"Vincent!" Catherine ran to him as a child would. "I missed you!"
"I know. I felt it." His head dropped to one side, wondering.
She breathed deeply, her lungs filled with happiness rather than simple air.
"Would you like to walk with me?" he asked.
"I would" her gaze was nostalgic. "I would, very much… but there are men around the apartment, assuring my safety…"
"Let's climb down the balcony"
Her eyes glittered.
"Can we…? Would you…?"
He smiled mischievously. She had never seen him do so.
"Little blue bird, would you want to stretch your wings out of this, your golden cage?" he bowed graciously.
She giggled in delight.
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"I hadn't done this since…"
"Since you were trapped in that elevator" he remembered.
They paced side by side, in Central Park. To look at him was easy now, but she rarely saw his eyes. As if it was painful to look at her, he avoided it.
"Yes… but I used to do it, often, when I was a teen"
"To escape your parents?"
"To escape myself… the girl I was supposed to be…"
"It's hard to meet other persons' expectations" he commented.
He hadn't touched her since he had left her on the floor… much like the Vincent she once knew. If his closeness had unnerved her at first, now the unmet yearning, no longer familiar, drove her crazy.
"How is everyone Below doing?" she asked.
He breathed deeply and looked to the sky.
"They miss you"
"So do I" Her arms folded as if to protect her. It's not as if I could go visit. Wait… "Vincent, why don't we go see them right now?"
He stopped. She nearly left him behind before noticing; then she turned.
"Catherine, I cannot… I'm sorry."
Few things would surprise her as this did.
"Why?"
He was shaking his head quietly.
"Is it Father?" He always feared my leaving him. "Does he hate me now?"
"No, Catherine; this has nothing to do with you."
"Now you're scaring me. Have they…?"
"Things have happened. Please, don't ask right now. There is no reason to be scared."
Oh, there is, the beast inside said. She feels your change, can't you tell? The creature didn't mind to rest for a while… as long as he was allowed to play with his brain. It's not time to open Pandora's box the man answered firmly.
"I assure you, Catherine: it doesn't have anything to do with anyone living Above or Below" Sure enough, the beast laughed, limits are always grey. "You will know in time"
As he faced her, he regretted his denial. Would it be worse? But facing his father was unthinkable, and he had no will of exploring why.
For the first time since they had met again, she needed to know something, and she observed... really observed. The way he moved, the way he dressed. All of it had changed. His grace, always perfect, now had an openly sensual side. He wasn't just comfortable: he was glad that he had this body. She could swear his clothes didn't have nearly as much layers as they used to. When she had –there was no other way to say it- slept in his arms, she had felt it, but just now she made the connection.
She touched him again to be sure. Her fingers slid into the fur on the back on his hands, up into the sleeve, half the length of his forearm. There was no shirt, and while she explored there was a vibrating sound, from deep within his chest. His head was turned right and down, so she had no way of reading his expression. She approached him to listen. It was a purr.
"Vincent?" she called.
The sound stopped, and Vincent sighed.
"Catherine" he said, his voice barely husky to her ears, but to his, plenty of meaning. "Perhaps we should talk about this later."
"The fact that you don't want to lead me Below?"
Her voice was mewling. He nearly whined, but the sound died in his throat.
"Everything"
"That, I would delay. But…"
She walked into his arms, hers surrounding his chest. His arm came to embrace her. He would never know where he found the strength not to crush her to his body, molding her form to his, making her… his.
"My touch pleasures you"
Oh, yes. And in more secret places it would…
"Don't play with fire, Catherine. You would get burned"
"I know how to protect myself."
"You really have no idea, do you?"
She froze, then her body relaxed. He was the one to retreat; she was the one to grab him, to hold him against her. She was used to ignore his warnings.
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"What are you doing?" Diana wondered.
Vincent stopped rubbing his forearm. Nails substituted his palm. It was hard to notice while he paced so quickly. Even in her lightened apartment.
"Vincent?"
There was a sound, deep in his chest. It rose quickly to a growl as he turned.
But it was his gaze what made her step back.
"I cannot hold back your dark side, Vincent" she said. "This place can't, either. If you'll lose control, you might as well do it right now."
Vincent's fur glowed darker. Her heart was beating in her throat as she closed her eyes, getting the distinct impression that this time the beast wouldn't be content with sex.
The hit, nonetheless, didn't come.
"What am I doing here?"
She opened an eye, then the other.
"Stopping yourself from rubbing your skin against your chamber's walls, I guess. But if you were looking for smoother walls, be my guest"
She walked to the fridge and opened it, her heart stilling into her chest.
"Do you want a beer?"
He kept pacing, back and forth, just out of the lights' domain. There were enough shadows… she had made sure of it. For him to feel comfortable. She didn't turn her head towards him. The can made a sighing sound, as it opened. She sipped once. Then the can fell, spreading beer all over the floor.
His body on her back would be the only thing she hadn't expected… except for his mouth on the hollow of her neck. Even she could say it wasn't what he needed. She wasn't…
"It's Catherine"
He cursed soundly near her ears, and he was gone.
"She is aroused"
Somewhere something fell. Loudly. Something else followed, with the sound of broken glass. Some old lamp. Things didn't matter to her, but Vincent never stumbled into things.
"Give me that."
A piece of chess flied towards her, and she caught it. A bishop.
"To break things won't make you harder to read. You might as well get used to it."
A deep silence warned her.
"She wanted me."
It was kind of the weirdest thing she would take right now. A stab to her stomach, in other circumstances. Now it just pricked her a little bit.
"I want you too. Why didn't you take her?"
"We weren't exactly in a chamber" he growled.
"So what? We were on the catacombs when…"
"That was different."
Because it was with me?
"Nicely caught" She put the bishop beside the closest candle. Her eyes were wet, and Vincent could even smell it she laughed to herself. So why pretend? "She's your goddess, I'm your bitch. Sure as hell you have no reason to respect…"
"Do you?" he interrupted.
"What?"
"Do you respect yourself, Diana?" He paced towards her, his silhouette getting clearer as he emerged from darkness. "Have you ever showed me how to do that?"
"Oh, it's the philosophic crap again."
"I give you what you're eager to receive. Don't ask for my respect if you can't stand it."
Diana growled. Helplessly, raggedly. It was a mewling beside what he could do. Ridiculous, even to her own ears.
And yet, it made him run away.
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Whatever Catherine was hoping for at her waking time, it wasn't a hand caressing her arm. At first, she shook it, but the sense got nicer until she couldn't mistake if for a fly. Thank God she didn't pronounce any names.
His breath caressed her ear, soon enough his tongue followed. A plain, wrinkled tongue. Not Elliot's.
"Shhhh" he said.
Vincent…
She had learned once that in waking there was a moment of drowsiness, powerful as a drug's effect. You could commit a crime at that exact moment, with no legal consequence. The minute would absolve the killer. So she stilled her moral sense –or rather beat it to the back of her head, but who minds the difference-: she wasn't guilty for answering to his kiss. Hot as it was.
Besides, it would as well be a dream. As it became slower and wetter, and his hand came to hold her head –gently… as if she would break…- she found hard to think otherwise. Hard to think at all. The long repressed craving was there, fueled by the night, the aloneness…
"Wait" she gasped.
As if he hadn't heard, his mouth traveled a path from her scar –last remnant of the night when they had first met- through her neck towards her breasts.
"Vincent…"
His hands held hers over their heads as he kissed his name. She couldn't help but arch into his body, now on hers –his weight welcome, even now-. A feeling of strangeness overcame her, even as she raised her knees to cradle him. There was his weight and his smell and all the memories she had fought so hard to keep silenced; but… was he there?
"Vincent!"
This time he answered: his eyes hovered over her, two spheres of grey-blue… rage? She discarded the thought as soon as it came. He –the man- had never been upset with her… never shown it, anyway… never looked at her with such an expression in fact.
Wasn't it the same?
"You never told him to wait"
The words hung on the air. Was this his voice? Such words couldn't belong to him! She hadn't seen him pronounce them –she wasn't watching his mouth-, but wasn't his chest the one vibrating against hers?
The light came, unexpected as it would be in a castle. Vincent flinched.
"You won't be seen" she assured.
An impersonal voice came from the screen.
"There is a call for you, madam"
He was a silhouette against the light; an enormous, powerful shadow between her and the rest of the world.
"Be quiet" Her hand fought for freedom, but he gave it none. "I have to answer, Vincent. Just let me…" A heartbeat, and then he let a hand go. They both heard a dull sound –something had fallen- as she tried to reach a button. He relaxed, letting his weight fall over her completely. Her voice sounded almost strangled: "Aaron, I'm in bed"
"Did I wake you?"
"It's my fault… for not telling you"
"Are you all right?"
"All right, Aaron… I'll let you check… let me dress"
The button made a sucking sound while being pushed again. Vincent looked at it, uncertain.
"We won't be… heard now"
But his gaze told her that he had nothing to say. A shiver of fear traveled through her.
"He got suspicious… If I don't let him in…"
"Does your heart belong to me?"
She froze. Why… that question… now…? His eyes burned her with their ferocity; she had to look away… but while doing so, she remembered.
"Vincent… the man I love… is you."
She felt him tremble, and a fierce joy possessed her… for being possessed by him. Maybe it was an echo of their ancient Bond, coming to life. She didn't know. Didn't care, really.
"Then, you belong to me"
There was more surprise than pain. Through the layer of silk, his fangs found her right breast. Not much blood tinted her dress. She didn't cry aloud. She hadn't moved when he parted –her hands were still attached to the pillow, and her eyes, staring up, where in the absence of his eyes, there was the ceiling.
But there were knocks at the door.
"Madam?"
"I'm coming!" she cried, while wrapping a gown around her. A look to the bed, and she decided to close the bedroom's door. "I'm here" she gasped.
Outside, there was only one man.
"I'm sorry, madam, but your call turned out to be a visitor" this one said. "I need to ask you about your latest attack"
Aaron, behind the woman, shrugged. He seemed quite helpless for a bodyguard.
But the woman wasn't easy to deal with, either. Just the fact that she had arrived there, with the strong security posted to avoid it, spoke of constancy and decision. Catherine watched her, looking for further clues. The visitor dressed like the classic detective, and even then, not too carefully. Her red hair made Catherine think of hell's flames.
An offered hand interrupted her thoughts.
"I'm Diana Bennet. I'm in charge of your case now"
Catherine wondered why the caller's hand twitched around hers. Bennet was looking at her wrists. Catherine's hand retreated quickly.
"I surely didn't expect a visitor so late in the night"
"It's barely past ten" Really? The clock answered: it was 10:07 p.m. "Nights are longer in winter"
The detective looked straight into her eyes. Bennet's eyes recalled Vincent's –at least, the pair of Vincent's eyes Catherine had last seen. It made her shiver.
"Please, sit down" she muttered while breaking eye contact. "So… Must I tell you everything from the beginning?"
"No. I read the statements" Bennet's voice came from the table. She was arranging something on there. Ey! Catherine would have said; but she approached the table instead. "Sit down, Mrs. Burch. We have little time to waste."
As she sat, Bennet slid a photo towards her. There were just buildings. The neighborhood didn't seem the kind Mrs. Burch would visit often. Catherine lifted her gaze again, asking for an explanation.
"It's close to where you were contacted for the first time" A short nail pointed at some graffiti. "This called my attention. Do you recognize it?"
"You must have gotten something wrong" Catherine straightened her body. "The first attack wasn't there"
"I said 'contacted' Now please, take a look. Does it sound familiar?"
Catherine frowned at the picture. She had been there, she remembered it; but it had been months ago, she had been still working at the time. She didn't even remember if she was already married.
"Someone gave you something, back then: a small book. Is that true?"
A bulb lightened in her mind.
"It had fragments from a book I loved… the velveteen rabbit" Her gaze focused on Bennet again. "How did you know?"
"You left it among the evidence. Do you have any idea of who sent it? Do you remember the messenger?"
"It was a child, I think…"
"Can you describe him?" Even while Catherine shook her head, Bennet insisted: "any detail…?"
"I barely saw him, months ago; I can't give you anything more…" Catherine snorted and grimaced as if smiling. "And I frankly can't see where both things connect"
"This made me think about your name"
The graffiti remained under the detective's nail. It wasn't big for New York's standards. The golden color was unusual, though. It said: "Lighten a candle" A new photo slid beside the first one: an enlargement of the C; two more followed slowly. There were small figures, and at first, it was hard for Catherine to focus on just one, so many there were. One figure's gracefully stretched legs guided her to another animal that was pressed against an imaginary floor as if hunting; other cat's bright green eyes called her attention.
"Your maiden name, I mean… Can you see the similarity?"
There was just one point in common: the cats' mouths: all of them were open. Their cries sounded in her ears. She looked from one figure to another, looking for a shelter –something, anything, different. They didn't say "Meow" but "Cathy, little cub of us, come here…"
"Mrs. Burch!"
A hand between her eyes and the pictures snapped her out of the nightmare, and she shivered, and then lifted her gaze, confused for a moment; then she shook her head.
"It's hipnotizing"
"'Chandle' and 'Cat'…" The detective insisted, pointing to the enlargements one by one. "Do you have any idea of what it meant?"
"It's obvious." Her iris went from side to side, wondering: "how it comes that no one had seen it?"
"No one looked, I guess"
A heavy tiredness weighted over her shoulders; almost a sadness. Catherine stood and wavered towards the balcony door.
"So… someone wanted to contact me…" She moved the curtains to see the sky. "Must this one be also the one menacing me?"
"This painting was finished on June 12th"
Dates were slippery in Catherine's mind now that her agenda was so empty. It took some time for her to understand the allegory; she didn't flinch when she did.
"Dunglin was the painter. Is this name familiar to you?"
"A new prodigy" Catherine answered vaguely.
"He is more famous now than he used to be back then"
The detective's straight gaze tickled her shoulder. Catherine looked back, and found Bennet's head slightly dropped one side.
"This kind of work is too detailed for a child"
Catherine seemed to ignore the comment, but something fit inside of her. Bennet didn't miss her shiver.
"You know how it goes, Mrs. Burch. You must tell me…"
"Do you have something else?" she interrupted.
A heartbeat, and then:
"Right now, no"
"Can I keep the pictures?" Catherine hurried to ask.
"I am sorry, but I can't allow it until the investigation has ended." You knew that.
Catherine nodded tiredly.
"Here is my card" The roughness of paper scratched Catherine's half open hand.
Her tone of voice was all business now. Catherine got the distinct impression that the detective was avoiding her eyes. She picked another brief glimpse of an enlargement while Bennet collected them.
"Please, call me if you remember something else."
As soon as the detective disappeared, Catherine dropped to the bed, and turned to watch the ceiling. Expressionless, dull. It took some time for her to notice the warmth of the bed. It might not be Vincent's, but she still wrapped up in the covers, nosing the pillow.
The phone rang just before she fell asleep.
"Hello"
"Cathy!"
"Hi, Dad!" She elbowed the bed and braced on it, passing the phone to her other ear. "What a surprise!" she ironized.
"How is my little girl?"
"You don't have to call every night, Dad…"
"I know that you have been in worse… situations, Cathy…" His discomfort was obvious.
"And I won't listen again to the: 'you shouldn't have left my office' talk"
"I won't say 'I told you'…" he sighed.
"But you told me. I know…"
"No, Cathy, I really didn't call to remind you of that"
She bit her lips, as an itchy silence fell over them. Her fingers played with the white blankets.
"You are grumpy today" he pointed out warily.
Patting on the bed, she faced it.
"It's funny that you called just now. I wanted to ask you something."
"Tell me."
She hushed, knowing that she would spoil his sudden cheer if she spoke; but once announced the question… Should she change it?
"Do you still have mom's work?"
The silence on the other side of the phone was sign enough.
"You remember it"
"I was young, but I wasn't a baby"
"Why do you ask?"
It was her turn to be quiet. Why had she asked?
"They must be somewhere in the attic" His voice cracked, and he coughed to mask it. Pretty obvious, for a lawyer, dad. "I hope you don't want to see them"
A slight breeze entered the room, making the curtains weave, painting the floor with ghosts.
"No… I guess not…"
"Listen, Cathy…" His fake cheer wavered for a moment, as he thought of a subject to move onto. "There's a golf meeting next Sunday. Will Elliot be in the city by then?"
"I'm not sure" she said distractedly.
Thank God he didn't have cameras to see her as they talked. If he had, he would have seen her tears.
"Can I see at least my daughter?"
"As soon as the office leaves you time" she answered.
"Do you promise?"
"Do you?"
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Garson entered the room just in time to stop the knife on its way to her wrist. Thank Jake he thought. He had to give the camera-guard a promotion; watching this woman was equivalent to two full-time jobs. He himself was getting tired.
"Sweetheart, you don't have to do this"
It felt like déjà vu to see her looking out –beyond the darkened window. She had released the knife the moment she had felt his hand. She was ashamed. She was always ashamed.
"How did you know?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he slid the cutting half of the knife into its sheath and into his pocket. If I let her do it, he thought, how much time would it take for her to recover? How much damage would she do? How much attention would she need this time? It was nearly worth the try.
"Is it the pain?"
"My child" she said in a throaty whisper, then cleared her throat slightly. "I want to see my child."
What takes so long? He could see her reflection in the glass window –her make-up was melted, but it didn't seem disgusting in her. She was sad. Why did she have to be sad? His teeth clenched, he frowned. Didn't the child hear the mother's cry? Was the child that careless?
"I know, sweetie."
"Isn't there a way to enter that house? To be closer…?"
And now, he didn't know what to say. Not with a false name he thought as he looked into her begging eyes, nor with the true one. He turned his back to her as he looked for a chair and placed it before hers. It took slightly more time than it must. Still, he hadn't gotten an answer for her. Pulling up his pants, he sat down with a sigh.
"I try to contact your kid" he whispered. "I do. Give me time"
"It have been months since I last saw her. And she needs care."
He shivered. Care…
"Can Maxie come?" she whispered quietly.
Her craving look made him feel sick. Sick of himself, for keeping them apart. Sick of her, for making that so essential. Sick of fear.
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Preview:
Just then the bullets came. Diana's guts warned her seconds before, and as she covered Catherine the bodyguards formed a shelter against the wall. Catherine looked pitifully small among them; Diana had made her point. And it was worse than she had expected: either the attackers were ghosts or, more probably, hidden at some of the front buildings. Untouchables.
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