These last few chapters are going to come pretty fast. Keep your eyes open. I feel ridiculously accomplished and I hope you feel as satisfied at the end as I did when I wrote it. I know it's been a hard journey in this one. Thanks for sticking with me.

Catherine Maya


It would be soon. For days now she'd been feeling little pains, twinges, low in her abdomen. Her swell seemed to be dropping lower as well; an odd sensation, and even more odd when trying to walk, as if something were in the way of her legs. She was exhausted as well, so between the discomfort and fatigue, she felt no guilt in spending the time in her room, curled up in the bed. Any day now; she could feel it.

'So excited,' she'd think when the child kicked, 'so eager to greet this horrible world. How do I tell you? How do I explain that there is nothing beautiful here for you? How to show you that the only safety for you is to just stay put, right where you are? Tuck deeper inside, hide in my body, and perhaps one day they'll grow bored and leave you in peace. The world has nothing to offer you now.'

But there was no deterring him. This baby wanted out, and he wouldn't be put off. What did he think he would find outside? What was he so eager to see? For a second, she imagined that he was eager to see her. She imagined their eyes meeting for the first time, this tiny person that she'd helped to create. She imagined holding him for the first time. She imagined him growing; the toddler from her dream, who ambled into her arms after waking from a nightmare, and laughed at the silly faces she made when she read to him. He was a young boy who fled to her arms for a kiss before he did anything. He was an adolescent who made sure no one was looking before he let her touch him. A teenager, who fought with her with the ferocity of his father. A grown man who loved his family, and had the leadership abilities befitting Vincent's son.

Just for a second.

As the outside world grew dim with the setting sun, so did the short-lived light in her eyes. She let herself drift into sleep easier than she ever had before.


"Don't laugh," a gruff voice called her from sleep. "Don't laugh, Cathy. Don't you dare laugh!"

She blinked hard, moaning in protest at being disturbed. Her eyes took a second to adjust to the shadowy room, but the face before her was clear. "Daddy?"

"Hi, sweetheart," his large smile spread as he set his arms on the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing here?" she shook her head and raised herself up a bit.

"You needed someone to talk to," he explained as if it should be perfectly obvious. "Here I am. Scoot over, Cath," he kept his smile as he stood and slid into the bed beside her.

She slid over to give him room, and as she did, she noticed that the bedroom was different. The walls were colorful, there were toys and books everywhere, and her bed now included a beautiful, white, sweeping canopy. It was her old room from childhood, and she suddenly realized that she'd never felt so safe in her life. Her father wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to his chest.

"So…" he began, that smile ever-present, "I'm going to be a grandfather."

She looked up at him, her green eyes glistening already. Her mouth dropped open, and with everything in her, she wanted to smile at him, but it quickly turned to tears, and she fell back into his chest. "I'm so frightened, daddy!" she sobbed. "I don't know what to do. I'm so terribly afraid!"

"I know," he rubbed her back gently while she cried. "Hey," his voice was suddenly cheerful again, "do you remember that summer in Connecticut when you made friends with that girl next door?"

"Becky," she nodded, her tears slowing. "Becky Tranchenberg."

"Becky Tranchenberg," he hugged his daughter tighter, "with the long brown hair and high-pitched laugh."

"She always wore those long peasant skirts with a scarf tied around her waist," she remembered.

"Well," he shrugged, "it was the '60s." They laughed together for a moment, reveling in the sound. "You were thirteen that summer, and you insisted on being treated as an adult, remember?" She nodded quietly. "You'd make sure that you were up before me so that you could make coffee, and have the paper ready by the time I made it to that kitchen."

She chuckled in embarrassment. "That says something, doesn't it? When coffee and the paper in the morning were my idea of adulthood?"

"It was adorable," he assured her. "And I encouraged you."

"You even taught me how to iron," she cuddled deeper into his side. "I was like the June Cleaver of the eighth grade."

He chuckled. "Do you remember the afternoon that I left you and Becky alone at the cabin while I went into town?"

She smiled and nodded. "We felt so grown up. It was like the house was ours. We felt like we owned the world that day."

"And what did you do while I was gone, Cathy?"

"We took a walk in the woods," her brow furrowed at the memory. "The sun was so bright, and everything looked so happy, we couldn't be inside even just one more minute."

"And as you were walking," Charles added, "Becky picked up a stick."

"She was tapping the trees with it," she remembered, "and then I picked one up. We started playing, using them as swords, imagining that we were having this grand duel."

"And then?" he prompted.

"One of us, we never knew which, swung too high. We didn't see the beehive until it was at our feet and the bees had begun to swarm us."

"And you were so shocked that you stumbled backward, fell, and cut your leg on a low branch."

"That hurt more than the bee stings," she winced as her nerves remembered the pain.

"And Becky just stood there, screaming. She couldn't move. She just stood there, screaming and crying."

"Everything happened so fast. The bees were swarming us, and Becky was screaming, and I was bleeding."

"But you picked yourself up," he encouraged.

"I grabbed Becky's hand and I just started running. It was the only thing I could think to do. She almost tripped a couple of times, but I never let go of her. I made her run, even though the bees chased us. And then, I pushed her into the pond between our houses, and I jumped in after her."

"She yelled at you afterwards," he interjected with amusement.

"She was mad that I ruined her skirt, she said. I asked her if she was happy to be alive. She told me to not be so dramatic."

"You've never been dramatic a day in your life," he scoffed. "Incurably serious, yes. But, never dramatic."

"She stormed home, and left me there in the middle of the pond. I didn't talk to Becky much after that."

"And, when I made it back, you were already in the bathroom. You had bandaged your leg; not well, but it was a passable effort; and you were trying to find the recipe for the poultice your mother used to make for bee stings."

"I was so angry that I couldn't find it. It always worked so much better than what the doctors gave me."

"I was so proud and in awe of your bravery, Cathy. You never froze. You've always been that way," his voice went quiet, the smile dropping away. "Your eyes have always been set to purpose; ever onward. If something blocks your goal, you simply charge through, conquer it, and move on. There's never been a moment that you've frozen." He twisted so that they were making eye contact and made sure that she understood every word. "Stephen Bass held you back; you let him go, and you moved on. Tom Gunther kept you like an untouchable prize; you tossed him aside before he could damage your spirit. I… I wanted to keep you close; my little princess with everything her heart desired. It was difficult to understand that giving you everything meant letting you go. And then… Vincent."

She broke eye contact and sank deeper into her father's side.

"He's kept you at arm's length for so long, and he's found a way to thwart your goals at every turn…" he leaned into her ear, a father to his little child, "but, once again, my Cathy never gives in to fear, or hardship, or some notion of the impossible." He nudged her, his gaze directing her to a focus point; the tiny, blonde toddler sleeping peacefully beside her suddenly. "Once again, my strong Catherine finds a way to achieve the supposedly 'impossible'."

She gently caressed the sleeping child's forehead and cheek. She swept her fingers through his soft curls and into the curves of his little ears. There was no keeping her hands off of him.

"He looks a little like me," her father observed proudly.

She grinned, her eyes sparkling for the first time in longer than she could remember. "He does a little."

"You've created something beautiful, sweetheart. Out of what so many considered fearful and ugly and wrong, you've created something so unimaginably beautiful." She gasped with tears, shuddering against him, and he held her tighter. "And, no matter how you've blamed yourself through these months, Cathy, he'll always be yours. You made him. You've fed him, you've loved him, you've done everything in your power to protect him, and no one in this world or any other can take that from you. No matter what happens to either of you, no matter what might be said or done, he will always be yours."

"I just…" she shook her head, trying to clear it all, but her gaze ever-present on the boy. "I just feel so helpless. I'm so alone, daddy."

"Cathy," he twisted her, forcing her attention back on him, his eyes deep and serious, "you can't afford to freeze now. You have to be strong."

"What?" she shook her head, trying to see her son, but unable to turn away from her father.

"The bees are swarming you, Cathy, and now is not the time to just stand still and cry! You have to get up. You have to run! There is no promise of success in anything we do in this life, but we have to try. The bees are swarming you, and you can either stand there and let them kill you, or you can be sure that, at the least, the person who can't help himself makes it to safety. Do you understand?"

She did not acknowledge or deny him. "I'm afraid."

"Of course you are," his smile returned. "But fear never stopped my little girl." He caught her chin and examined her face carefully, "Is that my Catherine in there?"


Her eyes opened slowly, coming gently back into reality, as if on a hazy cloud. It was the first time, in quite a long time, that her dreams hadn't shocked her into consciousness. She lay there, blinking, unmoving, the shadows dancing in blues and greys across her body and up her face. Her father's words still rang in her ears, and she merely lay there, absorbing them. His message was perfectly clear, and she surprised herself at her lack of doubt of the truth and reality of the dream.

Her deep green eyes scanned the room, her head never moving to finish the sweep, as she once again evaluated her situation. How would she escape the swarming bees? The bedside clock changed, and her gaze lingered on the numbers for a moment. It was the little electronic hourglass, and her sand was close to running out.

Her gaze swept up to the door. It was late; the compound truly was weakest at night, if only the damned door weren't locked. Silently, she reviewed the mental map of the building that she had constructed just from her trips to and from the examinations. Out the door, follow the hall to the left. The hospital room was at the end of the hall, and adjacent to it was the door to the staircases. Through the door, up the stairs took her to the roof access, down the stairs… well, that was where the map ended. But down meant street level, and that was all she really cared about. For a moment, just a moment, the whimsical thought occurred to her of going to the roof instead of the street. They would all expect and try to chase her downward. No; to the roof to find Vincent, and then wrapped around him as his powerful arms carried them down the side of the building to a back alley where they could steal away Below.

A heavy tremor ran through her abdomen, and then a sharp ache tore through behind it. She gasped, clutching at herself, curling under her covers. The ache lingered and she writhed a bit, trying to relieve herself of the discomfort. Another pain, like a cramp that wouldn't let go and she held her swell, pushing the blankets off as her mind raced and discomfort took an unyielding hold. She pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the bed, as the cramp began to release, and she breathed through the pain as it eventually subsided.

Her thoughts whirled and swirled, a thousand instincts of confusion and fear, trying to be soothed by clear logic, which only brought on a sudden wave of panic.

'It's time,' the quiet, calm voice in her head whispered to her. 'It was a contraction; your first true contraction. Just breathe; it will pass.'

'No!' she argued back at it. 'No, I need more time! Not now! I don't know what I'm doing! What am I going to do? No, not now! It's too fast. It's all happening too fast!'

When her body did finally settle, she sat rigid for a while, evaluating herself. There was still something strange, some residue that lingered in her body.

'You're in labor, Catherine,' that small voice whispered. 'Everything is going to feel strange. You've never done anything like this before.'

Her own rationale made her want to scream with impatience and fury. There was nothing she could do now. Perhaps, if the nurse could be caught in a moment of weakness when bringing in a meal, she could try to make a break for it, but by that time, who knew how close her contractions may be. How far could she really get between her size and the sudden aches slowing her down?

Shyly, she glanced over her shoulder at the camera trained on her. Slow and precise, she slid backwards in the bed, taking the pillow with her, and climbed off the other side, falling into the corner under the camera, and sinking to the floor. So she sat, and waited, trying to formulate something of a final plan.

Hours were spent straining for sounds beyond her room. Whatever happened, she knew that no one could know that the labor pains had begun. If someone approached the room, she needed to be sure that all appeared normal. The pains were infrequent, but sudden, and in the first few hours, she had bit her lips to near bleeding, trying to suppress any sound that attempted to emerge. She shifted constantly against the corner of the walls, unable to find any comfort, no matter which way she twisted or turned. Dawn was breaking when she finally resigned to allowing herself a patch of floor to pace on.

Moving felt good. Her back ached relentlessly, but pacing seemed to ease a bit of the tension, even if it was simply her own mental tension; she at least felt as though she was doing something. Determination made its way into her body while she paced. There was no escape, she conceded it, but that didn't mean that all was lost. Regardless of what happened, she vowed to bear it alone, even if that meant delivering the babe on her own in the diminutive bathroom. She swore, then and there, to never yield to anyone's hands but Vincent's.

Another contraction tore through her suddenly and she fell into the corner, hand over her mouth to stifle the squeaks that emerged through her deep breathing. Oh, how the world seemed to be crashing down around her with each debilitating wave.

Dawn peeked in; sweet tones of pink and yellow; seemingly mocking her. She breathed against the wall, no position providing comfort for the clenching muscles in her back and hips. She longed for something, anything, to grab hold of and hang from, praying for that relief of the stretching vertebrae. There was nothing high or sturdy enough, and she bemoaned her discomfort as quietly as she possibly could.

True, hazy December sunlight shone now, and she shrank from it, unsure of why she feared it. Possibly because it revealed her, in all its unyielding light; slumped in the corner of her room, trying not to make a sound. Upon closer examination, she knew that this was only a piece of her paranoia.

The digital clock ticked; 6:59am. She had forgotten; she would be visiting the exam room in half-an-hour. Surely, they would notice the beginnings of labor within their usual regime of poking and prodding. She knew already that she would never be able to hide a contraction from them, in those close quarters, for that length of time. Panic was setting in; there was nothing she could do, nowhere she could hide. She swallowed through another light ache, the foreshadowing of a full-blown contraction, and set her mind to her only option. She would have to make a break for it. There was only she and the nurse in that trip now, and she knew that breaking away from the nurse would be no trouble; it was the aftermath that worried her. There had to be a way. There just had to be.

She paced, mentally preparing herself, falling against the wall and breathing through a labor pain, and then pacing some more. 7:15am; she could do this, she had to. 7:20am; the plan was ridiculous and rash, but it was her only hope. 7:25am; she swallowed hard and made herself just a bit taller, just a little more prepared. 7:29am; 'this is the most idiotic idea I've ever had! Breathe, Catherine!'

7:30am

The lock sounded and the doorknob turned, and she pressed herself tighter against the wall. The door swung open to reveal the nurse, a breakfast tray in her steady hands. She looked at her patient curiously for a moment, but decidedly didn't care, and set the tray on the bed, leaving without a word or gesture.

Breakfast! Someone was looking out for her! "Thank you, Daddy!" she breathed her relief to the heavens. Breakfast before anything meant that the exams were cancelled for the day. It wasn't much, but it bought her a few more hours at the very least.