CHAPTER FOUR.
FRIDAY 30TH DECEMBER, 1994 - NEW YORK CITY.
"Vincent?" Cullen let out a long, deep sigh as he regarded his old friend.
The familiar leonine features were set in a solemn expression, the silky red/gold mane was fanned out around his broad shoulders, where it had fallen when Vincent had removed his cloak, and those familiar, arresting blue eyes faraway and unfocused, lost in the deepest contemplation.
Cullen tried to smother a smile in his now slightly greying whiskers. His noble friend had been next to useless since he had returned from escorting Father Topside.
He was meant to be helping Cullen with the ongoing repairs to the furniture in the Great Hall, more damage having come to light at Christmas, to the sturdy old chairs and tables that would be needed again for the New Years celebrations in two days time.
At this rate, half of the community would be required to sit on the floor to eat their New Years' lunch.
This thought brought another smile to Cullen's lips.
"Vincent ...." He reached out and laid a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, drawing his steady blue gaze at last. "A penny for your thoughts?" He grinned.
"I am sorry, Cullen .... I was ...."
"Miles away?"
"Not quite ...." Vincent lowered his gaze.
"Just up top. With Father."
"Yes."
"I can understand why you'd be worried, Vincent," Cullen sighed softly. "After all, he's not as young as he used to be ...."
"But Father is still hail and hearty ...."
"Yes," Cullen grinned in agreement. "And still as feisty as ever."
If there was one man that he truly admired, and respected, and aspired to be more like, it was Jacob Wells.
Of course, it hadn't always been that way.
There had been a moment, a blink of an eye really, when Cullen had been seduced by greed, overwhelmed by the sudden acquisition of wealth, after years of scrimping and saving and scratching a living.
The discovery of the treasure, buried deep under the city, part of their subterranean world for centuries, undiscovered, until Mouse's explorations had revealed it's existence, had deeply affected the whole community for a while.
And Cullen had turned on Father.
Cullen hadn't been the only one to lose his head over it, but he had been the only one to almost lost his soul because of it.
Greed had eaten away at his good sense, blackened his heart against his most trusted friends, and clouded his usually logical and centered mind.
A pacifist most of his life, greed had inspired him to commit an heinous act of violence against the most innocent amongst them.
Mouse.
And had caused him to bring danger to the place that he had called home for so long, where he had found peace and contentment away from the stresses and the heartache of the world Above, in the form of a man, with a gun, also seduced by greed.
It had been Vincent who had come to his rescue, despite the harsh words that had passed between them earlier.
It had been a testing time for the whole community and it had been Father's reasoning that had helped them all through it, and Vincent's wisdom that had helped them all to decide what to do with the treasure.
After that, Cullen had never allowed himself to forget his rash, uncharacteristic behavior. The episode had colored his life so deeply, that for a time, he had wondered if he would ever move past it.
And through it all, Vincent had been there for him, supportive, his manner toward Cullen never changing, encouraging his friend not to be so hard on himself, to forgive himself for his human failings, as his friends had all forgive him.
Including Mouse .
Cullen was deeply grateful to this incredible man whom he counted as his closest friend and he had tried to be supportive to Vincent in his time of trouble and grief, as supportive that was, as Vincent would allow him to be, had allowed anyone to be, except Father.
Cullen knew all too well what was weighing so heavily on Vincent's mind today and it was not primarily Father's health although that was a part of it.
Vincent had shown no inclination to talk about it, and Cullen had understood.
Vincent was an intensely private man, quiet and thoughtful, needing to work out his own problems, quietly and logically, talking it through with Father, or his closest friends, only when the answer eluded him, or when he needed a fresh perspective.
"Yes," Vincent agreed with a gentle smile, the small gesture that slightly lifted his features, without revealing his teeth.
"He'll be okay, Vincent," Cullen assured with a confident air.
"Still, I cannot help wishing that I were with him ..." Vincent sighed deeply.
He had tried to steer his thoughts in other directions, but his lapse in concentration was evidence of his lack of success.
He had told Cullen only that Father's visit to the world Above had something to do with the person who was digging into his history, and as a good friend, Cullen had not pursued the subject, for which Vincent was very grateful.
"It's not hard to guess why ...."
"It is because of me that he makes this perilous journey Above. If anything should happen to him, Cullen ...."
"Nothing will happen to him, Vincent. He may be getting on in years, but he's as tough as old boots ...." Cullen grinned. "Physically, emotionally, mentally ...."
"Perhaps ...."
"Vincent ...." Cullen faltered for a moment. "You know that wild horses couldn't have stopped him from pursuing this. He loves you. Wants the best for you, always ...."
"I know that, Cullen ...." Vincent regarded his friend thoughtfully.
"You're lucky to have his love and support, Vincent ...."
"I know that too, Cullen, and I understand how .... difficult .... and painful .... this must be for him ...."
Vincent sighed softly.
"I have tried to reassure him, that no matter what the outcome of this, I will always love him .... need him .... but, still, I see the fear in his eyes. The fear of losing the son that he has loved, protected, shielded, educated and nurtured for forty years, and it is then that I know that no amount of reassurance from me will convince him ...."
"Actions speak louder than words, Vincent. Father will settle down when he sees that nothing is really going to change. After all, you're hardly going to leave home, are you?" Cullen chuckled softly.
"This place .... his love .... is the only home that I have ever known .... or wanted ...." Vincent confirmed solemnly. "Nothing could change that ...."
"And Father knows that, Vincent. In his heart of hearts, he knows it, but he is getting older, feeling threatened by any small change that he has no control over. You understand that feeling, Vincent. Don't you?"
"Yes ...." Vincent let out a long, ragged sigh.
"He just needs time to come to terms with the shock, and, if you don't mind my saying so, so do you, my friend."
"Perhaps ...."
"No Vincent. Not perhaps. For sure .... You've waited a long time for this opportunity to discover the truth about the circumstances of your birth, now, it is so close you can almost taste it ...." Vincent dropped his china blue gaze briefly. "It 's a lot to take in all at once, pal. Give yourself time to absorb everything. Don't make any hasty decisions, and trust in Father. Trust in his love. He knows what this means to you. Let him be your guide in this, Vincent. He loves you."
"I love him too, Cullen," Vincent's voice was low and husky with emotion.
"I know ...." Cullen paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "You know, Vincent, sometimes, I envy you. I envy you your relationship with Father."
This brought Vincent's head up and he regarded Cullen curiously.
"If I'd had something only half as good with my Dad, well, things might have been very different. I might not have struggled for so long with guilt and feeling so inadequate, because he was disappointed with me. The weight of all that emotional baggage almost crippled me, Vincent, but until I came Below, and saw you and Father, I thought that that was the way that it was with all fathers and sons ..." Cullen sighed wistfully.
"I see you and Father, the way that you talk to each other, look at each other, touch each other. I see the closeness that you have, even when you disagree, it is so obvious and so touching. Let me tell you, Vincent, it's not something that fathers and sons in the world Above find easy. Showing each other tenderness, affection ...." Cullen sighed again.
"It's not considered manly .... masculine .... it's .... embarrassing ...." He smiled ruefully now. "But if you never show affection, and you never tell each other that you love, how do you know?" Cullen shrugged. "I think that you and Father have gotten it right, Vincent. The right balance. Convention be damned, and believe me, Vincent, that is quite some gift to pass on to your son and I do envy you ...."
"Yes, our relationship is very special, Cullen. Turbulent at times. We can both be very stubborn, as I am sure you are aware, but, a child could not have asked for a better guide .... teacher .... Father ...."
"And that relationship will endure, Vincent. All Father really needs is the odd gentle reminder ...."
"Yes ...." Vincent agreed softly.
"I understand. If you don't feel in the mood for this ...." Cullen waved his arm at the small stack of rickety chairs and tables around them. "I know you've got a lot on your mind right now."
"Yes."
"I'm here for you, Vincent. If you need to talk."
"I know that Cullen. Thank you," Vincent reached out and gently squeezed his friend's shoulder. "But there is really nothing to talk about, until Father returns ...." He confided in soft tones.
"Okay, but I'm here, Vincent. Any time. If you feel the need to talk about anything ...."
It had become an unwritten rule here Below that one simply did not discuss Catherine with Vincent, because it was just too upsetting for him, his friends sympathy and good wishes causing him too much pain, that they had all decided that the only way for him to cope with the situation was if he did not have to talk to anyone about it.
However, Cullen knew that there must be times when his friend needed to talk about the woman that he loved, and what he felt about her continued debilitation.
It must be hard on him, not to be able to talk to anyone other than Father, about her condition. Not to hear her name. Not to be able to speak openly about Catherine ....
If she had died, perhaps it would have been easier for Vincent to talk about her after all this time, but she had not. She just hung in limbo. Neither dead, but not quite alive either.
"Thank you ...." Vincent bowed his head briefly.
"We'd best get on. These things wont fix themselves ...." Cullen grinned then.
"And I have not been much help so far ...." Vincent sighed deeply.
"Don't sweat it, Vincent ...." Cullen chuckled at his friend's expression of guilt, draping his arm affectionately around Vincent's broad shoulders. "Go. Get out of here. Take some time out and do the thinking that you need to do ...." He advised sagely. "Don't worry about this. I'll recruit Mouse to give us a hand ...." He chuckled softly again. "If I can find him ...." The grin grew wider, and Vincent rolled his eyes heavenward.
Mouse was a valued member of the community, over the years, contributing much to improve the way of life Below, but, since Christmas, when he and his pretty young wife, Jamie, had learned that she was expecting their first child, the young man had become even less reliable than usual, not wanting to leave Jamie's side, planning new ways to make the new mother's life easier, with this new gadget or that neat invention.
They were a sweet young couple and everyone was very happy for them, especially after all the ups and downs of their turbulent courtship.
Father's confirmation of Jamie's pregnancy had come just in time for Christmas, her extra special gift to her husband, she had called it, face wreathed in smiles, and since then the young man had been like .... a mouse .... with two tails!
"What about that, huh? I still can't believe it. Mouse, a father," Vincent merely nodded. "Have you seen Jamie? she looks so ...."
"Serene," Vincent supplied.
"Yeah ...." Cullen smiled softly. "That's it exactly. I'm so glad those two finally got it together. My blood pressure couldn't have taken much more ...."
"Yours too?" Vincent could not suppress a soft chuckle. "At one point, I truly believed that Father would burst a blood vessel, he was so exasperated with both of them ...."
"And he can talk! I thought he and Mary would never make it down the aisle!"
Vincent smiled softly at this.
"I never doubted for a moment ...."
"Huh!" Cullen snorted causing Vincent to tilt his head to one side, birdlike, regarding his friend with amusement.
"I seem to remember you ploughing a trench a foot deep in my chamber, as you paced back and forth for hours on end, baby Jacob slung over your shoulder, complaining about how blind Father was, and how stubborn ...." Cullen chuckled, and Vincent smiled too, dropping his head briefly, but when he looked up again, his beautiful china blue eyes were sparkling with mirth.
Vincent remembered that time all too clearly, and how he had found it impossible to believe that Father could not see what was directly under his nose.
"Actually, Vincent, I found it .... very endearing," Cullen smiled, giving his friend's shoulder a brief squeeze.
At that moment, Vincent's attention was caught by a string of metallic clatters and clanks on the master pipes. His name, coming from a very familiar hand ....
Vincent let out a soft sigh of relief.
"Father?" Cullen regarded his friend curiously.
"Father," Vincent confirmed.
"That was quick," Cullen observed, wondering if that was a good sign, or not.
"Yes," Vincent let out a mighty sigh.
"Good luck ...." Cullen smiled, as he slipped his arm from around Vincent's broad shoulders. "The moment of truth, huh?"
"Perhaps ...."
"Well? What are you waiting for?" Cullen grinned. "I know that I said don't rush into anything, but that didn't include keeping Father waiting!"
"No. That would never do ...."
Cullen watched his friend grab his cloak, and swing it around his shoulders, as he exited the Great Hall on long, purposeful strides, and then let out a soft sigh, hoping that his friend was not heading for the biggest disappointment of his life.
Father was back very quickly.
Too quickly.
Maybe it hadn't gone well.
Maybe Father hadn't liked what he had discovered.
Still, Vincent still had Father, and that remarkable, loving, enduring relationship.
Cullen found himself hoping that something good had come out of Father's trip Above, because Vincent could use some good news about now.
After all, Vincent had endured enough pain, despair and heartache.
Was still enduring, even now.
Hopefully, a new, happier chapter was about to open in Vincent's life, bringing with it stability and peace of mind.
Cullen fervently hoped so.
/a\
For a long time after the elderly, limping man had gone, Josephine Grayson continued to stare after him, giving into her tears, allowing the grief to overwhelm her, until, at last, utterly exhausted by the power of emotion, she staggered to the nearest park bench and sat down heavily, wringing her gloved hands in her lap, her head bowed.
She refused to believe that it was over.
It could never be over. Not while she knew that her brother was alive ....
Out there. Somewhere ....
Not while she had breath in her body.
It would never be over ....
Not until he came to her and told her himself, face to face.
Told her that she had no place in his life.
In his future.
To see him.
Just once.
Would be enough ....
It would have to be enough ....
If that was what he wanted ....
Her thoughts in turmoil, Josephine did not know how long she sat on the rusted old bench, cursing herself for not following the old gent, for not insisting that he give her his name.
Some F.B.I. Agent you'll make! She railed silently.
At last, she began to feel the chilly late December afternoon breeze in her bones, and shivering, pulling her coat more closely about her, Josephine rose stiffly from the bench, and began to walk to the nearest park exit.
As she emerged on to the street, she spotted a flower stall, and went over to purchase a small bunch of snowdrops from a stooped, elderly woman, then she stepped to the curb and hailed a passing yellow cab, which took her to the cemetery where her parents were buried.
Josephine walked slowly and solemnly between the neat rows of tombstones, and neatly tended graves until she reached the place where only a few days ago, she had laid her mother to rest.
Andrea had only been gone for two weeks. Already it felt like a lifetime.
She had only known about her brother's existence for two weeks.
It hardly seemed possible.
Bending carefully, Josephine split the bunch of snowdrops and placed one small bundle on the ground in front of her father's headstone, smiling softly as fresh tears brimmed in her green/gold eyes.
"Hello Daddy. Happy New Year," she spoke softly in a thick voice. "I miss you ...."
She reached out and removed the wreath of holy and mistletoe that she had laid on her father's grave on the day of her mother's funeral, setting it aside on the path to throw in the trash can beside the cemetery gate on her way out.
"I love you, Daddy ...."
After a few moments of silent contemplation, Josephine moved to the freshly dug ground where her mother lay, and set down the second small bunch of snowdrops on the freshly turned earth.
"Hello Mother. Happy New Year," she let out a deep sigh. "You were right. He is alive. Your son. Joseph. He is alive. I met a man today, who told me so, but I don't know what will happen now. It's up to him ...."
Josephine remained, squatting beside the fresh grave, for several more minutes, and then, feeling weary and downhearted, Josephine rose carefully and began to walk away, disposing of the dying wreath as she walked back out through the cemetery gate, and stood on the nearest corner to hail a cab.
/a\
"Father?" Vincent's low, husky voice broke the silence, as he approached the seated old man on silent feet, his boots and cloak stirring up soft eddies of dust as he moved quickly and quietly.
For a moment, Vincent was concerned for Father. He looked so frail and weary, sitting propped up against the tunnel wall, bearded chin in his chest.
Was he sleeping? Vincent wondered as he drew closer. Or was he sick?
"Father? Are you well?"
Jacob Wells lifted his head from his chest, his silent contemplation disturbed by his son's anxious tone of voice. He looked up into Vincent's familiar, beloved face, and saw the concern in those soulful, deep cobalt blue eyes, and the anticipation, the eagerness to discover what his father had found out.
"I'm all right, Vincent," Jacob Wells assured his son softly, holding out his hand toward Vincent. "Help me up, will you. Leg's gone to sleep ...."
"Father ...."
Vincent took his father's hand and gently helped him to his feet. Jacob wobbled a little unsteadily, as he leaned heavily against Vincent for a moment, then shifted his weight more evenly, using his walking stick to even the load.
"Let's go home, Vincent ...." Jacob smiled, reaching out to affectionately pat his son's half gloved, fur covered hand. He could sense Vincent's warring emotions. His concern for his father's welfare, his need to know what had transpired Above, his reticence to broach the subject before Father was ready to talk .... "I'm dying for a good cup of Mary's tea ...."
Vincent bowed his head very slightly in submission.
Jacob let out a soft sigh.
"I know that you are eager to know what I have found out, Vincent ...." He smiled softly. "And there is much to tell, my boy ...." The smile grew wider now. "But I will tell it better, comfortably seated in my chamber, with a good cup of hot tea ...." This drew a small, soft smile from Vincent.
"I know I like the sound of my own voice ...." Jacob grinned. "But I think I would rather have to tell this tale only the once ...."
"Very well. I can be patient a little longer, Father ...." Vincent said softly. "Come, Mary probably already has the tea on the table ...."
Father and son walked slowly, in companionable silence, Jacob Wells using the time to arrange his thoughts, and plan what, and how he was going to tell Vincent.
Should he just blurt it out?
Or should he try to be subtle?
He had thought long and hard about what he should do, whilst he had waited for Vincent to arrive.
But, now that he was here, and so obviously anxious to learn what his father knew, it was hard for Jacob to keep quiet.
But, he did.
At last, they reached the familiar cozy chamber that he now shared with his dear wife, and as they entered, Mary rushed over to her husband, abandoning the mending that she had been trying to do, in a vain effort to keep both her hands and her mind occupied, throwing her arms around him, her relief at his return in one piece, evident, as she pressed soft, warm lips to his.
"I will pour the tea ...." Vincent, his eyes twinkling with amusement, relinquished his hold on Father, and moved to where a tray of teacups and saucers, milk, sugar and teapot sat on Father's scarred old desk.
As the elderly couple continued to embrace, the younger man poured out three cups of hot Earl Grey tea, adding milk to all three, and two spoonfuls of sugar to Mary's, then he coughed softly, to get their attention.
They truly were a heart warming sight, Vincent thought to himself, as Mary finally disentangled herself from Father, a soft flush staining her cheeks, becomingly, as she smiled at Vincent.
"See, I told you that everything would be fine ...." Jacob Wells grinned affectionately at his wife, touched by the genuine warmth of her welcome. "Nothing terrible happened to me .... nor did I get arrested ...." He chuckled softly, unable to resist the temptation to tease the good lady.
"Drink your tea, Jacob," Mary took a cup and saucer from Vincent and passed it carefully over to her husband.
She was so relieved to see her husband returned, safe and well, that she was prepared to overlook the obvious fatigue in his face, and the weary set of his shoulders, and the redness around his familiar, deep sapphire blue eyes, evidence to her knowing, loving eyes that he had been weeping.
"It went .... well, Father?" Vincent asked at last, taking a sip of his own tea.
"Yes ...." Jacob Wells sighed softly. "Yes ...." He cast a furtive glance at his dear wife, who returned his look with a questioning look of her own.
"I will go and tell William that you are back. He was going to hold back dinner for you. No need now ...." Mary offered, sensing that her husband would prefer to be alone with his son, to divulge what he had discovered Above.
"You do not have to leave us, Mary." Vincent said softly. "I have no secrets, especially not from you ...." He regarded her with soft, sky blue eyes, blessing her for her tact and understanding, and wanting her to know that it was not necessary.
"I know that Vincent, but, I have been so preoccupied today, I have rather neglected my chores ...." She confessed softly, casting a meaningful glance at her husband, before smiling softly. "I really should look in on the little ones. Jamie has been wonderful, but she needs all the rest she can get these days ...."
`Mary leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her husband's bewhiskered cheek.
"And so do you, my love. We will talk later ...."
"Yes ...."
Jacob Wells sipped his tea with relish as he waited for Mary to leave them, but, one glance at Vincent, leaning casually against the metal spiral staircase, just across the room from him, as he was, Jacob could tell that he was fast running out of patience with his dear parent.
"Well Father?" Vincent said at last, his voice low and husky. "Is it ...." His voice trailed away then, but Jacob knew what was on his son's mind.
"Your mother?" He finished for Vincent.
"Yes ...." Vincent confirmed.
"No, Vincent. Vincent, I'm sorry, but, your mother ...." Jacob paused to take a deep breath, and set down his teacup and saucer. "Vincent, apparently, your mother died. Just before Christmas," he explained gently. "And I think that we both know when ...."
This brought a frown to Vincent's heavy brow.
"You remember, Vincent. That night, in the Great Hall. The howl? You told me afterward that it was like ...."
"A piece of my soul had been ripped for me ...." Vincent finished in a low, ragged voice.
"Yes. And you said at the time that you thought that it was a death howl, marking a passing ...." Jacob reminded gently.
"My mother ...."
"Yes. I think so. I can't explain how you knew, but yes. I think that was what it was. You felt her passing ...."
"So .... who .... who is looking for me, Father?" Vincent moved away from the spiral staircase, pacing back and forth, his eyes moving around the room, before finally settling on Father's bearded face. "Who is this Josephine Grayson?" He asked roughly.
"Vincent, she is .... your .... sister ...."
Vincent stopped dead in his tracks, his beautiful golden mane bouncing around his broad shoulders as he stared, slack jawed at Jacob Wells.
"Sister?" He expelled the word slowly, his tone incredulous.
"Half sister, I guess ...."
"How?"
"You had the same mother, Vincent. She told me that your mother did not tell her about you until she was dying. A death bed confession ...."
"What else did she tell you, Father?" Vincent demanded gruffly.
"That your mother had told her everything .... everything about you ...."
This time, Vincent took this information in his stride, as he regarded Father with awe.
"What else?"
"She told me that your mother's name was Andrea."
"Andrea?" Vincent echoed softly.
"Yes," Jacob Wells smiled softly at the expression of reverence on Vincent's beloved face. "And .... Josephine told me that your mother gave you a name ...."
"A name?" This both confused and startled Vincent.
He had always believed that the woman who had given birth to him had disposed of him very soon afterward, ashamed, frightened, possibly dying ....
That she had given any thought to a name for her poor scrap of an infant, both warmed him and filled him with wonder.
"Yes. she called you .... Joseph," Jacob Wells grinned.
"Joseph ...."
The word was expelled on a deep sigh, and Vincent bowed his head briefly to conceal his face from Father, but, when he looked up once more, there were tears sparkling in his beautiful china blue eyes.
"Vincent, Josephine Grayson told me to tell you that your mother loved you, always, and what more evidence do you need than that she named you, cared enough for you to give you a name ...." Jacob's voice was throbbing with emotion now. "She told me to tell you that your mother loved you .... at the cost of everything else ...." He continued softly. "She wants to meet you, Vincent ...."
His beloved son's china blue eyes widened slightly at this news.
"She said something about having some things that your mother wanted you to have. Some things that she wanted you to know .... some answers .... to questions you must surely have ...."
"What is she like, Father?" Vincent's voice was low and had a whispery quality, a very strong indication to anyone who knew him, of the level of emotion that he was feeling at these disclosures from his father.
"She's .... young. Younger than you, Vincent. Mid thirties, I would guess. Tall, slender, darker coloring than you, with the most beautiful green eyes with golden flecks in the irises. Quite remarkable, I've never seen anything quite like them before ...."
Jacob smiled as he recalled Josephine Grayson's poise and dignity, as well as her integrity and intelligence, and her pain, and her need.
"She is very gracious, very dignified. Intelligent. Charming. I was very impressed with her, my boy ...."
"You liked her ...." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes," Jacob acknowledged softly. "Yes, Vincent. I liked her very much," he confessed. "What will you do?"
"You have to ask?" Vincent regarded his father with incredulous blue eyes.
"No. I guess not ...." Jacob Wells sighed softly.
"Did she say anything else about .... my mother?" Vincent regarded his father with a hopeful expression now.
"No ...." Jacob sighed deeply. "I suspect that anything that she might have to say on that subject would be for your ears only, my boy ...." He suggested. "So-o-o .... do we start calling you Joseph now?" He arched an eyebrow quizzically.
"If you don't want me to take any notice of whatever it is you are asking me ...." Vincent rolled his eyes heavenward. "Father, I am a little too old to be changing my name. If you called me Joseph, I probably wouldn't even realize that you were addressing me. My name is and always shall be, Vincent. That is who I am, but, that she perhaps cared enough to give me a name ...." His voice trailed away again then.
"I know, my boy. I know. Vincent, there was something else that Josephine Grayson said, something that set me thinking ...."
"What is it, Father?"
"Something about Anna .... When she found you .... Vincent, I suspect that Anna may not have been strictly honest with me about how she came to find you ...."
"Just another in a list of hundreds, no, thousands of questions that I have for my .... sister," Vincent sighed deeply.
"What's stopping you?"
"Nothing ...." Vincent paused to sigh deeply once more. "Absolutely nothing .... except me ...." This brought a frown to Jacob Wells's brow.
"Vincent?"
"I do not want to rush into anything, Father. I want to be certain that I am ready to hear what she has to say, to learn what she knows, to finally discover the truth. Am I ready, Father?"
"I think so, my boy, but, only you can know for certain ...."
Jacob reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew Josephine Grayson's business card reaching out with it to offer it to his son.
Vincent took the small white oblong piece of card from Father and carefully read the address printed in silver italic script, then he looked up at Father with questioning aqua eyes, remembering Cullen's words.
The moment of truth ....
"Father?"
"It's your decision, Vincent. I cannot make it for you, and please do not ask me to tell you what you should do. You have to follow your heart in this, my boy. You know that I am always here for you, whatever you decide, but, this has to be your decision, Vincent."
"Follow my heart ...."
Following his heart had lead him to Catherine and all the love and the joy that she had brought into his life.
Following his heart had lead him to the man who had stolen his baby son, to the man who had stolen Catherine's future.
What would become of him if he followed his heart this time?
Vincent had no idea.
He only knew that he must be true to himself ....
And he had waited so long for this moment ....
He could not simply let it pass by ....
He had a sister.
A sister ....
Another flesh and blood being that he was connected to.
An Aunt for young Jacob ....
A blood relative .... a contact in the world Above ....
What choice did he have?
Really?
For the sake of his sanity ....
There were questions burning in his mind ....
Questions that perhaps Josephine Grayson had answers to, the only person left, now that he knew that his mother was dead, who could provide him with any answers at all, and what had it all been for .... all the worry .... the speculation .... the anxiety .... of himself and his family ....
If he faltered at the final hurdle?
Jacob Wells watched his beloved son's face carefully, almost able to see the cogs and wheels in motion, as he wrestled with his thoughts and emotions, and knew the very instant when the decision was made.
And Vincent did not disappoint him.
"I must see her ...." He expelled a huge sigh, his massive shoulders rising and falling with the expulsion of breath. "I must ...."
"Yes." Jacob Wells smiled softly. "What a truly wonderful gift for a New Year, Vincent .... a sister ...."
"Yes ...." Vincent sighed again, deeply. "I never dreamed. A sister. Jacob will be thrilled. an Aunt. I wonder if she has a family ...." Vincent pondered aloud.
"Something else that you will have to ask her. Vincent, you will be careful what you say to her .... about this place .... where .... how .... you live .... she is naturally going to be very curious ...." Jacob reminded his son gently.
"Father .... She works for the F.B.I. surely that must make her trustworthy ...."
"It's no guarantee, Vincent, but .... I have met her. I have looked into her eyes, and yes, I believe that we can trust her, so long as we don't rush into things. When will you go, Vincent?" Jacob asked, suspecting that he already knew the answer.
"Tonight."
"You never were one to let the grass grow ...." Jacob smiled softly. "Where?"
"The park. The lagoon. Neutral ground ...." Vincent suggested. "I will write a brief message, and get one of the children to pass it on to one of our helpers Above. I think Barry Masterson lives close to that neighborhood. Perhaps he would not mind delivering it ...."
"Perhaps .... Vincent ...."
"I know, Father. I will be careful ...." Vincent smiled, the soft gesture that slightly lifted his heavy features, without revealing his teeth.
"I know you will. What I was actually going to say ...." Jacob rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Was .... be gentle with her. Hear what she has to say, but don't judge her. All this must have come as something of a shock to her too ...." Father reminded his son gently. "Take things slowly, Vincent ...." He advised sagely.
"I will, Father," Vincent crossed the room on long strides, and dropping to his knees before Father, reached out and pulled the elderly man gently into his arms. "Thank you, Father," he squeezed the other man gently. "I love you so much ...."
"I know .... Steady on now .... you'll break my ribs ...." Jacob Wells smiled softly as Vincent reluctantly drew away. "I never dreamed that you might have a sister either, Vincent, but I am glad ...."
Vincent rose gracefully from his knees and moved away from Father.
"Perhaps when you know her a little better, you might find out if she plays chess ...."
Father called after Vincent, as the younger man climbed the steps to the vestibule two at a time, and exited Father's chamber on long, graceful strides, a soft rumble of laughter echoing off the rough, moss and lichen covered walls as he went.