"PROMISES OF SOMEDAY"
by Debbie Nockels
RATING: R
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are mine (I wish!). They belong to Ron Koslow, who created them, and I'm not sure who else at this point in time.
___________________________________________________________________________
PART TWO
������ She opened the door to her apartment, noticing that her
shattered door frame had already been replaced - Joe must have
bribed the building manager for that miracle! She must remember to
ask him, even though she was fairly sure he would refuse to let her
reimburse him. Well, she could take him to dinner or something -
maybe get him a ticket to the next Billy Joel concert; he'd like that, all
right. She smiled, her depression vanishing.
������ Closing the door behind her, Catherine fastened the deadbolt and
chain, then headed for the bedroom, shedding clothes as she went.
Switching on the lamp, she laid her jacket and sweats on the bed;
she'd put them away after her shower.
������ She started toward the bathroom and stopped abruptly at the
sight of the glass terrace doors, covered only by the gauzy sheers.
Firmly she fought down the panic which threatened to rise. No; I am
not going to draw the curtains. There is no one to see me; no one is
watching. However, she did go inside the bathroom and shut the
door before taking off her bra and panties. Reaching inside the
shower stall, Catherine turned on the water.
<><><><><><><><><>
������ Vincent landed with a soft thud on Catherine's balcony. At last
she was home! He tapped on the glass, his usual signal, but this
time it brought no response from inside. He sensed her presence, but
could not see her. Where was she?
������ "Catherine?" He peered through the windows; there was no sign
of her in the front rooms. Walking to his right, Vincent caught sight of
clothes laid out on Catherine's bed. A thin ribbon of light showed
beneath the closed bathroom door, and he could just catch the sound
of running water. Ahh, she was taking a shower. Surely she wouldn't
be long. Vincent leaned against the balcony wall, grimly restraining an
impulse toward compulsive movement. How many miles had he paced
already since awakening at noon?
������ His longing to see Catherine had reached almost unbearable
heights that day. Never had an afternoon dragged so, never had
darkness arrived at so leisurely a pace. Never had Catherine's
absence from her home caused such a frenzy of impatience. The very
intensity of that emotion was troubling to Vincent. He could no longer
close his eyes to his desire for Catherine, pretending it did not exist.
Last night, his passion had burned clear and strong within him, and if
Catherine had not been so exhausted by the terrible ordeal she had
undergone . . .
������ Vincent clenched his hands tightly, fighting away from the
realization. No; he must face it; look it full in the face and
acknowledge his shame. Last night his control had all but
disappeared. If Catherine had not fainted, he would have swept her
up and carried her into this very bedroom, and. . . .
������ Vincent raised his face to the skies; an unearthly groan ripped
from his throat. There was no way to evade the guilt. Last night he
had almost overstepped the boundaries, forgetting who and what he
was. The beast inside him would have burst its bonds, just as it had once before. Would he have emerged from his passion only to find
Catherine's blood on his hands, as Lisa's had been all those years ago?
������ At that thought, he was swept by a wave of agony. No! Not
that! Never that! Better that he never see Catherine again, better
that he die, than that! Falling to his knees, Vincent struggled to
subjugate his turbulent emotions. It must not happen! Catherine must
never come to harm at his hands. That thought became his beacon,
his only means of subduing the darkness threatening to overcome him.
Finally some semblance of control returned, and Vincent raised his
head.
������ He was trembling, weak; his breaths came panting and shallow.
Slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet, only then becoming aware that his
sense of Catherine told him that she was through with her shower. He
turned toward the doors, intending to let her know of his presence -
and froze in utter shock.
������ Catherine came out of the bathroom, flicking off the light behind
her, and walked around the bed toward her closet.
������ She was naked. Breathtakingly, beautifully, terrifyingly naked.
������ For a timeless moment, the vision etched itself on Vincent's
mind: the sweep of the brush through her shining hair; the lamp on the
nightstand casting its soft light on graceful, dark-tipped breasts; the
slender fragility of her waist; the enticing curve of her slim hips...
Vincent knew that this sight was indelibly burned in his soul, a
shimmering memory that in years to come he could take out and
savor, with every detail as clear and fresh as now, in this time-frozen instant.
������ Fear and desire struck him with equal force, taking his breath,
paralyzing him. Unthinkable not to look away; impossible to do so.
Vincent could only gaze at the incredible loveliness unknowingly
displayed before his eyes.
������ Catherine . . . you are even more beautiful
than I dreamed. I love you . . . I want y- No! That can never be!
������ He
felt the evidence of his passion stir thickly between his legs, and
groaned aloud.
������ At once, Catherine stopped and turned her head. Her eyes met
his unerringly through the thick glass, and Vincent began to tremble as
her thoughts came pouring through their bond.
������ ::Vincent, all that you see is yours. I give it to you, freely, with
love. Yours, Vincent. Someday.::
������ Turning away, Catherine retrieved her sweats from the bed. She
slid her bare feet into some slip-ons before walking over and
unfastening the terrace doors, moving gently and slowly. In truth, she
was a little afraid that any sudden movement on her part might send
Vincent fleeing into the night.
������ God, I hope my instinct was right about
what I just did.
������ "Vincent," she said softly, noting with concern the faint sheen of
perspiration on his face, the rapidity with which he was breathing. "Are
you all right?" She took a step toward him, one hand reaching out.
������ At once Vincent backed away. "No!" Catherine stopped.
"Catherine, you must not . . . come . . . near me . . . you do not know . . . the danger. . . ." His words were interspersed with heavy gasps.
������ Catherine felt his turmoil, and a lump rose in her throat. Waiting
a few seconds, she cleared her throat and spoke softly. "Vincent, I
know that what I did just now was unexpected and...frightening...to you.
Perhaps it was not fair of me, but I wanted you to know that I have
no fear - "
������ His interruption was fierce. "You should be afraid! You do not
know . . . the . . . storm that . . . rages within me . . . always." Once again, Vincent's
words trailed off.
������ Catherine waited, but he did not continue. She
watched him for a moment, then very slowly walked over to the low
wall and sat down on the top, not missing Vincent's involuntary
movement backward as she moved. His eyes followed her every
motion, and his tense posture did not relax.
������ "Vincent, I know you are not yet ready to accept . . . what I am
offering. I understand; really I do. You cannot forget what happened
with Lisa, and you are afraid that it will happen with me also." A look
of mingled fear and pain passed over Vincent's face. She had to hug
herself tightly to keep from crossing over to comfort him.
������ "You say I don't know the power of that which is inside you.
Perhaps not, but this I do know, Vincent, in the deepest part of my
being: You could never, ever do anything to harm me. I can't explain
this knowledge logically or rationally; I only know it is the truth, just as
it is the truth that we belong together for all eternity. I love you,
Vincent, and with every breath I take, I want you."
������ She paused. Vincent appeared somewhat calmer now; his
breathing had slowed down and he no longer seemed poised to run.
In fact, he appeared to be listening seriously to her, although her last
words made him look hastily away. A small spark of hope ignited in
her heart, and Catherine had to caution herself not to be too eager.
������ "I understand your fear, Vincent, and I promise I won't push you
on this. But, please, let me help you work through the fear; let me
show you what a small, insignificant thing it is based upon."
������ His voice startled her, so long had he been silent. "I doubt if
Lisa thought it small and insignificant." His tone was bitter and heavy with pain.
������ Aha! Catherine grabbed at the opening. "No, Lisa thought of
it as 'child's play.' She told me that herself, Vincent." To her surprise,
his expression did not change; the blue eyes were still bleak. The
great head moved slowly in agreement.
������ "Yes; Lisa said that to me, as well, when she came to visit."
������ Catherine's mouth opened then snapped shut in dismay. Oh.
������ The gentle voice continued inexorably.
������ "But twenty years have passed since that night, Catherine. At
the time, when she struggled in my embrace, forcibly pulling herself
free, when she felt the rake of my claws on her back - when the blood
dripped from those wounds onto her dress - then, Lisa did not consider
it to be 'child's play.'" His eyes locked with hers, as he forced himself
to repeat the details of his greatest shame, forced her to hear them.
������ Catherine listened quietly, her heart aching. How she longed to
take that pain from him, soothe him...love him. But she remained
motionless, knowing he would reject any such overture from her right
now.
������ "Vincent," she ventured. "You know, Lisa was not entirely
without blame in that matter. She was flirting with you, teasing you -
Yes, she was," Catherine asserted, as she saw the quick shake of his
head. "She admitted it to me, later, after she had given her testimony
to the grand jury. She told me that she had always considered you
as her greatest friend. Knowing Lisa as I did at that point- " Catherine
tried hard to rid her voice of its dryness "- and reading between the
lines, I gathered that meant that you bowed to her slightest wish,
encouraged her in her dreams of fame and glory, and never offered
any criticism."
������ Catherine paused, but Vincent had nothing to say. "She told me
that on the day of the . . . incident, she had been dancing for you. You
had told me that yourself, but I think you omitted a few little details,
Vincent. Lisa said that she would dance up close to you, then move
away when you reached for her. She danced around you, touching
your shoulders, caressing your face, brushing against you. Is that what
happened, Vincent?"
������ Vincent frowned slightly. "It is what happened, but . . . Catherine, you make it sound as if
Lisa was being deliberately provocative, purposely teasing me.
Lisa was only fifteen, and a very innocent fifteen at that.
She had grown up here in the Tunnels; she was not smart or
sophisticated as your teenagers Above are."
������ "I'm sure of that, Vincent, but don't you see - it was that very
innocence that was to blame for her actions? Lisa was just becoming
aware of her own femininity, and she tested her powers - on you.
Almost any fifteen-year-old girl Above would have at least guessed at
the effect that kind of behavior would have on a teenage boy, and
would have thought twice before acting in that manner. But because
of her sheltered upbringing, Lisa had no idea, really, of what she was
doing. To her, it was a game, an idle flirtation. She didn't know the
feelings you had for her, and when you responded to her overtures
and acted on those feelings, she didn't know how to react, and in her
struggles received minor injuries. Vincent, the scratches were not deep;
they left no scars - at least, not on Lisa."
������ Vincent was motionless. "You forget, Catherine, that Lisa would
not have been injured at all if I had been able to control my reactions.
All her actions, her 'flirtation,' as you term it, do not change the fact
that it was I who did not release her when she struggled; it was I who
held onto her and was unable to let her go, until she had to forcibly
push me away - it was I who injured Lisa with my lack of control,
however superficial those injuries may have turned out to be."
������ Vincent's words were precise, his tone relentless, intended to
spare neither himself nor her this reminder of the terrible truth.
������ Catherine sighed. This would be the hard part. "I haven't
forgotten that, Vincent. Yes, for a few minutes you lost control and
could not let go of something beautiful that you loved and wished for.
I am not trying to say that this was right, Vincent. I am only saying
that it is very easy to understand."
������ She felt like crying. Vincent's stony gaze made it clear that she was
not getting through to him. Please, God, let me find the right words to
make him understand! "Vincent, you seem to remember that night very
clearly."
������ He looked away. "How could I forget it? That night is burned into my
soul, Catherine."
������ Catherine nodded. I know. "Would you tell me what happened,
Vincent, in detail - everything you remember? Relive it for me?" At his
stricken look, "Please? I have a good reason for my request, Vincent."
������ Vincent swallowed and averted his eyes again. Why did Catherine
want him to relive something which was so painful? But he could
refuse her nothing, no matter how painful. He took a deep breath,
holding it for a moment before releasing it with a sigh.
������ "Lisa asked me to come to the Great Hall after dinner. She wanted to
show me something, she said. When I arrived, I did not see her, but I knew
she was already there. I heard music begin to play, and...all at once she
appeared from around a corner. She was wearing a pink dress;
it...shimmered around her as she moved. She began dancing." He paused
for so long that Catherine had to prompt him to continue.
������ "Yes?"
������ "She danced toward me - seeming almost to float, like a cloud. She
came near. I felt my arms reaching for her, but . . . she moved away."
������ "Why? Was she frightened?" Catherine interrupted softly.
������ "No; she was smiling at me," Vincent answered without thinking; then
stopped as though only then becoming aware of his reply. He flashed a look
at Catherine. "She began dancing in a circle around me; her hands touched
my shoulders. I felt the brush of her arms as she turned, and the warmth of
her body close to mine. And I heard her laughter. . . ."
������ "Laughter?" Catherine heard the sharp note in her voice and with
supreme effort softened her tone. "Why was she laughing?"
������ To her great surprise, a gentle, reminiscent smile crossed Vincent's
lips. "Lisa was happy, Catherine: she was dancing. Her laughter was
joyous; it rang like soft bells in the empty hall. She danced away from me,
then stopped and turned to look at me - there was nothing in the world as
lovely to me as Lisa at that moment."
������ His gaze was turned inward, remembering. "She started walking
slowly toward me, and I felt a . . . a pull . . . toward her. She came up to me and -
kissed me on the cheek, then . . . she put her hands on my waist and kissed my
other cheek. I remember how I trembled."
������ Vincent's voice was huskier now, the words coming in hurried spurts.
"She was so beautiful, so close. I . . . my hands reached for her, pulled her
closer. I heard her say something, but . . . the pounding of my heart drowned
her words. Then, suddenly, I felt her stiffen - her hands were pushing at me -
she was trying to get free. . . ." Vincent was staring into space, and Catherine
saw the shine of tears in his eyes.
������ "What were you feeling?" she asked gently. "Were you angry?"
������ Vincent blinked. "No," he answered, almost absently. He was
obviously still deep in the past. Catherine strained to hear his words, as his
always soft voice sank to a barely audible murmur. "No, I was- " He stopped, then looked straight at Catherine,
his eyes expressing startled puzzlement, " -surprised."
������ "Why were you surprised, Vincent? You must have known that Lisa
didn't really want you to hold her. After all, she was only showing you her new
dance." Catherine's heart was beating rapidly. It was only with great effort
that she kept her voice even. Please, God . . . please, Vincent.
������ Vincent spoke slowly. "That is what I have believed for all these years;
that is what I remembered. But now - Catherine, for a moment . . . I was there,
back in the Great Hall, and I was feeling what I felt then."
������ He straightened up. "I was surprised when Lisa began to pull away
from me, because . . . I had thought she was using her dance to . . . tell me of her
affection for me. Why else would she dance like that for me, and . . . kiss me?
I . . . couldn't understand why she suddenly changed. Lisa had never been afraid
of me." He looked at Catherine.
������ "I still don't understand, Catherine. I remember it so clearly now. When I put my arms around Lisa, she was surprised. But there was no fear
in her. Why, then, was she trying to get away?" His blue eyes were puzzled,
reliving the moment.
������ "What happened next, Vincent?" Catherine held her breath. Just a
little bit more, Vincent. I know the truth, but you must find it for
yourself. You can, Vincent. You must.
������ "I felt her struggle, and I . . . part of me . . . didn't want her to go . . . and my
hands held onto her, I couldn't make them let go . . . and then she - broke
away from me. I heard her cry out . . . I looked down - there was . . . blood on
my . . . hands - and I knew that I had hurt her. I didn't mean to, but I hurt her
just the same." His great hands clenched tightly, and Vincent drew a deep,
shuddering breath. His eyes were almost black with pain.
������ "And then what happened?"
������ "I looked at Lisa and saw the shock in her face - and the pain. I
started toward her - I wanted to see how badly she was injured,
but . . . suddenly, Father was there and he stopped me from going to her."
������ Ah, here was the crux. "Why did he do that?"
������ "He must have believed . . . he acted as though he were afraid I was
going to attack Lisa. And I. . . ." Vincent's voice trailed away as he stared
blankly before him.
������ "And after a while, you began to believe it too? Until it was Father's fear,
and not the reality, which became the memory? That's not so surprising, is
it?" Catherine dared now to move closer to Vincent, reading the stunned
realization in his eyes.
������ "After all, Vincent, Father is a wise man, a good man, and he loves you
like a son - more than his own son. You were upset and confused, frightened
by what had happened. If Father believed that you would have hurt Lisa
again, then it must be because he knew something you didn't, something
frightening. It must be that Father knew that aspect of your nature was
something terrible - something that would only wreak destruction on you and
everyone around you - and therefore you must never, ever lower your guard,
or you would one day hurt someone again. The stronger your feelings, the
more potential for disaster."
������ Catherine waited a moment, watching the play of emotions on Vincent's
face. "Father never discussed it with you, did he - what it was he saw that
night. And Lisa left the next morning, so you never had a chance to talk to her
either. Isn't that right?" The golden head moved slightly in assent; the clear
eyes never left hers.
������ "Vincent, I think I know what Father saw that night. Please tell me if
you think I'm wrong. I believe that Father entered the Great Hall just as you
put your arms around Lisa. He had seen nothing of what went on before. All
he saw was Lisa beginning to struggle in your arms, and your failure to
instantly release her.
������ "Father has always feared the times when the Other takes over,
Vincent. He has never tried to understand that part of you, never tried to help
you understand it. He was terrified because he believed you were out of
control. When he saw Lisa fighting to get free of your embrace, that only
reinforced his conviction. And then what happened? She was scratched in
pulling away from you."
������ Catherine paused. Was Vincent accepting this? She thought he
was, even though he was saying nothing. His very silence told her that he
was listening to her words with all his might.
������ "Vincent, Father was afraid you - or rather, your dark side - was trying
to force Lisa. And when you started toward her, he intervened, believing that
he was saving her from further harm at your hands."
������ Vincent started to speak, then hesitated. His hands made a gesture
of helpless bafflement. "Catherine, I no longer know what to believe. Within
me are memories of that night which I have carried with me for almost twenty
years. Tonight I passed through that time again, and what I now recall tells
me that those other memories are false. Yet can I trust this new knowledge,
Catherine? For twenty years I have believed that something terrible in me
frightened Lisa that night and hurt her." He stopped. Catherine was shaking
her head.
������ "No, Vincent. Lisa was not frightened - not really. You were right
about that. Yes, she was startled when you embraced her. Until that moment
she had not realized that your feelings for her were more than those of
friendship. She was confused and didn't know how to react, and instinctively
she stiffened."
������ Catherine rested her hand on Vincent's arm, softly stroking the tense
muscles. "Then she looked over your shoulder toward the stairway - and saw
Father enter the room. It was not fear of you which made Lisa want to leave
your embrace, Vincent. It was her fear of Father." There; it was done.
The truth was finally revealed. Please, Vincent, hear it. Believe it.
������ "Why would Lisa fear Father?" The words were halting, groping for a
thread of logic to sustain him in a world turned suddenly upside-down. "She
had no reason to be afraid of him, none at all."
������ "Perhaps 'fear' is too strong a word," Catherine conceded. "A better
way to put it might be that, quite simply, Lisa had the same reaction anyone,
especially an adolescent, might feel when discovered in a compromising
situation - the instinct to get out of it."
������ Vincent looked utterly dazed. "Where did you learn all this, Catherine?"
������ "From Lisa." She met his eyes squarely. "Before she left town, I met
her for dinner. There was so much about the story you had told me, Vincent,
that didn't make sense. I didn't feel that I could go to Father with my
questions, so I went to the only other source. Vincent, Lisa was horrified
when she realized what you had believed all these years. She avoided the
subject when she came Below only because it embarrassed her to remember
how she had 'led you on.' Her words, Vincent."
������ "Why didn't you tell me?"
������ Catherine could feel Vincent's confusion. She reached for his hand and held it to her lips, smoothing the long fur
covering his fingers.
������ "It was only last week that I found all this out. I had planned to tell you
on our anniversary, but . . ." She looked away, lips tightening. "All my plans
for that night were ruined by what happened." Her tone was bitter.
������ Instantly discarding his own pain, Vincent reached for her, enfolding her
in his warm arms. "It was only the outward details which were ruined,
Catherine. Nothing can touch what we have, what we share between us. We
will have our celebration another night."
������ Catherine melted against him, loving the rich sound of his incomparable
voice, savoring the softness of the knitted sweater beneath her cheek. "How
do you feel now, Vincent?"
������ His hand, which had been softly stroking her back, ceased its
movement. Catherine felt his withdrawal even before he gently extricated
himself from their embrace, and knew that despite its vagueness, he had
understood the true import of her question. For a moment she believed
Vincent was preparing to leave, and looked at him in dismay, then was
reassured when he took her hand in his. Vincent moved back to sit on the low
wall, and she perched beside him.
������ "Catherine . . . I have so many emotions, I cannot yet sort them out. For
so long I have lived with the belief that I would never know the love of a
woman in the way that other men do - that, for me, this kind of love was
impossible. When I found you, Catherine, and knew that I loved you, my heart
was filled with pain." He closed his eyes.
������ Catherine moved closer. "And when you knew that I returned your
love?"
������ His eyes opened and fastened on her face. "I have never known such
joy, Catherine, as when I felt your love reaching out to me through our bond."
He raised one of her hands, softly touched his mouth to its back in the
tenderest and most reverent of caresses. "I still can hardly dare to believe it -
it is such an incredible thought, that you would give your love to someone like
me, who can give you nothing - "
������ Her reaction was instantaneous and fierce. "You give me everything!
Everything, Vincent! All that I want, all that I need, you give to me." Tears
sprang to Catherine's eyes; she saw an answering moisture darken Vincent's
long, golden lashes. Without a thought, she was in his arms, and they were
holding one another tightly. For a long moment they remained wrapped in
their love, savoring the emotions thrumming softly through their connection.
������ She raised her face at the same moment Vincent lowered his. His lips
moved over hers softly, like the touch of feathers, sending exquisite sensation
thrilling through the suddenly sensitized skin.
������ Catherine sighed softly, and as her lips parted Vincent took her mouth
in a long, impossibly tender kiss. Slowly the kiss deepened, carrying them
along on the shimmering tide of their rising emotion. Her hands wound through
his hair and clutched him to her as her body reflexively molded itself against
his. Vincent's arms tightened convulsively for one breathtaking moment, then
loosened their hold.
������ He pulled his mouth away and rested his forehead against hers.
Catherine felt him struggling to regain his breath. "Catherine, I cannot
simply discard the fears I have carried for so many years. They have a life,
a power of their own, that cannot be ignored. At least, I cannot ignore it."
������ Catherine smoothed his hair, cherishing its softness under her hand.
"I know, Vincent. I understand, and it's all right. At least now we know the
truth behind them. And with time, the fears themselves will fade." She looked
in the troubled depths of his eyes.
������ "They will, Vincent; I know it."
<><><><><><><><><>
������ The night was unseasonably balmy; a gentle breeze caressed
Catherine's cheek as she lit the remaining candle. She paused and looked out
at the city, drawn by the dozens of lighted windows overlooking the terrace.
A trace of fear brushed her with intangible wings. "Someone else could be
watching."
������ Behind her, Catherine heard the faint rustle of Vincent's cloak as he
shifted to look at the shadowy blocks of the surrounding buildings. "Perhaps."
������ "We can't be afraid, can we? We can't let that stop us." With
determination, she banished her trepidation. Fear would not govern their
relationship.
������ "This balcony is our window - our vantage point." His voice came to
her, thoughtful and quiet. Catherine turned and met his clear blue gaze. "And
perhaps, Catherine, someone behind one of those lights is watching . . . and
smiling on us." His eyes shone their love at her, infusing her with warmth,
melting her fear.
������ An answering smile lit her face. "Perhaps they are," she agreed
serenely, and looked again upon the squares of white and yellow lights.
������ Later, after the bottle of wine had been enjoyed and emptied, she
stood with arms clasped loosely around his waist, savoring the peacefulness
she always found in his presence.
������ "How do you feel now?" Vincent asked softly. "Are you still afraid?"
������ Catherine shook her head. "No; just very grateful."
������ "We have endured . . . much." In Vincent's eyes, his limitless love shone
forth, filling her with light.
������ She nodded. "Yes, we have. And I know, in the deepest part of who
I am, that whatever happens now, Vincent, we will endure. We will."
������ She sensed his agreement before she became lost in the crystal
depths of his eyes, and felt his love overflow the limits of their bond, rushing
to meet her own swelling emotion. How long they stood there, motionless,
Catherine never knew. A minute? An hour? Forever?
������ When his head bent toward her, their kiss too seemed timeless, lifting
them into a new and breathless dimension, one outside both their worlds.
������ "I love you, Catherine."
������ "I love you," she murmured, "and someday, Vincent, we will celebrate our love, together, not only with our hearts and souls but with our bodies as well."
������ Looking into her eyes and feeling her love and certainty flood their bond, Vincent too dared to believe. "Yes."
������ He bent toward her and their lips met. "Soon," she whispered when finally her lips were free again. "Please."
������ "Soon," he promised huskily, then claimed her mouth again.
THE END
Return To BATB Menu
OR
Return To Main Menu