CHAPTER FOUR.

SATURDAY 31ST DECEMBER, 1994.

Josephine Grayson returned to her home early in the afternoon, after having spent the morning with the dear ladies from the hotline office.

They had been naturally very curious about her meeting in the park with the elderly caller, and Josephine explained that she had gone to the meeting, only to discover that the man confirmed information received from a previous caller, that Anna Pater, and the child she had taken under wing were both dead.

The dear ladies had been very sympathetic, and offered their genuine regrets, but had soon brightened up when Josephine had handed over their paychecks, with a substantial bonus for each of them, as a gesture of her gratitude for their patience.

She had then treated the ladies to a light lunch, and they had toasted each other with glasses of sparkling mineral water and wished each other a Happy New Year!

As she entered the hallway from the street door, a little breathless from running down the block to avoid a shower of rain, and up the steps of the stoop, the antique brass carriage clock stuck twice on the hour, and she crossed the hallway, shrugging out of her coat and removing her scarf and gloves, making directly for the drawing room, with it's roaring log fire dancing vigorously in the hearth.

As she pushed the door open, she was surprised to find Patrick O'Shea leaning against the mantelpiece, enjoying the fire, as he stared absently into space, but hearing the soft creak of the door opening, he looked up sharply.

"Hello Patrick," Josephine smiled affectionately, crossing the room with her hand extended toward him in greeting.

The elderly man took her hand, squeezing it gently as he leaned forward to press cool, dry lips to her soft powdered cheek.

"Josie. You look well," Patrick remarked as he slowly pulled away from her. "In fact, I would go so far as to say that you look terrific," he beamed affectionately at her.

"I feel terrific," Josephine replied, returning his smile. "Can I offer you a drink? Sherry? Whiskey? Brandy?"

"No. No thank you, my dear."

"How about coffee, then? Some tea, perhaps?"

"No. Really. I can't stay too long. I just thought I'd stop by and see how you are doing, and to wish you a Happy New Year, of course."

"The same to you, Patrick, and your family. As you can see, I am doing just fine."

Yes, he could see.

She looked wonderful.

Her color was much better than the last time he had seen her, and there was a spark of life back in those incredibly beautiful and unusual green/gold eyes.

"Josie .... has .... has something happened?" There was a hint of suspicion in his tone now.

"Happened?" She frowned.

"With regard to .... your .... brother?"

"No Patrick. I told you that I would let you know if I heard anything."

"And have you?" He probed.

"All that I have heard is that both he and the woman that mother entrusted him to .... are dead ...." Her voice trailed away as she drew away from him, going to sit down in the chair at the Mahogany writing bureau.

"Oh Josie ...." Patrick let out a deep sigh. "I am so sorry."

"So am I," With her hands folded in her lap, Josephine crossed her fingers and asked which ever deity might happen to be listening, to forgive her such a blatant lie.

I'm only trying to protect him.

"But, not altogether surprised ...." He admitted. "So-o-o .... you're giving up the search?"

"There seems little point in continuing," Josephine sighed softly, lowering her gaze lest he see her guilt in her eyes.

"Then should I go ahead and process Andrea's will?" He asked, and the question stunned Josephine for just a moment.

"Yes .... Yes Patrick. Please. That would be a good idea. And, in the meantime, if my brother should make himself known to me, I will let you know ...."

She had not had time to tell Vincent about the provisions that Andrea Reeve had made for him in her will, but, for obvious reasons, he would never be able to make a legal claim to that inheritance.

It would be better to allow Patrick O'Shea to see to the details of the will, and then she would see to it that Vincent got what was rightfully his.

If he would accept it.

"Fine. I'll see to it in the New Year."

"Thank you, Patrick," Josephine smiled her gratitude, and rose once more from the chair. "Happy New Year, Patrick."

"Happy New Year, my dear. Please God .... and good luck with the new job."

"Thanks," She offered her cheek for him to kiss once more, and accompanied him out into the hallway, where he took down his coat and hat from the old fashioned dark wood coat stand in the corner.

"Take care of yourself, my dear ...."

"You too, Patrick," Josephine reached up and kissed his soft old cheek, then watched as he walked toward the street door.

"I will be in touch soon, my dear," he waved from the doorway, then carefully made his way down the stoop to the street.

Josephine returned to the drawing room, sitting at the Mahogany writing desk with a deep sigh.

She had hated lying to Patrick about her brother, it went against everything that she believed in, but she could see no other option.

How could a man who did not legally exist, claim an inheritance from a mother he had never known?

She had not really lied.

For all intents and purposes, Vincent had never been born. His birth had never been registered, legally recorded.

Of course, the money, the estate, none of that mattered. She was a wealthy woman in her own right, with her salary and what she had inherited from Jeff and her Aunt Julia.

The only thing that mattered was that she had promised her mother that she would make certain that he got what he was entitled to.

And she had always kept her promises.

/a\

As he slowly made his way down the street to where his car was waiting at the curb for him, his uniformed chauffeur already getting out of the car to open the rear door for him, Patrick O'Shea had to admit to himself that young Josephine had looked much better.

She had seemed so much, stronger.

Perhaps she had put her mother's traumatic illness and subsequent death behind her .... moved on.

And he was secretly pleased that she had given up on the other business with her .... brother ....

It occurred to him that on the eve of this new year, Josephine had decided to put the past, and all it's associated pains behind her, and throw herself into her work, this new job with the F.B.I.

He fervently hoped that 1995 would bring to Josephine Grayson the peace that she deserved.

Perhaps Josephine's story would have a happy ending after all.

Patrick O'Shea sincerely hoped so.

As he slipped carefully into the back of the car and gathered his coat about him, Roberts, the chauffeur wasting no time in closing the door firmly behind him, Patrick began to smile softly.

Josephine was a beautiful young woman, and it was not beyond the realms of possibility that she had found a new love, a nice young man with whom she could settle down, perhaps raise another family with.

That would be wonderful.

Truly wonderful.

And perhaps it was not so far from the truth, he mused silently as the car gracefully pulled away from the sidewalk.

For something had certainly put that beautiful smile back on her face.

And what a joy it had been to see it there .... radiant ....

And that glorious twinkle was back in those unusual eyes.

And Patrick O'Shea could not have been more pleased for her.

If any one deserved to find love and happiness, it was Andrea Reeve's loyal and loving daughter, Josephine Grayson.

/a\

Josephine spent the rest of the day quietly, spending some time going through the F.B.I. handbook, refreshing her memory on certain requirements and procedures, then going through her meager wardrobe, trying to decide on what to wear for her first day in a new job.

Most of her good clothes, including her business suits, were still in England. and as she stared at the small row of skirts and blouses, and the neat pile of sweaters and cardigans, Josephine suddenly realized that now she would never be going back there.

Everything that was dear to her was here, in New York City.

And so was her future.

It was painful to think that she would probably never be going back there, to the place that she had thought of as her real home all those years.

Never be going back to Jeff and Amy.

But, they weren't there anymore.

They were with her, wherever she went, for she carried her memories of both of them in her mind, and her continuing love for them both in her heart.

In that sense, they would never truly be lost to her.

So ....

It seemed that it really was time to move on.

And she was ready for it now.

By the time she sat down to dinner, and there was still no word from Vincent, Josephine began to wonder if she really would see him again.

The meal of minestrone soup, roast chicken and vegetables, and a light chocolate mousse for desert was delicious, but Josephine did not do it proper justice, although she did eat far more than she usually would have, and Mrs Ludlow removed the dirty dishes wearing a smile of satisfaction.

As she sat before the gently crackling log fire in the drawing room, nursing a very small brandy, mindful of her lack of tolerance for alcohol, in a very large balloon glass, between her hands, warming it gently and occasionally swirling it around the glass, Josephine recalled to mind again that wondrous first meeting last night, with Vincent.

Was it really only last night? She mused silently.

And suddenly, she knew with certainty that he would come to her tonight ....

She had no idea how she knew.

She just did ....

Her heart missed a beat, then beat a little too quickly in her chest, as she smiled softly to herself.

Whatever it was that had passed between them last night still lingered, for she could feel his life's essence, feel the strength of it, and knew beyond a doubt that at the very instant that she had been thinking about him, somewhere .... out there .... Vincent had been thinking about her too.

He would come. To the attic again. And this time, there would be no reserve. No shyness. No reticence. No fear.

Josephine set aside the untouched brandy, and bid goodnight to Mrs Ludlow, telling the elderly housekeeper that she was going up to the attic to sort through the remainder of her mother's papers, and that then she would be retiring to bed.

"Not staying up to see in the New Year, doctor?"

"No, not this year, Mrs Ludlow. I think I'll let the old one slip out quietly. Don't want to make too much fuss and set myself up for another disastrous year. How about you and Mr Ludlow? Do you have any plans?" Josephine enquired politely, sensing that the older woman was really making an effort to be civil, even friendly.

"When we were younger, we would go to Times Square with all the other revelers and welcome the new year in across the country, but these days, we stay home and watch it on TV. In bed by 12.30 ...." She smiled softly. "No stamina these days, I guess ...."

As the older woman spoke, it brought to mind for Josephine, images of bygone days, when as a student on vacation from Oxford, she had gone to London and joined the other pranksters as they danced in the fountains in Trafalgar Square.

Nowadays, such antics were frowned upon, and they did not even bother to show it on the television any more, viewers having to be satisfied with an image of Big Ben chiming out twelve strokes as fireworks exploded outside their homes.

"I guess there'll be a few thick heads in the morning," Esther Ludlow sighed softly.

"Mmm. I never could understand the logic of starting the first day of a New Year off, with a pounding headache and a sick stomach ...."

"Some folks don't feel that they've truly had a good time unless they feel the worse for it the next morning," Esther Ludlow said wryly.

"That's very true, but not I," Josephine crossed the dining room on impulse, and upon reaching the older woman's side, quickly pressed her lips to the other woman's soft, plump cheek. "Happy New Year, Mrs Ludlow ...."

"To us all, doctor ...." The older woman responded in a low, rough voice, obviously taken aback by this unexpected show of affection.

"Thank you Mrs Ludlow .... for everything. These past months haven't been easy on any of us, but I have been most grateful for your support .... and for keeping the house running smoothly. Pass on my regards to Mr Ludlow ...."

Josephine stepped back then, noting the tears welling up in the elderly housekeeper's rheumy old eyes.

"Maybe 1995 will be a good year for all of us. Goodnight, Mrs Ludlow ...."

"Goodnight, doctor ...."

/a\

Up in her room, Josephine changed out of the simple blue cocktail dress that she had selected to wear for dinner, and donned blue denim jeans and a thick black turtleneck sweater, thick white socks and loafers, before climbing up to the attic, carrying a blanket under her arm, and a fresh book of matches in her back pocket.

Later, when she was sure that the Ludlow's had retired for the night, Josephine planned to go down to the kitchen to make a thermos of hot chocolate, so that when Vincent arrived, they could talk in comfort, warm and cozy, a blanket around their legs and mugs of sweet, steaming hot chocolate between their hands.

The attic was dark, and through the small square of clear glass in the skylight, Josephine could see an endless black sky with a smattering of bright stars twinkling cheerfully.

Smiling to herself, and feeling more light hearted than she had in a long time, Josephine set to work, clearing more space on the floor, after lighting a couple of hurricane lanterns, which filled the attic with softly dancing golden light, chasing away the shadows, and then, when she was satisfied with her efforts, Josephine went down to the kitchen, where she heated milk in a pan on the stove, and made creamy, frothy, sweet hot chocolate, which she carefully poured into a tall thermos flask and carried very carefully, along with two tall earthenware mugs, back through the house.

As she crossed the black and white checkered, marble tiled hallway, the antique brass carriage clock struck the quarter hour, 11.45 pm and Josephine knew beyond a doubt that Vincent was close, and she quickened her step.

The soft tap on the skylight came just before the first stroke of midnight, and Vincent eased his body through the small opening and landed agilely with only the softest of thuds before the second stroke.

As the night was suddenly filled with noise, a crowd cheering, fireworks exploding in the sky, the bells of every church in the city ringing in the New Year, Vincent took two small strides across the attic, and folded Josephine gently into his strong arms.

"Happy New Year, my brother," she sighed contentedly, savoring the wonderful sensation of his strong arms about her, and his heart beating strong and regular beneath her cheek.

"Happy New Year, my little sister ...." He returned in a gruff voice, expelling a deep sigh which ruffled Josephine's fringe.

Josephine squeezed his solid, sturdy body fiercely, sensing in him a great sadness, but before she could ask him what troubled him so, he drew away from her and looked around him, taking in the small changes that she had made for their comfort, since the previous night.

There was a brief moment of awkwardness, neither knowing what to say to the other, then Josephine came to her senses, and with an embarrassed little smile, indicated to the mattress and blanket on the floor.

"Make yourself comfortable, Vincent," She invited, and watched as he pushed back that capacious hood, and gathering his cloak about him, eased himself down on to the soft mattress.

"You have been busy ...." Vincent commented absently, watching as Josephine opened the thermos flask and poured out a steaming liquid, which from it's aroma, he knew, could only be hot chocolate, and he smiled.

"My favorite ...." He remarked, still smiling, as she handed him a mug. "How did you know?"

"I'm .... er .... I'm not really sure ...." She replied a little awkwardly. "I just did. The same as I knew that you would come tonight ...." She sighed softly as she gave a brief shrug of her shoulders.

Vincent merely nodded.

So-o-o .... it seemed that she shared his gift of empathy.

"I can't explain it," Josephine sighed again, carrying her own mug of hot chocolate over to the mattress, and sat down beside him very carefully, so as not to spill a drop of the precious liquid.

"I believe that I can ...." Vincent hesitated for a moment. How is it that after only one, brief meeting, he felt relaxed enough to tell her everything? "Last night .... when you .... when you reached out to me .... when you embraced me .... we .... we shared ...."

"Yes ...."

"We became connected somehow ...."

"I know .... I felt it .... I .... felt .... you ...." She let out a soft sigh. "Vincent, I felt you, in my mind .... body .... soul .... It's really weird, but I knew you were thinking about me earlier, and I knew that you would come here tonight ...."

Josephine smiled then, a little self consciously.

"Is that what it feels like to have a brother, Vincent?"

"A brother such as I, Josephine. Yes ...."

"I was right. You're an empath."

"Yes .... if by that you mean that I feel what others are feeling. I know their thoughts sometimes .... I know what is in their hearts .... However, there is only one other with whom this connection has been as strong ...." Vincent's voice trailed away then.

And there it was again ....

That terrible sadness ....

Black ....

A terrible pressure weighing him down ....

All encompassing ....

"Vincent?" Josephine turned her head slightly to look at him, her big green/gold eyes full of compassion and understanding.

"It is nothing ...."

"Don't lie to me, Vincent. You can't lie to me. I know what you are feeling. Believe me. I know .... I know grief when I feel it .... I've had my fair share of it, after all ...."

Vincent turned infinitely sad sky blue eyes on her, and merely nodded, accepting the truth of her words.

"Tell me, Vincent ...." Josephine invited softly, setting down her full mug of chocolate on the hard wooden floor, and reached out for his hand.

"What should I tell you?"

"Anything. Everything. Whatever you feel able to tell me .... fair is fair .... you know pretty much all that there is to know about me," She reminded him gently. "Have you been happy, Vincent? Has your life been good? Do you have someone who loves you .... someone to love ...."

"Yes ...." He expelled the word on a hissed breath. "Despite my strange appearance .... I have never been short of love. My father saw to that ...."

"Your father?" Josephine frowned.

"The man who took me in .... raised me as his son. The man that you met in the park," Vincent explained in soft, velvet tones, and Josephine was actually able to physically feel Vincent's love for the old man washing over her.

"Father saw to my every need .... physical .... mental .... emotional .... There was no better guide .... teacher .... parent .... I could not have wished for more ...."

"I'm glad ...."

"And there are others who have shared my life .... my journey .... offered me love and companionship along the way, and whom I have loved in return. But .... Father ...." His voice trailed away again, and again, Josephine could feel the depth of love that he had for the feisty old man.

No wonder he had been so protective .... Josephine thought to herself silently.

The two men obviously had a very strong and loving relationship, and she was truly glad.

It somehow made Andrea's act of selflessness seem more meaningful.

"That's something else that we have in common, Vincent," Josephine squeezed his hand affectionately then. "My father was a wonderful man .... very caring .... very insightful .... He tried his best to make up for the fact that my mother seemed completely indifferent to me ... showing me no affection .... no interest ...." She felt him suddenly grow tense beside her. "Or at least, so I thought ...." She added quickly. "I know better now ...." She smiled gently before continuing.

"He tried to cushion the blow. I miss him still. He's been gone for almost twenty years, but I still miss him so very much ...."

She grew silent for a long moment, remembering her father, and some of the precious moments that they had shared, and Vincent shared her sorrow and her pleasure in that moment of silence.

"And what of your family, Vincent?" Josephine broke the silence at last.

"My family?" His tone was full of surprise now.

"Yes. Your family." She grinned at him. "Brothers? Sisters?"

"I grew up amongst many children, and considered each of them to be good friends, even brothers and sisters, but there was one special brother. Devin ...."

A smile curved at his lips then, and Josephine was again able to feel the warmth of affection for this man coursing through Vincent.

"We had many adventures as boys .... but .... we grew apart ...."

"I'm sorry ...." And she genuinely was.

"Devin had his life to lead .... his own path to follow .... and where it led, I could not go with him ...."

"Did you ever see him again, Vincent?"

"Oh yes. He stops by from time to time. You see, he is Father's biological son, and they have something of a tempestuous relationship, but, after years apart, during which time, both harbored feelings of guilt and anger toward the other, they finally managed to reach an understanding. They love each other .... but .... they simply cannot live with each other ...."

"That's sad ...."

"Not really. It is better than being miserable and staying together out of a sense of obligation. Besides, Devin still knows how to make life interesting .... and complicated ...."

There was love and amusement in his beautiful velvet voice now, and Josephine sensed Vincent's pleasure as he recalled boyhood escapades.

"I had a lonely childhood," Josephine sighed softly, drawing Vincent's beautiful china blue gaze. "I had few friends at school, and few social skills. I guess I didn't feel that anyone could love me, or want to be close to me, growing up thinking that if my own mother couldn't love me, why would anyone else want to bother ...."

"Josephine ...."

"And then I met Jeff, and we fell in love .... and he taught me to love myself, Vincent, showed me with love and patience, that I had value .... worth .... He filled up all the empty places inside me, Vincent .... gave me a whole new outlook on life. And when Amy was born, I thought that my world was complete. I had everything that I had wanted .... dreamed about .... and then ...."

Vincent watched as Josephine's unusual eyes filled with tears, and the enormity of her grief and heartache slammed into him, momentarily robbing him of breath.

"I miss them both so very much," Josephine continued in a sad little voice, tight with unshed tears, her lips quivering as she fought not to give into the sorrow. "But I console myself by telling myself that at least I had them, for a little while, that just for a moment, they touched my life, and gave it meaning, when for so very long, I believed that I would be alone, forever .... It could have been so very different, Vincent. I might never have had either of them ...." She squeezed her eyes closed and forced the tears out between her fine lashes. "I never expected to know that kind of love, Vincent. Never ...."

"Me neither," he whispered thickly, and Josephine turned her head sharply to look at him with over bright green/gold eyes.

"Then we were both wrong, Vincent. Everyone deserves to know love. Everyone. Giving love is the easy part, Vincent, the knack is finding someone to love you in return. No matter what. And learning to accept that gift graciously, no matter how little we believe that we deserve it ...."

"Yes. You are very wise, Josephine ...."

"You found someone, Vincent?"

Again the wave of great sadness crashed through Josephine, and Vincent quickly lowered his gaze.

Josephine immediately sensed that she had touched on a raw nerve, a hurt that had never healed

When he looked up once more, those beautiful soulful blue eyes were shining with unshed tears, and such love, it tore at Josephine's heart.

"Her name is .... Catherine ...." There was such agony in his voice, such an ache emanating from deep within him that Josephine instinctively knew that that simple name summed up everything that was important and precious in Vincent's life, was indeed, the very centre of his world, and she listened intently as he went on to explain how fate had brought them together. How love had flourished, giving both of their lives new meaning, how they had shared a Bond, a connection that had enabled Vincent to feel Catherine's every emotion, and to protect her from danger.

Josephine could hear and feel the love coming from Vincent as he told her how the fairy tale had begun.

And then, she experienced his anguish, shame, fear and disgust, as he explained his need to protect Catherine, at any cost, and the men that he had killed in doing so.

Josephine remained silent, allowing him to continue, and because she could feel his very strong and turbulent emotions, Josephine wanted to tell him that he did not need to justify his actions to her, that she understood completely. That he had been following his strongest instinct of all, the need to protect a loved one, and that although she had never been in such a position herself, of actually physically carrying out the act. She had felt the burning need, only once, and she knew that everyone had the capacity to kill, and not always for such high principles either.

She said nothing, opening herself to him, and the look that he gave to her as he drew in a deep, calming breath, was all that she needed to know that he had felt her reaction, and understood.

Vincent continued in a low, ragged voice, explaining the illness that had robbed him of his precious Bond with Catherine, giving few details of the illness it's self, but she got a very strong impression of terror and rage and a terrible struggle to hold on to his very sanity.

His grief threatened to engulf her, as his story moved on to Catherine's abduction, his nightly search of the city to find her, and how he had eventually found Catherine at last, just delivered of a boy child, who was spirited away by a greedy, ruthless man, into the night.

And Catherine ....

Telling him that he had a child .... a beautiful son ....

Before dying in his arms ....

Only ....

She hadn't died.

Not really.

But he had not known that then.

If they had still shared their unique Bond, he would have known that. But instead, he had carried her lifeless body home, to her apartment, staying with her until dawn's first light had driven him to the safety of his home.

And driven he had been from that moment. Firstly, by grief, believing for six long months that she was dead. Gone. Lost forever ....

And then by the need to avenge Catherine's death, and to seek out his baby son, and bring him home where he belonged.

He had had help along the way, and eventually, the fiend, Gabriel had been defeated and Vincent had brought his son home.

Naming him Jacob, after the man he had always known as Father.

Josephine felt the tide of emotion rising and falling inside Vincent, and she sensed that that was not the end of the story.

And indeed, it was not.

After taking another deep breath, Vincent went on to recount the end of the tale.

The discovery that his beloved Catherine was not dead, merely in a deep coma, the law enforcement agencies preferring to allow even her closest friends to believe that Catherine had died, even going to the extreme lengths of encouraging those friends to lay on an expensive and elaborate funeral service for her, only to finally reveal the truth when Diana Bennett had closed the case and cleared Vincent of any suspicion.

"And now, Vincent?" Josephine probed gently after a prolonged silence, when he had his head buried in his hands, his shoulder length hair falling in a silken curtain to conceal his face from her eyes. "What of your Catherine now?" She asked softly.

"She is still in a coma ...." He confessed raggedly, lifting his head, his thick, rich red/gold mane cascading around his shoulders, his eyes, big and bright with fresh tears and pain relived, before lowering his head once more,

"Where, Vincent? In a hospice? In a hospital, here in New York?"

"In a hospital. Lennox Hill ...." He looked up at her then, china blue eyes still swimming with unshed tears, and again, Josephine felt his pain and grief wash over her.

"What is it, Vincent?" Josephine reached out for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "What is it? Tell me?"

"I .... I .... I think I am losing her ...." He choked out thickly. "I feel her .... slipping away."

"I thought that you said that your Bond with Catherine was broken, Vincent ...."

"Yes .... it was .... although over the years, I have had a small sense of her .... being distant .... vague .... faraway ...." He blinked away still more tears, and hung his head once more. "I no longer experience her emotions ...."

"She's in a coma, Vincent, no-one knows what that is like. Has there been any sign of improvement in her condition over the years, Vincent?"

"No ...." He sighed raggedly. "No change. No change at all ...."

"Is she on a ventilator?"

"No," he looked up at her once more, with a wealth of grief and sorrow in his eyes. "One small mercy. Catherine was able to breathe on her own after the first few hours, although they kept her on a ventilator for a few days .... or so I believe ...."

"Vincent .... would you mind if I paid Catherine a visit? I am a medical doctor ...." She reminded him gently. "And I wasn't always a pathologist immersed in the mysteries of death ...." She smiled softly. "And .... I would like a chance to meet my sister-in-law ...."

"Catherine and I were never .... married ..." He hung his head again.

"You loved each other, Vincent .... enough to create a new life together ...." This brought Vincent's head up sharply, and the look that he gave to her was unreadable, however, what she could feel coming from him was guilt .... confusion and anguish. "That's enough for me ...."

"Josephine ...." Vincent lowered his gaze once more, ashamed to reveal that he had no memory of his son's conception, of the one brief moment of intimacy with Catherine that had resulted in the boy's life.

"Vincent?" Josephine probed gently, sensing his reticence.

"I er .... I have no memory of my son's conception .... Indeed, I have so few memories of my life just before my illness. I had only Catherine's word .... and that of Gabriel .... that he is my son ...." He paused for a moment, and Josephine could feel love and acceptance and a great deal of pride coming from her brother now. "Now .... I know it .... for we too, share a Bond ...."

"So, Vincent .... would you mind .... my visiting with Catherine?" Josephine asked after a lengthy silence, and Vincent was relieved that she saw no need to comment on his statement about his lack of memories of how his son had come to be.

"No, I would not mind. I have already told her a little about you ...."

"I'm honored," Josephine grinned then, squeezing his hand affectionately. "And what about my nephew?"

"Jacob."

"Yes, Jacob. When do I get to meet him?"

"Soon. He is very impatient to meet you too."

"Good. You don't know how my arms have ached to hold a child .... since I lost my precious Amy ...." Josephine confessed softly, and this time, Vincent draped his arm lovingly around her shoulders, and drew his sister into his body.

"I was at least spared that pain ...."

"There are varying degrees of pain, Vincent. You are still in pain, over your Catherine."

He simply nodded in reply, as she snuggled up closer to his warm, solid body, taking in the unusual scents on his clothing, candle wax, candle smoke, rich, wet earth ....

"Your visiting Catherine could be a good idea .... providing her with new stimuli ...." Vincent said at last.

"Yes," And she could judge for herself the young woman's condition, decide for herself if Vincent's hopes of a recovery were in vain.

Or, if his fears that she was slipping away were justified.

"Vincent .... what makes you think that Catherine is .... slipping away?"

"I have dreams .... of her .... waking dreams ...." This brought a puzzled frown to Josephine's brow, but she made no comment. "When will you go?"

"Tomorrow .... I mean, today ...." She amended, remembering that it was well past midnight, and that 1995 had already begun. "Seems like a good way to start off a new year .... and we'll speak again tonight ...."

"As you wish ...."

"Now, more hot chocolate?" She asked, drawing away reluctantly to reach out for the thermos. "And why don't you tell me all about my nephew. Jacob. I'll just bet he is as cute as a button ...."

Vincent regarded her big, clear blue eyes filled with love, and smiled softly in agreement.