Chapter VII

"You don't think I really hurt her on purpose do you," Catherine replied, a little startled at his apparent change of heart.

"Actually no, Catherine. But I need you to believe in yourself as much as I do."

"I still killed her," Catherine sighed shakily. "I just can't get the sight of her out of my head…"

"And that's exactly why I know you didn't lose control, Catherine. You're you and that person I know and fell in love with is incapable of hurting anyone for anything other than absolute necessity. Life or death situations and nothing else."

"But what about my dream? I know in that dream I did purposefully hurt someone and I didn't care…"

"Catherine, that dream, memory or whatever the hell that was…it wasn't you. It's most likely some nightmare your mind concocted because of you becoming a beast. Maybe you feel guilty about that and you're punishing yourself."

"Vincent I wish it was that simple. Those dreams as you call them, they're too vivid, too clear. It's not my memory exactly, I know that. And I know you're gonna tell me again how the journal had too much influence on me but there it is, I think I am remembering what Rebecca did."

Instead of the denial she expected from Vincent, her speech was met by silence. She turned to him curiously. "Vincent?"

"I'd say that's insane…unfortunately, I don't have that luxury," he finally uttered with obvious reluctance.

"What do you mean?"

"Well remember when I passed out earlier? I had a very vivid vision of my own."

"Go on…" Catherine sat on the cot and she grabbed his hands pulling him towards her. "You think I won't like what I hear…that's it, right?"

"That and frankly, I'd give just about anything not to remember even the little I do…"

"You said I could tell you anything...why would you think you can't do the same with me?"

"Alright...but keep in mind I only got bits and pieces. It's like someone tried to erase it but did a piss poor job of it...or like PTSD where you get only flashes..."

Catherine tightened her hold on his hands as a show of support but she didn't dare say anything just yet. It was clear to her that whatever it was must be painful even just to recall from the hesitation Vincent displayed.

"First you must understand...she wasn't you...but she looked exactly like you and I don't think I'd ever been angrier with anyone before...and that's saying a lot."

A short intake of breath was Catherine's only outward reaction but to him, she was an open book and her suddenly racing heart gave him pause. "I shouldn't go on...that's only gonna upset you and you don't need that."

"No way," Catherine exclaimed. "You can't tell me something so...you can't stop now," she finished in a slightly calmer voice.

"Alright…I believe I relived the last moments of this Alistair from the journal. Or at least, that's the only thing that makes any kind of sense even though I haven't read that journal and I can't understand how I could remember any of that," Vincent seemed to get more agitated by the moment and Catherine could understand his distress. This whole thing made absolutely no sense. Not what he was telling her now, not any more than what she thought she remembered.

"You said you were very angry," Catherine asked, "do you remember why?"

"Actually that's the strange thing about it. Catherine what I remember it's god awful. This guy, he burned alive for a very long time…and all this time, all he could see was her in the crowd, crying and desperate. And yet, it's when she tried to help him that he got so damn mad."

"What do you mean, he burned a long time?" Catherine asked as somehow, she was beginning to feel the same agitation he did.

"He regenerated…" Vincent answered with a pained expression that told Catherine even at this moment he was almost feeling the agony Alistair had.

The horror of what he was saying struck Catherine in the gut. So much so that she started to lose control. However, she wasn't sure if it had to do with the revelation of Alistair's ordeal, or if it was because she sensed Vincent also losing it, probably in self-defense. The next thing she knew, they were both beasts and Vincent caught her by the throat, same as before, except this time, he simply held her back. She could feel the herculean effort he was making and once again it took all of her self-control not to attack. "Vincent," she growled.

"Why would you risk dying, killing them after what I endured!" Vincent screamed at her, so loud that the others came running from the other room in a panic.

Catherine obviously had no answer for him and she wasn't too sure he even knew what he was saying anyway. But then, even as she saw the others coming in, she suddenly got an insight, she wasn't even sure if it was a deduction or something she must have known in the first place. She saw Agent Levy lift the trank towards Vincent and seeing what would happened, she forcefully pulled Vincent's hand from around her neck and stood between him and the agent. "DON'T!"

"He's gonna hurt you," Tess exclaimed.

"LEAVE!" Catherine screamed so loud, the walls seemed to vibrate around them. Even Vincent was startled by the scream. When she saw that the agent was aiming the gun at her, she tried to calm her beast as much as she could, "please, you need to leave us alone. He won't hurt me. Just leave."

For a beat, the agent kept his finger tight on the trigger but it was J.T. who stopped him. J.T. was very worried still, but those two were his best friends and he was convinced that they could hash it out and that it was even necessary. With the hope that he wasn't wrong about it, he said, "Let's go."

"Are you nuts," Tess protested. "We're not leaving," she went on, "trank them and we'll deal with it later."

"No!" J.T. insisted firmly. "It's not our place. Come on Tess, they'll be fine. You know that, don't you?"

Tess stared at Catherine, shocked at the change in her, but also at the helplessness she felt. J.T. was right. There was no way they could help them, but it still hurt so much that she couldn't. Slowly, she backed out of the room, staring pleadingly at her friend the whole way.

"Mr. Agents…Let's leave them alone."

Surprisingly, the agents only hesitated a second or two before backing out of the room as well.

"Don't make me regret this, Cat. I love you both…" Then J.T. turned and left as well.

Behind her, she could feel Vincent's glowing eyes staring at her. "I know why you're so angry. At least I think I do. But you're wrong…Rebecca didn't die and I'm sure neither did the child. Remember, I've read the journal…she had to be alive to have written it." She turned slowly towards Vincent as she said it, her features returning to human ones. Even as she did, she felt the tension go out of him and he turned back as well.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes shining with held back tears. "I'm so sorry…"

Rather than talking, Catherine went back to him and pulled him against her.

Back in the lab, the agents, J.T. and Tess stood very still, more unnerved by the sudden silence than they had been by the loud argument even. J.T. was almost tempted to go back in spite of the fact that he'd been the one who convinced everyone else to leave. To keep himself from doing just that, he instead turned to his laptop, which he hadn't looked at ever since this all started. Given what they already knew of Catherine and Vincent's ancestors, J.T. had figured maybe he could find out more if he researched the two families more thoroughly and apparently the search had proven fruitful because a few promising results were showing up in the browser. The one that immediately caught his attention was the third on the list.

It was a by-line from 1856 about a set of twin that ended up being raised by their mother's sister, Rachel Reynolds recently widowed of the late Jeremiah Ddraig, himself having been murdered under gruesome circumstances. The twins were abandoned by their mother, Rebecca Reynolds, in the care of the Reynolds' family and soon afterward, Rachel Reynolds moved to the British Isles with the children and her new fiancé Marcus Ddraig, a cousin of her deceased husband. The police investigated the widow and her new fiancé but found that they both had solid alibis for the time of the murder.

Some of the investigators intimated that there could be a connection between the murder and the children's abandonment although most people simply attributed Rebecca's gesture to the fact that she had those children out of wedlock and that the father might even have been a notorious criminal, executed for his crimes some time ago. The case of Jeremiah Ddraig's murder was never solved however, because after abandoning the children their only other prime suspect, Rebecca Reynolds, disappeared and was never seen again.

J.T. guessed the only reason this had made the paper was because of the connection with one or more crimes. Nevertheless, he was happy to have found yet another tread in this tangled mess.

Setting this aside for a moment, he followed another link, related to the Ddraig family and to his search through the mother Rachel Reynolds. A link to a picture brought up yet another arresting shock to J.T.. In the picture, two young men were standing on a train platform, obviously posing for the camera. The shorter man was a mousy, yet obviously well to do man. His eyes staring through the lense spoke of a calm intelligence. The other young man was much taller with an imposing physique. His dark longish hair half covered deep recessed eyes, and instead of looking directly at the camera, the young man showed in a slight profile. No matter, the resemblance to Vincent was striking although not as perfect as in the sketch J.T. had seen in the journal. Minute details showed the young man to be a relative rather than the copy the picture had shown. Looking at the date, 1888, J.T. surmised he might be looking at one of Alistair and Rebecca's children. What really amazed him though, was the name of the shorter man in the picture. That was Arthur Conan Doyle, the famous author. The boy by his side went by the name of John Reynolds but J.T. surmised he may just have chosen to keep his mother's name. The picture had been taken in Sussex, England, according to the short article that accompanied it.

"How interesting," Agent Carson said, as he came closer and got a good look at the laptop screen. "You just found one of our most illustrious founders."

"Your agency was founded by Conan Doyle?" J.T. questioned, obviously a little impressed.

"No, not him... I'm talking about John Reynolds, arguably the real inspiration behind the Sherlock Holmes character."

"What? Next you'll tell us you're an off shoot of Scotland Yard!"

Agent Carson regarded J.T. very seriously, "many of our past members were in fact selected from the elite of that great police force. They, among others, chose to join in the very honourable pursuits of our organization."

"Maybe you could enlighten us on that point at least," Tess interjected with a hint of scepticism.

"Why, that would be saving the world with and from the beasts, among other things…"

The seriousness with which Agent Carson said this left J.T. and Tess speechless.

"I didn't want to hurt you again," Vincent worriedly said after a long moment of uneasy silence between the two of them.

"And you didn't…" Catherine reassured him. "But I know now I shouldn't have gone to my father first with all this dream business. I was just so afraid of what you'd think of me, particularly now that…"

"Now that you're a beast," Vincent finished for her. "Catherine, if anyone can understand conflicting feelings, that'd be me…"

"So…" Catherine started a little hesitantly, "was I right? Was that what Alistair was so angry about? A child?"

"I think so," Vincent replied uncertainly. "I mean, it had to be. Why would he have been otherwise? But if he thought Rebecca would get killed for helping him…"

"There's one thing I don't understand…I get that seeing her die and possibly their child to be must have added to his horrifying ordeal. Don't get me wrong. But…the child if there was one, must have been barely conceived. How could it have mattered more to Alistair than surviving? Or for her apparent sacrifice to make him hate her in his last moments… That just seems so extreme."

"You know, this may all still be in our minds…Being a beast is not any more natural to me than it is to you. I mean I remember a time things like that would have qualified as crazy fantasies for me. Maybe, I don't know, maybe we just make connections more profoundly than other people because it relates to beasts and that's why it feels more real even in dreams…"

"I'd agree if it wasn't for all the stuff in the journal…you think I extrapolated and you did too because of what I told you?"

"Don't you think that would make more sense than this whole thing?"

"It would, but then again," Catherine rested her head against his chest warily as she spoke, "then why am I a beast in the first place? What is this all about?"

Vincent just tightened his arms around her but couldn't find any answer to those questions. In fact, they might as well have been his own in the past, when he asked of the universe, "why me?"

"I really don't know, babe," he still said after a while, "Do you think you're calm enough to go back to the lab? Who knows, J.T. did say they found some stuff out. Maybe they got an answer to some of that. Wouldn't that be nice?"

"I'm not holding my breath, honestly," Catherine said even as she started getting up. "But it beats staying in a cell I guess," she finished, holding him up from the cot with a small smile.

"Let's go see what they know," Vincent smiled back, kissing her lips softly before they headed back.

They re-entered the lab hand in hand, but they might as well not have been there for all the attention they got from the other four people in the room.

"Now," J.T. was saying, "you really don't go half way…save the world?" He questioned pointedly.

"We should've known better than to ask those two pompous clowns," Tess added contemptuously.

"Think what you will," agent Carson replied testily, "it's the truth. It's been our mandate for over a hundred years. And before that, others had filled our shoes but their actions were not as, let's just say, measured…John helped create a more honourable agency. He fought with all he had to get away from the Ddraig family's policies on the beasts. Nowadays, we dictate to that family as well as they fell in line with us for the greater good. Well, most of them anyway…

"Jeremy?"

"Hum, fear had kept him out of trouble until recently but it seems circumstances have changed again. We suspected it might from earlier experiences and that's why it's really important that your friends come around."

"We would be glad to do so if you'd just explain yourselves," Vincent interrupted them.

All four heads turned toward the new arrivals.

"Is everything alright?" J.T. questioned them cautiously.

"As well as can be under the circumstances," Catherine answered for the both of them. "What interests us more is what you're all talking about now…"

Agent Carson turned to them at this, "I guess it's time although we'd have preferred you would agree to our terms first. Not as you seem to think because of some malignant plot but because what we're about to tell you could potentially expose innocent people to harm. At least, promise that you won't tell anyone else what we tell you now."

"Agent Carson, right?" Vincent questioned as he took a seat near the table, "Why would you think any of us would go around and risk exposing ourselves?"

"To be fair," the agent replied, taking a seat himself, "you haven't been as discreet as you should have been in the past two years…"

"You know it couldn't be helped. We still didn't go and shout about it over the rooftops now did we?

"Alright…It would've been so much better if we had gotten those journals before Jeremy got to them…"

J.T. again had a moment of impatience with the agent, "Would you have preferred we got cut into pieces protecting paper?"

"I'm sure the agent didn't mean it like that," Vincent said conciliatorily.

"Of course not. I was only pointing out that some of them contain vital information and could shed light on this discussion in a much more eloquent fashion. Also it is very unfortunate that Jeremy got his hands on them. Particularly Vanessa's journal in this instance…"

"My mother's?" Catherine questioned in astonishment.

"Would that be the one you're looking for," a little voice came from the doorway, where Heather was standing uncertainly, holding a leather bound journal tightly in one hand and a briefcase in the other.