Catherine whipped her raincoat tighter as she walked down the steps of her office building. The rain would be here soon; the increasing wind was testament to that. She was freezing.

It was nine o'clock on a Wednesday night. She was heading over to Peter's for a late dinner, thankful for a reason to stay out. She hated going home at night and prolonged it as much as possible. Catherine was about to hail a cab when the thought of the extravagance made her pause. It was only seven blocks. Yes, she was cold, but she had been at her desk for three days straight—a walk would be good for her. She put her head down and pushed on.

Without fail, her thoughts turned to Vincent. It had been nearly six weeks and barely a minute passed that she wasn't consumed with pain and sadness. Pain didn't even come close to what she was feeling—the only thing that kept her moving was knowing that whatever she was feeling, he was feeling worse. She couldn't compound his pain by letting her own flow unrestrained through the Bond. She had to be strong for both of them; she couldn't lose hope.

She hadn't even tried to contact him the first two weeks; she knew he needed time and space to think. But by the fourth week, she was nearly delirious. She had gone Below many times. Each time, Father met with her; each time he had shaken his head the same sad way—no word. None.

Her last time Below, she had ended up sobbing in Father's arms for hours, until she was hoarse and quiet. She hadn't gone back after that—embarrassed, but more afraid that the same thing would happen again. Nobody Above knew about Vincent; she had no one to share it with. The weight of their secret had never been so immense.

She was a zombie—the walking dead. It had been so long—she was beyond afraid; she was resigned. She would never see him again—and for what? An accident? A misinterpretation? She could not process this loss.

Completely lost in her thoughts, after about ten minutes, she raised her head and was alarmed to find she didn't recognize anything. There weren't any large brownstones; the street was actually quite dark and deserted. She took another step and felt a hand clamp down onto her mouth.

Oh God, not again ... she screamed, though she made no noise. She felt her purse being snatched from her arms and a thud against the back of her head. A strong arm pushed her to the ground, and she laid there, unmoving. There were sparks of light cutting into her vision and her thoughts—they made her squint. The pull of black was beckoning to her. It hurt to be awake.

"Vincent ..." she whispered, before surrendering to oblivion.

He had been in the catacombs for weeks and had only returned a few days ago, when a collapsed wall had obstructed the entrance to numerous chambers and his help was needed. Once he had finished the work, he had returned to his chamber, settled into his chair, and hadn't moved, not even to sleep. He was catatonic and had not spoken since his return. Mary brought his meals and removed the untouched plates. She didn't speak to him and didn't touch him—though his severe weight loss and the grief radiating from him brought tears to her eyes. She knew him so well; she knew that whatever this was, only Vincent would be able to pull himself out of it.

Father had sat with him a few times. He had sat in silence, also understanding that Vincent was beyond reach. He had read and he had fallen asleep; yet whenever he looked at Vincent, he was still the same—the silence was deafening.

Vincent was beyond angry, beyond sad, beyond feeling. Whenever he let himself think of that night, he was horrified, humiliated. For weeks now, he had been deep in the tunnels. He had been so distracted at one point, he had actually lost his cloak. He went without it for days, until it turned up right in front of him. Most of the time he ran, but he had run so much, he was—for the first time in his life—exhausted. When he didn't have the energy to run anymore, he walked. He never deliberately stopped moving. Every few days, he would wake up on the ground wherever he had passed out the night before and immediately begin walking again. He only ate bread and water—the irony never crossed his mind.

At first, he was simply numb. Looking back on it, there was no other word for it but shock, and it took a long time before he emerged from the haze. Then he was sad—for being rejected, for being something that Catherine didn't want. In an instant, his dream had become a nightmare. Now he missed her and longed for her.

Then, ashamed for only thinking of himself, he fell despondent. He stopped walking. He searched until he found a cave, a small one packed with fresh brown soil. He stumbled inside and collapsed. He laid there, in the absolute darkness, buried as far as possible in the earth, and still could not get far enough away from his guilt. He was mortified, beyond belief, of what he had done to her. He was an animal—only an animal cuts people like that. People didn't do that to each other—dogs did, wolves and tigers did—but not humans.

He tormented himself with memories of the kiss, until he could no longer tell whether he was asleep or awake, for the nightmare never ceased. It had been the most beautiful moment in his entire life. The location, the music, their shy exploration of each other. He had been so intoxicated, he had not even realized his state. And then she had touched him ... an accident for sure, but it made no difference. His body had betrayed him ... and then repulsed her. Nothing would ever change that.

It was during this time that Vincent faced the darkest moments of his life. All light was gone, all laughter. Nothing lived down as deep as he was. Love was lost ... she was lost.

One night, he opened the Bond and was stunned. He felt little of her. She was there, but barely. If he could paint what he did feel from her through the Bond, it would be a beautiful landscape torn apart by a storm. It was calm, but not tranquil. Tears came to his eyes—she was miserable. Despite his refusal to accept the truth, he knew she was more upset about his absence than anything else. In his lucid moments, he knew he should go to her. But he couldn't. He could never see her again.

Their dream was over. He couldn't live with himself knowing he was the reason why. Every second of every minute seemed to be filled with blinding pain. He was lost ...

One night he had dreamed of a black sky, with large raven-like birds circling above him. The birds were dripping blood from their talons, and their beaks. He was screaming her name, over and over again. He could feel that she was in danger, but he could not see her. She did not answer him. He could feel—even as he was dreaming—that he was seeing his death. His death was losing her.

After that dream, Vincent was no longer himself. He wandered around for a few days until he heard trouble on the pipes. Something in him switched on. He shook his head and took a deep breath. He moved forward, focused solely on his task. But it was only the faintest hint of Vincent—most of him was locked deep down inside him, adjusting, in the only way he knew how, to a life without Catherine.

Suddenly, Vincent sat bolt upright in his chair. The Bond had exploded open. Catherine's emotions, and the speed they had rushed through him, paralyzed him. It was fatigue, then alarm, and then fear. He swore he felt a blow to his head. But he still didn't move, trying desperately to calm himself and focus on what was happening.

But something was wrong and he knew it. He had never, in the entire time they had known each other, felt such fear from her. He wanted to start running and only stop when he came across the source of Catherine's misery and destroyed it.

Then—poof!—she was gone. He had no sense of her—none. It was like the Bond had simply vanished, like it had never been. Vincent's body shook with a chill. He was panting and then he roared.

She's not dead, he told himself again and again. His heart was racing. His breaths were shorter and shorter as his claws dug into the upholstery.

There was nothing he could do. He had no idea where she was. He hadn't been paying attention to the Bond, selfishly and pathetically distracted.

He was shivering now, unable to stop. He stumbled to his feet and ran to his chamber's entrance. He turned the corner quickly and lunged into Father's chamber. Vincent quickly descended on Father and they both tumbled to the ground. Vincent arms were a vise around Father, who was beginning to realize that Vincent was absolutely terrified. He was shaking like he had when he was young and tortured with nightmares. Father's heart was beating out of his chest with worry.

"My boy," Father whispered. "Tell me ..."

Every second felt worse than the one before it. What was happening? Where was she? Why couldn't her feel her? What was he going to do?

"Vincent, please!" Father pleaded. "You have been gone for weeks and haven't spoken for days. Please tell me what's wrong so I can help you."

Vincent just shook his head and surrendered completely to his tears. It was too much. How could he explain? He didn't have the words for what had transpired before, much less for what was happening now.

"Vincent!" Father nearly shouted. "This must stop. Please, tell me what is wrong!"

Father managed to pull himself up and into a sitting position, his back against a bookshelf; Vincent laid on his side on the floor beside him, curled up, in too much pain to even move. He couldn't endure this—he couldn't.

He felt Father's hand upon his shoulder and Vincent moved closer to him, still trembling like a child.

"Vincent, this is so unlike you," Father said quietly. "Is it Catherine?"

Vincent nodded.

"Is she alright? Has something happened to her?"

Vincent nodded again.

"Oh my dear boy, what happened? Please, you must talk to me!"

After many moments had passed, Vincent stopped crying. His eyes were open, yet unseeing. Father had never been so concerned for him and not knowing what had happened was driving him mad.

"Just start from the beginning ..."

It took Vincent nearly an hour to get it all out, and when he was finished, Father was speechless. He had so many questions—and he felt as paralyzed and helpless as Vincent did.

"You still don't feel her?"

Vincent shook his head.

"My God," Father replied. "Vincent, you need to get up; please, just go to my bed and lay down. There are some things we can do, but you need to lay down in a proper place and rest; you are so weak. Please, Vincent ..."

Father got to his knees, pulled Vincent up with him, and they stumbled together toward the bed. Vincent collapsed the minute he hit the mattress and curled into a ball once more. Father couldn't imagine the pain his son must be feeling. He had to do whatever he could.

He pulled a blanket over Vincent and then hammered out a message for Mary and some others to meet him in one of the classrooms.

"Father, please don't leave me," Vincent managed.

"Of course," Father replied. He quickly changed the location and people began trickling in.

"What is it, Father? What's happened" Mary asked, concern drenching her face.

"Please everyone, sit down."

When everyone had quieted, Father began again.

"I am afraid I have some bad news," Father sighed. "It's shocking and will upset you all, but please, let me get it all out because we must do what we can, as soon as we can."

Everyone glanced at each other and then back at Father. The tension in the room was palpable.

Father sighed again.

"I know many of you are wondering where Vincent has been and what has transpired, and we will address that later, but for now ..." Father stumbled, fighting back tears. He kept waiting for Vincent to jump up and say everything was okay.

"About one hour ago, Vincent felt tremendous fear from Catherine—inexplicable fear. Then, he felt what seemed to be a blow to his head. And then ... he felt nothing."

There was a collective gasp from the group. Father held his hands up.

"Please, let me finish," Father said firmly. "The Bond they share is silent and we fear that something terrible has happened to Catherine. Vincent can feel her even when she is sleeping, so she must be unconscious, and I pray I am wrong, but she is probably injured."

"What was she doing when this happened? Did Vincent know where she was?" Pascal asked.

Father glanced over at Vincent, who had his head in his hands, his fists clenching and unclenching. He turned back to the group.

"We don't know where she was or what she was doing. Vincent felt her fear, the pain in his head, and then nothing."

"What can we do?" Mary asked, wiping away tears.

"Geoffrey, I want you to go immediately to Catherine's apartment and ascertain whether or not she is there and get a message back to us as fast as you can."

Geoffrey nodded and bolted away.

"Jamie, I want you and Kyle to go look around Catherine's office building and the streets surrounding. Go out through the park entrance and look for her on the way. Maybe she is hurt in the park."

"Mouse wants to help. Mouse loves Catherine!"

"Yes, yes, Mouse, I know. You know these tunnels better than anyone. Perhaps Catherine was on her way here and got lost or fell ill. Please look for her in any of the spots she and Vincent share."

"Mouse will find Catherine!" he blurted out, before he scampered away.

"Mary?"

"Yes, Father?"

Father walked over to her and lowered his voice.

"Vincent is sick—not just from fear and worry, but from malnutrition and dehydration. He needs an IV and ..."

"He won't sleep Father—we can't expect that of him," Mary said.

"I know," Father sighed, running his half-gloved hand through his hair.

"But we must do all we can to help him regain his strength. He will listen to you Mary; please make him eat something, anything, some soup from dinner, perhaps. Just sit with him so he knows he's not alone."

Mary nodded and left for the infirmary to get supplies.

Just then, a message from Peter floated over the pipes. Catherine was over an hour late for dinner and she was not answering her office or home phone. Was she there? Pascal immediately responded that Catherine was missing and for Peter to get down here at once.

Some of the others still in the room asked what they could do. Father told them to keep the children calm and occupied. They were already so traumatized by Vincent's long absence—he didn't want them to know that something was wrong with Catherine. They nodded and left the room, comforting each other.

"Father, I am going to put out an all quiet," Pascal offered.

"Yes, Pascal, please do so," Father replied, sitting down heavily in his chair.

A message from Geoffrey conveyed that Catherine was not at home. There was no light coming from under her door and the doorman had not seen her since the morning.

Peter exploded into Father's chamber a moment later,

"Dear God, Jacob, what's happened, where's Cathy? Where's Vincent?"

Father looked up at him and then nodded toward his bed, where Vincent lay motionless.

Peter sat down at the table across from Father.

"What happened?" he said in a quieter voice.

Father told him about the loss of the Bond, the pain to Vincent's head, that he had no idea where she was.

"That's strange," Peter replied, "Doesn't Vincent always know where Cathy is?"

"Usually yes," Father whispered. "It seems they had, what shall we say, an incident. Vincent was convinced that things were over between them. He is beside himself with guilt."

"I knew something was amiss," Peter replied. "Catherine has been working herself to death—more than usual. Each time I have seen her, she looked thinner and even more disconnected. She would only tell me that she and Vincent had had a misunderstanding ... I've been so busy lately; I should have looked in on her more."

"This is no one's fault. We must focus only on finding Catherine."

"You're right. I am going back home and calling all the hospitals and police stations—maybe we'll get lucky and find her. I'll stay in touch and let you know what I find out."

Peter glanced over at Vincent again and then at Father. Father shook his head and Peter nodded.

Mary returned just as Peter was leaving. She went to Vincent's bedside. Father could hear her talking softly to him and was relieved when Vincent offered her his arm for the IV. Once she had it taken care of, she sat down beside Vincent, stroking his back and his hair. Father's eyes filled with tears when he heard Vincent begin to cry again, repeating two words over and over—she's gone.