In Our Dreams…
A Beauty and the Beast Story
By TunnelsOfTheSouth
"Don't be pushed around by the fears in your mind. Be led by the dreams in your heart…"
Roy T. Bennett
※※※※※
Catherine…
Catherine lay motionless on the operating table, trying desperately not to cry. She glanced around at her sterile environment. Surgical lights glared overhead and people moved around her on stealthy feet.
Catherine's breathing hitched. Despite those clustered around her, she had never felt isolated and alone.
None of it seemed to fit. Everything was completely at odds with the snug warmth of Vincent's rock-cut chamber and the deep comfort of his patchwork bed. She longed to be back there, shielded from probing glances, comforted by his soothing voice as he read to her.
She closed her burning eyes in despair. "I haven't read the last chapter of Great Expectations…" she whispered.
From somewhere a slight movement of air made her ruined face hurt. She'd been prepped for plastic surgery – her skin marked with lines and notations. A blue plastic cap covered her hair.
She was aware her facial scars looked horrific. The shocked glances and stares she'd encountered from the moment she'd reappeared had confirmed what she'd first glimpsed in the broken car reflector she'd found in Vincent's chamber.
People had tried to cover their dismay, but Catherine was well aware of what they were thinking. From Tony, the doorman of her apartment building, to the policemen who hurried to secure her. Then her own father's blank look of utter shock, before his strong arms had enfolded and shielded her from view.
Now she was going to be put right. The intent was to erase what had happened to her as if it had never been. It was the only practical solution.
Her shocked father's deep concern, and his even deeper pockets, had been the swiftest way to ensure she didn't suffer any longer than necessary. His beloved daughter was going to be *fixed* and returned to her old life. No matter what it cost him in time and money.
Catherine sighed. Everyone had been so kind and caring. Patting her hand and telling her everything would be all right. What they were really saying was she would soon forget the events of the last nine days. It would be better than way.
Better for whom…?
She moved slightly, reaching out in her mind for the man who could never be here, beside her…
Vincent…
Of course, there was no answer. He remained always out of reach, beyond her sight and hearing. She longed to hear his comforting voice again.
Around the operating table, masked figures looked down on her. Different voices, harsher and more abrupt, intruded on her dreaming state.
Peering into Catherine's face one of the surgeons asked, "What's her pressure?"
"120 over 80, doctor," a nurse replied from the background.
"How's that IV running?"
"Fine…"
"Is the bogey connected?"
"Yes, doctor."
"Shall we begin?"
Catherine wanted to beg them to stop. Please, no, not yet… give me some time to think...
But she suddenly felt tired beyond belief and all the fight went out of her. Let them do what they will…
The anaesthetist inserted a needle into the cannula in the back of her hand. "Catherine, I want you to start counting from ten, backwards..."
Dutifully, she began counting down. "10... 9... 8..."
The doctors and nurses prepared to begin surgery. Catherine sensed her grasp on reality fading. Everything was getting fuzzy as she continued to count. "7... 6..."
She never made it to "5," as she slipped the bonds of consciousness and drifted away into welcome blackness. Strangely it didn't last for long, as she began to dream…
In the confusion of her unconscious state, Catherine stood in her father's office, staring at the closed doors. She was alone and had no idea how she got there or why. Fear gripped her senses.
Where did everyone go?
There was no sound, no sign of others. The silence was almost deafening.
She thought it was daylight outside, but she didn't turn to look at the wide windows behind her. The glaring brightest of the overhead office lights made her eyes hurt. With her eyes bandaged, she'd become accustomed to the muted candlelight and soft glow of the brazier in Vincent's chamber.
She knew her painful face was still horribly scarred and her expensive party dress filthy and ragged. She held it together with desperate hands as she glanced around.
Suddenly the door before her opened and her father stood in the doorway. Charles Chandler smiled happily at her.
He appeared to take no notice of her terrible state. He seemed to think everything was wonderful, and as it should be. "Catherine! We were all guessing where you went," he said cheerily. "Was it Jamaica? Nassau?"
Catherine tried to explain to him, but failed. "I – I..."
Her father looked her up and down. "Let's get some people together, have a party at the club, tonight. Who shall we invite? Why don't you make up a list? You know all the right people. And don't forget Tom."
"No – Dad – I..."
"Great! That's settled, then." Her father ignored her protest as he suddenly frowned at his wristwatch. "Look at the time. Have to run, I have a board meeting..."
He looked back to her, digging into the pocket of his suit coat. He held out a thick wad of cash. "Buy yourself a new dress..." He held out more money. "Will this be enough? Here, take some more..." He reached into another pocket and held out another thick bundle of bills, pushing them all into her confused hands.
"But, Daddy, I…" Catherine stammered.
Charles ignored her protests. He stepped backwards, grasping the office door handle. "See you later..." The door shut abruptly.
Immediately Catherine was on the other side of it, standing alone. Not knowing what else to do, she clutched the bundles of cash to her chest as she hurried away down the corridor. All the offices were closed and deserted.
Suddenly to her left, three people appeared from a doorway behind her, talking animatedly. As Catherine turned away, so they could not see her ruined face, one of them hurried to catch up with her.
He stood close behind her, trying to peer into her face. "Cathy, you have a nice vacation? You look… um, you look wonderful…"
Before Catherine now, there was a woman colleague. She smiled as she passed her. "We missed you…"
Then more office people appeared behind Catherine, staring and whispering about her. Another, older woman was not so kind. "Well, Miss Chandler… Now you've done it."
Catherine backed up against the panelled wall, caught between the urge to run back to her father's office, or hurry on into the reception area. Her father was nowhere in sight. The money he'd thrust into her hands had disappeared.
Suddenly she became shrouded in darkness. She was rushing up the sidewalk on Third Avenue, trying to wave down a passing taxi. A cab pulled up to the curb beside her but she couldn't open the door. She pounded on the window but the driver didn't seem to notice. He just sat there behind the wheel, staring ahead.
Suddenly someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to find the stocky man in the bomber jacket standing behind her. She wanted to scream, but her mouth wouldn't obey her.
He smirked at her. "Not having much luck..."
She pounded one hand furiously on the cab window. But it drove off, leaving her stranded.
"Need some help?" her ghastly assailant asked silkily. A van appeared out of the darkness, cruising towards them.
Terrified of being caught again, Catherine started to run – straight into the arms of the punk. "You ain't having much luck," he commented, with a grim chuckle. "We know just what you need."
"No!" Catherine fought back, finally managing to break away and ran – back up Third Avenue.
Her attackers came after her, closing in. Nobody on the street seemed to notice or care about her plight.
As the punk reached out to grab her from behind, Catherine ducked aside and dashed through the open doors of a nearby restaurant. She stumbled inside to find there was a society party in progress.
The moment Catherine entered, everything stopped. The place was filled with beautiful people. They all turned to gape at her, staring at her scars and her rags – in icy silence. As if her unexpected presence somehow offended them all.
Tom Gunther stood in the centre of the room, next to his towering architectural ice model. Very close beside him was a beautiful woman. They were surrounded by smiling admirers.
As Catherine tried to approach Tom, someone put out a foot and she fell to the floor, landing painfully on her hands and knees. That was when the snickering started. At first very softly, then open laughter began to break out. They all seemed to find the situation very amusing.
Catherine turned her head to look up at Tom, but he refused to acknowledge her presence, silently asking for his help.
But he ignored her. He began talking to the woman beside him. "I feel sorry for her. But what can I do? Life goes on." He raised his glass of wine mockingly.
The woman smirked as she nodded, in agreement.
"She was an interesting girl," Tom continued, in the same conversational tone. "I thought she had a lot of promise. But she turned out to be a complete loser." He turned to the crowd of admirers behind him. "And you all know how I feel about losers..."
The snickering laughter grew louder. Many of them raised their wine glasses in acknowledgement.
Catherine tried to speak but failed. The laughter grew louder until it became a chorus of derisive amusement. Glasses clinked and people chattered, but no-one made any attempt to reach down and help Catherine to her feet.
Catherine stared up at them, in stunned silence. Money and social position. Fools and the conceited. Is this all I was? Is this all I was worth, to them? Is this all I made myself worth?
She lay at their feet, looking around, feeling desperate and trapped. Then, at her wits end, she suddenly saw something beyond the crowd clustered around her.
Standing above them all, framed in the upper tunnel opening to his chamber, there appeared to be the figure of a tall, powerful man. He was standing with one hand braced against the tunnel wall, so he could lean closer. Peering down into the restaurant, he was staring at her, lying helpless on the expensive carpeting.
His blue eyes were filled with compassion and support. They shone with deep empathy for her. It was Vincent. He had come to save her, once more.
As their eyes locked, Catherine felt his strength flowing into her. His unshakable belief in the power of her own ability to survive, to rise from the floor and not become a victim of circumstances beyond her control.
Vincent leaned closer. He nodded to her, lending her both his strength and power.
Catherine smiled with relief, her stiff body relaxing. It was going to be all right…
She was going to be all right…
She sighed as the restaurant scene dissolved around her once more and she drifted away into the welcoming darkness. But in that darkness, she was no longer alone…
※※※※※
Vincent…
Vincent lay motionless on his bed. The long morning's work had been gruelling but necessary. He ached in every muscle and sinew.
He'd been reading, but now he sank into a semi-waking state. Against his will, his limbs grew heavier and he felt oddly powerless to move. Then he didn't wish to move…
Against his closed lids he saw many bright lights. They were electric lights, not the flames of candles or the soft glow of the kerosene brazier that always burned in the corner of his chamber, driving away the chill of the surrounding stonework.
He sensed he was in some starkly sterile place. His nose wrinkled at the strong smells of anaesthetic and iodine. Was he in a hospital?
None of it seemed to fit. There was no rumbling of the overhead subway or chatter of the pipes. It was completely at odds with the snug warmth of his rock-cut chamber and the deep comfort of his patchwork bed.
He tried to raise his eyelids, but they refused to budge. They grew heavier, and he sank lower into some strange kind of waking stupor.
"Vincent…"
He jumped, hearing Catherine's voice calling his name. He struggled to answer her, to wake from this dreaming nightmare, but his body refused to allow it.
He sensed masked figures surrounding his bed, looking down on him. Unfamiliar voices, harsher and more abrupt, intruded on his dreaming state.
Peering into Vincent's face, one of the masked figures asked, "What's his pressure?"
"120 over 80, doctor," a woman replied from the background.
"How's that IV running?"
"Fine…"
"Is the bogey connected?"
"Yes, doctor."
"Shall we begin?"
Vincent's head turned from side to side on his pillows. He wanted to beg them to stop.
"Please, no, not yet… give me some time to think..."
But he was tired beyond belief and all the fight went out of him. "Let them do what they will…"
He flinched when a needle was inserted into a cannula in the back of his hand. A man's voice commanded, "I want you to start counting from ten, backwards..."
Not knowing what else to do to escape this waking nightmare, Vincent began counting down. "10... 9... 8..."
Around him, he sensed the doctors and nurses preparing to begin surgery. Vincent's grasp on reality faded. Everything was getting fuzzy as he continued to count. "7... 6..."
He never made it to "5," as he slipped the bonds of consciousness and drifted away into welcome blackness. Strangely it didn't last for long, as he began to dream a new vision…
He'd become an observer, a being divorced from all that was going on around him.
He saw Catherine standing before him in a large corporate office. She looked confused and lost as she stared at the closed office doors. She also appeared to have no idea how she got there.
There was no sound, no sign of another. Vincent saw that her face was still scarred and her expensive party dress filthy and ragged. She was holding it together with desperate hands as she glanced around.
"Where is everyone?" she demanded to know silently.
Vincent found he had no voice to answer her. He could only stand and watch this strange scene unfold. He sensed the deep, voiceless connection he had made with Catherine had somehow brought about this strange vision.
Suddenly the door before them opened and a tall, grey-haired man stood in the doorway. He smiled happily at Catherine, while not appearing to take any notice of her pitiful state.
He seemed to think everything was wonderful, and as it should be. "Catherine! We were all guessing where you went," he commented cheerily. "Was it Jamaica? Nassau?"
Catherine tried to explain to him, but failed. "I – I..."
The man looked her up and down. "Let's get some people together, have a party at the club, tonight. Who shall we invite? Why don't you make up a list? You know all the right people. And don't forget Tom."
"No – Dad – I..."
Dad? Vincent stared at him.
Was this uncaring man actually Catherine's loving father? She had spoken of him in the days they were alone together, and she'd always said he was a kind, gentle man who would be so worried about her unexplained disappearance.
Vincent shook his head in disbelief. This dream they were sharing had just turned incomprehensible.
"Great! That's settled, then." Charles Chandler beamed.
He ignored his daughter's protest as he suddenly frowned at his wristwatch. "Look at the time. Have to run, I have a board meeting..."
He looked back to her, digging into the pocket of his suit coat. He held out a thick wad of cash. "Buy yourself a new dress..." He held out more money. "Will this be enough? Here, take some more..." He reached into another pocket and held out another thick bundle of bills, pushing them into her confused hands.
"But, Daddy, I…" Catherine stammered.
Charles ignored her protests. He stepped backwards, grasping the office door handle. "See you later..." The door shut abruptly.
Immediately Vincent found himself on the other side of the door. Catherine was there too, standing alone.
Vincent watched as she turned and hurried down the wide corridor, clutching the wads of cash to her chest. All the offices were closed and deserted.
Suddenly, three people appeared from a doorway behind them, all talking animatedly. Vincent's great heart quailed as he saw Catherine turn away, so they could not see her ruined face. But one of them hurried to catch up with her.
Vincent wanted to lash out at him, push him away. But as before, he was powerless to do anything but watch.
The man stopped behind Catherine, trying to peer into her face. "Cathy, you have a nice vacation? You look… um, you look wonderful…"
Before Catherine now, there was a woman colleague. She smiled as she passed. "We missed you…"
Then more office people appeared behind Catherine, staring and whispering about her. Another, older woman was not so kind. "Well, Miss Chandler… Now you've done it."
Catherine backed up against the panelled wall. Her wounded face was full of anguish and despair. The money she'd been holding had vanished.
Vincent's arms ached to hold her, to comfort her, but his dream held him firmly away from her. This was her fight, to win or lose.
Suddenly they were both shrouded in darkness. Vincent was running up the Third Avenue sidewalk following Catherine, as she tried desperately to flag down a taxi. A cab pulled up beside her but she wasn't able to open the door. She pounded on the window but the driver didn't seem to notice. He just sat there behind the wheel.
Suddenly she spun around as someone reached out to tap her on the shoulder. Vincent saw a stocky man in a bomber jacket.
His throat swelled with a warning growl. He sensed this man meant Catherine no good. He wanted to swat him away, but as before, his great limbs refused to obey. He could only stand helplessly and watch.
The man smirked at Catherine. "Not having much luck..."
Catherine pounded her fist furiously on the cab window. But it drove off, leaving her stranded.
"Need some help?" her ghastly assailant asked silkily. A van appeared out of the darkness, cruising towards them.
Catherine started to run – straight into the arms of a second man. "You ain't having much luck," he commented, with a grim chuckle. "We know just what you need."
"No!" Catherine fought back, finally managing to break away and ran – back up Third Avenue.
Her attackers came after her, closing in. Nobody on the street seemed to notice or care about her plight.
As the punk reached out to grab her from behind, Catherine ducked aside and dashed through the open doors of a nearby restaurant. Inside there was a party in progress.
The moment Catherine entered, everything stopped. The place was filled with beautiful people. All turned to gape at her, at her scars and at her rags – in icy silence. As if her unexpected presence somehow offended them all.
This time Vincent found himself standing in the upper entrance to his own chamber, looking down into the crowded room below. He was appalled at what he saw.
In the centre of the room, standing next to a towering architectural ice model, was a tall, dark-haired man. Close beside him stood a beautiful woman. They were surrounded by fawning admirers. None of them stirred or reached out a hand to help Catherine to her feet.
Vincent wanted to leap down among them and frighten them all into fleeing. They had no right to stand there and judge another weaker than themselves. Where was their compassion?
He watched as Catherine tried to approach the man at the centre of the room. But someone put out a foot and she fell to the floor, landing painfully on her hands and knees. That was when the snickering started. At first very softly, then open laughter began to break out.
Catherine turned her head to look up, but they all refused to acknowledge her presence.
The dark-haired man was talking to the glamorous woman beside him. "I feel sorry for her. But what can I do? Life goes on." He raised his glass of wine mockingly.
The woman smirked as she nodded, in agreement.
"She was an interesting girl," he continued, in the same conversational tone. "I thought she had a lot of promise. But she turned out to be a complete loser."
He turned to the crowd of admirers behind him. "And you know how I feel about losers..."
The snickering laughter grew louder. Many of them raised their wine glasses in acknowledgement.
Catherine tried to speak but failed. The laughter grew louder until it became a chorus of derisive amusement. Glasses clinked and people chattered, but no one made any attempt to reach down and help Catherine to her feet.
She lay at their feet, looking around. Then, seemingly at her wit's end, she saw something beyond the crowd clustered around her.
Standing above her, framed in the upper tunnel opening, Vincent braced one hand against the tunnel wall. He looked down into the restaurant, staring at Catherine, lying helpless on the expensive carpeting.
His great heart was filled with compassion and support. As their eyes locked, he knew Catherine felt his strength flowing into her. His unshakable belief in the power of her own ability to survive, to rise from the floor and not become a victim of circumstances beyond her control.
Vincent leaned closer. He nodded to her, lending her both his strength and power. The reason for this ghastly dream had become apparent. He was here to save her once more, lifting her to her feet by the sheer power of his will.
Catherine rose slowly, to stand defiant. She smiled with relief. "It is going to be all right…"
She was going to be all right…
"Yes, Catherine…" Vincent whispered to the phantom woman haunting his dream before he woke up abruptly.
The vision before his eyes dissolved and he was alone once more in his own chamber. He was holding the book he'd been reading tight close against his chest, almost as if he was trying to shield it from harm. He released his grip slowly on a gusty sigh.
"Catherine…" he whispered, shocked at all he'd just witnessed. "You have the strength Catherine – you do," he continued with conviction. "I know you..."
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"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams…"
Eleanor Roosevelt