The Road Not Taken
(An Alternate Universe Story)
By Thomas Mc
Part 2 : Friendship
February 1969
Cathy liked living in the two-bedroom apartment of the building her daddy owned because she could go to the park whenever she wanted.
It had been nearly two months since she had first encountered the mysterious Vincent. Several times since that day, she had felt the sorrow over her mother's death threaten to rise up only to have it blocked by some outside force until it would fade away. Whenever this happened, she would be reminded of her strange friend, Vincent, and she had decided to try and find him again. After a couple of weeks searching, she was beginning to get frustrated.
It wasn't until she remembered that the culvert was completely surrounded with heavy vegetation that she finally located the storm drain where she had met him. Half-hopefully, she made her way into the darkness where, to her surprised delight, she found him waiting for her.
"You were waiting for me?" She asked, amazed, as she peered at his dark shape trying to see him better.
"I knew you were coming." He replied.
"How did you know?" She asked intrigued
"I felt you." There was a pause. "I always feel you." Another pause. "I always know how you are feeling."
"Always?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "Even when I'm at home?"
"Always." He replied.
"But how?" She asked, really curious and slightly uncertain now.
"I don't know." He paused and she thought she saw movement as if he was shaking his head. "I've always been able to feel what other's are feeling when they are near me, in the same room . . . but . . . I've never been able to feel anyone from far away before."
She thought about what he had said. She was not so sure she liked this now that she thought about it.
"I'm . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." He paused. "I, ah, I can try to not feel you but it's kinda hard to block it out all the time."
She caught a hint of something in his unusual voice. He was unhappy that he had upset her. "Oh, ah, I guess it's OK." She thought a moment. "You know what I'm thinking?" She was again uncertain and curious.
"No." There was a pause. "Only how you feel and where you are."
She thought about it some more. "I guess, in a way, it's kinda neat. That way you know when I'm looking for you." She paused, looking at the ground, thinking. "Sometimes when I think of Momma it's like someone gets between me and the sadness." She looked back up at him. "Is that you?"
After a moment's pause he answered. "I, ah, I guess so. Sometimes I feel you getting so sad and I want to help so I try to . . . push the sadness away." He paused again. "I wasn't sure I was really affecting you. I hope you don't mind."
Again she shifted gears and stepped towards him. "Why don't we go up into the park and play?"
He took a step back. "No! . . . I, I can't. I might be seen." He paused. "I can't let anybody see me. Father says that if I get seen by them, they will kill me or, worse, take me away and do terrible things to me." She heard fear in his voice.
"Can't you let me see you?" She asked.
"No." He replied. "I don't want to scare you."
Cathy wondered what he might look like that she would find it scary. Some of the pictures she conjured up in her mind were pretty frightening, she had a very creative imagination, but she thought that she could handle it. Despite her assurances that she wouldn't be frightened, he adamantly refused to let her see him. Finally she gave up trying to see what he looked like and they both settled down together in the deep gloom of the storm drain.
For a while they just talked about random things. She found that he had some of the strangest gaps in his knowledge and yet he often knew a lot more than her about other things. She was surprised to learn that he had never seen a movie though he seemed to know the stories from all the movies that she could think of.
Eventually they ended up talking about her family again. She told him about the weekend trips to their lake house in Connecticut. She had not been there since Momma went away. She then told him about the two family vacations to Europe. It felt good to talk about her mother and the good times they had together. Daddy would still not talk to her about her mother. When she mentioned Momma to Daddy, he would change the subject. The conversation came around to Vincent's family but he was reluctant to tell her much about his life. The more she pressed him the more evasive he became. Finally Vincent reminded her that it was getting late so she got up and headed home.
As Cathy headed across the park toward home, she didn't see the lone cloaked figure that had followed her out of the drain and now stood beside the tree watching her cross the park. Twice he turned his back as others strolled past his location. Vincent knew that, as Mitch would often say, Father would blow a major gasket if he ever found out about him and that little girl. Once she had disappeared from sight, he turned and headed back down into the tunnels. Father had gotten used to Vincent's tendency to wander the tunnels but he still fussed at him about it if he was gone for too long.
~ x BB x ~
Cathy cautiously entered the storm drain. Twice before she had ventured down here and both times she had encountered the mysterious Vincent. Last time, over a week ago, he had told her that he always knew where she was. She still wasn't sure sometimes whether she liked that or not. If what he said was the truth then he should be waiting for her. She had only gone about ten feet when she spotted the dark shape in the gloom ahead. "Vincent?"
"I'm here." Came the now familiar raspy voice. She didn't know why, but there was something oddly comforting in that unusual voice of his. It always made her feel better when they talked.
She advanced. "I wondered if you would be here."
"I told you that I would always know when you came here, and I would come to meet you." He responded.
She reached his side and they walked together further into the storm drain. "I wasn't sure if you were playing a trick on me."
"I would never do that. You're my friend."
She smiled over at him. "If I'm your friend then what is your real name?"
He stopped and turned towards her. "Vincent." He replied in a slightly puzzled voice.
She looked up trying to see his face, he was about two inches taller than her, but he was wearing the usual hood like affair that surrounded his face in even deeper shadow than the gloom around them. Finally she responded to the tone of inquiry in his voice. "Your real name, silly. What is your full name? What is your nickname?"
He was quiet for a moment then he shrugged. "The only name I have is Vincent. Do you have a nickname?"
"Cathy is my nickname." She replied with a bit of a giggle. "My real name is Catherine Elizabeth Chandler."
"Catherine." He paused. "I like that name. Catherine suits you better than Cathy."
Something about the way he said her name sent a shiver up her spine. She liked the way it made her feel when he said it like that. "Yea, well, hardly anyone ever calls me by my real name." She felt a momentary pang of sadness. "Mother usually called me Catherine." She felt a single tear slide down her cheek. Vincent reached out and wiped away that tear. The feel of the fuzzy gloves he always wore made her shiver.
"I'm sorry. I won't use that name if it makes you sad."
She sniffed once. "No, it's OK. I kinda like it when you use my real name. I like the way it sounds when you say it."
"In that case then I will call you Catherine." She thought she caught the very faint glint of teeth for a moment. "Did you know that your other name, Chandler, means 'candle maker'?"
She giggled. "So that means that I'm Catherine the candle maker." She grinned at him. Then another memory made a lump rise in her throat. "One time, when I got very afraid of the dark, Momma put a candle next to my bed to make me feel better. Candles always make me think of Momma." He reached out and touched her hand. She closed her hand around his fuzzy gloved hand and she smiled at him. "I think I like being Catherine the candle maker."
Like the last time, they both sat down and talked. She liked talking to Vincent. There was something almost grownup about the way he talked but he never talked down to her. After a while she found herself again telling him about her mother. Like before, he brought out the stories of the many good times she and her mother had together. Daddy still wouldn't talk to her about her mother and it felt good to find someone that she could talk to about her.
The only other person that she could talk to about her mother was Doctor Peter and her friend Susan, but she hadn't been able to see them much in the last year. The conversation had lagged a bit and Cathy had become a bit thoughtful.
"What are you thinking about, Catherine?" Vincent asked.
Catherine shook herself out of her reverie. "Oh, I was just thinking about my best friend Susan." She shrugged in the gloom. "I haven't seen much of her lately. Daddy just doesn't have the time to take me over to her place very often anymore."
"Can't you go there by yourself?"
"No, Daddy says that I'm too young to go all the way to Brooklyn by myself." She replied a bit annoyed.
"How old are you?" He asked.
"I turn eleven next week." Catherine replied puffing herself up a bit. "How old are you?"
"I just turned twelve a month and a half ago." Vincent replied.
"Oh, when's your birthday?" Catherine inquired. There was only quiet and Catherine sensed just a bit of tension in the air. She was beginning feel anxious when Vincent finally spoke.
"I don't really know." A deep sigh. "Father found me on January twelfth." Another pause. "He says that I had to have been less than two days old when he found me so my birthday could be anywhere between the tenth and the twelfth." Catherine could hear the unease in his voice. "We always celebrate on the twelfth."
Catherine reached out and touched his arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's alright. It's not your fault they left me in the trash." There was a definite hint of bitterness in his voice.
Catherine didn't know how to respond to that so she just hugged him trying to comfort her friend.
~ x BB x ~
March 1969
Charles watched as Cathy opened her birthday presents. Six of her closest friends had been invited to the party. Nancy, Rebecca and Susan were crowded closest to Cathy and were actively assisting in the process. Charles shook his head at the prospect of Cathy, Nancy and Rebecca together and cooking up mischief together. He often referred to the three of them as the three musketeers of their elementary school. He had received his share of calls from school because of something that the three of them had gotten into. Throw Susan into the mix and anything could happen. The last year however had been quite different. Cathy had become very withdrawn in school and the two times he had been called up there it had been an actual serious fight and the other two girls had not been involved. It was good to see her reengaging with her three best friends and the principal had told him last week that her attitude had improved dramatically over the last month.
Later after the party goers had all gone home he noticed that Cathy had become somber again. He had earlier noticed several children playing in the park across the street from the apartment and suggested that she might like to go out to play with them while he worked on some things from his office.
A little over an hour later Charles noticed that Cathy was not with the other children but they appeared to be playing hide and seek so he wasn't too worried at first. After watching the other children for a while without ever seeing Cathy, he finally got worried and headed down into the park.
After the third kid he asked claimed to have not seen her, Charles was getting scared. Then he saw her coming towards him through a clearing from somewhere near the center of the park After about ten minutes she spotted him and broke into a run. She was now all smiles and laughter, the somber demeanor of earlier was completely gone.
"Where have you been young lady?" He looked at her severely.
"I was talking to Vincent." She replied blithely, totally oblivious to his annoyance as she started telling him all about it.
That same imaginary friend again! But there was no denying that her emotional state was much improved over two hours ago.
~ x BB x ~
Two days after Cathy's birthday the child psychologist was gazing at Charles over steepled fingers from the other side of his desk. "Yes this Vincent is a very interesting and imaginative creation indeed."
"How do you mean?" Charles asked uncertainly.
"First off, she says that he had been abandoned by his parents. That makes his situation much sadder than hers, giving her reason to not feel so sorry for herself. He is currently supposed to be living with just a father figure. That put them on an equal footing socially, making him easy to talk to. She has given him the ability to touch her emotions so that, in her mind, she can use him as a way to run interference for her whenever she is feeling overwhelmed by the loss of her mother. His birthday is not an exact date. That gives him at least one familiar aspect, a birthday, without her having to pin it down. Finally he is a year older than her. That makes him someone she can look up to, like an older brother. Someone she can go to for comfort without having to upset you." He nodded to himself with a self satisfied grin. "All in all, a perfect companion for a young girl that is dealing with the loss of a parent."
"But what about the way he never lets her see his face?" This was the part that bothered him the most; the grim reaper aspect of her descriptions of him.
"That is the most interesting aspect of it." He leaned back in his chair. "By always keeping him in the shadows, it relieves her of the chore of giving him a face. It makes him a bit more mysterious, more interesting. It allows her to give her imagination free reign to make him into whatever she wants him to be at the time. And it will probably make it easier for her to let him go when she no longer needs him."
"So you see no reason to worry about the form of this imaginary friend Cathy has created?" He inquired uncertainly.
"No reason at all." He paused. "In fact I would say that the fact that she has been so creative about it is a very positive sign. Seriously depressed children tend to be very un-creative."
~ x BB x ~
Charles thought about Cathy's birthday last week as he looked out the window at the park below. He spotted Cathy just inside the park, playing with some other children. At least she wasn't off somewhere with her imaginary friend. Four times she had come back from somewhere inside the park, full of tales of the things she and this unseen friend of hers had talked about. He knew it was normal, according to Peter's psychologist friend, and he had to admit that she had been much happier since she first created this Vincent character, but sometimes he worried. He remembered the child psychologist going on about what he thought were very interesting and imaginative characteristics to this Vincent that she had created. He had found the whole thing fascinating.
Charles' mind returned to the present. It had been a couple of months since that first time Cathy told him about her mysterious imaginary friend and sometimes he feared that her creation seemed a little bit too real to her. The psychologist had assured him that an imaginary friend could seem as solid as the ground to an imaginative child.
Also though the psychologist's explanation seemed to make sense, he couldn't help feeling that there was more to this imaginary friend than they knew. Something about it still bothered him. Despite the psychologist's insistence that there was nothing to worry about, he wondered if he should talk to Peter about it.
~ x BB x ~
It was getting pretty late on the last day of March when Catherine eased her way into the storm drain and stopped about eight feet inside, waiting. After about a minute she spotted a dark figure approaching. She was determined that this time she was going to see what Vincent looked like. He stopped about fifteen feet away and she called to him. "Vincent?"
"I'm here, Catherine."
"Come on out." She suggested.
"No, I can't. It's too bright. You might see me." He replied.
She was a very determined and persistent little girl and she usually got what she wanted if she wanted it enough. Some might say she was spoiled but she was very choosy about when to bring her considerable resources to bear. She wasn't going to leave this storm drain until she had seen what her friend looked like. "Why can't I see you?" She stood there, hands on her hips. "You can see me."
"I told you, it was because I would frighten you." He replied in exasperation with just a hint of worry.
She seemed to sense both exasperation, and a tiny bit of fear in his voice. She could almost feel it. She responded with just a bit of exasperation of her own. "You're the one afraid." She cocked her head. "You're just an old scardycat."
"I am not!" There was real anger and deep hurt in his voice.
More than that Cathy had clearly felt that same anger and very deep hurt within herself. The hurt was particularly strong. It was almost as if they had been her own feelings, which momentarily surprised her. She was suddenly feeling very contrite and ashamed for hurting him like that. But what had she said that had been so hurtful to him? "I'm sorry." She hastily blurted out as she quickly advanced on him. "I didn't mean it. Really . . . I just . . . I just think it's so unfair." She reached out to the dark figure. "It makes me feel bad that you won't let me see you." She touched his upper arm. "I feel like you don't trust me."
"It's not about trust. I just don't want to scare you away."
She could distinctly feel the uncertainty and worry coming from him as though it was her own. "I'm not that easy to scare." She looked intently up into his dark hood. "Why do you think you would scare me away?"
"I . . . well . . . I'm not like everyone else." He gave out a sigh that seemed to come from deep within his soul. "I'm different . . . so different that my real parents abandoned me. They left me behind the trash in an alley."
She could clearly feel his bitterness. Then she began feeling angry on his behalf. "Aw, come on you can't look that bad. Your adopted father wouldn't have taken you home if you looked that bad. Those others were just stupid." She drew herself up to her full height. "I won't be afraid of you and I won't run away. You're my friend."
There was a long interval of silence. She could clearly feel his indecision.
Finally he spoke in a very subdued voice. "You're my friend, and I don't want to lose you."
"I don't run away from my friends." She was imploring him now. "I promise. I won't be afraid of you."
"You promise you won't run away or make fun of me." There was desperation and need in his voice and in the emotions she could feel from him.
"I promise I won't run away or make fun of you. I would never do that to my friend." She started pulling on his arm, trying to draw him out into the light.
"Well . . ." He momentarily resisted then, with a sigh. "OK." He reluctantly allowed her to pull him toward the opening. Father would have a cow if he found out.
With his heart in his throat he passed through the opening into the shallow culvert. Catherin stepped away and turned to look at him in the last rays of the waning daylight. His face was still hidden in the deep hood. The first thing she noticed was his clawed, fur covered hands. There was surprise and just the tiniest hint of fear of those claws but the fear was quickly overcome with curiosity. "Are those really your hands?" She looked up in surprise at his still hooded face. "I always thought you were wearing fuzzy gloves." She looked back down at his hands. "Are those really as sharp as they look?" She took a step towards him, her curiosity going through the roof. She had to see what he looked like. He took a step back, whipping his hands behind his back and she took another step forward. "Please, Vincent, I really want to see you."
He could sense a strong yearning mixed in with the surprise and curiosity. Finally, with a great deal of trepidation, he slowly reached up and pushed his hood back. For a long time she just stood there staring at him. Finally she broke out into a big grin. "Coooool!" She leaned toward him radiating wonder. "You're a lion-man." She took a step closer until she was standing within two feet of him and gazed up into his face. She cocked her head one way and studied him a moment then cocked it the other way. "Can you smile with those lips?"
The combination of the way she looked at him, the emotions he felt coming from her and the way she had said it, brought out one of his very rare smiles. Both her eyes and her smile got bigger. "Wow! You've got fangs."
He felt that she was actually delighted by the discovery. Then he felt annoyance from her as she glanced up at the sky. "O rats! It's getting late. Daddy's going to get worried."
Vincent could clearly feel the conflict within her. She was worried about her father but she didn't want to leave. "It's late. You really should be getting home . . . but you can't tell anyone about me or what I look like. If you do they'll come after me and kill me or put me in a cage and do terrible experiments on me." He implored her. "Please, promise me you won't tell anyone."
She gazed back at him. She didn't like keeping secrets from her daddy, but she also didn't want any of those awful things to happen to her friend. "I promise." She replied. Reluctantly she backed slowly away from him. He was right. She really needed to get home but she had promised that she wouldn't run away from him. She finally turned and started toward home but she kept looking back and smiling at him to reassure him. Not until she had rounded a corner and completely lost sight of him did she break into a run. She was late and probably in trouble.
Continued in Part 3
'Beauty and the Beast' and its characters are owned by Witt-Thomas Productions and Republic Pictures. No infringement on copyrights is intended. This story is presented merely for the enjoyment of fans. Original concepts and story elements may be used by other authors as long as appropriate credit is given.