For here, another world existed, far from the maddening crowd. Unseen by the inhabitants of a restless city people came here to heal, to grow, to find nourishment for their battered souls and to seek and find love.

Jacob Wells, patriarch of the tunnels beneath Manhattan, sat with fingers idly tapping in time to the music watching with sparkling eyes as children, yes children, played harmoniously with instruments fit for an orchestra.

These, his progeny and the result of years of teaching, filled Jacob’s heart with pride and joy. Surely no where on earth could one find anything more perfect, more stimulating, more...Jacob’s mind searched for the words...he could find none to express how they made him feel. Simply he had left a world of evil behind and found his Elysium and those children were the springboard of generations to come. Generations that if unleashed upon the world above could only turn it into a better place for all of mankind. Those children could become teachers who would bring forth euphoria to every corner of the earth.

“Father?” A gentle tapping at his right shoulder brought Jacob out of his happy retrospect and he looked up to see the leonine face of his adoptive son leaning down to whisper into his ear.

Jacob turned his attention reluctantly from the musical recital to that of his son, “What is it, Vincent?”

“I’m going away for a few days from tomorrow. I shall be leaving early.”

Immediately concerned Jacob, otherwise known as Father to all those that lived below the city, gave his full attention to his son. “Is something wrong, Vincent?”

“I’m fine.” Vincent smiled, though Father was quick to notice the smile didn’t quite reach his son’s eyes.

“But?” Father knew there was more to his son’s need to go away, than the need to explore the endless caverns of the subterranean levels.

“But it is nothing. Don’t worry so, Father. I just need to get away for a while.” Vincent drew himself up to his full height and sighed deeply, “there are some things that I need to place in perspective, and right now the tranquillity of the lower levels seem awfully desirous to my needs.”

“Lisa?” Father prompted gently.

Vincent nodded, “Yes, Lisa. Father, I don’t blame you. I did, but no more. Please I have to do this. I have to make peace with my heart so that I might move forward and grieve no more.”

“Make sure you send word when you arrive at each way station, Vincent. I don’t need to remind you that I worry when you are gone.”

Smiling, Vincent bent to kiss his Father’s brow. “I will send a message Father, don’t fret so. The last thing I want to do is have you worry over me. I shall return in three days. It will soon pass.”

“Then go with care, Vincent. If you do not return in three days I will send out a search party. Will you be heading for the crystal cavern?”

“How well you know me, Father. Yes, the crystal cavern has certain healing qualities that I am in need of right now. Would you like me to bring any crystals back for you?”

“No, its all right, Vincent.” Father began, then as an afterthought added, “No, wait! Maybe some rose quartz.” He seemed to mumble his request causing Vincent’s blue eyes to dance with amusement.

“Rose quartz, Father?”

“It is rather a pretty stone, do you not agree?” Despite his fight not to do so, Father blushed. He hoped his son would not notice. He did, but chose to ignore his father’s discomfort.

“Yes, it is a pretty stone, and I’m sure Lydia will love it.” Vincent replied with a wink of one eye.

“You, my son are too astute for your own good.” Father almost grinned, and then before he made a bigger fool of himself than he already had, he bid his son goodbye.

“Goodbye Father. Be Well.” Vincent turned, laughter etched on his features as he contemplated his father’s request for rose quartz. It was long established that rose quartz aided fertility, and it was well known that Lydia was unable to conceive though she had tried almost everything, except old wives tales. And Father, as a doctor, had been unable to help her either. He didn’t hold with old wives tales but month after month as the woman’s desire for a baby had escalated to depression when her period had arrived, Father became more and more exasperated and it would appear, Vincent reasoned, that he had entertained the idea of using the power of crystals after all. Vincent was surprised. It was unlike Father to believe in such things, even though he had lived beneath the city and amid such treasures of the rocks for the past thirty odd years and Vincent hoped that the crystal would work, as much for Father’s belief in such things as for Lydia’s benefit. At any rate, it couldn’t hurt to try. Might hurt Father’s pride if it did, but they’d cross that bridge when and if they came to it.

Stopping by at his chamber before he left Vincent had but one reason to check his desk, to see if in his short absence to Father’s chamber, any letters had arrived for him. Disappointment flared when he saw it was empty. This then was another reason for his long trek to the lower levels. It would appear that his long friendship with the young girl Catherine, from above, was well and truly over. Oh, if only he could withdraw that letter he had written, the one where his fallen tears had smudged the ink. He had deliberated on sending it even at the time, but in the end his conviction that she would understand had won out and he had sent it to her. Now he regretted that decision very much. In six months, he had lost two friends and Vincent doubted that he would hear from either of them ever again.

Their beloved mountains strewn with police Catherine, nose pressed against the bedroom window of the cabin, watched at her safe distance to the goings on outside. Her father’s figure bobbed into view from time to time, his face ashen, his body uptight, casting worried glances toward the cabin that sent shivers up and down Catherine’s spine. What was he trying to tell her?
What did he know?

It had been six hours already. The first bringing hoards of police and tracker dogs to the scene, the second a large black bag had been brought down the mountain on a stretcher, passing by her window and though she tried not to look, Catherine had found her eyes glued to what was so obviously the body inside. Her mind conjuring up all manner of horrors, trying to see what her father had seen while thankful that she hadn’t. It must have been bad. Her father had been sick for the best part of the day so far, every time he remembered what he had seen.

For an hour’s grace there had been relative peace and he had come into the cabin and had sat silently staring into space for a good ten minutes before he seemed to notice that his daughter was there. “Oh Catherine, what a terrible way to start our holiday.” He didn’t elaborate, but Catherine knew what his heart could not allow him to say, that this murder had spoilt everything they felt for these mountains had robbed them of the joy that they had in coming to the place, would forever mar their happiness and longing to be there. Suddenly Fiji and Trinidad seemed awfully appealing not that such things did not exist in those places, but because there it was expected, here it wasn’t.

“Should we go home?” Catherine ventured to ask. Knowing it was what her father really wanted.

“You don’t mind?” He seemed relieved and uncertain.

“No, in the circumstances, I think it is best. And you don’t look so well to me, daddy.”

“I’ll be all right baby, just give me time to get over the shock.”

“Was it very bad?” Catherine enquired timidly.

“And then some. Honey, believe me, you don’t ever want to know.”

“Would you like some coffee?” She wasn’t certain how to handle this, and smiled wryly, why did the offer of tea or coffee always follow a tragedy? What magic did it procure to alter things?

“Not for me, honey. Don’t think I could keep it down right now. Don’t let me stop you though if you’d like one.”

Catherine shivered. “No, I’ll go pack my things instead. Shall I do yours too?”

“Would you? Thank you Cathy. I’ll just sit here and close my eyes for a while, if that’s all right with you. The police will soon return to search for clues and I have to go up to the spot with them and make out a report. I need to prepare myself for that.”

Catherine said nothing, just nodded and made her way to her room her intention plain. Getting home might not completely erase the sights her father had seen, but being back and involved in other things might help to take his mind off of it.

As she packed, Catherine did not notice the top letter she had placed on her bedside table flutter onto the floor and glide beneath the bed. In fact even when she opened the drawer to pull out her personal things and along with them the batch of letters, they did not remind her of the one she had left out to read first, neither did she notice it missing when she picked up other things from off of the bedside cabinet.

Her mind was in turmoil. Her heart was totally with her father and how he was feeling. A shock like that could kill a person. The sooner they were back home and seeing Peter Alcott, their GP, the better she would like it. Finally, straightening and surveying the room to see if she had forgotten anything, Catherine carried her suitcase into the living room satisfied that she had packed everything of importance. The draught of air from the closing of the door floated the sheet of paper penned by Vincent further beneath the bed. It would be another five months before Catherine found it lying here.

“I’ll try not to be gone too long.” Charles Chandler hated having to leave his daughter, especially as it was growing dark but neither did he want to have to stay at the cabin another night. As soon as he had shown the FBI where to contain their search he and his daughter could leave. That moment couldn’t come soon enough. He wouldn’t get any sleep that night, better he spent the time driving back to the city, tired as he was. If the worst come to the worst, Catherine could drive. She had gained her driver’s license several weeks earlier and the practice would be good for her. He planned to buy her a car of her own as a reward for good work on the arrival of her exam results.

“I’ll be all right daddy. I have almost finished packing your bags and when they are done I’ll spend the rest of the time cleaning up here so we can leave the moment you get back.”

“Thank you, honey.” His tone sounded strained, tired. Catherine wanted to erase the frown that had gathered upon his forehead with gentle fingers as she had seen her mother do on occasion for him. She hoped he wouldn’t be gone long. Catherine knew he had to help the police but the toll was telling on him. She wished she could have prevented him from seeing whatever it was that he had, and she wished that they had not gone riding that day. That whomsoever lay upon the mountainside would have lain there oblivious to them until their holiday had been over. Her father had needed this break and now it had been denied him. Maybe she could get him to think about returning to Fiji after all.

The door closed and Catherine was left in silence. It was the time of day that she loved the most in the cabin. The calm before the storm was the way her father looked at it. The moment when the day animals retired to their nests and dens and the night animals awoke. Within the hour, the night would descend and the sounds of owls, foxes, racoons, skunks and black bears around the cabin would be heard. Rustling sounds of animals edging toward the lake to thirst upon the clear cool water before embarking upon a night of hunting.

This night however, every little sound made Catherine jump. She could hear strange sounds, eerie sounds that she had never noticed before. She was sure the rocking chair in her bedroom moved of its own accord, though ever so slight she was sure it was moving now. Poised for flight Catherine listened intently and was certain that she could hear footsteps outside. She froze unwilling to look beyond the shutters, afraid of seeing a strange face pressed to the glass looking within.

When the door handle started to turn, she almost laughed with relief and hurried toward it eager to be enfolded in her father’s arms. Yet the door took an ungodly time to open, almost gingerly, hesitantly and likewise Catherine’s footsteps faltered as she walked toward it, the smile of welcome on her face disappearing as her apprehension grew.
A gloved hand worked its way around the door, one Catherine did not recognise and with a voice that wavered she called, “Who’s there?”

Immediately the door was pulled shut again and Catherine released a long ragged breath, waited a second and moved forward, only jumping back the instance the door handle moved again and the door creaked open.
Whoever it was it wasn’t her father. That on its own brought fear charging to Catherine’s throat and it wasn’t the police or they would have called out first. There was nowhere to hide and nowhere to run and Catherine seized the nearest object to hand. A rolling pin, it was the best she could do in the circumstances, but it alone gave her courage she did not feel as she waited, eyes wide, breathing shallow, for the door to open fully and reveal this intruder of the night.

The worst of it all of course was that he had allowed himself to dream. Always knowing that the usual sort of relationships were never for him, Lisa’s company had altered that opinion gently, bit by bit like cool soothing waves upon hot sand although he grinned wryly for the total opposite had occurred. It had in fact, been him that had become like the scorching heat of the sun as his emotions had turned into desire for his young companion. He really had thought that she had felt the same. That was the worst of it. He had misread? Misjudged? The situation badly, having had no other experience to go on. Perhaps even Lisa did not realise. Perhaps in all fairness rather than flirt with him she had just been dancing to a captivated audience, believing that he just enjoyed seeing her dance. How could she have known that watching her had set his soul aflame? How could she have predicted that to suggest that the two of them be alone together was giving off any other signal but that of friendship? Of giving him the best seat in the house, and the privilege of seeing her dance privately before she embraced the world?

Oh how he berated himself now for those dreams. For that silly notion that she would welcome any advances of a sexual, romantic nature, from him! His actions had cost him Lisa’s friendship and his telling of it had cost him Catherine’s too. That too, was a bitter pill to swallow. They’d been corresponding for almost ten years, had shared dreams and sorrows. He thought he knew her, this woman of the world just as he had thought he knew Lisa. But he had been a fool, a blind silly fool, and he should have known better should have listened to Father that such things for him, could never be.

Well it had been a hard lesson, a dreadful mistake but he would learn from it. No more would he take friendships at face value. From now on, he would be secretive, give of himself when asked but not offer guidance, affection, and friendship unless someone made it acutely plain that was what they required of him.

Looking at the solid wall of crystal, Vincent symbolically placed piece by hardened piece around his heart in an attempt to guard himself from future heartache. This must never happen again. The pain, the embarrassment was too much. He could not bear it.

So, he would live his life as one, one different from the rest an outsider in many respects. Accepted yes, loved yes, but not by a woman, for what single woman could show him unconditional love such as he yearned for? Had not his mother disregarded him? If she could then he had to face it so would every woman. Never would he lay his head to a breast, never would he feel the embrace of a woman that adored him.

Vincent’s heart broke a little more as he contemplated his future his hollow, bitter future. How he would cope, he did not know. His dreams had shattered and he would allow himself the beauty of no other. For to sink into unreality - into fantasy, brought only pain and disillusionment. Father had managed all alone and he would too. He would concentrate on the needs of the children. At least they accepted and returned his love. Yes, from now on he would love only the children.

From his breast pocket, he took out a sheaf of papers letters from Catherine. His first intention had been to burn them, but he found the striking of the match impossible. His hands shook and his heart grieved him. When a slight breeze blew out the match, Vincent took it as a sign not to destroy them, but instead to place them inside an iron box and bury them in the sandy floor of the Crystal cavern. He seldom came to the place and when he did he would dig them up, and if he felt capable he would read through them again and remember the joy of having found a friend from the world above. But he would not dream that they might meet and fall in love. Such things were not for him and besides it would appear that he would never hear from Catherine again. That grieved him more than he cared to admit. He had unburdened himself in that letter, the one where his tears had smudged the ink. He had sobbed as he had written of his loss for Lisa. He had thought Catherine of all people would understand. He had been there for her when her mother had died. He did not doubt that she would return the favour and heal him as she had told him he had healed her. But in that too, he had been wrong. Well from now on, he would choose his friends carefully and not place all his trust in them no matter how they appeared to care for him. Heartache hurt, it hurt terribly and he could quite understand why some men died of it. Why some women committed suicide at the loss of a love one. Yes, he understood now. Even the poetry he had read and believed to have understood, took on a deeper, more fulfilling meaning since he had been subjected to heartache of his own but what a way to know. Vincent would have preferred not to have had that experience, more than anything.

The saddest thing of all though, the saddest most frightening thought of all was the years ahead. At 19 he was still a teenager, in many respects still a child and always learning. But the thought of spending X number of years alone filled Vincent with the deepest hurt possible. He knew Father’s wisdom would take away some of the pain but Father was getting on in years too, he wouldn’t always be there to shoulder Vincent’s emotions, his depressions and outrage. There would come a time when Vincent would have to take stock of his own life and possibly take charge as Father had done. People would in time look up to him. Could he become the source of wisdom and guidance that they so desperately needed? And how much knowledge could he really impart?

It was all becoming too much too soon too much to think about. He had to slow down and not think about things that might not happen for decades, but could just as easily happen next week, tomorrow even. Yet, Vincent did not want to dwell on such things now. Already he had had more than his fair share of responsibilities gone wrong. He had been responsible to Lisa, and that had gone wrong. He had supposed to be a friend to Catherine and that had gone wrong. But why, why on earth had unburdening himself of his love for Lisa to Catherine stopped her from writing to him? His following letters had begged her to reply, to explain how he had offended her. Some were full of apologies hoping she would forgive him. And then when he had found out that Peter had been away and all the letters had piled up and Catherine had not received them he was jubilant and had written to Peter asking for him to bring them back, so that he might sift through them and pull out the ones he had considered improper. But Peter had not seen his note until he had given Charles Chandler the batch of letters, and it had been too late. Even so, Catherine had had the chance to write, and Vincent had put himself over the hot coals all over again waiting, hoping anticipating a letter that did not arrive.
When it had not come, Vincent had planned for this trip to the crystal cavern expecting that here he would close another chapter of his life, and start a fresh one on his return.

With that thought in mind, Vincent delayed no more. He dug the hole, placed the letter filled box within and covered it over again. “Goodbye Catherine.” He whispered as the box disappeared from view, “Our friendship was nice while it lasted.” Who was he kidding? Their friendship had been beautiful; he had treasured what they had shared. Still it was over, he must remember that just as his dream with Lisa was over. Gathering his things together, Vincent stood and prepared to leave, one backward glance lingering over the place where he had buried the box and again whispered, “Goodbye Lisa, goodbye Catherine,” before starting out on the long journey home with a heavy heart and eyes blinded by sorrow.