Revelations, is an original story, inspired by the U.S. cult T.V. series BEAUTY AND THE BEAST and was first written in 1998 and published independently. I can confirm that I am the original author.
Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Ron Koslow, Witt-Thomas Productions, Republic Pictures, or CBS.
CHAPTER ONE.
THURSDAY, 29TH DECEMBER, 1994 - NEW YORK CITY.
"You did what!" Jacob Wells leaned heavily against his gnarled old walking stick, and regarded one of his oldest and most trusted friends with disbelief.
William, the short, rotund, grey bearded man who had for more years than Jacob Wells could remember, been a stalwart citizen of their subterranean world, a member of their ruling Council of Elders and the best cook that he had ever had the good fortune to know, stood before him, awkwardly, facing his old friend's wrath at his unexpected confession.
"How could you?" Jacob asked in incredulous tones. "How could you take such a decision? How could you take something like that upon yourself!" He demanded hotly now, his grey whiskered old cheeks suffusing with heat and color. "You know what this means to him!" He railed. "I can't believe that you would do such a thing!"
"It's done now." William sighed defiantly.
"But why? Dear God, William .... why?"
"Because you don't seem to realize just how frightened people are, Father. You've lost touch with reality!" William accused bitterly. "People's lives and homes are at stake here, and you just seem happy to let him pursue this .... encouraging him ...."
"Of course I am encouraging him, William! This is something that has been important to him all of his life. You know that! It is something that he needs to do!"
"But not at the expense of the rest of us living down here!" William countered. "If anything happens to Vincent .... we are all done for!"
"How can you be so selfish!" Jacob exclaimed.
"It is not selfishness, Father, but self preservation! Look at me, Father. How do you think an old man like me would survive up top these days? How do you think I, you, Mary, and others like us, would live up there! This is and has always been the only real home that most of us have known! Take that away from us, and they might as well bury us all at Potters Field!"
"Our world is in no danger!" Jacob Wells protested heatedly.
"You don't know that!" William countered angrily. "You don't know that!" He emphasized. "How do we know that this isn't some kind of trap?"
"Nonsense!"
"It's not nonsense, Father! There are a lot of people down here who are afraid for their futures …. afraid for their lives!" William was growing more red in the face as he spoke. "People are uneasy .... terrified .... and you can't see further than the end of your nose!"
"People have had plenty of opportunity to come to me and express their concerns. None of them have done so, William, indeed, everyone has been very supportive ...."
"Oh wake up, Father! No-one wants to hurt you. No-one wants to disappoint you or Vincent, so they keep their true feelings to themselves. They need reassurance .... from you. We all love Vincent and want only the best for him, and his son, but, so long as he pursues this, no-one Below will feel .... safe .... that's why I did it, Father. Maybe now ...."
"Maybe now, nothing!" Jacob Wells exploded angrily. "Neither you nor I have the right to stand between Vincent and this. You say that you love him …. then trust in him .... to protect us .... to keep our secret .... as he always has ...."
"It's too late, Father."
"I hope for your sake, you're wrong ...."
"Father? William?" Vincent's slightly raised voice preceded his entrance in to Father's chamber, the raised voices of his oldest kith and kin drawing him on long strides.
He drew up sharply beside Father, taking in William's startled, but still angry red face, and Jacob Wells' own bearded familiar face, also suffused with color.
"What is going on here?" Vincent demanded, concerned for both elderly men.
"I'm sorry Vincent .... I have nothing against you, personally ...." William let out a deep sigh, then turned on his heel and hurried out of Father's chamber, leaving Father with his head bowed and a frown pulling at Vincent's heavy brow.
"Father?" Vincent regarded Jacob Wells curiously after a lengthy silence. "Are you going to tell me what that was all about? I could hear the shouting all the way down to the Chamber Of The Winds ...."
He suddenly grew concerned that Father's face remained flushed, his fist clenched tightly at his side, sapphire blue eyes sparkling with barely controlled rage.
"Father .... please .... calm yourself .... come .... sit ...."
"I'm all right ...." Father sighed softly, then took in a deep breath, turning to regard his son solemnly.
"I still think that you should sit down, Father ...."
"All right ...." Jacob sighed in resignation now, and allowed Vincent to steady him as he moved slowly across the chamber to sit down heavily behind his book covered desk.
"Now, Father .... tell me .... and don't look at me like that ...." Vincent sighed. "Amidst all the shouting, I quite clearly heard my name mentioned .... so-o-o-o .... tell me."
"It's nothing ...." Jacob Wells waved his hand dismissively.
"Fine. Should I go after William and ask him? That was a very cryptic parting remark of his, Father ...."
"All right .... all right ...." Jacob acquiesced with a deep sigh. "William arranged for Bernard Tucker to call the hotline telephone number, the one on the flier, and in the newspapers," he faltered at the slight hardening of Vincent's unique features. He knew that look better than anyone.
"To say what, Father?"
"To say that both Anna Pater, and the child .... are .... dead ...." Father revealed solemnly. "I'm sorry Vincent .... it is my fault. I should have realized.... William has always been the most outspoken on matters concerning the security of our world .... I cannot believe how selfish he's been ...."
"He is worried," Vincent let out a deep sigh.
"Yes .... Vincent .... have you heard anything from the others? Doubts? Qualms? William said that I was being .... well .... blinkered, I guess .... that I couldn't see just how worried people are ...."
"No, Father. I have heard nothing but good wishes .... although, I can understand that people might want to hide their true fears from me .... out of love .... knowing how much this means to me," Vincent sighed again. "Perhaps it is I who is being selfish ...." He mused sorrowfully.
"No," Jacob regarded Vincent then, with steady deep sapphire blue eyes. "No. As I told William, no-one has the right to come between you and the truth ...."
"The truth. Yes .... but at what cost to my family, friends .... the people that I love?"
"Vincent, you cannot give up now ...." Father told him sadly.
"But ...."
"But nothing. This is your journey. Your quest .... and you must follow your heart in this, as you have with everything else in your life. You have my support .... always ...."
"The harm may already have been done," Vincent sighed expressively. "The seed of doubt sewn ...."
"Perhaps not. The seeker from the world Above might just pass it off as a crank call. I do not think that they will be deterred quite so easily as all that! In fact, William may have inadvertently done you a favor, my boy ...."
"Oh?" Vincent arched a heavy eyebrow.
"Yes. Tell me .... if you were looking for someone, and it was important enough for you to flood the city with leaflets offering a reward for information .... and someone called, specifically to tell you that your search was pointless, because the people that you sought were dead ...." Jacob hypothesized. "Would you simply accept it as a truth .... or would you be just a little suspicious that someone may be laying down a false trail?"
"I see your point, Father ...." Vincent brightened.
"So you wouldn't give up quiet so easily?"
"No."
"Then neither will your .... Mother ...."
"Perhaps …." Vincent conceded with a soft sigh.
"And perhaps Peter Alcott has some good news. He sent word that he has found out something, but that he would send a message down later. Obviously he did not think that it was for everyone's ears over the pipes ...."
"That was quick."
"Mmmm. Peter has friends in high places ...." Jacob Wells smiled, feeling a little calmer now that he had reassured Vincent, silently hoping that he was right about the small amount of damage William's untimely interference had caused.
"Patience, Vincent, patience ...."
"A commodity I have in abundance," Vincent smiled softly, and patted his father's gnarled old hand. "And one which I need in dealing with my son …. and his cantankerous old Grandfather!" He chuckled softly at Father's indignant look. "And speaking of young Jacob ...."
/a\
Dawn was breaking, painting the New York city skyline rose, purple, orange, and pink, pushing away the darkness, as Josephine Grayson wiped fresh tears from her eyes.
She did not know how long she had been sitting there, simply staring in to space, her mind going a mile a minute, but the muscles in her legs, back and neck were aching, and her eyes felt gritty and hot, despite the tears.
Both of her mother's boxes were open before her, their contents scattered around her, on the floor, on the bed, on chairs ....
She lowered her gaze, and stared once again, in disbelief.
Her mother's life .... laid bare on the carpet .... around the room ....
Forty years of memories.
Numerous journals, dating back from just days after her baby boy was born, right up to just before Josephine had returned to New York in September.
It had made for very interesting reading.
All of it.
Set out neatly in Andrea Reeves' familiar handwriting. Addressed to her beloved son ....
Explaining everything.
How he had been conceived.
How she had come to give him up. And how, every day, for the rest of her life, she had loved him, and thought about him.
The early journals had concentrated on her loss, her feelings of sorrow and regret that she had lost something so precious.
Full of self pity .... anger .... pain ....
And then, in later journals, she had gone on to explain how she had met, and fallen in love with Edward Reeve....
Not an all consuming passion, but a gentle love ....
A healing love ....
Friendship. Companionship.
Born of a need to move on.
Slowly learning to trust again.
All the later journals had spoken of her marriage, the birth of another child, a beautiful daughter, and her love for her husband and child. Yet, despite all that, still not enough to fill the emptiness in her heart ....
It was all there.
For him.
Her brother.
To know his mother's love ....
To know of the depth of her loss ....
Her regret ....
All there ....
For him to come to know his mother ....
Sister ....
To know that he had never been forgotten ....
To know that he had always been loved ....
And for Josephine …. The discovery that her mother had so wanted to reach out to her, to love her, to cherish her, but, had not been able to do so, for fear of losing her too ....
If she loved her too much ....
Amongst the journals, Josephine found old photograph albums, filled with pictures of herself as a baby. Pictures of her father, of Andrea and Edward Reeve, together. Mother, father and daughter, taken out in the backyard on a sunny, summer's afternoon ....
Pictures that told a story so completely different to how Josephine herself remembered those times ....
There were loose photographs too. Pictures of her parents in the early days of their courtship, smiling lovingly at each other. Newspaper clippings announcing their engagement. A picture of them attending a big society ball cut from the society pages of the newspaper. Their wedding photograph, Andrea beautiful in tulle and organza and satin, Edward looking very dapper in morning suit with top hat and gloves, smiling happily outside the church, the two together, surrounded by family and friends ....
She found an album full of baby pictures. Her baby pictures. Naked on the rug in front of the fire in the drawing room, as tradition dictated, to every child's eternal embarrassment. Sitting up in her pram, all bearing neatly inscribed notes beneath, telling her brother all about his baby sister, how she was growing, what she liked to eat, what made her laugh .... cry ....
All these years, Josephine had thought that her mother hadn't given a damn.
But she had.
Even when Josephine had been living in England, feeling isolated and unloved .... exiled ....
Even then.
For there were pictures in a different album of the older Josephine, some taken by her father, in places in England that she still remembered visiting with him.
The trip to London zoo that had been such a treat. Standing beneath Big Ben, on Tower Bridge, against the backdrop of the Houses Of Parliament and the river Thames ....
In the backyard of the cottage near Brighton, or the house in London, obviously taken by her Aunt Julia, over the years. So many of them, showing Josephine at different ages ....
Riding her bicycle. One shot of her with her arm in plaster, the year she broke it falling out of a tree. On the beach at Brighton, eating ice cream. Looking thoughtful and intellectual as she read a book, lounging on a deck chair under the big oak tree in Aunt Julia's garden behind the cottage, along with old school photographs too. Report cards. A letter from her old Head Mistress when she had graduated, even a picture of her in cap and gown, receiving her degree from Oxford .... which Josephine had no idea how her mother could possibly have come by.
All of this shared with the brother she had no inkling existed until a few days ago.
Andrea had poured all her love for her husband and child, out in her writings to the son that she had lost forty years before.
It was all there.
Lovingly and patiently documented. For him to read.
Josephine was shocked to the very core.
If only her mother had shown her the journals while she had still been alive ....
Things might have been so very different.
There might have been time for them to be mother and daughter. At last ....
But, it wasn't just the photographs and the journals.
Josephine discovered still more treasures in the second box.
There were baby clothes. Her beautiful white satin Christening robe, covered in tiny pearls and such intricate and beautiful embroidery in a fine gold thread. A small silver rattle, a lock of her baby hair lovingly mounted in a beautiful antique 18 carat heart shaped gold locket. All the Christmas and birthday cards that she had sent to her mother over the years ....
The letters that she had struggled over from school in England, and college. An invitation to her wedding ....
The few, painful lines that she had scribbled in response to her mother's refusal to attend the ceremony, on the back of a picture of herself and Jeff taken outside the church. A beautiful picture of her baby daughter, Amy, and the brief note, in a very shaky hand, informing her mother that her granddaughter and son in law were dead ....
Yes.
It was all there.
Neatly documented for her brother.
And in directing Josephine to locate the boxes, and keep the contents safe for him, Andrea had paved the way for her daughter to discover the truth .... at last.
That her mother had not been the callous, bitter, hardhearted woman that she had always thought. Just a sad, lonely, desperately unhappy woman who could not forget the one tragic moment when she had given up her son.
Josephine even knew his name now.
The one that Andrea had given to him
And somehow, that made him even more .... real.
And the pain at not knowing her mother's love all these years .... even deeper ....
Andrea had called him ....
Joseph.
Dammit .... she even gave me his name!
In wanting to fill his place in her heart, Andrea had even named her new daughter after him ....
Now, Josephine knew, it was even more important that she find him.
Joseph.
That she give him the journals, and allow him to make the same voyage of discovery that she had just taken.
He must know what losing him had done to her mother .... their mother.
And consequently, her father. Herself.
He had to know.
He must be left with no doubt.
Andrea had loved him. Always loved him ....
Surely that would mean something to him?
Wouldn't it?
She had to find him.
She just had to ....
Because, until she did .... She would never be whole.
/a\
"Father? Is there any word today from Peter ...." Vincent's voice trailed away suddenly as he walked from the vestibule to the metal steps at the entrance to Father's chamber, and became aware of the very strange expression on the older man's face, as he found him seated at his book covered desk.
"Father?" He asked, taking the steps two at a time and crossed the chamber to where Jacob Wells sat, concern on his beautiful leonine face. "What is it? What is wrong?" He asked softly, laying his big, fur covered hand atop Father's gnarled, half gloved one. "Tell me ...."
Jacob Wells remained silent for a long moment, then lifted his gaze from a scrap of paper on his desk.
"This came just a few moments ago. From Peter ...." Jacob explained in a weary voice.
"And what does it say, Father?" Vincent enquired, anticipation sparkling in his beautiful, soulful blue eyes.
"Peter has discovered the identity of the doctor offering the reward for information on Anna ...."
"Go on …." Vincent sighed expressively.
"Vincent ...." Jacob faltered, then reached up to gently pat his son's rough whiskered cheek affectionately.
"It is all right, Father ...." Vincent said in a soft, husky voice. "I am a big boy now. I can handle whatever it is you have to tell me."
After the incident the other day, when Jacob had initially told his son of this quest from the world Above, in to his past, Jacob would beg to differ, but he wisely kept his own counsel.
"Vincent .... it appears that this doctor .... Dr J. Grayson .... is a woman .... Josephine, and ...."
"Yes?
"And she has just been appointed to a position with the New York field office of the F.B.I."
"The F.B.I.?" Vincent echoed, a frown tugging at his heavy brow now.
"Federal Bureau Of Investigation ...."
"Yes. I know that, Father ...." Vincent rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "But why would someone connected with the F.B.I. be interested in Anna Pater, and the child that she found outside St Vincent's hospital, forty years ago?" He mused.
"I don't know, Vincent, but I don't like it ...." Jacob Wells sighed deeply. "Dear God .... what if William was right, Vincent? What if it is some kind of trap? God forbid! But ...."
He hesitated then, loathed to drag up the past, and the painful memories associated with it.
"What if it is something associated with .... with .... Catherine's abduction .... attempted murder .... her present condition?"
Father watched as Vincent swallowed hard, and his big, cobalt blue eyes misted over, briefly, before he turned away from Father and tried to pull himself together.
Dear God, it had been five years, and still just the sound of her name could reduce his son to tears .... Jacob thought sorrowfully, with a heavy heart.
Personally, he did not know how Vincent could keep up this soul destroying nocturnal bedside vigil.
It would have destroyed a lesser man, years ago.
And it was soul destroying. Even if Vincent could not admit it.
Every morning, when dawn's first weak rays chased him away from her again, something deep inside him died.
Jacob could see it in his eyes. And it broke his poor old heart.
In the beginning, yes, there had been a vague hope ....
But now .... All these years later .... That hope grew smaller and smaller with the passing of each day .... week .... month ....
But so long as Vincent maintained that simply sitting with Catherine, reading to her, holding her hand and sharing the days' events with her, gave him some small measure of comfort, Jacob Wells had decided that it was wise for him to keep his own counsel, and to continue to support Vincent in his belief that one day, Catherine would recover.
Still, he couldn't help thinking, when would it start to get better for Vincent? When would he be able to look back on the time that they had shared, no matter how brief .... the love that they had had .... and remember the happiness, the warmth, the joy?
This limbo that he lived in was doing him no good at all.
Clinging to the tatters of a beautiful dream.
The last vestiges of hope.
Another life ....
"Catherine ...." Her name came out as the merest whisper. "Why? After all this time? No .... that was all cleared up .... a long time ago, Father ...." Vincent reminded in a low, husky voice, edged with emotion.
"Her .... kidnapping ..... the attempt on her life .... perhaps .... but there was also a lot of interest in the killings .... associated with the cases that she worked on at that time ...."
Vincent span around to regard Father with infinitely sad lapis lazuli eyes, his beautiful mane swishing around his broad shoulders.
"You mean .... the men .... that I killed .... in trying to protect Catherine ...."
"I'm sorry, Vincent," Father lowered his gaze, not wanting to see the pain, guilt and anguish in his son's expressive eyes. "I don't mean to cause you pain, Vincent ...." He said softly.
"But why? What would be the point, after all this time?"
"These government agencies .... they don't need an excuse to go raking up the past, Vincent. They also don't much care for unsolved mysteries," Jacob Wells sighed deeply. "They have to try to find an explanation for everything ...."
"They will find nothing to link me with these cases. Diana saw to that."
"Ah yes .... Diana. I was wondering if you might approach her ...."
"No!" Vincent said sharply.
"But she might be able to help us ...." Father reasoned.
"I said no."
"Vincent ...."
"Father .... leave it." Vincent began to pace back and forth across the chamber.
"Why Vincent? Diana is with the F.B.I. now too. She might be able to find out what this woman, Josephine Grayson, wants," Jacob Wells reasoned softly, watching his son's anxious pacing back and forth with a frown creasing his brow.
"I said no, Father. Can you not leave it at that?" Vincent stopped his prowling and regarded Father with imploring big aqua eyes.
When Father continued to regard him with curiosity, Vincent let out a long, deep, sigh and resumed his pacing.
"I do not wish to involve Diana. It would not be fair to her. Besides .... we no longer correspond," Vincent explained hurriedly.
"I am sure that she wouldn't mind, Vincent. In a situation like this ...."
"No!" Vincent bellowed, taking Jacob aback, and then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, expelling it slowly, before opening his eyes once more.
"My apologies, Father, but, just this once, please accept that to see Diana again .... would be too .... painful for me ...."
"Of course. I'm sorry, Vincent," Father acquiesced softly. "I should have realized," he murmured, drawing Vincent's wide blue gaze.
"Father, I owe Diana so much. She killed the man responsible for what happened to Catherine .... for Jacob's abduction .... helped me to get my son back from his clutches and she knows how deeply grateful I am to her, but, seeing her .... reminds me .... of how Catherine was lost to me .... how I very nearly did not find Jacob .... and the pain associated with that time .... hangs between us ...."
"I know, Vincent. Forgive me?" Vincent merely lowered his gaze. "I just thought ...."
"Yes .... but .... not this time. Not now. Too much time has passed since she was last here. She has a new life now, and she does not need the added complication of having me back in her life," Vincent intoned solemnly.
"Meanwhile, that still leaves us with the mystery of this woman from the F.B.I. ...." Jacob sighed deeply.
"Did you not say that she had only just been appointed?"
"Mmm?" Jacob frowned.
"My point, Father, is that her enquiries in to Anna Pater's whereabouts could notbe official. Why would an F.B.I. agent need to use the newspapers to offer a reward for information?"
"I had not thought of that ...."
"She could be acting on behalf of my .... my mother ...."
"Perhaps. But we will still need to proceed with caution."
"Indeed."
"Then we do still proceed?"
"Yes Father. I am so close to knowing the truth now. I cannot give up."
"Very well. But how do we proceed? Jacob sighed softly, scratching absently at his beard.
"Perhaps someone should meet with her? Try to determine her reasons for this quest?" Vincent suggested innocently.
"Someone?" Father eyed him with deep sapphire blue eyes, eyes that were full of incredulity.
"Well .... not I .... for obvious reasons. Not yet ...."
"Then whom?"
Vincent continued to regard Father with a steady blue gaze.
"Me?" Jacob exclaimed. "Oh thank you!"
"You are the most logical choice Father," Vincent reasoned softly. "And you know that you are dying of curiosity!" He added for good measure.
"Vincent .... You know what they say about curiosity ...." Jacob let out a deep sigh. "It killed the cat!"
/a\
"Jacob?" Mary regarded her husband suspiciously, silently admitting to herself that he cut a very fine figure in his 'topsiders' clothes of double breasted grey suit, snowy white shirt, with crisp collar, grey waistcoat, grey Fedora hat in one hand, sturdy solid wooden walking cane with a silver handle and tip in the other ....
But his destination. The world Above. Troubled her. Troubled her deeply.
He was too old for the long trek to the surface.
And what if something happened to him?
"Ah, Mary! Good, there you are," he greeted her with a soft smile, and a peck on the cheek. "I'm afraid that the tie has defeated me, my dear ...." He sighed as he pulled away from her.
Mary smiled benignly at him, and set about retying the knot of his plain pastel blue necktie, and straightening his pristine collar.
"Thank you, my dear."
"Jacob?" She was loathed to ask him outright about his destination Above, knowing that he would get around to telling her in his own good time, but, she had heard about his recent confrontation with William, and she suspected that this trip Above had something to do with that.
She was very cross with William for his interference, although, she had understood his motives.
But that was no excuse. William knew how important this was to Vincent. And therefore, to Father too.
"It's all right, Mary," Jacob tried to soothe, but he could clearly see the worry in her beautiful face. "I have an errand to run .... for Vincent .... He has asked me to see this doctor. The one offering the reward ...."
"To undo William's handiwork?"
What was Vincent thinking about .... Mary thought to herself in mild irritation.
"Partly. But, Vincent was also correct when he said that I was dying of curiosity ...." He smiled softly again.
"And?"
"I want to know what she wants. Why she is doing this. I feel .... I feel that I need to see her. If I can look her in the eye, I'll know better how to advise Vincent in this. If it is wise to follow it through ...."
"I would expect nothing less from you, Jacob. You're his father .... and you love him ...."
"Yes Mary. I do."
"I understand. If you see her, you'll get a measure of her ...."
"Yes. Yes, my dear. That's it exactly," He marveled at how well she knew him, understood him, what drove him.
"Be careful," she advised sagely.
"I will …." He pressed another gentle kiss to her soft cheek. "Vincent will accompany me to the Central Park threshold," he explained, hoping to allay her worries and fears for his well being.
"I should hope so too ...." She smiled then. "Jacob ...."
"Don't worry my love. All will be well, and I will be back before sundown, I promise."
"I'll keep you to that, and have hot tea on the table waiting for you," she smiled softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand affectionately. "Jacob .... It's been a while, my love .... the city has changed ...."
"And I am not streetwise?"
"Well ...."
"I am going to a payphone to make a telephone call .... which reminds me ...." He patted his pockets and frowned, then spied the piece of folded newsprint with the precious telephone number printed on it, and placed it in the pocket of his jacket, along with a small gift from his grandson, which young Jacob had offered to him with a huge grin, a few minutes before Mary had returned.
"And then I am going to find a bench in the park, and sit and watch the world go by ...." He grinned.
"Be sure that is all you do, mind. You're too old to be chasing all the pretty girls ...."
"You are the only pretty girl I wish to chase," he chuckled softly, reaching out to claim her lips once more, then drew away, still grinning at the becoming flush on his dear wife's face.
It still amazed him .... her ability to be so coy and so charming .... even after three years of marriage .... and he loved her dearly.
He also knew that her concerns were genuine. And they were valid.
He wasn't a young man anymore, and a trip up to the surface wasn't the simple jaunt it had been. Even six years ago, it had been a struggle.
But Vincent would be there to support him, to chat with, and he would come when Father sent word on the pipes, to bring him home again.
That left the time in the park. And the meeting with this woman.
If she would agree to come today.
If not ….
Then he would have to go through all of this again .... tomorrow.
Or the day after ....
Or the day after that ....
At that moment, Vincent entered the chamber, halting just inside the vestibule at the top of the four metal steps, catching the tail end of the conversation, and the tender embrace between the older, loving couple.
"Ah, Vincent ...." Father greeted him with a jovial smile.
"Ready, Father?"
"Yes my boy. Ready, willing and able ...." Father chuckled.
"Then .... shall we go?"
"Lead on McDuff!"
Father limped slowly towards the steps, where Vincent was swinging his cloak around his broad shoulders and rearranging his hair over the hood, and climbing the steps very carefully he joined Vincent at the top.
"I will see you later, my love," Jacob turned back to Mary, a warm smile on his lips and a merry twinkle in his eyes.
"Yes Jacob. Tea .... five o'clock, prompt."
"I will be home long before then. It gets dark early up there these days ...." He reminded gently.
"Of course. It's been so long .... I had forgotten," She sighed softly. "Be well, Jacob."
"You too. Well, come along then my boy! Time is wasting …."
/a\
"Father ...."
"Yes, Vincent ...." Jacob sighed deeply.
The journey to the upper levels of the tunnels had been long and painfully slow, despite Vincent's support, and light hearted banter about young Jacob.
However, the closer to the world Above, they got, the more pensive and quiet Vincent grew, causing Father to wonder just how long it had been since his son had trodden this particular path.
"You will be careful ...." Vincent regarded Father with steady, big expressive china blue eyes, and Jacob could not suppress a smile.
How many times over the years had he said exactly the same thing to his son?
"Yes. I will be careful. How much trouble do you think an old man like me can get in to in the park on a winter's day, Vincent?" He joked.
"You would be surprised .... when the old man in question is you Father ...."
"Cheek! You're not too old for a spanking, my boy ...."
"That I would like to see ...." Vincent chuckled softly, grateful for Father's attempts to lighten the mood, although his heart was heavy, his chest tight with emotion held rigidly in check.
It had been so long, but he could still see Catherine at every turn.
So vibrant. So alive. Happy and oh so beautiful, as she had been as they had journeyed together, Below, to his chamber .... their special place under the concert area in the park .... the falls .... Father's chamber ....
Not since the major repairs to the Central Park threshold, required after Gabriel's hunter, Snow, had walked the tunnels with a gun, bent on killing Vincent, had been completed, had Vincent used that particular entrance.
"Father ...."
"Yes, Vincent ...." Father sighed in exasperation now.
"You have the hotline telephone number?"
"Yes. I have the number." Jacob confirmed ruefully, patting his jacket pocket.
"And you have change? For the telephone?"
"Yes, Vincent. I have change ...." Father tried to smother a smile then. He hadn't seen Vincent this animated in a long time. "Young Jacob lent me a quarter ...." He grinned then.
"My son, the banker!" Vincent rolled his eyes heavenward.
Young Jacob would never be rich, but he would never need for anything either.
Yet, despite that, the youngster seemed to have a unique knack for finding lost pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, anything shinny that once dropped could roll down a crack in the sidewalk and straight in to young Jacob's clutches!
"Father ...." Vincent grew serious now.
"It will be all right, Vincent." Father assured. "I can only imagine how you must be feeling right now ...."
"There are .... no words ...." Vincent confessed on a deep sigh.
"I can go on alone from here ...."
"Yes," Vincent gently pulled this beloved old man to him, his heart fit to burst with love for him, and gratitude for everything that he had done for him in the last forty years .... was still doing even now .... everything that he had sacrificed in the name of love .... love for him .... and was still prepared to sacrifice ....
"Father, know that I love you. Know that whatever happens from this moment on .... I have .... and always will .... love you."
"I know that, Vincent ...." Father returned his son's embrace, his voice tight with emotion.
"You are .... father .... mother .... brother .... confidante .... friend ... my father .... always ...."
"Yes, Vincent, always. Come what may, and I am, and have always been very proud to call you my son. Now ...."
Father drew away reluctantly, and reached up with a noticeably shaky hand to pat Vincent's rough whiskered ginger cheek.
"I should go or the day will be over before I have even begun ...."
"I will be here when you return ...." Vincent offered.
"No need. Don't wait around, Vincent. I'll send word on the pipes ...."
"I wish ...." Vincent's voice trailed away.
"That you were coming with me?"
"Yes."
"So do I, my boy. So do I. Now ...."
Jacob Wells stepped back from his son, and turned to face the junction door, as Vincent reached up and pulled the lever that activated the opening mechanism. The circular metal portal opened slowly, revealing a metal gate beyond, which Vincent also opened, having to push hard, as the hinges had rusted with age and lack of use.
"Later ...."
"Later. Father .... Be careful ...."
"I will ...."
Vincent watched as Father limped slowly away from him, his heart in his mouth, continuing to stare after him, long after he had disappeared into the daylight at the end of the cement drainage culvert, and then, with a deep, shuddering sigh, Vincent crossed back through the circular portal, pulling the metal gate shut behind him, as he reached up for the lever to close the junction door, his thoughts with Father, and what he would discover in the next few hours.
/a\
Jacob Wells emerged, breathless and winded from the cement drainage culvert in the heart of Central Park, and cautiously limped through the puddle of water and accumulated rotted leaves lying in the strip of cement that was the off run, as quickly as he could, lest he be seen.
He did not slow down until he reached the relative safety of a tree lined pathway, then hobbled to the nearest bench, where he sat down heavily, panting, having to concentrate to draw in precious air.
Dear God, when did I get so old?
So frail ....
He was getting too old to be traipsing up here to the world Above.
Hopefully, this would be the last time.
Frailty is a state of mind, Jacob .... He admonished himself silently, although he wasn't sure that he really believed that.
If you start thinking that you are old, then you might just start acting like an old man!
And he wasn't ready to accept that yet. Not by a long chalk.
Dear Mary, she had been wise to be so concerned over him.
You're not past it yet, Wells .... He told himself sternly, a small smile creeping in to the corners of his lips, as he thought about his beloved wife, and the way she got his old heart pumping with her coy smiles and her beguiling looks, and her tender kisses.
Yes ....
Hopefully he would have no need to come Above again. He had more than enough to keep him happy and satisfied, not to mention busy, Below.
However ....
This was a different matter.
He had not wanted to entrust this meeting to anyone else.
He wanted a face to face meeting with this woman, Josephine Grayson.
He wanted to look her in the eyes. Get a sense of her, as Mary had quite rightly pointed out.
To get a feel for her reasons for looking for a child abandoned forty years before. A child who should, for all intents and purposes, have been long forgotten by the world.
Jacob had always had good instincts about people, and had learned to trust them all his life. Sometimes, he had been proved spectacularly wrong, as in the case of Catherine Chandler, and no-one had been more glad about that than he, but they were rare occasions, almost always clouded by strong emotions.
Jacob knew that when he saw this woman, he would know how to progress. He would know how best to advise Vincent.
But, he also had to keep in mind that the ultimate decision was Vincent's, and Vincent's alone.
He could offer his son advise.
And he would just have to accept whatever Vincent chose to do with that advice, and support him in that choice.
But ....
First of all, he had to get his breath back.
And then he had to find a public telephone.
And then he had to work out what he would say to this woman, when he came face to face with her.
Did he offer her a slim hope that her search was not in vain?
Or, did he try to dissuade her?
Reinforce the point that both Anna Pater and the child were dead.
At least until he could discover what her motivation was.
He had a lot to think about.
Not least of all the futures of both his beloved son and grandson.
And the lives of all those who shared his world Below.
