(Revised chapter - meant to correct errors and tighten chapter up a bit based of your feedback, thanks)

Chapter 10

"Have you seen, Father?" Kipper asked Vincent as he entered the large chamber where several children sat milling about on the collection of worn antique rugs scattered on the floor as if waiting.

Vincent shook his head. "Is there a problem?"

"We were supposed to meet him here for our lesson. It's Wednesday – Shakespeare."

"Oh. Well, perhaps he's running a bit late. Father's has been extremely busy this week."

Indeed, for in the last several days Father's attention had been needed in various parts of the Tunnels, which had left Vincent feeling guilty for this was something he normally took care of as part of his regular duties. But Mary had assured him, quite firmly, that Father was fine and that the only worry that would elevate his blood pressure would be to find Vincent going against his request again to get some needed rest. Seeing Mary's irritation at him as well, Vincent had dutifully decided not to argue the point further.

Upon hearing of Father's busy schedule though, Kipper and several other boys smiled cheerfully which Vincent would have to have been obtuse not to notice. "Oh, that's okay. We understand. We can always come back another time, can't we guys?"

Several heads nodded eagerly together and the children made movements to get up off the floor.

"Oh, but I would hate to have you miss such an exceptional opportunity, for Shakespeare knew everything," Vincent replied. "I'm sure I could fill in adequately until Father returns."

The unison of "ughs" and slumped shoulders made Vincent grin. He sat down in Father's chair resting his elbows on the armrest and interlacing his fingers as he leaned slightly forward. "What are you studying this week?"

"Macbeth, Act IV," Kipper replied.

"Ah," Vincent said and quoted:

"Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak .

Whispers the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break."

Vincent saw a few eyes roll and smiled in gentle understanding, for as a boy he remembered too the joys of just wanting to be a child sometimes. "Why don't we take turns reading where you left off?" Vincent suggested.

His gaze passed around the group of about seven children until he noticed the quiet sandy haired boy sitting towards the back of the group, head bowed and picking intently at something on his pants. "Eric, will you start us out?"

The boy looked up startled, his wide eyes looking even bigger through the thick lenses of the oversized glasses he wore. "I'm…I'm not a very good reader," Eric said rather self consciously.

Vincent felt a particular compassion towards the boy, knowing how difficult it was for Eric to re-adjust since loosing Ellie.

"Just give it a try," Vincent said encouragingly as the book was passed back to Eric.

Slowly he opened the aged book to the marker where they had left off in their studies earlier and with head bowed, slowly read a passage from Malcolm, one of the characters in Macbeth, in a voice that struggled with some of the words:

"Let us rather

Hold fast the mor..mortal sword, and, like good men,

Be…bestr..ide..bestride our down-… fall…fall'n birthdoonm..uh..

brithdom: each new morn…

Kipper and several of the other boys giggled, making Eric falter.

"You are among friends here Eric who all started just like you. If they laugh it is not to intentionally make fun of you, but is only to remind themselves of their own beginnings." Vincent looked at Kipper. "Isn't that right, Kipper?"

Kipper looked a little shamefaced, and nodded. "Sorry, Eric."

"But this is hard!" Eric said.

"Learning often is, but your perseverance will grant you so many more rewards in life."

"But I hate reading! It's dumb!"

"Only because the words have not yet become your best friend, Eric, a friend that opens up the world to you and shows you places and possibilities only limited by your imagination. It becomes a friend who makes you laugh when you are sad, calms you when you are angry and comforts you when you feel alone."

Eric didn't seem highly impressed and Vincent merely smiled gently back. "Eric, have you ever seen an elephant's child in real life?"

"You mean a baby elephant?" Eric asked. "At the zoo once, with Ellie."

"Did you know I never have?"

"Really?"

Vincent shook his head. "But Father used to say I was just like one."

The large eyes widened behind the coke bottle glasses. "But you don't look anything like a baby elephant," Eric replied matter-of-factly.

Vincent shrugged. "Well, that's what Father told me I reminded him of when I was young boy." He cocked his head slightly to the side. "Eric, were you ever curious as to know where an elephant's child got its trunk?"

Eric shook his head.

"As a boy I was, for a trunk on an elephant seemed such a strange and marvelous thing to have."

And before Eric or any of the other children were aware of it, they were sitting in a semi-circle around Vincent and leaning in close. Using rich deep tones and inflections of his voice, Vincent told them the story of "The Elephant's Child," by Rudyard Kipling. It was the tale an elephant from old, who at that time "had no trunk. He had only a blackish, bulgy nose, as big as a boot, that he could wriggle about from side to side" and "who was full of 'satiable curiosity".

The elephant's child asked many questions and was often spanked for being so curiously annoying. Then one day he wanted to know what a crocodile ate, and was spanked again for his 'satiable curiosity so he decided to go find out himself. He traveled a long way until he found the crocodile and asked him what he ate. And the crocodile, being of course a crocodile, bid him to come closer so he could explain. And the elephant's child did so because of his 'satiable curiosity. But then the crocodile reached out and grabbed the elephant's child by his stubby little nose. The elephant's child had to pull and pull in order to keep the crocodile from pulling him in the water and with the help of a giant python, at last he broke free.

But an amazing thing had happened. His blackish, bulgy nose that had been so useless before had been stretched out very far and to the elephant child's delight became a most handy instrument, for now he could pick up his food and eat it, he could swat a fly on his back with it when it annoyed him, he could squirt water on his back to cool him, but best of all he could spank back when his family tried to spank him for his 'satiable curiosity.

Eric and several of the children laughed through the tale as Vincent animated the story through inflections of his deep textural voice and movement of his hands.

"I've never heard that story. Where did find it?" Eric asked.

Vincent leaned back in the chair and tipped his head slightly as he picked up a leather bound edition from the table turning it thoughtfully over in his hand. "In the pages of book," he said with a smile.

From the chamber's entrance there was a stern clearing of a throat. "I do not recall anywhere in the study of Macbeth the significance of an elephant's trunk," a distinct British accent remarked and all turned to see Father entering the room.

Vincent bowed his head as his father walked across the room leaning heavily on his cane.

"Forgive me, Father. It's my fault," Vincent said in his most serious tone, but when he looked up, Father saw the twinkle of amusement in his son's eyes. "We became distracted by our curiosity."

Father sighed and looked dryly at Vincent above the rim of his glasses. "Yes, that was a common problem I use to have with you and Devin as boys, as I recall."

Vincent smiled guiltily. Devin, whom he'd always equated more to an older brother was perhaps even more curious than Vincent about life and his quest for adventure. As boys growing up in the Tunnels it had often gotten the two of them in much trouble with Father, as Vincent recalled fondly, though it seemed Devin got the worst end of Father's disapproval simply because he was the oldest. Yet, Vincent had always idolized Devin because he was the one boy out of all the others he'd grown up with who included Vincent in his dreams and adventures.

"I'm sorry I'm so late for our lesson," Father apologized, consulting his worn pocket watch which hung from a fob. "But it appears the hour of our study time has passed and William is awaiting all of you for the midday meal. So I'm afraid we will just have to re-schedule our lesson on Macbeth for another time."

The children looked at each other and smiled excitedly as they clamored out of the chamber.

"Eric, just a moment," Vincent called out to the boy before he could retreat.

"Yes?" The young boy came over to Vincent, looking a little unsure.

Vincent got up out of his seat and went across the room to a bookcase crammed with leather bound editions. After a few minutes of searching he came back and, leaning over until his great height was at eye level to the child, handed a small book to Eric "Perhaps you will find this one a little more entertaining than Macbeth."

"What is it?" Eric asked.

"The story of a boy named Tom and his best friend Huck, who had a knack for finding adventures along the Mississippi River. Just give it a try. You may find a friend somewhere in the pages."

Eric smiled. "Okay, Vincent. I'll try," the boy said shyly and hurried off.

Father scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat again as if there had been something stuck in it.

Vincent slowly walked around the large octagonal table in Father's chamber replacing Macbeth back in its original stack. "So how long were you standing there Father?" he asked.

"Long enough," Father chuckled. "I think I'm as bad as the children when it comes to listening to you tell a story."

Vincent cocked his head slightly to the side in amusement. "I had a good teacher."

But Vincent had chosen the story to tell Eric for another reason, too. He had listened to Catherine tell the tale to the gypsy boy Tony Ramos one night while he was standing hidden on her balcony. She had read the story so beautifully as if she knew how to make the magic come alive from the pages of the book.

"It was a nice thing you did for Eric," Father said.

Vincent nodded. "He misses Ellie a great deal still."

"I know." Father sat down tiredly in his chair and after propping his cane rubbed his bad leg which tended to ache when he was up on his feet too many hours. "I wish we could take away all their pain."

"Some pain just takes a lot longer to heal from, Father," Vincent said placing his hand on Father's shoulder.

Father covered his son's hand with his own and gave it a small squeeze but which spoke volumes in understanding. "Yes, they do," he said very sadly.

"You look tired, Father. Would you like Mary to make you some tea?"

"That would be nice."

Vincent departed and soon returned with a tray, which in addition to the tea, also included some stew and bread enough for two. "I was informed we are both required to eat and that no crumbs should remain," Vincent told his father with humor.

"Then I guess we best comply," Father remarked and broke the bread.

"You've been gone most of the morning," Vincent said.

"Yes. I was with Toummie and Carter. We were still trying to figure out the best way to deal with the breech in the Central Park tunnel exit."

The Central Park exit, hidden behind a metal panel in a large storm drain located in an isolated section of the park had been where Vincent and Catherine had often met secretly. When the professional hunter Gabriel had sent to find and kill Vincent had somehow tracked him back to the tunnel entrance, he'd used explosives to break through the door.

Through Diana, Vincent had learned much later the white haired hunter's name had been Snow. And, through Snow, he had learned Gabriel's name and eventually obtained the clue that had led him to Catherine's killer and his son. It had been the unusual ring Snow had removed to lure Vincent out into the open. In the end, the ploy had failed though.

Since then, the tunnel had been temporarily blocked off until they could best figure out how to repair the damage without arousing suspicion from work crews above. Vincent used an alternative park exit now when he went Above.

"Have you found a solution?"

"Not yet. Toummie thinks the door can still be repaired. It is the materials we lack to accomplish the task. In the meantime, the debris has been cleared away, a false panel inserted and the iron gate replaced and locked. We've also changed several of passage tunnels in that section as a precaution just in case."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No," Father said adamantly. "You're supposed to be resting, remember! Mouse and Jamie are doing searches Above for salvage parts needed to repair the door, along with our Helper, young Tony Ramos."

"Jamie will have her hands full then if she is dealing with both Mouse and Tony when it comes to the procurement of legally salvaged parts," Vincent mused. For if the gypsy boy Tony often times stretched the definition of salvageable at times, Mouse was as equally guilty. In Mouse's opinion, if it was lying around Above or stored in some old warehouse and covered in dust it was fair game.

"Why do you think I sent Jamie with them," Father chuckled. "I still have a grand piano in the lower chambers I have no idea what to do with!"

Vincent sat back in his seat. "Rolley does. I heard him playing again. He wasn't aware I was there."

"Rolley playing," Father said with some surprise. "Are you sure?"

Vincent nodded. "Alone, at night, in the solitude of the dark, but yes, he plays and his music is filled with sadness and fragility but also hope. It is very beautiful Father, just like Rolley."

Rolley, the music protégé they had discovered as a troubled boy about ten years ago, could play anything on the piano that he'd heard just once, but could not read music or had any clue as to the origins of the classical compositions he played so sweetly. With the help of wonderful teacher they'd been able to slowly draw the passion out of this very quiet black boy. But events in Rolley's troubled life Above had been too great, and they had lost the boy Rolley for several years until the day Vincent had found him again as a young adult strung out on heroin. He and Catherine had tried to help him, but at that time, Rolley still unable to deal with his tormented past, had fled. It had broken Vincent's heart to see such a beautiful soul without hope and Vincent had despaired that Rolley had truly and forever been lost to them.

Then during a time when Vincent's own faith and hope begun to waver in his grief over Catherine and his frustration at not being able to find his son, Rolley had returned to them like a prodigal son. And then for the first time in over a decade, Rolley had felt the music again and he had played. And as Rolley played, it had instilled hope in Vincent again that all things could be possible.

Father was clearly moved by the news. "I would love to hear that."

"Perhaps, one day, Father you will when Rolley is ready to share his music with others again."

They finished their meal and afterwards, Father challenged Vincent to a game of chess, which to Father's ongoing annoyance, wasn't as challenging for his son as it used to be. Nevertheless when Vincent agreed to the match, Father eagerly got out his prized ebony and white chess board and set it up, for as everyone knew, Father was as passionate about chess and he was about classic literature.

However, when Vincent reached over and took his Knight and put his put his King in jeopardy for a second time in less than the space of ten moves, Father's annoyance became pronounced. "You know, at one time a son had some respect for his father!"

Vincent laughed as Father leaned over and examined the board. When Father reached over and pick up his Rook, Vincent tilted his head curiously to the side causing Father to pause then lower the piece back down. His brows descended into a straight line and once again he scrutinized the board. Vincent leaned back in his chair to relax and to watch his father with amusement….

….Vincent was standing in daylight, in the middle of a small clearing and looking up at the beauty of the blue sky above. Upon his face could actually feel the radiant heat of the sun and in the trees he heard the sounds of birds chirping. And then as he looked around, he could actually see all the colors of the grass and trees in the sun, and the wildflowers which grew along either side of an earthen path which seemed to beacon him.

Compelled and delighted, he followed it as it led him further into the woods. The path wound gently through trees which sometimes grew together and arched above his head and along a slow moving stream which trickled softly and all Vincent could think of was how much he longed to share this magical place with Catherine. To simply hold her hand and to walk together in the daylight.

The little stream eventually poured into a small pond and Vincent suddenly stopped at the edge of the clearing, for before him a child and a woman sat on a small wooden dock, both barefoot and in shorts. Not wishing to frighten them yet curiously drawn, Vincent quickly stepped back behind the trees. He was less than ten feet away and could hear their voices clearly.

"What are you doing?" the woman asked.

The little girl shrugged. "Just drawing." She hummed as she drew seeming intent upon her task while a plastic baby doll lay next to her.

"What are you drawing?"

The little girl proudly held up a child's crayon picture of a park scene full of trees and green grass and a blue sky.

"And who's this?" the woman asked pointing to a stick finger way up high in a tree.

The girl smiled. "That's me silly! But don't worry. I won't fall."

And then the woman pointed to a small dark circle in the drawing, off to the side, almost hidden. "And what's this?"

The little girl became very quiet. "I'm not supposed to tell," she whispered. "It's a secret."

"Oh?"

The girl nodded.

"Well, is it a special place?" the woman teased.

"Oh, yes." The girl's eyes sparkled.

"What's so special about it?"

The girl leaned in close. "It's where I keep my heart."

Then all of a sudden, as if aware of being watched, the little girl looked up from her drawing and turned towards the trees. Vincent stepped quickly back further concealing himself in the shadows. But oddly, it was as if she knew he was there and didn't seem to be afraid or even surprised by his presence, only curious. Slowly she stood up, holding the plastic baby doll in her arms, then she smiled into the shadows as if he were a secret friend and Vincent couldn't help but smile back.

Then a dark shadow crossed over the sun and Vincent looked up to see black clouds covering the blue sky and a gust of wind suddenly blew a pile of dead leaves up in the air, swirling them madly about, obscuring his view. Vincent held his arm up to protect his face against the onslaught and when he looked back at the girl, she was no longer there, nor the woman. Instead Catherine stood on the dock barefoot and wearing a hospital gown. And before her stood Gabriel. And in her eyes he saw her fear and watched as she clutched the plastic baby doll tightly in her arms.

"Catherine!" he called out and tried to run towards her, but his legs were suddenly rooted to the ground by vines wrapped around his calves and twisting upward around his thighs. He could not budge. Gabriel pivoted his head towards him, regarded his beastly appearance curiously his eyebrows drawing down into a straight line. Vincent started to snarl, exposing the tips of his white glistening fangs. Gabriel eyes slid up to his as if making some kind of connection, then turned his attention curiously back to Catherine.

Vincent's heart started to pound and he growled savagely now, his lips pulled back, mouth open, the canine's sharp and now deadly exposed, as his clawed fingers raked desperately over the vines in an attempt to break their hold upon him. Powerless to help, he watched as Catherine slowly began backing up along the dock as Gabriel advanced with even sure paces. And then she was at the end of the dock and as she stepped back her bare foot faltered in midair, and Vincent watched in horror as she plunged into the waters of the lake.

Vincent's perspective suddenly shifted and now he was looking up at Gabriel through the wavering water as the tall dark figure stood staring back. And as he watched through Catherine's fearful hopeless eyes, Gabriel slowly reached down and picked up the plastic baby doll and the thin lips stretched into a cold cruel smile.

Catherine opened her mouth to scream, but couldn't as the icy water rushed in. And then, the darkness quickly enveloped her like a protective cloak and Vincent let out a terrible roar….

"Vincent!"

Father was beside him. Vincent was now standing, the chair he'd been sitting in having been knocked over and practically flung across the room. He let out a guttural cry as a wave of dizziness washed over him and grabbed hold of the table to steady himself, knocking the chess board aside and scattering the pieces in every direction.

"Vincent what is it?" Father demanded then he heard. "Mary! Thank God. Help me please, get the chair."

A second later, Vincent was being pushed back into his seat. It was several seconds later before the dizziness passed and Vincent was able to look up into Father's concerned eyes. Mary hovered a few feet away, her face pale and pinched.

"Are you all right?" Father asked.

Vincent took several deep breaths then nodded. "Yes."

Father slowly drew up his chair next to his son and sat back down, still visibly shaken. "What just happened, Vincent?"

Several long seconds seem to pass as Vincent rubbed his temple. "I'm not sure. I must have been dreaming but I don't remember falling asleep."

"More like a nightmare by your reaction," Father replied, looking at the scattered pieces about the room.

"I think I ruined the game," Vincent tried to jest.

"Though I appreciate the quick and just end to my misery, in the future please don't scare me to half to death in the process."

Vincent's hand dropped to his chest and Father's brow immediately knitted in concern. "Are you in pain again?"

Vincent shook his head. "The ache is not physical Father."

Father gave a sigh of relief. "But something has upset you greatly. What is it?"

As best as he could, Vincent explained the dream and the fear he had felt through Catherine's eyes. "But like all the others before, they make no sense."

"All the others?" Father's head snapped up. "What others?" he demanded.

Vincent bowed his head, averting his eyes from Father before letting out a tired sigh. "I didn't want to upset you."

Father's mouth thinned into a straight line. "You're upsetting me now, Vincent. How long have you been having these dreams?" It was not a question, it was a command.

"Just a little over a week," Vincent confessed.

"Just!"

"They started after Jacob's Naming Ceremony."

"Why didn't you say something?" Father's mouth thinned beneath the neatly trimmed mustached and beard heavily salted in grey.

"Because I knew you would worry," was Vincent's solemn reply.

"Damn right!" Father looked over at Mary whose face suddenly lost a few shades of color as well.

Vincent looked at Father and Mary, his guilt increasing as he saw their worry. "There was nothing either of you could have done Father."

The old man's mouth thinned even more. "Nevertheless, you should have told us. No wonder you've been exhausted all week! Vincent, I want you to tell me exactly what these dreams are about."

Slowly Vincent tried to explain them as best he could, first the strange ones about the darkness and seeing Catherine in the mist, then of the two of them dancing in the Great Hall.

"She was so beautiful, Father, so alive…and it was as if my greatest longing in my heart had finally come true. For a moment I felt as if we were one, complete…but then she vanished and I was suddenly in a place of such loneliness and of such lost hope I could hardly bare its weight upon me. And then I felt fear…but these feeling weren't mine alone."

"What do you mean?"

"That's just it Father. I can't explain it."

"Vincent, it would be perfectly understandable, in your grief to imagine…"

"Father these are different!" Vincent suddenly stood agitated, but swayed as the dizziness returned.

"Vincent! Sit down before you fall down!" Father demanded.

But Vincent remained standing, his mind a jumble of thoughts. "Father, they were not like dreams I've had before of just memories of Catherine, of my longings."

"Then what?"

He shook his head and his tawny mane swept about his face concealing his features finding it hard to put into words the raw emotions pressing inwardly into him. "It's as if these dreams were a mixture of both of us," he tried to explain. "They always seem to start out with this feeling, a longing in me to find her, to see her, to be with her again, but then they shift and it's as if…as if I'm feeling Catherine all over again."

Father's head snapped up. "How do you mean?"

Vincent let out a frustrated grunt and stood up to his full height gesturing with his hands. "Don't you see, Father! I know she's dead. In my head I know she's gone and in my heart I grieve for her and hold fast to her memories…but inside me here," Vincent spread his hand out upon his chest, "it's as if…as if we are connected as before…as if I'm feeling her very presence and her emotions reaching out to me all over again with such force I feel an almost physical pain for her!"

Mary face turned deathly white. She looked over at Father and they seemed to exchange a heavy silence. Vincent took one look at their concerned faces and guiltily stormed from the room.

Words seemed to hover on Mary's lips as the candlelight caught a swelling glint in Father's concerned eyes, before he turned away from her.

Mary clasped her hands tightly together. "I best go check on the baby. He'll be waking soon from his nap."

Later that day Mouse overheard something he was probably never meant to hear. He was just returning from another scavenging trip Above and was excited with news about parts he thought could help fix the Central Park entrance. He'd used one of his own secret access tunnels as a shortcut back and it was as he was climbing down the narrow shaft that he heard Mary's distressed voice. "He needs to be told!"

It was followed by Father. "You know why I can't, Mary."

Mouse silently climbed down lower until he caught sight of Father and Mary just below him.

Father, he noticed was dressed in the fancy clothes he wore on his very rare occasions when he ventured Above. He and Mary seemed to be arguing about something.

"How can you go on keeping such a thing from him?" Mary cried.

"Because I cannot bear to see him go through such tormenting madness again, or worse this time," was Father's reply. "Vincent's heart has already gone through a tremendous assault; I fear the truth will be too great a strain."

"But Jacob…"

Father placed his hand on the older woman's shoulder. "Mary please, I beg you to keep your council, at least until I know for sure."

"You mean the tests?" Mary sounded almost hopeful.

"We've been doing our best, but you know how fragile the situation has been from the start," Father's voice was choked with the strain of checking back his emotions.

Tears formed in Mary's eyes. "I know, I'm sorry." She collapsed into his arms and wept and Father held her as if he needed her strength as well.

"We mustn't loose hope, Mary." He pulled away from her and he leaned heavily on his cane, still clearly as distressed as she. "I…I must go."

"Of course. Is there anything you need me to do while you're gone?"

"Just keep on eye on Vincent and make sure he rests. And pray, Mary, just pray."

Mary dabbed her eyes and nodded as Mouse watched Father disappear down the dark tunnels.

Later that evening Mouse was still brooding over things as he tinkered in his chamber when Jamie arrived.

"There you are! I've been looking for you for hours! You were supposed to meet Tony and me at the salvage yard!"

"Went somewhere else. Better. Found some parts, might work, pieces to fit together," Mouse replied as he worked on some gizmo or contraption of some sort or another.

"That's great! Uh-but exactly where did you go? Not somewhere Father is going to get angry about, I hope?"

Mouse shrugged. He seemed distracted with something, which wasn't highly unusual, for Mouse was always distracted with something.

"So…what are you working on?" Jamie asked.

Mouse suddenly tossed the part aside. "Nothing. Gizmo that doesn't work." He went over to another table which had more oddities on it, including several glowing lava lamps which Mouse had a particular passion for. Mouse's pet raccoon, Arthur, was walking about the table picking up various shinny objects and he reached down and stroked the animal.

"Something bothering you, Mouse?' Jamie asked.

Mouse kept his back to her and he picked up Arthur and held him close.

"Did you get in trouble Above again?" Jamie inquired suspiciously.

Mouse turned quickly around. "No!" He then turned his back on her again. "Not that."

"Then what's bothering you?"

Mouse slowly turned his head and looked at Jamie. She saw worry in his blue eyes. "Heard Mary and Father arguing."

"Mary and Father?"

Mouse nodded.

"About what?"

Mouse scratched the raccoon's ears and shrugged. "Not sure, something bad though. Mary was crying."

"Mary was crying?" Jamie repeated.

Mouse nodded. "Father was upset too." Suddenly Mouse looked very guilty.

"Mouse, what aren't you telling me?"

"Was worried. About Father. Know I shouldn't have followed."

"You followed who? Father?"

Mouse nodded. "He went Above."

"Father went Above?" Jamie asked incredulous. Mouse nodded again. "Why would he go Above? Father hates going up top."

"To met in secret."

Jamie pulled him over to his bed and together they sat down. "Mouse you're not making much sense. Tell me exactly what happened."

Mouse relayed his story. After overhearing the conversation between Father and Mary, Mouse had followed Father to the alternative Central Park exit. There Father had walked a great distance over to one of the places where the Top Dwellers played music sometimes outside.

"The amphitheatre you mean?"

Mouse nodded. Father sat a long time on a bench while Mouse hid behind a tree. Sometime later a man appeared, about the same age as Father. Mouse recognized him as the Helper Peter that had come Below a few weeks ago after Vincent had returned with the baby and had collapsed that night complaining of pain in his chest. He had attached a strange gizmo with wires and sticky things on Vincent's chest which made squiggly lines on a screen. Father had said something about how it checked Vincent's heart. Later Father and Peter had stepped outside the chamber to talk in quiet whispers while Vincent rested. When Father came back, his face had looked very grim.

Jamie knew a little about Peter as well. He had come almost every year to Winterfest and he was also a doctor too, like Father, and often supplied their community with medication and supplies whenever he could.

"Why would Father want to meet Peter secretly?"

Mouse shoulder's sagged. "Must be something bad, I know. Something bad about Vincent." The young man looked up at Jamie and she could see his worry. "I'm afraid. Vincent is my friend."

Jamie reached over and hugged Mouse, also deeply disturbed by the news. "I know. Me too."