At first he thought it was the police and it had given him a sense of security that they were looking after him, but then the car directly behind had turned off leaving the one following directly on his tail. Then in his rear-view mirror, he had gasped! The driver looked uncannily like the photo fit that Catherine had had made up. From that moment on, Charles, palms sweaty, pulse racing had tried to lose him to no avail, always he kept pace, always he negotiated where Charles was heading and would come out behind him again several blocks up.

Being followed by a psychopath, Charles had never been in such danger. He had watched a documentary once where such people told of their methods. They would watch an intended victim for weeks, months, even a year before striking. But once they had chosen that victim, there was absolutely no way the person would ever get away from them. From the moment the choice was made the victim was as good as dead. Sometimes they even befriended that one, earned their trust.

This wouldn't be the case though, for Charles knew, that he knew, he had been recognised. As much as he tried to stay calm, he knew he accelerated sometimes breaking the speed limit in a bid to outsmart the fellow. He never did. The guy always seemed to anticipate his next move and was one step ahead.

What worried Charles the most was who was the victim here. Was the intention of the psycho to follow him in the hope he would lead him to Catherine? Or was his intention to hurt Charles in order to bring Catherine out of hiding? Either way Charles now realising for a certainty that he was being followed decided not to go to the police after all but rather to visit Peter.

Thus walking into Peter's surgery later that morning Charles was agitated as he awaited his turn flipping through some magazines without seeing and wondering about what he was going to propose.

Peter finished with his last patient just before noon, and as Charles prepared to knock on his office door, the outer door opened and idly looking to see who it was Charles gasped! He was certain that it was the fellow who had been following him!

For a few nerve-racking seconds the fellow stared at Charles then taking up a seat on the opposite side of the room, picked up a magazine intent, it seemed, on reading.

Sweat broke out on Charles brow. There was one thing, Catherine had been right. Assuming that this was the psycho she had seen. At any rate, those dark eyes seemed to look right through him. There had been no emotion within their depths whatsoever. And he didn’t know what kind of trick the fellow was playing but Charles was very much concerned with the long ride down in the elevator back to his vehicle beneath the building when he had finished his visit with Peter.

Suddenly a buzzer sounded making Charles jump and Peter’s voice came over the Intercom. "Next please."

Charles rose, his heart hammering, his eyes averted on the fellow trying to take in every aspect of his appearance. He supposed he should tackle him, supposed he should call the police. But he knew he had to be careful. If the fellow could blazingly walk into the same room as him then he must have come prepared for anything.

His eyes, therefore fixed upon the fellow, Charles entered Peter's office, closing the door quickly behind him and in a hushed whisper blurted, "Peter! Call the cops. That psycho is outside."

For a moment Peter thought he was joking, till he realised Charles would never joke about something so serious. "Your sure?" He asked reaching for the phone.

"Sure, I'm sure. He followed me right on in here. Been following me for four days now. He's in the waiting room I tell you, call the cops."

"It's not that I don't believe you. But if he's here, it could be a coincidence. It could be that he is a patient. Far better for everyone concerned if I put a name to the face. Just give me a minute." Peter rose coming round to Charles side of the desk his intention plain as he headed for the door.

"No!" Charles grabbed his arm, "He's dangerous. He might have a knife, or worse a gun."

"Then I'll take a look through the two way mirror. Don't worry Charles, he won't see me."

Charles wasn't convinced, and he watched nervously as Peter sidestepped the outer door and entered a small room that Charles had always supposed to be a cupboard. Now he could see it was some sort of lab, with a large two-way mirror in one wall over looking the waiting area.

"I can't see anyone." Peter called softly. "Where was he sat?"

"Straight across from the door. He's probably behind the panel."

"If he was, I'd see him. The mirror positioned opposite affords me the chance of seeing all areas of the room. And its empty Charles. There is no one out there."

"He was there!" Standing and pushing back his seat Charles made for the door, yanking it open before avidly searching the waiting room. It was empty. "He was there I tell you!" He came back into the room, where Peter was now standing beside his desk a look of sympathy on his face.

"Why are you here Charles? Were you feeling unwell?" Peter reached a hand to check Charles brow.

"I'm not hallucinating if that's what you are thinking! Peter he was there! I saw him. We stared at one another before he went to read a magazine. His eyes, Peter...they are just as Catherine described them. Deep and unfeeling, void of emotion. Just like a shark."

Peter looked at his friend with concern and sighing deeply, told him "I think you've been overdoing it Charles. You need to take a break."

"You don't believe me do you?" Charles tone was flat, despondent. When his best friend didn't believe him, who would? It was as well he hadn't gone to the police.

"I want to, but Charles, see for yourself. No one is out there." Peter shrugged, "Its hard to believe in something that's not there. A bit like God really."

"Except with God all his works are around us, plainly proving his existence. And if there were some way to prove that that psycho has been following me I'd prove it, but you only have my word."

"It's not good enough Charles, I'm sorry. See it from my point of view. I see cases like this every day. Caused by stress most of the time, that and a bad experience. Like the one you have endured recently. And you've got to admit it does sound far-fetched. Why would the fellow come here anyway?"

"He was there." Charles spoke flatly.

"Okay. Have it your way. In the meantime, would you accept some medication? And you never actually told me why you had come here today?"

"He was following me. I didn't want to go to the police. I thought of you."

"Very flattering, thank you. However, that only tells me that your subconscious is well aware that you needed to see a doctor. What you saw or thought you saw, was not necessarily so."

"I thought of you, for one reason only!" Charles almost snapped as his patience wore thin. "I hoped that you could get me a place where Cathy is. I think we would both be safer there."

"You want to go below?"

"Keep your voice down." Charles had a sudden thought, "Hey are you sure that intercom is off?"

Peter checked it, "Yes, I'm sure." For a moment he panicked, understanding what Charles was thinking at once. He breathed deeply with relief, it was definitely turned off.

"You want to go below?" Peter asked at a whisper. Even with the intercom switched off he felt jumpy. Briefly he wondered why Charles could make him feel like that. He' d only been seeing things after all.

"Yes. I think it would be best. I can't stand it Peter. Waiting for him to strike. He's following me to get to Catherine." For the first time since his arrival Peter wondered if Charles might be telling the truth. That is, might really have been followed as he maintained. Certainly that idea made sense. If the psycho was following Charles to find Catherine then it really was a possibility. Peter chided himself on his stupidity. He hadn't realised that the psycho might do that. He had thought that Charles was saying, that the fellow was following him now instead of Catherine and Peter could see no reason why that should be so.

"Why didn't you ring me? We could have discussed this over dinner." Peter asked.

"Mainly because I wanted the guy to assume I needed to see my doctor. I have realised these past four days that he anticipates my every move. And for once I was one step ahead of him, I hope..." Charles voice trailed away as he hoped with all his might that to be so. The last thing he wanted was to have the fellow following Peter. He went on; "If he thought for one moment that you and I were closer than GP and patient then he could start to hound you in my absence. I thought this way was safest."

Peter nodded, "Yes I see your point of view, and thank you for thinking of me. Charles, I hope you are wrong. I hope that this is just coincidence, but a little voice deep inside keeps reminding me that you have always been sound of reason, and though you have had a traumatic experience recently, the chances are that you right in what you suppose. I'll get word below at once. Do you want to go home first to fetch anything? I really think you ought to bring the police in on this. Have them escort you home and back into town again."

"You really think I should? I thought at first to leave them out of it, then when he showed up I didn't want them missing an opportunity like this. Now he's gone, though I suspect he's close, it really puts the wind up me. Call the cops Peter. Tell them I'll wait here for them."

"Will do." Peter checked his watch. "My receptionist should be back from her visit to the dentist soon. I'll just leave a note for her on her desk not to disturb us, and then I'll make that call."

Leaving Charles for the briefest of moments, Peter made his way to the waiting room, heading for his receptionists desk. It was here he paused; something prickled the back of his neck as he became aware of a feeling, a pervading scent wafting near by. He'd smelt that somewhere before. It was warm, coppery, he could sense the heat in the scent and glancing over his receptionist's desk he staggered as his eyes beheld the most horrendous sight he had ever seen.

And then Peter screamed.

Head in hands Vincent sobbed, his tears slipping between his fingers to trickle down his arm and he seemed not to notice that they fell on the words spread across his journal, blotching the ink.

Two days ago he had kissed Catherine at the mirror pool, and ever since then she had avoided him. Why oh why had he done it?

Something about the situation he supposed, but then he had swum a thousand times with young women from the tunnels, he had never become so aroused in their company so why now? What was it about Catherine, that made him aware of her every thought, every emotion, every desire? And why, when her longing had become his, did she avoid him now? Why when he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the yearning to be kissed had come from her, did she now not seek him out? She'd had plenty of opportunity. He'd not left his chamber in two days, too embarrassed to face anyone, feeling everyone would know what had happened though of course that was impossible.

It was also impossible that Catherine was avoiding him deliberately. She too, had spent a restless two days. Something was happening. Something that she had little control over and something that was unexpected, forbidden and downright stupid. How could she have a relationship with one such as he? Why should she want to? And why could she not get the thought of his kiss out of her head?

Of similar thought, the memory of that kiss played out in Vincent's tired mind over and over. The touch of her lips beneath his, the warmth, the lush soft flesh yielding to him for the briefest of moments. Vincent thought he would die of embarrassment and longing each time he recalled it to mind.

Catherine was his friend, nothing more. She trusted him, welcomed him as a confidante. And he had betrayed that trust. But why? That was the very thing he could not understand. Why? After everything that had happened with Lisa, he had admonished himself never to hurt a woman again. Never to touch a woman, want a woman in that way ever again, never even to dwell on such possibilities. Never to allow himself to dream.

Yet Catherine had wanted this. He had felt it from her. Knew her needs, could feel her heightened sense of sexuality reaching out to him. Her desire when she had seen his body for the first time. Had gloried in her acceptance of him. He couldn't therefore understand her horror when she had pushed him away, her blatant refusal to return his kiss.

Head in hands, Vincent looked without seeing at the blurred print of his journal. He'd tried to write everything down, everything that had taken place, tried to make some sense of it yet all it had done was reduce him to tears and the worst of it all was losing Catherine's friendship.

From now on would it forever be this way? Every time he found someone who he thought he could trust would he frighten them away by his blind belief that they might be able to love him?

As he sat there musing on his loss of Catherine’s friendship a slight movement from the doorway caught his attention, but not enough to rouse him until he heard a whisper calling his name. "Vincent? Vincent?"

Looking up he couldn't believe whom he saw. Catherine, standing nervously, her eyes wide and luminous in the light from a dozen candles as she asked timidly, "May I come in, Vincent?"

He nodded, unable to find his voice, the flat of his hands brushing the telltale tears from his cheeks and watched her warily as she moved across the room toward him.

"I'm so sorry, Vincent."

She was sorry! Aghast, Vincent stared at her. "You have nothing for which to feel sorry for, Catherine. It is I, who should apologise."

Walking in to the chamber, Catherine shook her head whispering softly, "No." Then for a long timeless moment she stared down at Vincent, knowing exactly what she had to do and he watched mesmerised as she leaned slowly toward him to bring her lips to his, kissing him tenderly.

His eyes opened wide, but he did not pull back, neither did he part his lips beneath hers. Just allowed himself the joy of feeling her lips against his, warm and oh so willing. His heart raced and heat thundered through his body at lightening speed as she stepped closer her intention to place her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. It was then that Vincent drew away, watching her with wary eyes; unsure as to the game she was playing. Lisa too had played games, and he had given over his heart to her and she had slung it back at him. Vincent was afraid. Was Catherine playing games too?

Searching his eyes for clues Catherine watched him, anticipating his move, while daring not to hope anything from him, just wanted him to know that she was sorry for her reaction of the other night, that he could kiss her anytime he liked.

They stared at one another, saying nothing. Two hearts beating rapidly, the temperature of two bodies slowly rising accessing the situation, wondering, waiting for the other to make the next move.

Uncomfortable, Vincent moved in his seat and a shudder ran through him as Catherine leaned in for another kiss. This time he met her half way, his arms coming up and around her pulling her down into his lap, delirious when her small hands clasped behind his neck to pull his mouth to hers.

"Catherine, Catherine." Vincent murmured against her lips. He had no idea where this might lead, just the touch of her mouth on his gave him feelings that were new, exciting and exhilarating and he never wanted to stop.

She slanted her mouth to his, teasing his lips open with the tip of her tongue, stealing within until he breathlessly parted them to allow her access. He moaned deep in his chest when her small tongue brushed against his and wallowed in the luxurious feel of her there. The taste of her inside him sent his mind spinning.

Acutely aware of the sharp tips at his fingers Vincent touched her with reverence. His claws lightly scraping over her skin sent tingles coursing through her. Rather than frighten her as he had dreaded she cleaved to him seeking out the places that he had desperately tried to ignore over the last two days.

If she should touch him there, either purposely or accidentally Vincent didn't know how he might react, just that she was coming dangerously close to an area that pulsed with a life of its own, straining against her, needing her closer than a heartbeat.

"We must stop." He told her, his ragged breathing and restless body placing some distance between them. "Catherine, we must stop."

She looked at him; her lips honey kissed and full, causing something to well up within Vincent that he had felt for no one in his life before. He wanted her and he couldn't take her. He knew that would be wrong. A few kisses were one thing...but that? A tree did not a forest make did it?

They gazed at one another, struggling to regain control. Catherine could not believe how she had adhered to his kisses, how right it had seemed to be in his arms. No, more than right. It had been as if she had come home. A fleeting thought of those whispered words of her mother's flashed through her mind and were gone. But Catherine had heard enough. This was her prince. He was the one.

"Vincent, I think I love you." She whispered softly.

Eyes closed, hand to heart Vincent drew deep gasping breaths to still the longing those few words brought to his fevered brain. He loved her too. He knew it, but he could never do anything about it. She was too beautiful and he...too...too...grotesque...he could never defile her beauty with his monstrous body. Never!

"I think you should go, Catherine."

"Go? Go where? Surely not above?"

"No not above. Return to your chamber."

"I want to stay with you."

"You can't. I'm not going to be here." Vincent was surprised to hear himself say that, but knew it was so. "I have to visit with Narcissa."

"I'll come with you." Catherine had heard all about the old woman, she was curious and wanted to meet her.

"No. Catherine, please. What we have done must never be attempted again. I can't love you Catherine. I am different. Please try to understand." Tears gathered in his eyes as he spoke.

"What is there to understand?"

"We can be no more but friends, Catherine. No more, please know this." The tears of sorrow began to fall as he spoke.

"I have heard that friends make the greatest of lovers, Vincent. The same could be true of us." She told him with head held high. She was not to be put off.

Hiding beneath a curtain of hair so that she did not see him blush, Vincent whispered, "Not this time. Catherine, please try to understand. You taunt me when you are here like this, when you offer yourself to me I want..."

"Yes, you want what, Vincent?" Catherine almost laughed. She was acting like a temptress.

"I want things... that I can never have. Such things are not for one such as me. I am humbled by your love, but I cannot accept it. Please, Catherine, do not set your sights on me. There will only be heartache for both of us." Vincent knew he couldn't stand to have his heart broken a second time.

"You don't know that, Vincent. How can you be so sure when you have never loved before?"

For long moments he could not answer her and just when Catherine was beginning to feel elated that she had put before him the winning argument he replied, "Catherine, the letter I wanted was not among those you gave me. Do you know where it is?"

Looking at him blankly Catherine shook her head. What a thing to say. It had absolutely no bearing on what was happening between them at that moment. Or had it? What was so important about the stupid letter anyway?

"Don't change the subject Vincent. Please let me go with you to visit Narcissa. I would like to meet her."

"No. It is a long journey, I will travel it a lot faster alone."

"Then you will soon return?"

"Perhaps. But when I do, we must not pursue this type of relationship between us. Its wrong, Catherine. And I can offer you nothing."

"You could love me. If I had your love it would mean more to me than riches and glory, know that Vincent for it is true."

"You are rich Catherine, and I am poor but because of that alone we are at opposite ends of the spectrum. It would never work."

What was he saying? That he loved her? Not in so many words, but by saying that she was rich. How cleverly he had given it a double meaning with the addition of his status.

Catherine sighed, and then felt silly standing there with him looking at her. She knew now that she loved him but because of it she felt overwhelmingly sad.

Feeling her sorrow, he too sighed deeply. "It will pass Catherine, if you do not dwell on it. And I think it best if we saw less of one another during the rest of your stay here."

Catherine couldn't agree however, she could see that nothing she would say right now would alter his perspective on things. But tomorrow was another day, and when it came she would try to alter his point of view. She loved him, and she knew that he loved her. If only he would admit it. What was his problem? It wasn't as if he had women throwing themselves at his feet down here. She was beautiful, and she knew that he wanted her, so what was the problem? Because not for one moment did Catherine believe it was for the reasons he had given. No, there was something else, something deeper, and Catherine wished that she knew what it was. Maybe with that eased out of the way, she could make him believe in a happy ever after for the two of them. After all, her mother believed in it so it had to be right. And by that alone Catherine knew that she would make him see they were made for each other, however long it took.

Rushing out into the waiting room, Charles hurried across to where Peter was staring ashen faced at parts of someone's anatomy strewn around the floor behind the desk. "Oh no, not again!" Charles cried, as thoughts of that other body raced to remind him what he had seen on the mountain.

"Peter, come with me." Clutching Peter's arm he forced his friend back into his office, seating him down with pressure to his shoulders, aware that Peter was in the same sense of shock as Catherine had been that night in the car.

"I'll call the cops." Mind dazed he dialled the number, gave sketchy details in an automated tone, and added that the psycho could still be in the building. Then he hung up and waited, his breathing laboured and worried about Peter who had said not a thing.

It seemed an age before he heard sirens outside, even longer before several uniformed men barged into the waiting room. Charles went to meet them, indicating what they could find behind the desk. Gingerly they looked, one was physically sick, the rest paled, and getting onto their radios sent for the designated personnel to seal off and investigate the scene.

"Who is this?" One of them indicated in Peter's direction.

"Dr. Alcott." Charles replied carefully watching Peter's face for any sign of consciousness.
It was as if he was sleeping with his eyes wide open. He just did not move, could only stare out into space. The horrors of what he had seen stayed locked in his mind.

"Do we know who the victim was?"

"I don't know, Peter might. Surgery had finished for the morning. The only person he was expecting was his receptionist."

"Well the paramedics will be here soon to see to Dr. Alcott. I'm used to such horrors, but its gonna take some time to deal with this. Any ideas where he keeps his appointment books, we'll need to cancel this evening's schedule?"

"I think it’s over there." Charles pointed to the desk reluctant to retrieve it.

The officer understood, "we'll get onto it don't worry. Now the switchboard told us that you felt you'd been followed by that psycho, we'll need a statement. If you feel capable, you could do it here and then I'll have someone escort you home."

"Actually, I'd prefer not to return home if you don’t mind...I was thinking of staying with my daughter."

"Might be a good idea. Why don't you go into the office make the necessary arrangements with the phone in there and then we'll have someone escort you to wherever your daughter is staying?"

Charles was in a dilemma. Without Peter he couldn't get to the place his daughter was staying. He knew there was access to it from the basement of Peter's surgery building, but he also knew that Peter hid the key to the door leading there. He had absolutely no way of getting down there without Peter's help. And one look at his friend told him the impossibility of that happening for a while. There was another way down, he knew that. Via the park, but how or where he just hadn't a clue.

There was only one thing for it, he'd have to bluff it, pretend he couldn't get hold of his daughter and then return to his own home. But none of this filled him with any optimism. What that psycho had done today was sick; no one knew where he was or where he might strike next. As he was thinking, there was a knock at the door; the paramedics had arrived to deal with Peter. He let them in and then deciding he needed the bathroom, made his way toward the toilets adjacent to the waiting room. He opened the door, took two steps in and froze.

Now it was Charles's turn to scream. On the mirror facing him and written in blood were the words: 'CHANDLER - WHERE'S YOUR DAUGHTER! KNOW THIS - THERE'LL BE ONE A WEEK TILL I FIND HER!

Three days passed. Vincent had not returned from visiting with Narcissa, but Father didn't worry unduly, some days his son would stay with the old woman for as long as a week. What they did together he did not know, didn't want to know. And he gruffly admitted that Vincent always returned in high spirits. Not a good choice of words in the circumstances but there it was.

Catherine, he'd noticed had become subdued, he expected it was due to her confinement but he was also aware that having received no word from Peter or her father she was feeling very much forgotten down beneath the streets of the city. As it happened Father had to admit he was wondering why no one had contacted her. Though it had been thought best that her father kept well away, Peter had brought regular items down from him that had kept her feeling close to the life she knew above.

Seated at his desk that morning, Father spread open the local newspaper that had been left rolled up for him as it did each day and with the intention of reading while he ate his cookies dipped in tea, he prepared for an enjoyable hour alone before he began the day's activities.

He always read the headlines first, but this morning they leapt out at him in large bold letters making him fumble for his cane and prepare to stand knocking his cup of herb tea onto the floor at his side.

"Damn!" He cried then, "Mary! Mary, Come quick!"

Never far from his chamber at this time of the morning Mary dashed in ashen faced, "What is it Jacob? What's wrong? Are you unwell?"

"No, no. It’s not that. Mary have you seen the papers this morning...no you couldn't have...Mary see this!" And he shoved the headlines beneath her nose before standing at her side to read along with her.

Wide eyed Mary read the report before her noticing first a photograph of Catherine sprawled across the front page with the words:

'HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL?

This is the face of the young woman that reportedly is the only witness able to identify the psychopath that has slain two people (that is known of) in the past month. For her own protection she has been taken to a safe place...but I tell you that no place is safe while she is kept hidden. Why? Because I am that psychopath and I promise to slaughter one young woman a week until Miss Chandler's whereabouts are made known to me.
So if you want to keep your daughter's safe... tell me.
You can write it on the walls of the very streets themselves and I will find it.
Help me and I'll help you. Why should many have to die to save the one?'

"I've never seen anything like it Jacob, fancy the editor running this! Its awful."

"I agree my dear, and the gall of the man to expect to have it printed. He sounds well educated, how does someone like that kill for kicks that's what I’d like to know."

"What I'd like to know, is what are we to do about it, Jacob!"

"Well no one knows where she is, except her father and Peter, and they won't say."

"There's more over the page look. An editor's comment. I'll read it to you. 'There is nothing to prove or disprove that today's headlines are genuine. However, I can tell you that Mr Charles Chandler, Catherine's father received a similar threat just three days ago, when he and his general practitioner Dr Peter Alcott were subjected to a horrendous experience at the hands of this so called psychopath. A young woman alleged to be Dr. Alcott's receptionist was slain at the surgery's waiting room, while Mr Chandler was visiting with his GP in the very next room. A similar blood written message was also discovered on a mirror in the gent’s washroom at the same location and directed at Mr Chandler.
Mr Chandler maintains that the psychopath had followed him to the surgery in an attempt to discover his daughter's whereabouts and that he had been following Mr Chandler over a period of several days. It should not be overlooked that the photograph submitted with the letter received by this office late yesterday evening had also been taken from Mr Chandler's house shortly after the homicide at Dr Alcott's surgery on Wednesday.

For more on this story please see pages 3,4,5,6, & 7.'

Neither Father nor Mary could speak. Left in a state of stunned silence they looked to one another with their minds racing. So much lay heavily on this problem. Their main fear that Catherine could be discovered below and what having a man like that in the tunnels could do to them. Their other fear that an innocent woman would die each week until Catherine's whereabouts had been highlighted.

It was awful, and simply they did not know the way out of it. Neither was there anyone that they could ask and for certainly they could not contact Peter now. That would be much too dangerous!

Neither noticed that Catherine had been standing at the entrance and had heard ever word!