Destined
By Aneth Oren 2013
Disclaimer: I own nothing except original characters
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
Dreams by Edgar Allen Poe
Chapter 1
Ten years had passed since Catherine Chandler's memory was laid to rest; her frozen skeletal remains were believed to be resting deep underground. The earth above her grave in New York was barren and desolate. No flowers for her grave; no prayers from mourners. She had passed through life like an autumn wind, bright and full of promise, only to be drowned by winters' gales. All that remained now was a blanket of ivory snow. The streets were deserted; like St. Michael's Cathedral, where Vincent Keller still mourned his lover.
He came to the great cathedral to do Catherine honor; to try and erase the hurt he knew he had inflicted on her when he had told her they could never marry. How alive she had been then! How full of hope! His soul could not let it rest. She had tried to protect him, to save him, and he had cost her her life. How careless he had been! He chastised himself over and over. How careless to not think for a moment that she would conceive a child. And she had carried the secret alone, avoiding doctors and hospitals for fear they would be discovered and that Muirfield would come and snatch her and her child away. He had remained alert, always watching, but at the end when her poor body could take no more, she had delivered her child and her life. And he knew then, knew the power of her love, for she had given the ultimate sacrifice. And so he came here, to this ancient place of worship and of faith, to beg forgiveness. He came in the hope that one day he could forgive himself and be forgiven. For himself he did not expect much, but he also asked for the sake of the child Catherine had entrusted to his care, that she too be protected and allowed to grow safe and happy.
Vincent crouched inside the tall towers of the ancient structure. It was early morning in Toronto and not even the gay lights of Christmas and soft falling snow flakes could dispel Vincent's gloom. Even the memory of their love, evergreen and constant as it was in his heart, could not erase his anguish and guilt.
He sat back on his heels and watched a laughing couple walk past. Their voices reached him and with his enhanced hearing he was able to make out their tender loving words. Scowling, for he hated lovers, Vincent closed his eyes. At once and much against his will, came her face into his mind. Catherine. She had been his greatest achievement and his most bitter defeat. Even after he had regained his memory and managed to recall Catherine in her entirety, Muirfield rose once more. This time, however, it was more potent than ever. Muirfield called out to him, refusing to be ignored. It seemed now, to Vincent, all he and his love had fought for, had been for one thing: absolutely nothing. Muirfield was still watching them, waiting for the right moment to snatch him or his daughter. With them they could begin their experiments on him again, and he knew what they wanted from him: a mindless brutal killer-soldier. But what did they want from his child? JT theorized that his daughter's dna could hold vital genetic clues useful in the transformation of all the men and women Muirfield's experiments had changed into raging beasts. Vincent knew without doubt that if Muirfield got his hands on his child, her life would become a never ending round of medical experiments until they no longer needed her. And then, he thought, they would sell her. He wondered if things would have been different for them if there had been a cure for him. Could Muirfield find a cure for the beasts and return them to their normal selves? Yet, it seemed Muirfield was more intent on catching him than curing him. And when the child was born he had despaired then, despaired of not being able to protect her. But when things seemed at its darkest and bleakest, they had been saved.
Before Muirfield could inflict more pain and horror into their lives—JT, and his ever resourceful network—whisked them all away to Canada. Here, they had settled in downtown Toronto, with its historic buildings and wharves, reminiscent of New York City. Eventually, JT managed to update his resume and found work teaching a couple of courses at the University of Toronto.
Breaking out of his reverie, Vincent realized the sun was breaking through the silver storm clouds and decided it was time to go home; JT would be wondering where he had been all night. Reggie would soon be waking up, too.
About to leap onto the street below, Vincent checked himself when he noticed a large garbage truck amble into view. Instead, he crept down the east side of the great cathedral, careful to keep himself well out of sight. He had to be careful not to be seen. Already there was talk amongst the homeless of a voiceless bon ange—or good angel, as they called him—the faceless do-gooder who had foiled several muggings and strong armed robberies.
Vincent checked his watch. 8:15. By now both JT and Reggie would be fully awake. He steeled himself and at a brisk pace walked toward the abandoned warehouse they had called home for a decade.
He heard them all the way from the ground floor. The sound of a heated argument was well underway. Vincent flinched when Reggie's uncontrolled screech echoed down the silent floors. How many times had he warned them about making too much noise? Were they both deaf? Vincent could forgive Reggie; she was, after all, only ten years old. But what about JT? When had the unflappable bachelor turned into a spinster aunt? Climbing the concrete steps to their second story home, Vincent pushed open the heavy steel door and walked into a large airy room. Very similar to their old warehouse in New York, here there was a large rectangular table which served as both desk and dining table. To the left was a small sink, a tiny refrigerator to the right, and several PC's, laptops, and monitors behind it.
JT and Reggie were so engrossed in their verbal battle that neither saw Vincent. If they did, they made no acknowledgement. The two were having breakfast and seated at the dining table, while Vincent watched with some amusement as Reggie contended:
"Why is it green, then, Precious?" Using her best Gollum voice, she was waving a slice of untoasted rye bread. With her other hand she tossed her long straight, black hair behind her back. Like her mother's hair, it was glossy and thick.
Adjusting his glasses, JT responded, exasperation in his voice: "It's not green! That's the way it comes."
"Moldy."
"Not moldy. Look, rye bread is good for you."
Reggie arched an eyebrow and in full Gollum mode asked, "Green bread is good for me?"
"It's not green!" JT nearly shouted.
"Thank you." Said Reggie. She nodded once, satisfied she'd made her point. "Moldy."
"Oh, go to school." JT muttered, rolling his eyes.
It was at this moment that Vincent cleared his throat and both looked up. Reggie slid off her chair and came to him, offering him a hug. Vincent dropped to one knee and accepted it. Her arms were warm, her skin soft. Reggie felt so small and fragile in his embrace. She smelled of cologne and Tootsie Rolls.
"Wait. Is that my Aramis after shave?" JT rolled his eyes, again.
"Dad!"
As always, he had to swallow back the lump that formed in his throat. Reggie was so much like Catherine; all she had of him were his dark, brooding eyes.
"Dad, I want a dog." Her voice was firm; the tone unyielding. She had given this much thought.
"No!" JT and Vincent simultaneously shouted.
"Why not?"
"Dogs don't like me." Vincent countered.
"And they're too noisy." JT added.
"Speak for yourself." Reggie countered, her voice muffled by her father's shirt.
"Regina…" Warned Vincent.
"Oh, I'm sorry Daddy. But, Uncle JT has too many rules."
"Saved our lives more than once." JT mumbled under his breath.
But, Vincent had heard and knew JT was right. He had come to learn JT was almost always right. He had been right about Catherine's pregnancy. He had been right about Reggie's breached position in the womb. And he had been right to take him and Reggie away to Canada.
Now, looking into his daughter's eyes, he wondered again: How had they made it all this time? How had he? He had once told Catherine he couldn't live without her. And her death had nearly shattered him into a million pieces.
It was JT who had pulled him from the brink of desperation. He reminded him he had a daughter to protect. All that was left of her.
Why had Muirfield taken them off the radar? Wouldn't they be interested in Reggie? JT believed this to be true. At the thought of Muirfield hunting his daughter, a great fire of protection welled up in Vincent's chest. He'd destroy Muirfield with his bare hands before he'd let them take Reg.
Sensing something wrong at the tensing of her father's muscles, Reggie looked into Vincent's eyes. She knew the golden glow meant he was disturbed about something.
"What's wrong, Dad?" Like Catherine, Reggie knew how to soothe the beast.
Vincent cleared himself and smiled, "Nothing Punkin'." He saw her wince at the use of her childhood moniker. "Time for school."
Leaning in to give her father a kiss on the cheek, Reggie replied meekly, "Alright, Dad."
Grabbing her pink Hello Kitty backpack, she walked to the open laptop her uncle had waiting for her and signed in. Soon she was lost in sixth grade math.
JT watched Reggie for a moment before gesturing for Vincent to follow him. He led them toward the sleeping areas where they could speak without being overheard.
"You weren't seen?" JT asked worry coloring his voice.
"Nah."
"Good, because…" Here JT stopped at Vincent's glare. "All's I'm saying, big guy, is that we gotta be extra careful now, for her sake." He pointed his chin toward Reggie's direction.
"I know." Vincent began.
"Look, you and I both know you can't go wandering into psychotherapy. So…I'm all you got." JT leveled a meaningful look at Vincent. "Talk."
Vincent smoothed his hair away from his face and sighed. "Oh, I don't know, man." He began . "It's just that Christmas always makes me sick to my stomach."
JT grinned, "Yeah, the Scrooge syndrome. Familiar with it myself."
Vincent shook his head, "No, it's not that way. It's that it was her favorite time of the year."
JT understood, "You mean Catherine's" He saw Vincent nod and look away. "Hey, V, how long have we known each other? I've seen you cry, big guy." JT had meant to be light hearted but somehow his last words had carried more emotion than he intended. "It seems to me you've got a pretty powerful reminder of her in that little girl. And you would do well to keep that in mind."
Vincent turned to JT, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "You're right." His voice was hoarse. "You're always right."
"Look at it this way," JT began, "We've managed to keep Muirfield out our lives all this time, They haven't come looking for Reggie and her dna and they haven't come looking for you or tried to disinter Catherine's body. We're two old codgers living and raising a ten year old going on forty-five. We haven't been detected and we live pretty safe and quiet lives. Except, of course, if Regina gets her way with you, which she always does and we wind up with a dog."
Despite his sadness, Vincent smiled and said, "No, no dog."
"Okay, then" JT smiled and gave Vincent a solid slap on the back.
There would be no dog, no matter how much Regina begged and whined. A dog would give them away. JT was right: dogs were too noisy.''
And, after all, JT was always right.
He laid on his bed and closed his eyes. Sleep ignored him. He could not rest., His thoughts were all about Catherine. He could hear her voice in his mind; he relived all their happiest moments. He remembered the night on her rooftop when he told her he loved her and she declared her own love for him. That had kept him going. Her death had been his near breaking point. Vincent sat up on his elbows. Yet….there was a hint, a trace of her. It came sometimes in the sounds of city traffic. It rumbled past him on the railcars that rolled close by. It sailed on the wind that caressed his face and hair. Sometimes he closed his eyes and imagined the wind were her fingers. He missed the touch of her, her scent, her warmth. And yet..and yet…he could not discount the taste of her that came to him every night.
He finally gave up trying to sleep and dressed. It was still mid morning and Reggie was still at her PC so he didn't disturb her. Instead he poured himself a cup of coffee and walked to a window. He touched the glass, it was frigid. His gaze roamed past the deserted buildings and he felt the desire to search for her. He frowned, search for her? Vincent's thoughts roamed back past the years and he wondered where they would've have been now if Catherine had lived. How Reggie would have turned out. How would Reggie had been with her mother beside her to guide her, comfort her, protect her, be the model of womanhood Reggie would one day be. What kind of mother would Catherine have been. And he asked himself, would there have been more children? Reggie had been a surprise, but he asked himself, if Catherine had lived, would she have had more children with him? Would they have grown old together? Would there have been grandchildren for them?
Thoughts like these brought him to ponder on Reggie. Was she a beast? Had she inherited his corrupt DNA? And if Dr. Chandler was telling the truth, was Reggie a beast too?
He would have to watch his daughter for tell tale signs. Signs only he could see and interpret. Yet, after all this time he had never seen any hint that Reggie had inherited his corrupt DNA.
Vincent shook his head and told himself all of these 'what ifs' were useless.
Catherine was dead.. Dead and buried, Vincent told himself.
So, why did his senses tell him otherwise? Why did his spirit respond to her call?
Why did his mind and his body tell him that Catherine was somewhere out there?
He looked out the window again, sending his senses out over the frozen streets of Toronto and then he stiffened,
It came to him, at first as a soft kiss, but then gathering strength, "Vincent."
He found himself calling her name under his breath, "Catherine?"
And then it came again, riding the wintry air, "Vincent"
He felt the powerful call of her spirit and he almost recoiled from it. It could not be! She was dead.
"Why do you haunt me, Catherine?" He asked in a low voice. "I've have done the best I knew, all I knew to do. I loved you. I love you, still. Your child thrives. Haunt me no more."
Scowling in confusion and hurt, closing his mind to her siren call, Vincent turned away from the window.
Thanks to my wonderful beta MayaLala. If you read, please consider leaving a review. Thanks!