When it came his voice startled her, “Where are you?” Yet, even so, his words brought a rush of relief as she decided he sounded friendly. How wrong could she be?

“Here.” She replied timidly and froze as he turned and she saw the blood soaked garments that he wore. Invisible hands seized Catherine’s throat rendering her unable to speak and she thrashed out with all her might with the wooden and marble object in her hands. He ducked each blow swiftly, even as he stepped toward her his eyes dark and thunderous, his mouth twisted into a sneer as he told her, “You don’t want to do that young lady. I’m not nice when I’m angry.” Throwing the rolling pin hard against his face Catherine heard the thwack as it struck bone and as he staggered she bolted for the door wrenching it open and rounding it even as he grabbed her arm in passing.

Adrenaline kicked in, Catherine fought and kicked, clawed and bit the arm that held her until he finally let go and she took off slipping on the dampened grass her eyes darting this way and that as she sought her escape.

Close behind, she heard him running, slip sliding on the wet grass, cursing as he followed her, endeavouring to cut her off, even though she knew not where she headed. There was nothing but open space, and though she knew her father to be up the mountain, she knew that dashing uphill would not gain her any ground over her pursuer’s long strides. She twisted, turning in mid stroke as he lunged for her and saw him fall to her left colliding with an outcrop of rock, feeling triumphant when she heard him curse and knew she had gained some distance. Ahead of her was her father’s car, she dismissed it as being locked, probably her pursuer had already tried that, but as she neared the vehicle she tried the handle anyway, jubilant when it clicked open. Throwing herself inside, she slammed down the safety catches, and sought the spare set of keys above the sun visor. They were gone!

“Looking for these?” Fear clutched at her heart as she looked up to see the man holding up a set of keys in one hand and her skin turned to ice as she noticed the glint of the axe her father used to chop logs in the other.

There was nothing else for it; she would throw herself onto the car horn and stay there, knowing that her life was ticking away. Any moment now the axe would come crashing through the window and she would be at his mercy. Still she had to try and so with her chest pressing tightly against it, the horn blared out eerily echoing for miles and miles leaving Catherine to hope and pray that the horrifying blade now hurtling toward her would bring death swiftly to her young life.

Strange, but her last thought before the windscreen shattered, was not of her father, or of her mother as she would have supposed, but of her pen friend Vincent, a young man whom she had never even met.

“Vincent, you’re home? Was your trip rewarding?” Father’s face beamed at the sight of his son. It had only been three days, but it had seemed more like three months. Father worried so when Vincent was gone. Especially when he knew how venerable his son was at present. The experience with Lisa had cost his son much of his former joy of living and Father knew that the city girl had not eased the situation in any way. Had she of been there for him at a time when he most needed a friend Vincent might not have faced the predicament he faced now. For Father could see loneliness etched upon his son’s features even though Vincent replied that the trip had certainly done him good.

“Nothing untoward has transpired in your absence. You chose a good time to go. In fact we have all had quite a restful weekend. I expect that is what you aim to do now is it? Mary has placed clean linen on your bed, and some hot water bottles were placed within the sheets not long ago in anticipation of your arrival home.”

“Thank you Father.” Vincent bent and placed a soft kiss upon his parent’s brow, “I shall retire shortly. First a cup of tea I think.”

“Of course. How silly of me, I should have thought.” Father made to rise, but Vincent, with one hand to his father’s shoulder eased him down again, “I’ll make it Father. You rest. My legs are younger than yours.”

Father chuckled. How often had he told Vincent those same words? Certainly, this trip away had changed his son. Or maybe circumstances had done that to him. The bitter pill of adolescence and his first and probably, hopefully, Father almost snorted, last romance.

The tea made, father and son sat happy in one another’s company sipping their brew. Father watched his son over the rim of his glasses, unable to see through them for steam. His eyes were ever watchful, ever knowing. “How are you Vincent?” He asked at length. “How are you, really?”

“I’ll survive.” Vincent told him with a sigh. “The past is gone Father, let’s not dwell on it another day. I left it behind at the crystal cavern. This is the first day of the rest of my life and I want no reminders as to what led me here.”

Father nodded understanding totally. Surprised though when Vincent suddenly asked, “Have any letters arrived for me while I have been gone?”

Father shook his head, wondering even as he did so whether or not he would have handed them over even if the hoped for letters had arrived. From here on Vincent could heal, anything else might cause another setback. It would probably in all fairness be better if Vincent never heard from the young girl again. He could come to terms with it as two friends outgrowing one another. Still, Father had to admit, he too was grieved as to why she had stopped writing to his son. Had Peter told her what Vincent’s differences were? He had promised never to divulge that information, but had he? It would certainly make sense. Father wondered if the thought had crossed Vincent’s mind. He hoped not for that could only make matters worse. Still it would not be the first time someone had tossed Vincent aside for his looks, had not his own mother...still they could only speculate on those circumstances...even so...

“I think I will go and rest now Father if you do not mind?” Vincent replaced his teacup to the tray from where he had taken it and headed for the chamber entrance his pack slung over one shoulder.

“Of course, Vincent. I’ll ask Geoffrey or Kipper to bring dinner to you. Don’t worry about any duties. The morning will come around soon enough, you just rest.”

Vincent smiled, kissed his father and exited, a huge sigh of relief escaping as he entered the tunnel beyond.

Father had asked no leading questions as to his trip, and for that Vincent was grateful. After all what could he tell him that would not make him worry? From now on, he would live out his life dutifully fulfilling the way set for him, as in automation, knowing that for him even dreams did not exist.
A lonely life, a life of existence until he took his last breath. Vincent hoped he would not live too long.

“What’s that?” Coming down the mountain one of the three men that had accompanied Charles Chandler back to the cabin stopped to listen.

“Sounds like a car horn.” Replied another. “Or have you got a burglar alarm fitted on your vehicle Mr Chandler?”

“No.” Charles picked up his pace, “It is a car horn. My car horn, Catherine must be in trouble.”

“Your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“How old is she?”

“Seventeen. I told her to stay in the cabin. Obviously, something dreadful has happened. Why would she be in the car?”

The four men hurried now running downhill as carefully as they could ever watchful by the torchlight for roots that might trip them. “Maybe she went out for some wood for the fire.”

“Yeah,” another went on, “Possibly got spooked by a black bear ambling by.”

“Catherine is used to the animals round these parts. I’ve never known her that frightened of bears before.” At the back of his mind Charles was uneasy. Rather than the body having lain there for days as he had supposed, they had found out that it had been put there earlier that morning. It was possible that whomsoever laid it there was still on the mountain.

“What’s that?” A sound of splintered glass sounded amid the blare of the horn and Charles ran faster heedless of the terrain.

None of them spoke now, just ran, allowing adrenaline to kick in, even more so as amid the sounds of owl and fox a human scream split the night.

“It is Catherine!” Charles shouted then as loud as he could he bellowed; “Catherine! Catherine! We’re coming honey. Hold on!” Beneath his breath he added, 'whatever it is, hold on honey, we’ll soon be there.'

Racing into the clearing situated around the cabin, the four men could at first see little but the glare of headlights, though the sound of crunching was clearly noticeable. It was coming from behind the cabin, where the bushes grew between loose granite.

"Sam, Ray you go see what that is I'll stay with Mr Chandler.” At the command of their superior the two men ran in the direction of the crunching and cursing as someone obviously slipped and stumbled on loose ground.

Charles ran around to the side of his car, shock and fear etched upon his features as he saw the smashed glass, and the ashen white face of his daughter staring straight ahead. He sprang forward intent on yanking open the door and found it to be locked. “Cathy, open the door honey. It's me, dad.”
He tripped then, something lay at his feet, and Charles bent to survey it with the beam of his torch and froze. An axe! Colour drained from his face as he took in the picture presented before him. He felt sick. Someone had tried to kill his daughter. No wonder she was in such a state. She neither blinked nor turned her head just kept staring into space like a zombie.

“My God!” A voice sounded at the side of him and he did not need to turn to know it was the member of the police force that had stayed with him. “That’s an axe! What in God’s name went on here?”

“Isn’t it obvious!” Charles snapped. “That psycho has tried to kill my daughter! Get an ambulance up here can you? She’s in shock!”

The fellow ambled away taking his radio from his top pocket as he went and made the necessary calls. His face wore an expression of immense fear. He had sent two of his youngest colleagues after that lunatic and there was no way of knowing if he was armed or not. His heart ached for the young woman inside the car. They should have returned sooner should have realised the moment they heard by radio that the body had been placed there only that morning; that there was a possibility of the murderer still being in the mountains. He should have made certain that he not only set to in taking Charles Chandler and his daughter to safety, but also had checked on the other inhabitants of the mountains. That was the other people renting or living in cabins. But he had done none of those things, being absorbed as he was in the murder enquiry. Few things this exciting happened in these parts.

“They’re on their way. We need to keep her warm, can you get her out of the car, Sir?” Well he’d make up for his lack of efficiency now; at least he knew his first aid measures. A shot of brandy or hot sweet tea wouldn’t go amiss either, for any of them.

The sound of snapping bracken drew his attention away from Charles who having unlocked the door by carefully inserting his hand through the broken window was helping his daughter from the seat.

“Who’s that?” He called warily, sighing with relief when he heard one of his two colleagues answer.

“Its Ray. I lost them Edward, I couldn’t keep up. I’m sorry.”

Edward paled again, as nausea churned in the pit of his stomach, “You lost them. What do you mean by them? And where’s Sam?”

“That’s what I mean. I lost sight of Sam and whatever he was pursuing. I called for ages, but Sam didn’t answer at all.”

Edward felt someone walk over his grave. He didn’t like the sound of that one bit.

“How’s the young lady?” Ray asked walking toward the car. He could tell by her appearance that something was terribly wrong. What on earth had she seen to render her thus? And what had happened here. “Was it a bear?”

“A bear, my foot!” Roared Charles. “Does a bear wield an axe for God’s sake? Does this look like a bear attack?” Immediately contrite, Charles apologised, how was the fellow to know what they had discovered in his absence?

The sound of approaching sirens stilled each one in his thinking, first things first. The young woman must get to hospital; her father should go with her. The car could be taken down the mountain at first light.

“I wouldn’t come back up here Sir, if you don’t mind me saying. Where are your things? Best you take them with you now. Someone will return the car to you after it has been checked for finger prints.”

Charles nodded and pointed toward the cabin, “Catherine was packing while we went up the mountain. See if she got it finished.” His words trembled as the thought presented itself of what might have taken place inside the cabin. Had Catherine been inside or out when all this had taken place? What might he have found if she hadn’t been able to lock herself in the car? What might he have saved her if he had only left the keys in the ignition? Charles found his head spinning with possibilities. He hated to see his daughter like this. Supposing she never spoke again? Supposing the trauma rendered her an egghead for the rest of her life? That thought alone was the one that set the tears streaming down his cheeks, his beautiful talented daughter a vegetable for the rest of her life.

As the ambulance came into view, Charles responded on automation. Guiding his daughter with one arm about her tiny frame and holding a car rug around her shoulders his other clasped her ice cold hands in his he took her toward the vehicle as it came to a halt alongside his own. And then two paramedics, a man and a woman, jumped out from the cab and took charge of the situation.

“What is her name?”

“Its Catherine.” Charles relinquished his hold on his daughter with some apprehension.

“You can let her go, she’ll be in good hands now, Sir.”

“She was before! I’m her father!” Charles snapped.

“Sorry. You know what I mean.” The paramedic searched Charles eyes, his own filled with sympathy, and Charles was immediately apologetic for his outburst. “Yes, I do, I’m sorry, please forgive me. Its just that...” He was unable to go on. Suddenly everything seemed too much. The ghastly nightmare was never ending.

“I think we should have you in as a patient too Sir, if you don’t mind me saying. You look about all in. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but how about you letting us get on with our job and get you both comfortable inside the ambulance?”

Charles nodded. He did feel awfully weak, and old. And the shivers had started… he’d had one shock too many this day. He wished they could wake up and find it had never happened. He longed to start the day again to see Catherine smile. Hear her laughter. This wan frightened girl was a mere shadow of the vibrant young lady that she was only hours earlier. A lump formed in Charles throat. To think they had anticipated this holiday with such joy, to come here and be close to the memories of days spent with his dear wife Caroline, Catherine’s mother, and now all that spoilt forever by the unspeakable horror of what had been discovered and what had taken place this day. It would never ever be the same again. Charles shuddered, in fact, he couldn’t ever visualise wanting to return. And that too grieved him. Some lunatic had robbed his daughter of another piece of her mother and in many respects that hurt more than everything that had happened that day put together.

“Vincent I wonder if you would mind doing me a favour?” Father asked his son on the very same day that Catherine and her father left the hospital to make the trip home to Manhattan.

“What’s that Father?” Vincent was mildly interested. He had his nose in a book, and a very good book at that. In truth, he would rather not have been disturbed, but if his father needed help, well the book would always be there when he came back. Well it would if he hid it. Every tunnel member read books avidly and new ones were pounced upon like gold dust.

“I haven’t heard anything of Narcissa for a long time. I know you have a fondness for the old witch...er I mean woman...I thought you might like to pay her a visit, take her some supplies, you know the sort of thing?”

Vincent laughed as he saw his father’s discomfort. He knew that Father thought of Narcissa as a witch, it was funny that he had spoken his feelings aloud without meaning to. But his request was something of a surprise, Narcissa was quite able to order and collect the supplies she needed without Father’s interference, in fact as the pair rarely saw eye to eye, Vincent wondered why Father was indeed concerned for the old woman’s welfare at all.

“Is there something I should know?” Vincent asked laying his book to one side. Temporarily forgotten the book took second place to the look in Father’s eyes, good as it was.

“Know? What is there to know?” Father averted his gaze and began to fiddle with things, his mind quite obviously seeking distraction.

Vincent thought of pursuing it, but decided against, however it rankled that his father was up to something. Something that did not concern Narcissa’s welfare at all, but rather, if Vincent was right, and he usually was, meant that Father wanted Vincent out of the way for the day. For no one lived further a field than Narcissa did and it would take a good day to visit with her and return.

“As you wish.” Vincent walked over to his father’s side, “When would you have me go? Now?”

“No, no not now. I thought tomorrow. Would that be all right?”

“Tomorrow is fine, but if you are concerned about Narcissa, I would have thought today would have been better. And I am free and willing to go.”

Father searched his son’s face for clues. What had he discovered? Had he seen through the facade? Worse still, was he wrong to insist on his son taking this journey? Wasn’t it better to tell him why he wanted him absence from the home chambers on the following day? Ever since Father had received Peter’s letter, he had been on tender hooks about this. He didn’t like strangers at the best of times but to have a request that one visit put Father on edge. What if they were to see Vincent? What then?

“What is it Father?” Vincent couldn’t help but ask. The vague distracted look that passed over his father’s face concerned him greatly. “What’s wrong? Why do you want me out of the way for a whole day?”

Despite himself, Father had the grace to grin, “There’s no fooling you is there?” He asked his son. “What’s so wrong with my requesting that you visit with Narcissa?”

“Because I know you Father. And you forget that that old witch as you fondly call her, fills my head with rubbish, or so you insist, and I cannot fathom for one moment why you should wish for me to visit with her when you feel so strongly against the things that she tells me. So come, give. Why do you want me out of the way for a whole day?” Vincent’s blue eyes twinkled.

“So, I’m that transparent am I?” Father voiced with a grin. Vincent nodded, standing with his arms folded in front of him offering a no nonsense stance as he waited.

“Oh if I must!” Father snorted and settling himself back into his favourite winged chair, leaned forward and extracted a sheet of paper from his desk drawer. “You can sit down Vincent, you are making me nervous.”

Vincent laughed, taking back his seat of moments earlier.

“I have a letter from Peter.” He held it up waved it to and fro before his face, and then pushing his spectacles further up onto his nose placed the letter before him and began to read.

“Dear Jacob,

I want to ask a very important favour of you. You remember the young lady that Vincent has been writing to over the past few years, well it seems that she has got herself into a spot of bother.” Father paused here and looking directly at Vincent told him, “I thought Peter was going to say she had got herself pregnant. I thought I would be sat here telling you that was why you hadn’t heard from her. I thought Peter was going to suggest that we offer her sanctuary, and I am afraid that I was on the defensive when I read on.” For a few moments more, Father searched Vincent’s face for clues, when none were forthcoming, he went on with the letter.

“Last week, Catherine and her father went to their holiday home where they stumbled upon a body in the mountains.” Vincent sucked in a breath here, picturing the shock that would cause to his young friend.

“It wasn’t a pleasant experience but they would have coped in time. However, the worst was yet to come. While Charles was showing the FBI the spot, the psychopath that caused the murder attacked Catherine in her car, and though she was unharmed...” Father cringed as Vincent stood and roared.
“Vincent please...sit down...save your outburst till I’ve finished.” Vincent sat uneasily. He was angry, furious that anyone could attempt such a thing to a friend of his even one that had blatantly ignored him when he had needed her the most.

“As I was saying," Father took up the narrative where he had left off, "...though she was unharmed, the experience left Catherine traumatised and she is undergoing counsel to help her recover. However, that was not all. One member of the police force who had given chase to the maniac was later found stabbed to death and this mad man is still on the loose. Obviously, the whole of the NYPD are incensed at these murders and attempted murder, and know that Catherine is the only witness to the murderer's identity. In cases like these, usually it is a straightforward matter of police protection, or witness protection, and especially as Charles Chandler is an attorney, he knows the strings to pull to protect his daughter. But though they have tried all of these things Charles has received threats on his answer phone both at home and at his office against his daughter’s life. And Catherine herself was sent a dozen red roses with a card edged with blood with the words; ‘You’re dead meat.’ inscribed in blood upon it. Naturally Charles and Catherine are very much afraid, and when they leave the hospital on Wednesday, they will have no safe place to go...which leads me to you.” Father paused again here. “I don’t have to tell you what this means Vincent. Peter’s letter makes it plain enough but how do you feel about it? This was the girl that deserted you when you needed her the most and you two have never met for God’s sake. You don’t need me to tell you that doing so could in all fairness take her over the edge after what she has experienced as sorry as I am to say it.” And he was sorry but there it was. What would it do to the young woman to see what Vincent looked like after all she had endured? Vincent understood at once and he was furious, beginning his notorious pacing with vigour.

“On the other hand...” Father spoke almost as if to himself as he watched his son’s mighty power glisten before his eyes, “You might make her feel protected. Your presence, the way you look, your immense physical strength could make her take refuge beneath the shadow of your wings so to speak. You might find that you will provide her with a safe place from the storm.”

Vincent stopped his pacing as the new thought presented itself. Was he hearing right? Was his father allowing this person, this stranger to come into their midst and suggesting those possibilities for her benefit or were they for his? Had Father deemed that he had said too much, perhaps the wrong thing in airing his views and was now hastening to make amends with poetic phrases?

Still whatever the reason the fact presented itself in stark reality, Catherine needed sanctuary, and they could provide it. No one would find her down here. She would be safe until she needed to identify the man but what if they never caught him? How long was it possible for her to stay? There was no answer to that question, it bordered on too many possibilities and they would have to cross that bridge if and when they came to it.

“My main concern...” Father was saying, breaking through Vincent’s reverie, “Is you.” Father looked at his son anxiously.

“Me? Why me, Father?”

“What having her here will do for you.” He didn’t have to say it, but he did so anyway, “After Lisa I mean.”

Vincent laughed and Father caught up in the nature of the outburst laughed with him, “Father, I think you have been reading too many romances, besides wasn’t it you yourself that admonished, once bitten twice shy when I told you how I had fared down in the crystal cavern. I want nothing to take me through that kind of experience again you know that. I shouldn’t worry Father, whatever there is between Catherine and I, know this that I see it as nothing more than friendship.”

Father breathed a sigh of relief, “So we’ll let her come then? Oh I know ours isn’t the final decision, but in the circumstances I’m sure the council will not stand in her way.”

“What of her father? Surely, it will be a risk for him to visit. He could be followed?”

“Peter’s letter makes mention to this fact. Both father and daughter will visit the tunnels... Lord, it might be that neither could contemplate staying here when they see the way we live and we’ll be worrying unduly, but from what Peter was saying once Charles has satisfied himself that he isn’t taking his daughter out of the frying pan and into the fire, he will keep well away. He knows his daughters’ life is at stake here and difficult as it may be he will leave well alone.”

“Well that’s something to be thankful for. So when are they arriving? Tomorrow I take it?”

“Yes tomorrow. They are leaving today and spending the night at Peter’s.”

“Is that wise? Why could they not come straight here when they arrive back in the city?”

“No reason. I just couldn’t think of a plausible excuse to have you away for the whole day until tomorrow.”

“Well, now you don’t need one. Send word to Peter and assemble the council then the moment Catherine and her father reach Manhattan we’ll have them brought below without delay. Anything could happen between today and tomorrow so the sooner Catherine is installed Below the better.”

Father nodded, “I couldn’t agree more.” And since his son had made it plain that he would have no romantic notions with the young woman from above, Father hastened to make plans for her arrival more at ease than he had been since Peter’s request had arrived.