In the Twilights of Dew and of Fire (1)
Catherine’s telephone rang while she was still in the shower. Dripping wet, she snatched up the receiver, desperate that it be Long with news of a found Phan.
“Long?”
“No, it’s me,” Joe said. “But that answers my question. Nothing, huh?”
“Nothing,” she replied.
“Damn.”
“That about covers it.”
“Well,” Joe said, “I guess I’ll see you in about an hour. Wear armor.”
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A messenger bicycled by as Catherine waited for a taxi. She waved at him and then laughed as he managed one of his trick turns and pedaled back.
“Always a treat, Bennie!”
“Something for you, Catherine.” He slipped an envelope from his jacket pocket and and was off in the morning traffic before she could ask a question.
In the cab, she read Long’s message. No one knew Phan or his wife, or at least, no one would admit to it. He would continue to ask but he had little hope.
Joe was waiting for her on the sidewalk, his expression glum as he read the note. “The crime scene guys went over the apartment. No blood or anything. They're just ... gone. He refused the protection we offered him. We pushed, Cathy, remember that. I just hope he’s all right.”
“How will we ever know?” Catherine asked.
“I called the guys over in Murray Hill and Sunset Park, had them put the word out. Maybe somebody will spot him.” Joe said. “You ready to go in? This won’t take long.” He held the door for her. The detectives were standing near the elevators. When they saw Joe and Catherine approach, they both shook their heads and spread their empty hands.
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The new workers arrived early, bearing, among many replenishments, fresh breakfast treats. William had made muffins, sweet rolls and crusty breads and had packed a basket full of jams and flavored butters. The coffees and teas were soon brewed and poured and the chatter grew in volume - so much news to relay, so many messages to deliver. The reunion of friends and family was a rejuvenation of spirit to all.
Cullen and Vincent lingered near the fire, leaning against the cavern wall.
“How are things going?” Cullen asked, glancing at Kanin.
“I would have to say ... not well.” Vincent answered.
“Hmmmm. Think I should have a talk with him? I know something about needing to start over, more than once. And something about accepting...forgiveness.” Cullen’s voice clouded with his memories.
“It couldn’t hurt to try. Much depends on his ... coming home.”
“Hmmmm.” Cullen repeated. “Somebody needs to talk to Mouse too,” he said, his tone lighter. “I made a bet with Jamie. On the walk over, she said he’d ask about Arthur before he even said hello to her. I said, surely not.” Cullen broke his third pastry in half and offered to share.
“What did you lose?” Vincent asked, smiling because it was the last pain au chocolat, his favorite.
“Sentry duty. Three shifts. Her choice.”
“Ouch,” Vincent said. “That is ... exacting.”
“Isn’t it? Women ... What are you going to do?” Cullen grinned as Vincent looked away and then down without answering. He reached inside his vest. “A kind and charming woman exacted my promise to give you this.” He smiled again when Vincent’s eyes brightened and at his eagerness to leave with the letter. “Vincent!” Cullen called him back. “Before you ... disappear ...”
He turned, expectant but impatient. Cullen stepped closer and gripped his shoulder. “I gotta tell you, you’re a lucky man.” He lowered his voice. “I remember what it feels like. Love looks good on you, my friend. It really does.” He dropped his hand and Vincent melted into the shadows in search of a private place.
_______________
Vincent.
The distance between us fades. You are close to me, beside me. I see you. I hear you. I feel your warm skin beneath my fingers, your breath at my ear.
My love for you is a sacred space. As the high mountains shelter the crystal lake, you embrace me, enclose and unify me. And if you should look down on me from those heights, I would be waiting for you, shining and still. Your pulse feeds the stream of me. I reflect your cloudless spirit and the blue tint of heaven. I ripple and stir at your touch. We are fathomless.
I have only a short time to write to you. My work is simply dispiriting today and wearing on me. Joe will be back from dinner soon and we will work into the night.
But I have something important to tell you, Vincent. Something wondrous and exciting. We had ... no time to talk this morning ...
Yesterday, I went to a baseball game ...
________________
“Does the prosecution have no other witnesses?” The judge studied her list and looked up at them expectantly and then at the clock.
“We move to dismiss the indictment, Your Honor. No prima facie case has been made out.”
“The Medusa speaks,” Joe whispered. “Here it comes.”
“Not so fast. Counsel? Approach.” The judge waggled her fingers at them. “Mr. Maxwell, where is your last witness? Your only eye witness?”
“Disappeared, Your Honor. We can introduce his Grand Jury testimony.”
“You know how I will rule on that.”
“Hearsay,” the defense attorney interjected.
“Does it look like I need your help?” the judge barked.
“We could pursue witness intimidation,” Joe ventured, glaring at his adversary.
“Prove it.”
“Well?” the judge asked, tapping her nails on her blotter.
Joe made no reply.
“I have no choice then.” She waved them back to their seats and, after some commentary, dismissed the case, the jury, the attorneys, the reporters, the courtroom. She shook her head in annoyance as she left the bench.
Catherine and Joe slumped in their chairs while Rita gathered the papers spread over the table. The attorney sauntered out, smug and haughty, but the defendant sidled over to their table. He leaned toward them, bent almost to a right angle, fully into their space, freezing them with the sudden movement. He hummed a few bars of Free Ride, and when he looked directly at Catherine, he sucked air across his teeth. The bailiff hurried to their aid, but the man straightened, settled his coat lapels and left without a backward glance.
“That is one evil dude,” the bailiff offered. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Me, too,” said Joe. “You all right?” he asked Catherine, touching her arm.
“Fine. I’m fine. He’s just a ... bully.”
“He’s more than that, Cathy, and you know it.”
She waved away Joe’s concerns.
“Now what?” Rita asked.
Joe sighed. “I don’t know, buy a lottery ticket?”
Catherine squared her shoulders. “No, we eat lunch. We go back to work. We win the next one.” She looked hard at Joe, who rested his head in his hands. “Right?”
He answered by pushing back his chair and rising to hold the gate open for them to pass.
____________
They sat together at an outdoor table, each with salads, even Joe.
“I’m feeling the need for healthier foods, kind of a cleansing after all that,” he said, when Catherine raised her brows.
“Hey look!” Rita pushed the folded newspaper over to them. “You know this guy.”
The photograph was of Flynn O’Carroll surrounded by children and adults. The caption and the two-inch story coldly distilled the visit: parents thank the ESU officer who, bare-handed, killed two men who threatened the lives of their children.
“It was more than that,” Catherine protested. “More than a threat!”
“It sure was,” Joe said. “Way more. This isn’t going to help Flynn’s ... issues ... is it. Publicity like this. All over again.”
_________________
When Vincent returned to camp, most of the workers were engaged in spirited conversation and activity, separating the tools for the two crews, preparing a list of materials for Dominick. But Jamie, Willa and Esther, Damien, Mouse, Cullen and even Kanin were huddled to one side, deep in a whispering meeting over maps and plans unfurled on a their worktable. They broke apart only after Vincent asked them twice to join the group.
“We have much to discuss,” Vincent began. “The reports of new intruders to the northwest concern us all.” He retrieved the map of the area. “We’ve determined the best way to address that is to permanently seal the two tunnels radiating from northernmost junction. The sentry’s report says that entry has progressed only a short distance into either tunnel from there. We can make the changes beyond that and no one will notice the differences.”
He pointed to the map.”This expanse of tunnel, with no outlets topside and no residents, will be closed off here. And these basement entrances ... here ... and here ... will be changed and reinforced with secret latches, and we will create a new entrance here, in a building just purchased by Dominick’s brother. New sentry posts will installed here ... and here. The plans for the tunnels to the east of Van Cortland Park are not changed. We’ll seal this passage with a rock fall, where intruders were last seen, and reopen and repair an old passageway and staircase to a lower level.”
Vincent looked away, his voice softening. “Mouse has found a corridor and staircase leading to an uncharted entrance. We should ... seal it ... as well.”
He continued. “We'll make better progress with two groups, but the first is tired and the second, new to the systems and process. We should divide ourselves according to skills, of course, and according to the danger. I must ...”
“Hold it, Vincent,” Jamie interrupted. “I ... we’ve got some ideas on that. First of all, we think you should stay in the eastern crew. You and Damien and Mouse. Cullen and Kanin can lead the other group and Willa, Esther and I, we’ll go with them.”
“I think, Jamie, that it is ... necessary ... that I go with the western crew ... The problems there ...”
“Now, see, that’s the thing,” Jamie interrupted again. “There have been problems over on this side too and no one knows where the next ... Well, you know what I mean. And besides, that’s what we’ve been taking those lessons for, those lessons with Isaac.”
Vincent shook his head, silently protesting Jamie’s thinking.
“Don’t shake your head ‘no’ at me Vincent. You can’t make me - or anyone else - believe that you can be both places at once,” she said. “And nobody, not one person here, should say a word about us being girls.” She stared hard at each in the stock-still group, from one face to another.
Cullen spoke up. “She’s right. I think this divides the skill level, the defensive skill level, pretty well. Besides, we’re going to quick-drop a temporary barrier above the work site. No one will be able to get past that in a hurry. If anything happens, we’ll have plenty of notice and you’re not all that far away if ... it becomes necessary. Besides, we need Kanin on that site ... it’s all too new to me. You know what needs to happen here. You take care of this side. You and Mouse and Damien.”
Mouse giggled and started to speak but Jamie glared him quiet.
Vincent stared at the ground.
“Don’t forget, Vincent,” Cullen continued, his voice growing softer, “I owe everyone here. I’ll do my part. You have to let me.”
Kanin cleared his throat and everyone turned to him. “I learned a few things up top ... about self-defense ... There’s no reason why I can’t put that to a good use.”
_______________
“Are you going to tell me?” Vincent asked.
“Tell what?” Mouse hedged.
“Tell me why you’re smiling. And what is that tune you’ve been humming all afternoon?”
“Secret. Jamie’s and Cullen’s and mine.”
"The tune?"
"No! Just a song. The smiling ... that's secret."
“All right. I won’t pry.” Vincent suppressed a grin as he shaved a beam to match a notch in the stone.
“Can’t guess. Bet you.”
“I’m sure I can’t, Mouse.”
“Try.”
“I would need a ... hint. The possibilities are vast.”
Mouse worked on in silence, tightening bolts on a crosspiece. “Okay, good!” he burst out, “Okay, fine! I’ll tell you!”
“You don’t have to, Mouse. It’s best to keep a confidence, if you have promised to do so.”
“Didn’t promise. Not exactly.”
Vincent waited.
“Told them.”
“About ...?”
“Told them about Aniela. About Damien. He goes above. Sees her. Told them ...”
“What else?”
“About the music. About the stairs. That you like it there.”
Vincent sank down from his kneeling position, laying aside his drawknife. “Were those the determining factors in the division of labor?”
“You stay here, they go there. What’s the difference?”
When Vincent did not respond, Mouse added, “Kind of a present, Vincent. Rude not to take it.”
“What about you, Mouse. You might have preferred a different ... assignment.”
“Me? Over here, there's hot dogs.”
_________________
A message from Cullen tapped through the pipes said that all was well to the west, that camp had been made, that a contingent, meeting Dominick to receive the first supplies and to deliver a supplemental list, was already on its way back. Several workers had already begun to seal one tunnel leading from the junction. Work with full crews would begin in earnest in the early morning.
At the eastern site, a little over a mile north of the first, a kitchen was set up and sleeping quarters assigned. Work began immediately to dismantle an old, complex barricade to a secret entry where a circular stair descended two levels to a long-unused passage to the tunnel world. By early evening, the group, so enthusiastic in the morning hours, was quiet, surprised by the intensity of the work that had followed. And dinner was necessarily late. William had sent soup and sandwich makings and plenty of fresh fruit and the meal would be easy enough to prepare, though many protested they were too tired to eat. Damien nevertheless set out the packages and containers, while Vincent started a campfire.
He touched the envelope inside his vest pocket, where he had it folded and close to his heart. He had spent hours while he worked, composing a letter in return, thinking his story would surely seem unbelievable, impossible, on paper.
“No,” he thought. “Not impossible, not unbelievable.” The words had begun to lose power over him.
Midway through supper, a sentry's urgent message reported intruders past the entry in the park at Seton Avenue. Without thought, Vincent flew into the corridors, commanding Damien to stay behind with barely more than a look as he passed. With each stride, his blood ran darker and his sight narrowed. He could feel the boil of instinct rising. Soon there was nothing left but the intuition that he, alone, ranged between an evil and those he loved.
Time and distance merged into measured, preparatory breaths as he gathered himself, a main-spring wound tight. His nature was engaged as gear teeth, clicking over one to the next, the pendulum an autonomic response propelling him forward into action. He neared the point of confrontation and slowed only to prepare for surprise.
Into this fervid, black, visceral burn, a sudden clear light, almost a backfire, bloomed. It illuminated an anchor point where choices could still be made, where he could not be outflanked by rage. A voice, her voice, a rescuer’s hand plunged into the depths, pulled him to the surface for air. His hearing focused, and the tapping said the intruders were no real threat ... only teenagers with beer and pot, easy enough to frighten away with his menacing shape and shadow and sound.
In the aftermath, the tension unfurled within him, and though it dissipated, he was left anxious and shaken. Suddenly unsteady, he braced himself against the tunnel wall. Worry fell in dark veils across his inner vision ... Kanin, laden still with grief and anger; the camps split and vulnerable, the crews sure to grow irritable and skittish. His home ... Father ... left unguarded. Catherine too far and too long away from him. So much he could not control, too much ...
Forcing himself forward to reach the pipes, he sent an all-clear message to the next sentry, who would pass it on to each camp and beyond, to Father and those at home. Even in this rare sanctuary, long silences were too easily filled with dark fantasy.
______________
He met Damien not far from camp.
“You all right, Vincent?”
“A little ... emptied out.”
“Yeah, the adrenaline,” Damien nodded and fell in to step with him. "But it was just a false alarm ... nothing to worry about, right?"
"No." He released a breath. "Nothing ... at all."
“I was thinking ... Maybe I’d go Up Top. Would that be okay?”
“You don’t need my permission,” Vincent said, a smile stealing into his voice. “Where will you go?”
“Not far,” Damien assured him.
“Does Aniela keep late hours, repointing bricks at night? I can’t imagine Dominick schedules that.”
“She runs her own jobs,” Damien defended. “She’s twenty-one.”
“I know that.”
“And independent and smart.”
“Quite.” Their pace gathered speed as they passed by the corridor to camp.
“Can I ask you something?”
He spread his hands. “Of course.”
“How can I make this work? With Aniela, I mean. With her up there and me Below.”
“You can choose to go Above, Damien. You face no barriers to a life together.”
“I don't know if I want to live Above.”
“And Aniela? What does she want?”
“We, ah, haven’t really talked about it yet. It feels ... kind of early, you know? We’re only ... umm ... we’re ...”
“Still falling in love?”
Damien blew out his breath, lifting the hair curling into his eyes. “Yeah.”
They walked in silence for minutes before Damien continued. “Sometimes, I get so ... freaked ... about all her friends, the things she does without me. I'm not sure Aniela could move Below. She has so much ... energy. I don’t want to ask her to ... I don’t want to feel like I’ve ... snuffed her out.”
They approached the ladder to the building where Aniela waited. Vincent stopped and grasped Damien’s shoulder. “I can only tell you this ... Go slowly. Enjoy your time together, all of it. Be truthful. Control your jealousy. Don’t make unilateral decisions. And when she speaks her heart, listen to her words and believe them the first time. Don’t question, don’t interpret, believe.”
________________
Catherine emerged from her shower, discontent with her apartment. She walked from desk to table to dresser, straightening objects that seemed out of place, rearranging displays of keepsakes. She opened and closed her balcony doors, opened and closed a half dozen books, opened and closed the refrigerator taking nothing from it. She flopped onto the couch, moved to lay down on the bed, rose from there to turn on music only to snap it off when her mood suddenly changed. She kicked her briefcase into a corner and leaning toward her mirror, she growled at it, “Damn it. A zit. Two!” Perhaps in the candlelight Below, over a fine china cup of tea and conversation, Father would not notice.
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As Vincent walked toward the narrow passage, the passage that soon must be sealed, again he touched the letter folded into his vest. He would never be able to write his story for her; he needed to tell her, to see her. He wanted to show her this place, one time, before it was lost to them, have her hear the musician, experience the grand coincidence of it, show her how he stood at the door of her world, the chain to it in his hand.
The wishes fueled his step through the gates and secret doors to the stairs. There was more he wanted, so much more. The lilting, probing, persistent notes of the music pried opened a secret hope boxed deep within his psyche.
Not unbelievable. Not impossible.
click HERE for Chapter 13
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(1) William Butler Yeats. The Blessed.
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