Chapter Four:

"Narcissa?" Vincent was startled to find the old woman waiting in his chamber when he returned. "What are you doing here?" he asked gently; despite her great age and declining health, Narcissa never ventured into the main hub of the Tunnels.

"Vincent." She said, as if that one word answered everything. "Sit."

He sat on the floor in front of her, like child, waiting. She was silent a long while, as if gathering her thoughts. Finally, she broke her silence. "For seven nights in a row, I have dreamed. I dream of children lost in the darkness. I dream of you. I dream of Catherine."

Vincent held his breath – if she told him that Catherine was dead – Dear, God, no, please, he prayed silently. Narcissa was the one person he would believe.

"I dream of death."

Vincent felt the world crumble around him, "No, please – tell me that you could be wrong – don't take away my hope, Narcissa." Cold… the world seemed suddenly so cold …empty… alone…how would he go on if she died?

"I dream of death," Narcissa repeated. "But not as you fear it. Oh, it is a possibility," the old seer warned. "Nothing is written in stone. Nothing."

"But then what am I to do?" Vincent wanted to know. "What do your dreams tell you?"

"A great many things. You sat and conversed with a king last night. You come back to yourself with this man."

"Elliot Burch," Vincent confided. Father would be very unhappy if he knew. Only Devin knew…and he would never tell a soul. "He is a powerful man in her world – and he loves her. He would do anything to help her. As would I." He waited. Narcissa said nothing, but seemed to be waiting. "I was able to feel something tonight," Vincent told her. "I felt his pain – his regret."

"You have always been – what do they say – empathic? Yes, empathic."

"But tonight I felt something the way I used to, with Catherine. It could be that the bond is returning – that was why I was able to feel him –?"

"The bond has never left you," Narcissa admonished Vincent, and not so gently. Great age had worn away at her patience for blind children. "It has changed – but it is still there. There are none so blind as those who will not see."

"What do you see, Narcissa?"

"A bond. A lifeline – you too are having dreams. Vivid dreams."

"I see death – fire – I feel her pain, but I cannot find her. I feel her fear, but I cannot console her. I see the child – a boy. A strong healthy boy – but I cannot reach him. There is always something blocking me. The world crumbles down around me – like a cave in, but – more. Then I see a bird – a big black bird. It flies in at the last – but I don't know what it wants."

"A crow," Narcissa told him. "It has haunted my dreams for two weeks – I know what it means, but not what it wants. It hunts the same thing you do."

"Crows are carrion birds. They do not hunt."

"Crows bring death."

"Catherine?" He was afraid to know – was he dreaming an omen of her death?

"Do not discount the soul of a child, Vincent."

"My child?" He asked – she seemed to be slipping into some sort of trance – he'd seen it before, a waking dream-state.

"Though the body is broken, the soul lives on," Narcissa began. "The soul is shattered, yet held together by its own pain – and, oh Vincent, what a strong soul it is! Stronger and darker than any other like it! Few come back so enraged – so strong – dangerous. Oh, she will kill many – and she will not rest, Vincent. She will not rest because there is too much for her to do – too many wrong things…too many wrong things… too many others could end up like her and her soul will not allow that – it cannot. She hangs in the balance – could go either way, towards the darkness or the light. You must have faith in what you believe, Vincent!" she fell into him.

Gingerly, Vincent steadied her – she seemed at times powerful beyond imagining and at others little more than a frail old woman.

"The test comes when you cannot see," Narcissa told him softly. "And you must have faith. Remember, the eyes are the mirrors of the soul. Do not be fooled by a child's body, Vincent. And do not stand between Death and those it would claim as its own. A soul so angry sometimes forgets the truth of why it is here. It can loose its path. That is a lesson for you, also, Vincent – do not loose your path. Too many people need you."

"Narcissa – please, you are making no sense."

"In time. In time, Vincent – all in time." She rose to leave.

"Wait, please," he stood with her. "You said you dreamed of Catherine – is she alive – is she all right?"

"Oh Vincent," the old woman reached up to touch his cheek. "You already know the answer to that. You better than anyone knows that you must not give up hope – I only wonder if you will remember than when you most need to…? No, no, I can find my own way back. I found my way here, didn't I?" She smiled, waving off his attempt to aid her. "You must rest. Rest and dream."

Vincent watched her go – even for Narcissa, she wasn't making much sense today…but he knew better than to pass her strange messages off as old age. If nothing else, he could not deny the weariness he felt…stripping only down to his under cloths (rather than changing to bed cloths), Vincent climbed into his bed, pulling the covers up around him. Sleep. It was filled with terrible dreams lately…blood, fire, Catherine falling through the darkness, consumed by terrible, terrible pain – her fear, his terror and the madness of knowing she was within arm's reach, but he could not touch her… I will find you, he vowed to the darkness. I will find you.

-

"How's my son this morning?" Gabriel crooned at the woman's belly – he caressed it fondly. It wasn't her he touched – it was the growing child inside. To him, the woman was nothing more than a vessel carrying an extraordinary child. He'd seen the father – once when he'd gotten close to a couple of his men – seen the extraordinary creature who had come for this plain, almost mousey little woman. It gave new meaning to the story of the mouse and the lion…so he kept her alive because she would bear him a most extraordinary child – an heir to his legacy. Though the ultra sound had revealed an ordinary looking baby, Gabriel had no doubts that his son would be a most extraordinary creature indeed…

"He's not yours." Catherine Chandler told him defiantly. She was strapped down now – after the last time the doctors had tried to examine her and she'd tried to escape. She'd almost succeeded – but despite being only six months pregnant, she looked and felt closer to nine.

"Of course he's mine, Cathy," Gabriel looked up as if noticing her for the first time since he'd come into the room. "My doctors tell me that he's moved into position – any day now I'm going to be able to hold him in my arms."

"Bastard!"

He chuckled, "Funny – a lot of people call me that, but my parents were married." He stroked her hair, giving her a sad, almost pitying look. "Don't worry – your suffering will be over soon. Just as soon as my son is born. Now be a good girl and eat your breakfast, hmm?"

"Go to hell."

Ride on through the night, ride on
Ride on through the night, ride on

There are visions, there are memories
There are echoes of thundering hooves
There are fires, there is laughter
There's the sound of a thousand doves

In the velvet of the darkness
By the silhouette of silent trees
They are watching, they are waiting
They are witnessing life's mysteries

Cascading stars on the slumbering hills
They are dancing as far as the sea
Riding o'er the land, you can feel its gentle hand
Leading on to its destiny

Take me with you on this journey
Where the boundaries of time are now tossed
In cathedrals of the forest
In the words of the tongues now lost

Find the answers, ask the questions
Find the roots of an ancient tree
Take me dancing, take me singing
I'll ride on till the moon meets the sea

Loreena McKennitt

Laura woke with a start – Jerry was just getting out of the shower. "Sorry," He smiled, then switched to sign. :Didn't mean to startle you.:

:It wasn't you. I had another nightmare.: She closed her eyes for a moment. :Jerry, we need to talk.:

Jerry Callahan braced himself. Over the last couple of months, Laura had become more and more withdrawn. After last semester, she dropped out of school without a word of explanation – just that she had 'things to do'. At the time, he'd thought it was related to their up coming wedding and happily agreed that taking a couple of semesters off wouldn't hurt anything. She could always go back in the fall.

Then he started noticing other things; he'd stop by her place in the middle of the day to surprise her, only to find her not here. Where she used to spend three and four nights a week with him, now he was lucky to see her once a week, let alone have her stay over. While he'd tried to talk to her about it, Jerry knew better than to pressure her – he didn't know the details of her past, but he knew enough to know she'd come from a bad place – Laura's heart had been in a million pieces when he met her. His greatest fear was driving her away by being too demanding. She kept telling him that everything was fine - she was just 'busy' - but she'd never tell him with what, and he was afraid to ask.

It hurt him to the core that she'd stopped planning the wedding. It hurt him even more that she hadn't told him about it – he found out from his mother (who never had quite liked Laura.) Mom started poking around after Laura stood her up for a dress-shopping date. Jerry had tried to pass it off as nothing, Laura hadn't been overly excited about shopping with his mother and two sisters (their feeling of dislike seemed mutual.) Then Mom found out about that Laura had blown off an appointment at the hall and called the baker, only to find that Laura had never gotten back to them about the cake…she hadn't gotten back to the florist, either. All of this on top of Laura's (mostly polite) refusal to convert to Catholicism (for his part, Jerry didn't care. They were sinning in the eyes of the Church anyway, by living together before marriage. Which was probably part of the root of Mom's dislike…)

Mom was furious – it was a typical mother's reaction to her son being hurt; Jerry told her not to be – whatever was wrong, he'd figure it out and fix it. Somehow. Except that he didn't know how...didn't know what to say to make Laura open up that last part of her heart to him...what to do to make her trust him enough to tell him about whatever it was that was bothering her (becuase he was sure there was something.) So, he'd waited…and here it was… He sat down on the edge of the bed. :I'm listening.:

Laura took a deep breath – and than another one. Adjusting to life Above had been so much harder than she'd imagined. She'd been so scared – so angry at so many things. Then there was Jerry – who after she allowed herself to trust him, had changed her world. (When he told her he could hear she had been so angry she'd almost run back to the Tunnels, convinced that she couldn't trust anyone on the surface… not that she blamed him now for lying to her, he'd been undercover and she'd been part of a deaf street gang – the only way for him to get in was to pretend to be deaf too…) If not for Catherine – for Vincent… they had given her the courage to take a chance on him. They'd both told her that in order to find happiness you have to be willing to risk getting hurt – and looking at him now, she knew she'd never be alone again. Laura smiled, overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings for this man. He was her best friend – her lover. Her life.

But even that didn't stop the hurting in her heart. There were so many things she had wanted to tell Jerry for so long. She had been planning to bring him down Below at Winterfest – she wanted him to see her world, to truly understand where she'd come from – and to meet the people who had helped her over come a difficult childhood – the people who had faith in her, even when she'd lost it in herself. But then, in an instant, the world crumbled. Catherine vanished without a trace – everything Below changed. Everything Above changed to, at least for the Helper-network. At first, there was hope – then word spread that Vincent could no longer feel Catherine. And the baby – she was pretty sure that Father hadn't meant for everyone to know – but in a community like theirs it was hard to keep secrets. Harder than hard, Mouse might say.

She'd spent more and more time Below, trying to help – so many Helpers had willingly turned their lives upside down to join the search, each looking in their own way for some clue. Some hope. And yet, so much time had passed… everyone was beginning to loose hope – only Vincent and a handful of others remained optimistic. Mouse, Jamie – Devin. Laura hated to admit it, but she was one of the one's who was beginning to fear that they would never find Catherine alive…

"I want to postpone the wedding," Laura said out loud – it was hard, but she'd been learning. It was the only way Above, where so few people knew how to sign.

:Postpone – or call off: Jerry signed back, afraid of the answer.

"Postpone!" she cried aloud. :I love you. I want to marry you. But I can't marry you right no.:

:Can you tell me why:

:I hurt: she touched her heart. :It's not you. I never told you how much of a friend Catherine Chandler was to me. Is to me. I never told you a lot of things: she admitted.

"I never realized," Jerry put his arms around Laura – the pain in her eyes, in that moment – it spoke volumes – it explained so much of the past few months. He remembered Cathy Chandler – she'd been involved when he was working to break up the gang – when he'd met Laura. He'd thought there was something between them – but he hadn't seen Chandler since then…and for her part, Laura was such a private person. She never spoke of – of much of anything beyond the day to day stuff, even with him. :How well do you know her:

:I wanted to ask her to stand up with me, as my maid of honour. Then Vincent got sick and I didn't want to ask her because she was so worried about him. Everyone was.:

:Who is Vincent:

:There's so much I never told you – I'm sorry. I kept hoping she'd turn back up – that someone would find her – and I could tell you everything. I know I have to tell you everything – but not right now. There's too much hurt right now.:

:What do you mean, tell me everything:

:Where I come from. The people I grew up with. I'll tell you someday. Someday soon, I promise – I was going to tell you before – but after Catherine disappeared so much changed for so many. Now the police have called of the investigation. I can't get married right now.: "Please don't be mad at me."

He wrapped his arms around her, "Never," he whispered, even though she couldn't hear him. Jerry pulled her away from him so she could see his lips, "I love you, Laura. I will always love you. As long as you tell me that you're not leaving me, I'll wait for as long as I have to, to call you my wife."

-

Exhausted to the core, Joe got to his office thirty minutes late. He'd met with Burch again this morning – and he couldn't shake the feeling that Burch was hiding something important… "Joe – I was starting to worry," Jimmy Moreno stuck his head out of his office door.

It was all Joe could do to maintain a calm, friendly façade. "Sorry – I had some personal business."

Moreno smiled a smarmy smile, "No problem. I know – it's been stressful for you since Cathy vanished. Can you come in here a minute?"

Joe continued to force a good-natured expression – could it really be true? Moreno – and the mob? The last few weeks he'd spent going over every shred of evidence that Burch had given him – and then there was what Tutuola had said. It was starting to make sense. And that scared him. "Yeah?" he closed the door behind him when he went into his boss's office.

"I know – you've been under some strain. Knowing that they closed the case on Cathy's disappearance has to – affect that. You've got some vacation time – why don't you take it?"

"If you're saying I'm not doing a good job – just come out and say it," Joe said angrily. He was so sick and tired of everyone walking around on eggshells around him lately, but yesterday, when the news filtered down that the police were turning Cathy's file over to the Cold File – everywhere he looked he saw pity and hopelessness. Half the office had been unable to look him in the eye – the other had told him not to give up, even though it was clear that they had.

"Look, Joe, you've been distracted. I can hardly blame you – just – take some time. Take a trip somewhere – get away from the city for a while."

"Away from the city – with Cathy still missing?"

"There's nothing you can do for her. Nothing any of us can do…"

Joe frowned; it was like Moreno was trying to say something without saying it. Guilty conscience? Or was this sudden desire to send him away on a trip somehow connected to the fact that he'd been digging around where he shouldn't be…? "Maybe you're right – maybe I'll take a coupla days and go fishing or something."

"Why don't you make it a week or two. You've got the time – we can hold down the fort for a while without you. You can borrow my cabin if you'd like."

"No – thanks. I got a place I like to go," Joe lied. Well, it was true, he had a place he liked to go, a campground in the mountains where the fishing was amazing. But he wasn't headed there now.

-

Odafin Tutuola opened the door with a less than cheerful: "What?" He regarded the man on his doorstep for several long moments before stepping aside to let him in. "Maxwell, you look like I feel. What the hell you doin' here – it's – shit. Ten a.m. Guess it ain't really that early. Beer?"

"No – thanks." "Just as well – I think I drank it all last night."

"That wasn't all, I see," Joe stepped into the man's apartment, noticing the two empty fifths of tequila.

Fin shrugged. He walked to the kitchen to see if there was anything remotely resembling food to be had…there wasn't.

"Why don't you get a shower and let me take you out to breakfast."

"What's the special occasion?"

"I've just been given an unsolicited two week vacation by my boss."

"Moreno."

"That'd be the one."

"So you believe it now?"

"I don't know what to believe. That's where you come in."

"Swell. Have a seat – I won't be long."

Joe looked around the apartment while he waited – it was modestly comfortable – it didn't look as if the wife had completely cleaned Fin out, just took herself and their child. Joe found a picture of the boy on a bookshelf – he didn't look more than about three years old – and the spitting image of his father.

"Damn – I miss him."

Joe started, "I didn't hear you come out. Sorry, didn't mean to be nosing around."

"Ain't nothin' t'see anyway. So – I hope you're treating cuz I don't got much right now. She served me with divorce papers this morning."

"Sorry."

Fin shrugged, "I knew it was coming. Spent too long married to the job – the wife finally got jealous – said she didn't want to be my mistress any more."

"Maybe that's why I can't keep a girlfriend," Joe mused. "Anyway – yeah, breakfast is my treat, as long as you don't expect anything fancy."

"Hell, Councilor, I don't think they'd let me into any black-tie required restaurant anyway." On his way out the door, Fin grabbed his coat and hat – both black leather.

-

"You sure this is legal?" Fin queried – after breakfast, Joe took him to an uptown apartment – Chandler's apartment.

Joe shrugged, "She gave me a key once. It's not really a crime scene. So I guess it's at least mostly legal."

Fin laughed, "For a lawyer, you're all right, Maxwell."

Both were caught off guard by the presence of the red-headed woman sitting in the middle of Cathy Chandler's living room, cross legged on the floor, looking through one of Cathy's photo albums...

"Bennett? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. I called your office this morning – they said you'd gone fishing."

"Yeah – well, I didn't tell them what I was fishing for. Bennett, this is Odafin Tutuola. Fin, Diana Bennett."

"Mr. Tutuola," she didn't stand, but she did extend her hand.

Fin couldn't help but smile at the woman; she had the attitude of a person who owned every situation she found herself in. Even here, where she clearly wasn't expected and probably didn't quite belong. "Yeah, I heard o' you. It's Detective Tutuola – but you can call me Fin."

"Fin," Diana agreed, sizing him up – then down and back up again. She turned her gaze towards Joe Maxwell – a man who looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "So what are you fishing for?"

"First tell me what are you doing here. I thought you were working a case?"

"I was. We found the kid."

"Alive?" Joe asked hopefully.

She shook her head. "He'd been dead almost two weeks – perp musta killed him right after he took him. We got the guy though. I guess that's something."

"Yeah." Joe agreed, wondering if when they found Cathy the best they'd be able to say was that they had nailed the guy who'd killed her.

"So," Diana pulled herself up from the floor, "I should assume it's been you taking care of her plants?"

"Huh?"

"Chandler's been missing for almost six months – there's a rose bush by the patio door and a couple of evergreens out on the patio. The rain might have been enough for the plants outside, but someone had to water this guy," she led them over to the rose bush. "Do you know who gave it to her?"

"Um – no – and as far as I know, no one's been here since she disappeared. Are you telling me someone's been coming in regularly to take care of the plants – and no one's noticed them?"

"Apparently," Diana gave him a look.

"That's one helluva rose bush," Fin observed. "I didn't know they came like that."

"They don't. Someone very skilled had to graft a red and white rose bush together for her."

"Maybe she did it herself?" Fin conjectured.

Diana shook her head, "I don't think so. Red roses are for love – white can mean different things, but in this context, I'd say the intention was forever. Love, forever. That would suggest that this was a gift. What do we know about her boyfriend?"

"Nothing," Joe said, just a little too quickly. Could he trust her? How far did this Gabriel's reach really extend? "So – how long have you been here?"

"Hour or so. Why?."

"How'd you get in?'

Diana gave him a deeply penetrating look. "If you don't want me here, I'll go. I've got a stack of other cases waiting for me. I only put you to the top of the list because – I guess you impressed me – you really believe this woman is still alive. If something's changed –?" She cast Detective Fin Tutuola a questioning glance. He might have heard of her, but she had no idea who he was – the case was supposed to be closed – had Maxwell convinced this guy to keep it open, perhaps unofficially? "If you've got a new lead, I'll butt out."

"No, there ain't no new leads," Fin said before Joe could open his mouth and screw it up with Bennett – she had a reputation for not putting up with a whole lot, especially when she was working. "I'm just keeping Joe here company on his fishing trip."

"I see."

"So – you have any idea how someone's getting in water the plants?" Fin asked.

"Front door, I'd imagine," Diana shrugged. "If he's her boyfriend, he probably has a key." She regarded the detective closely; Fin was good looking in a bad-boy sort of way – defiantly not the sort you'd take home to mother. More than a tough exterior, Fin carried himself with a quiet confidence – not arrogance, he knew what he could do and when he was out of his depth. And he was clearly deferring to her in this, and making sure that Joe didn't say anything stupid. What stupid things could Maxwell say right now…? Diana realized that her gift of unraveling everything was a hindrance at times. Unless whatever was up with Maxwell was someone connected to Chandler's disappearance…? "You know I work alone, right?" She asked the big cop; his eyes held the wisdom and quiet cynicism that comes from living too long with your heart wide open in a place like New York. It was the same look that greeted her in the bathroom mirror every morning.

"Last thing I want to do is step on a lady's toes. I was just thinking out loud," Fin told her.

"I suppose since you're here," she continued to gaze at him, "You could make yourselves useful and talk to the neighbours, see if they know anything about her boyfriend."

Fin laughed, "You're kidding, right? Do I look like the kinda guy a bunch of Manhattan snobs would talk to?"

"Well I can't work with you two hovering around. So – go fishing somewhere else. I'll be done here in a couple of hours."

"Hours?" Joe asked.

"Hours." She confirmed. "Or I could go work another case."

"We're going. Nice to meet you," Fin dragged Joe out by the arm, giving Diana Bennett a wave with his other hand.

"What was that all about?" Joe demanded, once they'd reached the hallway.

"Diana Bennett is the single best hope you got, Councilor. You gotta know that or you wouldn't have gone to her."

"I know – but what if she's in on it?"

Fin gave the guy a look. "I don't think so. I never met her – but the lady has a reputation. She's on the up and up. Come on. You said you've been getting information from this Elliot Burch guy – let's go see him."

"I just saw him this morning."

"Yeah, I know. But I didn't."

-

"I'm sorry, Mr. Burch can't be disturbed right now."

"He'll want to see me," Joe told the secretary; she wasn't what he'd expected. Instead of some little hottie, this woman looked old enough to be Burch's mother. "We had an early morning meeting – I need to confirm some details with him. Tell him it's Joe Maxwell."

The woman gave him an appraising look. "Just a moment," she went into the office – and came out several moments later. "All right. He'll see you."

Burch's office was expansive – everything that Joe might have thought it would be. The man behind the desk, however, looked deflated.

"Mr. Maxwell – and – ?" Burch hardly looked up at them. Seeing Joe was enough of a surprise – but the big guy – that was unexpected.

"Odafin Tutuola," Fin informed the guy curtly.

"Traveling with hired muscle these days, Mr. Maxwell?"

"Something like that. What's going on?" He could tell that something was up – Elliot looked like shit. Must be going around…

"Cleon Manning – my private investigator – was murdered last night. He called me, said he had something conclusive and he'd see me in the morning. He never came in. After seeing you, I went to his office – he'd been shot. Twice in the back of the head."

"Execution," Fin opined.

"Looks that way," Elliot confirmed. He sucked down the last of the scotch in the bottom of his glass. "Can I offer either of you a drink?"

For a second, Joe was sure Fin would take Burch up on the offer, the way he'd been pounding back the booze lately – but the man just shook his head. "No thanks."

"Do you have any idea what it was he'd found?" Joe asked.

"No. I wish I did."

"Burch – do you know anything about the guy Cathy's been seeing? I used to think it was you –?"

Elliot laughed, a cold, bitter laugh. "No, I couldn't compete with him."

"So you know the guy?" Fin queried.

"Not exactly. We've spoken a few times, that's it."

"Where can we find him," Joe asked.

Elliot shrugged, "He contacts me. I don't know where he lives."

Fin and Joe exchanged frowns. "He contacts you?" Joe said aloud. "What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I said. He's the one that told me about Moreno being crooked, the one who turned me onto Gabriel. I used to think that maybe he was an undercover cop or something, deep inside Gabriel's operation. But not any more." Fur. His hand hadn't been hairy, it had been furry. Trust. Comfort. Fur…

"Why not?" Fin asked.

"Just – I'm pretty sure he's not, that's all."

"Well you tell him I need to talk to him. About Cathy," Joe said, perhaps a little more harshly than he'd meant to. This was getting ridiculous – if there were people out there with information on Cathy's disappearance, why the hell hadn't they come forward before now? She'd said he had a heart like her mystery man's – but if it was him seeing her, he'd never sit by silently in the shadows while other people went looking for her! "Come on, Fin – now I need a drink."

"I've got asix hundreddollerbottle scotch," Elliot offered. "You won't find that at the bar around the corner – even around the corner from here."

Joe felt his knees go wobbly - six hundred dollars? "People pay that kind of money for scotch?"

"Maybe not people – maybe just me." Burch stood up on unsteady legs and made his way to the bar. "Mr. Tutuola?"

"Why not – I've had some good scotch before, but nothing quite that expensive."

"Well, then, gentlemen, you are both in for a treat. I've been saving this one for a special occasion – single malt, imported directly from – hell, some out of the way Scottish village, anyway," Elliot laughed; it was a hollow sound. He poured them each a generous glass, over very little ice. "Cheers gentlemen."

"Bottoms up," Joe clinked his glass with Burch's – there was something never thought he would have seen:him and Elliot Burch having a drink together. "He's to good fishing."

"I'll drink to that," Fin agreed.

-

Diana walked slowly around Catherine Chandler's apartment, trying to get a feel for the woman. The apartment was very soft, very feminine. The cloths in her closet were mostly sensible – soft fabrics in soft hues made up a wardrobe comprised mostly of work cloths. In a garment bag, there were a handful of dresses, the cost of which even Diana didn't want to speculate. She knew from Chandler's file that the woman was rich. "So what was someone like you doing working at the D.A.'s office to begin with?" Diana asked the bedroom, softly. She knew the answer on paper – after a brutal attack, Chandler had disappeared for almost three weeks. When she resurfaced, she was a different person. "Is that what you've done now, run off into some cocoon to emerge as a butterfly no one recognizes?" Diana looked around and around, as if waiting for the walls to answer. "If you do, I can name about a dozen people who are going to be pissed, Catherine." Diana knew that Chandler's father had hired a private investigator when she'd gone missing before – he'd turned up squat. "But that was only a few weeks – this has been six months. That's an awfully long time not to contact someone…" she wandered into the living room.

Diana had looked through the photo albums – most of them were old, old photos, from Catherine's youth – and one that was probably from before she'd even been born, an old family memento. "There are holes in your life," Diana opinned. "Gaping holes – there's not a single picture of this boyfriend – why is that?" Diana turned on the radio – classical music. She thumbed through Catherine's collection of albums. Greig. Vivaldi. Mozart. Schubert. She owned only a handful of old movies on vhs. It looked as if the most recently watched was The Quiet Man with John Wayne. "Romantic – poetry," she scanned the bookshelves. "Rilke, Tennyson, Shakespeare, Shelly, Teasdale – H.G. Wells, Tolstoy, Dickens, Kipling – classics," she ran her fingers along the antiquated copies – some of them were a hundred years old. Randomly, Diana pulled a book from the shelf. In a neat strong male hand she read the words:

Catherine,

You are always in my heart – your courage has changed my life

Vincent

"Vincent. Is that your name, then," Diana looked at the rose bush again. Not only had it been watered regularly, it had been tended; there were no dead leaves on the bush or in the pot, no wilted flowers. "So – have you been taking care of the plant you gave her? Why? Because you know she'll be back? Because you hope she will? She's not with you, is she? If she were, you'd just take this to her – so you know she's missing – but why haven't you come forward to join the search? And why hasn't she said more about you to her friends?" Well, that last one wasn't fair – she'd been seeing Mark for almost a month before mentioning him to her mother. Still – a man like this, one who would go through so much trouble – why would any woman keep him a secret for any length of time? "What secrets do you two share?" Diana wondered aloud…

-

Diana only realized how late the hour had grown when she looked up and realized the sun was setting – and she still had more questions than answers. Taking one last look around, Diana left. Despite the questions, it was time to start reconstructing the last few weeks of Catherine Chandler's life, before hadshe vanished.