if she is sleeping. So come on let’s make a determined effort to do more, and rather than speaking to her with words of tenderness, let us ensure that she takes an active part in all that goes on down here. I want to see her taken to your chamber at night Vincent, have her know that you lay beside her in your bed, that you hold and kiss her, just as you would normally have done. I should like her brought to Father’s chamber in the day, to take part in the day to day activities that take place down here, and I should like for you to carry her to places that you and she shared together. Let her listen to the waterfall let her imagine the sights reflected in the mirror pool. Tell her where you are going, tell her what you enjoy about the place, read to her. Do all the things that are normal, and then we will know we really are trying everything that there is. It can be no fun lying here day after day, with only an unborn child for company. Let’s try it Vincent. Now where would you first like to go?” A rush of enthusiasm sped through Vincent, his eyes taking on a brightness that Father had almost forgotten, as he told Peter; “To the waterfall, no, wait, there is a place that Catherine and I call our own. We discovered it together, and I have been loath to visit it without her all these months. I shall need help to take her there, probably on a stretcher, there is a long crawl way, would it be possible do you think Peter?” Peter nodded, “Nothing is out of reach Vincent, if you’ve a mind to do it, it can be done. We will need to pad out a stretcher underneath her, would that still fit through the crawl way?” “Yes, its not very wide, but I can get through it by rubbing the sides, there would be little problem for Catherine even on a padded stretcher, but I may need help, to get her there.” “I’m certain Jamie will go with you Vincent?” Father offered. “Jamie yes, or Mouse, either of them would be perfect.” “Except that Mouse would chatter so much, Catherine wouldn’t be getting the right atmosphere while you are down there.” Father laughed, grateful when Vincent laughed too. It had been a long time since he had. “I’ll prepare her Vincent, while you collect the things you will need.” Peter told him, while Father stood up to tap out a call for Jamie. When Vincent had gone, and the message had been sent, Father came back to help Peter, telling him, “Call me daft Peter, but I have a good feeling about this. I’m sure its going to work, but even if it did not, the respite that the hope has given to Vincent has been immeasurable. Thank you Peter for suggesting this, its just what the boy needed.” “Yes, I noticed, he’s a changed man isn’t he? I wish I’d read that darn article sooner. It lay in my desk drawer for weeks. Let that be a lesson huh, to read things as soon as they arrive, one never knows what good the articles can do for someone, a whole lot sooner.” With Vincent in front pulling the ropes that harnessed the stretcher carrying Catherine, and Jamie bringing up the rear with the packs, they manoeuvred the stretcher around the outcrops of rocks, in less than two hours after Peter’s visit, and the three finally arrived at Vincent and Catherine’s secret place. “Its not so secret Vincent.” Jamie told him as she stepped out into the large gallery filled with stalactites and stalagmites and gazed out at the large shimmering pool that reflected the lights from the lanterns that Vincent held up. “And you may be surprised that there is another way in.” She added. Vincent eyed her with interest. “You’ve been here before?” Jamie nodded, “Mouse brought me, though that time though we came in from Above. Look up there can you see it, that’s it there, a large ledge. Just above is a vertical shaft, that drops straight into this gallery. I’ve not been here since we were children though. It’s funny how I’d forgotten all about it, I guess that’s because there is never enough time.” Vincent chuckled, “chained to the kitchen sink are we?” “No”, Jamie punched him lightly on one arm, “You know how it is, there is always something that needs doing, and believe me the way in from above is a long journey, much longer than the way you have taken me. If you have no objections I should like to bring others here.” “Why should I object, the place is beautiful, it is meant for sharing? Perhaps you should like to share it with Mouse?” Vincent teased her. Jamie still had every intention to live Above as soon as Catherine had regained consciousness, but no-one knew of that yet, and so she ignored Vincent’s teasing. Answering instead, “Because it is yours and Catherine’s place now.” “No Jamie, Catherine and I aren’t selfish about anything that there is Below, others have just as much of a right to partake of it. Don’t worry, of course you must bring the others here.” “So Vincent which part does Catherine like the most. There are so many different aspects to this gallery, I could never tire of exploring them?” Jamie asked him looking around her for the memory. “The part that made this place special for us, was the fountains. I have not found another place Below where there are so many. Catherine would sit for hours watching them spray upwards and plummet down again into the pool, sending spiralling ripples further and further across the pool. She told me that being here was a place to unwind, to put things into perspective and to simply enjoy the wonder of life and all that we shared.” Vincent’s voice trailed away, as tears gathered and fell as he recollected those happier times past, sitting there with Catherine. “Tell you what then Vincent, I’ll help you take your things over to that spot, while you carry Catherine, and then I’ll leave you two alone for an hour or so, while I go explore. I won’t be careless, and I will never go out of your sight, will that be all right?” Vincent nodded, touched by her thoughtfulness, “Yes, thank you Jamie.” It really was healing to his bones to be back in their secret place, with Catherine laid upon his lap, as Vincent leaned against a large cushion he had brought to put between his back and the cold stone wall. The subterranean pool danced and sang, as the fountains bubbled a crescendo of white foam, that chased itself across the turquoise water, and Vincent sighed deeply, remembering the joy that he and Catherine had found there. “Can you remember Catherine?” he asked her, “The first time we discovered this place. How timeless you said it felt. How the fountains must have been bubbling forth for centuries, and perhaps only a handful of people had ever seen its beauty. How Above in your world, it would be incomprehensible to believe that such a wealth of life and colours existed so far below the city streets. I remember Catherine, every word, every expression of your face, as you lived through the joy of that experience. Oh Catherine, what I would give to have you share it all over again with me now. To tell me how the beauty of this place thrills you.” For a moment Vincent fell silent, listening to the gentle breathing of his sleeping wife. Before reaching into his pack to slide out a book of poems, that he had brought there to read aloud to her. “Can you remember this poem my Catherine, the one called Song, by George Darley? When we first read this together, we were reminded of this place, and now the words could never be more perfect to how things are today, and when you awaken my Catherine you will know how hard it was for me to give voice to these words. So forgive me my love, forgive me if you feel my tears upon your cheeks, for the words are spoken from the heart, from my heart to yours.” Shuffling into a more comfortable position, Vincent took up the appropriate page in his hand, careful that the biting rocks were not cutting into Catherine, as he began to read huskily, choking back the sobs when he reached parts oh so, poignant to him; “Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers, Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through her hair, Sleeps she and hears not the melancholy numbers, Breathed to my sad lute, ‘mid the lonely air. Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teaming, To wind round the willow banks that lure him from above, O that tears, from my rocky prison streaming, I too could glide to the bower of my love! Ah! where the woodbines with sleepy arms have wound her, Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay, Listening, like the dove, while the fountains echo round her, To her lost mate’s call in the forests far away. Come then my bird! For the peace thou ever bearest, Still Heaven’s messenger of comfort to me- Come - this fond bosom, O faithfullest and fairest, Bleeds with its death wound, its wound of love for thee!” For long moments Vincent could only continue to sit, his body trembling with unshed tears, as he knuckled away a fallen tear or two that channelled rivulets through his dust covered cheeks. The poem had always stirred him, none more so than now. The words could have been written for Catherine in her present condition. Had the poet George Darley suffered just the same? Had he too known the loss of a loved one to eternal sleep? Looking down at Catherine, Vincent’s heart constricted in his chest. Had she heard any of the beautiful words, had she known how it broke his heart to read them to her? She slept on peacefully, and putting down the book, Vincent took up his journal, intent on writing down his present feelings, lest they were lost. Having the feel of the place surrounding him, he wanted to write down his feelings as and when they occurred, and not just from a memory. Everything he did now had to be done so that Catherine could read the words when she awoke, and know how he had felt at this sad time in his life. It was suddenly important to him that she knew how he had felt, knowing that she would want to have shared it with him, if only she could. While he wrote, Jamie watched from a safe distance. The echoes passed on by the fountains swam around her and snatches of the poem that Vincent had read to Catherine reached her ears. Jamie brushed away her tears, she had never heard a poem so tragic, so fitting for the moment, and wondered how Vincent could have been able to read it without breaking down. She couldn’t have done it, but such was the strength of the man. He was a remarkable person, and Catherine, dear sweet Catherine, a true friend to herself and countless others Below, did not deserve to have this bitterness bestowed upon her. For Jamie knew how much it would pain Catherine to know how the sorrow around her condition was paining the man that she loved above all else. Jamie choked back her tears, and locking her head between her knees she cried, the sound of her gentle sobbing reaching Vincent’s ears, who looked up from his journal to watch her with his steady blue gaze, before laying Catherine down carefully, with his cloak as a pillow for her head, and going across to where Jamie sat oblivious to his approach. His hand upon her shoulder, gentle, comforting, brought her face upwards to look into his, “Why do you cry Jamie?” his own eyes brimming with tears, as he wound his body beneath him to sit alongside her, taking her in his arms. “For Catherine, for you, how can you bear it Vincent?” Jamie’s voice trembled, as she pressed her face against his shoulder. Looking up as Vincent pulled her away from him to search her eyes. “Catherine gave me hope Jamie. More hope than I ever dreamed possible, for me, all the dreams I ever had, became reality in Catherine’s love for me. Now that hope is all I have to hold on to, coming here, sharing the things that were dear to Catherine with her it is all that there is, until such a time when Catherine opens her eyes again. I can ask for no more, but yes I know the pain of being without her, of losing our son, that more than most, for even if Catherine should awaken soon, I fear that our son is forever lost to us now. We just do not know where to look for him.” “What about the child she carries Vincent, surely he or she will heal your wounds?” “Yes, but in no way replace the child that we lost. Always I will carry this void inside me. This not knowing what became of our son, wondering how he is, if he is happy, if we will ever see him again. Though I grieve for Catherine’s present state, I am happy to have her near, but Jacob...” A sob caught in Vincent’s throat, “for Jacob I have no such joy. He is lost to us Jamie, I feel it here, and the pain of that knowledge will never go away.” “Then how can you bear it Vincent? How can you read such heartbreaking poetry to Catherine and not have it crack you up?” “You heard the poem?” “Only the odd line. The breeze from the fountains carried your voice to me.” Vincent nodded, “It is a beautiful poem Jamie, written by a man who suffered also in some same way, but he went on to write more beautiful poetry Jamie. His loss did not break him, and there is hope in those lines, hope for whomsoever reads the words, that we do not suffer alone. Your tears do you credit Jamie. Your heart is good and pure that you can feel such pain for others. And with people like you, I can see through this pain, until such a time that Catherine can stand at my side again.” “Do you believe she will wake up?” “Yes I believe that she will, in time. Peter has told me to expect the worst of course, but how can Catherine not come back to me. She gave all of herself to me, brightened my existence, gave me life, she will know that without her I would become as nothing again, lost to the night, and Catherine would not want that for me. Yes Jamie, with this hope, I can believe that Catherine will return to me, to us eventually.” Jamie nodded, “One day Vincent, I hope I meet someone as wonderful as you, just listening to your voice, you make me believe in miracles.” “Catherine’s love was my miracle Jamie, and the day she gave me our son. Miracles do not need to be believed in, for it is a fact that they do exist.” Jamie sighed, “Thank you Vincent.” “For what?” “For helping me put things into perspective, for filling me with hope.” “Hope is all there is Jamie, all there is.” he shook his head. Jamie nodded slowly, “You’d best return to Catherine Vincent, she will be missing you.” “She misses you too, come let us return together, and we can talk to her, I’m certain she will enjoy your company.” Jamie smiled, “I miss her Vincent.” a sob caught in her throat once again, and Jamie hurried to brush away the threatened tears, as Vincent pulled her to her feet telling her, “So do I Jamie, so do I. Let’s go and tell her that shall we?” Jamie sniffed, “Yeah, if we keep getting melancholy with her, she’ll probably open her eyes and tell us to shut up.” Vincent chuckled, knowing he’d give anything for that to be so. If the day beside the fountains had been melancholy, nothing more so than that night as Vincent lay in his big double bed with Catherine enfolded in his arms. It felt strange to have her there, her warmth, to feel her breath on his cheeks, but to know that she would not respond to his kisses, his caresses. Peter felt certain, that somewhere in the deep recess of her mind, she would know, that she would glorify in having Vincent hold her so close, and would eventually reach out to share in their love. With hope the only thread to hold on to Vincent carried on the charade day after day, night after night, taking Catherine back again and again to the fountains, to the waterfall, and the mirror pool. And one night even taking her up to the very park itself just so she could drink in the fragrances of the summer flowers. It concerned him that the child’s birth was imminent, and Catherine still had showed no signs of awakening, for he did not know how the labour would affect her, remembering the pain of the Jacob’s birth. In many respects, he had given scarce attention to the child that grew beneath her heart. It seemed alien to him. Though he felt the movements of its body beneath his hands, he had simply cut himself adrift from feeling anything for the child. Mainly because everyone had assumed its birth would erase his pain over Jacob, and Vincent wanted nothing ever to erase that pain, believing that if it did, then Jacob would become but a distant memory, almost as if his life had never been. And painful as it was to remember, Vincent wanted never to forget his son. So as the hush of one deepest night gathered its wings together over the tunnel world, and made way for a new dawn, Vincent lay beside Catherine, sleepily listening to the gentle sound of her breathing rising and falling and fanning his cheeks, when suddenly her whole body jerked into a spasm that jolted him wide awake and a gasp escaped her lips. Struggling to sit up, Vincent watched as pain etched itself over her face, and he knew that the onset of labour had begun. The knowledge brought joy and fear, joy that his Catherine had at last felt something, fear that he knew not what to do, or how it would turn out for her, and for their child. For Peter had told him, that without Catherine’s help the child would have to be delivered by caesarean section, and that brought about its own problems, with their limited supply of apparatus and medicine Below. Leaving his bed and his wife, Vincent donned a night-shirt, and hurried to Father’s chamber, waking him even as he entered, by knocking into a pile of books in his haste and hearing them slide to the floor in an untidy heap. Father sat up at once, rubbing his eyes, “What is it Vincent!” He cried seeing the look of fear upon his son’s face. “The baby Father! I believe it is coming.” “Call Peter, and fetch Mary, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Father told him, reaching for his robe. His mind reeled, how on earth were they going to manage this? It had been his greatest worry concerning Catherine in all the proceeding weeks, without her being awake to help, everything that could go wrong, no doubt in these dire conditions would go wrong, his only hope was that Peter could get there in time. *** *** *** “I promised you forever, Vincent, But there is no forever for us now, Our dreams, our happy life, destroyed - By my world. They have taken our son, And I have so little time. But for you there will be no consolation, For you will never know, never know.” continued… The words tumbled through Catherine’s mind. Amid the pain of her labour, and the stillness around her, Catherine could only remember the time of the distress of her kidnapping. Of Gabriel standing over her Vincent’s son in his arms. That evil sinister face mouthing words that she wished to cover her ears not to hear, telling her he was taking Vincent’s son, to a new life, a better life, a life where her son would rule over mankind with the strength of the beast. And nothing or no one would threaten Gabriel or his empire again. And then watching with horror as a man in a white uniform that Gabriel referred to as the ‘doctor’ had inserted a needle into her arm. And she had heard Gabriel laugh, “Sweet dreams Miss. Chandler,” before she slipped into a sleeping death, never to re-awaken, never to be able to see Vincent again, to tell him what had happened, and to ease his troubled mind. Catherine groaned, re-living the terror of that moment, feeling the pain as it sucked at her inward parts, her frantic heartbeat loud in her ears, slowing, slowing to a faint beat, far away, until she could no longer hear it. Was this death then? This void, where she felt nothing, saw nothing? This darkness that pinned her weightless against an impenetrable mist that swirled forever around her entire being? Sometimes she thought she had heard voices from far away, but they were voices on the wind, passing her by, before she were able to grasp them, hold them to her, against her, within her. Now alone, the pain filled her, and through it all again the wind rushed up to meet her, bringing with it voices from afar, filling her mind, her heart, her soul, as a scream, her scream, filled her head. And then she heard Vincent calling to her from afar, the sound of his dear voice filling her mind, swamping her with a longing so long denied her. Her mind screamed to bring her back, to fight against the darkness that held her in its steely claws, drowning out sound of his voice, thwarting her aim to return to him, to grasp hold of the one to whom she had given her life. And as she struggled against the mighty grip of oblivion, Catherine gasped, for suddenly there he was, and her mind was filled with the rapturous joy of the memory of him! “Suddenly I hear your voice - Distantly - calling my name. Is it a dream? Is this sleep I am trying so hard to fight Claiming me so soon? But even in dreams we must try. If heaven has sent me to you. And, somehow, with all the strength in my body, I follow your voice - And you are there! That beautiful face I thought I would never more see, Is above me, And I am in your arms. The pain has gone, the longing has gone, And I am at peace. For words are being spoken that I thought I would never hear, And hands are touching me that have not touched me For so long a time. And, as I close my eyes, your face is still before me. You take my hand, and you lead me towards the light, Forever is all there is...” *** *** *** *** There were no words, for simply there were none that could portray the joy felt by all those in the underground world, as they huddled in hushed groups around Vincent’s chamber. Their tears of joy streaming down their faces, the only indication to the heartrending emotions that they felt. This wondrous sight, this incredible, rapturous sight of Vincent cradling his Catherine in his arms, as both looked down with love into the beautiful green eyes of their tiny daughter. She lay on the bed before them wrapped in soft shawls made by loving hands, that was keeping out the chill from the windy tunnels. And Catherine looking radiant and none the worse for her experience, tracing her fingertips over the baby’s rosy cheeks as she said spoke softly, “She’s so beautiful Vincent,” And Catherine’s voice, such a pleasure to hear after all this time, filled the chamber in soft echoes and Vincent felt his heart leap in his chest as he told his wife, “You are the beautiful one, my Catherine.” As his intense blue eyes gazed with a longing that Catherine alone recognised, and made her heart beat faster, as she returned the look with one of her own. Slowly, one by one, the tunnel dwellers felt they were intruding now in something very special, something very tender, and quietly got up to leave, until only Father and Mary remained, “We’ll be in my chamber should you need us Vincent.” Father reached over to squeeze Vincent’s shoulder, “Its good to have you back with us Catherine.” He added, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on his daughter-in-law’s flushed cheek. Catherine smiled, “Its good to be back, and don’t you dare insist that I should get some sleep!” Father laughed with relief, followed by Vincent, strong hearty laughter, within which Vincent let go of all his recent fears, all his anguish, and there was healing in that laughter. Save for the sadness that prevailed at the loss of their son, Vincent and Catherine were happy again, together again, and as Father and Mary left them alone, Father hoped that in time Jacob too would be returned to them, then their happiness would truly be complete. *** *** *** With the love from their family and friends, and the arrival of their new child, slowly Catherine and Vincent were able to put the past behind them. Yet no matter how hard they tried, the loss of their son robbed them of the joy that they should have known. The thoughts of him were forever present in their minds. And even when Catherine went Above and employed the help of Joe and people she knew to trust, still no news came to light of Jacob’s whereabouts, they never gave up hope. Until after nearly a year had passed since Gabriel had taken him, and still nothing had come to light, Vincent and Catherine were finally forced to admit that they might never see their firstborn again. “The worst of it all is losing my connection with him Catherine.” Vincent told his wife one day as they sat side by side at the fountains, listening to the soothing rush of the water, “At first I was able to feel him, but in time that feeling has disappeared, yet I know he lives, I know it!” Catherine nodded, holding on to their daughter as she took her first wobbly steps towards her father with arms outstretched for him to catch her, “I know it too Vincent. And one day I firmly believe that he will be drawn to us, not now when he is so young, but one day Vincent, one day something will trigger a response in him, and he will come home to us.” “You sound so certain, I wish I could maintain such a hope.” Vincent told her, shaking his great mane of hair, as their daughter reached his arms, and he turned her around to go back towards her mother. “It’s all I have Vincent. Without it I would be lost. Our daughter is beautiful but she does not make up for the loss of our son, neither will the child to follow.” Vincent looked up then as the tone of Catherine’s voice alerted him to her words, “Catherine? He questioned, watching as a smile lit her eyes and she nodded, “We are rather clever at pro-creation aren’t we Vincent?” Unwinding his legs from beneath him, Vincent sat upon his haunches to look wide eyed at his wife, “Catherine, you don’t mean...oh no not again?” He teased, holding a hand to his brow. Catherine nodded, “I think so.” Her green eyes danced with joy. Vincent groaned, “Oh no another lecture, whatever will Father say?” “And Peter.” “Oh, don’t remind me, last time was bad enough.” Vincent groaned once more at the memory of Peter’s words to him the last time it had happened, so soon after Jacob’s birth. “My poor Vincent, and you had to shoulder it all alone, this time we can face the storm together my love.” Catherine laughed. “So when is the baby due Catherine?” Vincent asked ruffling his daughter’s hair who had returned to him, and flopped wearily at his feet. He would never get over how beautiful she was, a smaller replica of Catherine, with none of his features present in her at all. Her dancing green eyes filled him with love every time he gazed upon her. “That’s debatable Vincent, and you know it. What my friends would give for a pregnancy that lasted only seven months, I feel very privileged you know that. And if this one follows the recent trend then I have around five months to go.” “Do you know what it is?” Vincent asked, remembering how he had known without a doubt that Catherine carried their son right from his conception, as they camped alongside the subterranean pool almost two years before. Since that time, he found those powers lost to him, and with Catherine comatose during their daughter’s development, he had been able to tell the sex of that child. “Maybe. I’m a little unsure, in fact its not something I want to dwell on Vincent, can’t we let it be, and wait and see.” But something in her tone gave Vincent the answer, “Its a boy isn’t it?” He asked her gently. Catherine nodded, “I believe so Vincent.” regarding her husband’s face for signs of distress, “But he will not take Jacob’s place in my heart Vincent, I can promise you, or erase the sense of our loss, un-yet it will be good to have a son again.” Vincent nodded, yes it would be good to have a son again, a son to grow with them, to guide them, to show them how it would have been had things of been different. “I love you Catherine.” Vincent spoke softly, “and all of our children,” he told her then started to laugh as he said, “and I can’t believe I’ve got to go through endless lists again searching for another name!” Catherine laughed out loud, stopping when he added, “Perhaps you should chose one this time my love?” “You have chosen well in the past Vincent. Jacob is a lovely name, and Crystal is perfect, it suits her eyes, and it is special word for us also.” “Nonetheless my Catherine, it is your turn to chose.” Vincent told her. Nodding, Catherine accepted, “There is only one name I love above all others, and that could get confusing,” she told him, thinking of his name, “All right, I accept, just as long as you promise me something Vincent?” “If it’s in my power my Catherine, you know I will promise you anything.” Vincent told her, his blue eyes twinkling with humour as he caught his wife’s mood, gasping when she told him, “That you name the next one.” Before bursting into peals of laughter at the sight of his face. “Oh Vincent don’t you know by now, that loving you and having your children bring me the greatest joy, I could want for nothing more than that for all my days. Vincent, I love you so much.” Vincent sighed, “That you could love me as you do, and bring me the greatest of joys, Oh Catherine it is I who love you so much more.” “I love you to the sun and back Vincent.” “I love you to infinity Catherine.” “I love you to eternity Vincent.” Catherine laughed, “Beat that.” “There are no words my Catherine, and no space or distance that could measure the love I feel for you.” Gazing into those compelling blue eyes, Catherine was lost, “Then let actions speak louder than words Vincent, and show me how much you love me.” And while the fountains echoed all around them Vincent enfolded Catherine into his arms, loving the feel of her lips beneath his own, and accepting the fact that no matter what happened in the future, no matter what had happened in the past, they had each other. And as long as they continued to have each other, they would see through every problem, every heartache and move through it... Until the fountains echoed no more. ‘To be concluded in Legacy’ Poetry By Katrina Relf ‘Towards The Light’ used as Catherine is awakening from a coma.