"In The Still Of The Night"
By Debbie Nockels
DISCLAIMER: The characters do not belong to me. They were the creation of the wonderfully talented Ron Koslow, but who else holds copyrights at this date I'm not sure. This is a work of love, and no copyright infringement is intended.
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������ "Happy anniversary, Olivia...Kanin."
������ "Thank you, Vincent. It was a wonderful party, wasn't it?" Kanin's arm tightened as he looked at the young woman standing beside him. Olivia turned happy, glowing eyes to his face before slipping her arms around his waist and returning the embrace.
������ "Indeed it was," Vincent agreed, watching their loving exchange. Something deep inside him tightened painfully, and he quickly looked away.
������ The couple turned and entered their chamber, Olivia's head resting on her husband's shoulder. "Goodnight, Vincent," they called out.
������ "Goodnight." Vincent turned away. He felt very strange tonight, moody and restless, yet at the same time empty. Abruptly, he decided to go Above. Returning to his own chamber, he gathered up his cloak and headed for the outside world.
������ From all sides, a chorus of soft goodnights sounded. Vincent returned each one courteously - to Pascal, Jamie, Mouse, to Rebecca and James, William, Sarah and Kyle, Mike and Mickey, Sal and Liz - and if in spirit he had already traveled far from them, only his closest friends were aware of his air of remoteness.
������ "Vincent!"
������ He stopped and looked down at the young girl who had run up to him, clad only in her pink flannel nightgown. "Samantha? Is something wrong?"
������ "Aren't you going to say goodnight to me?" Samantha's lower lip had crept forth, threatening to become a full-fledged pout. She fidgeted with the tail of her hair, neatly braided for the night.
������ Vincent knelt in front of her, resting his arm on one bent knee. "I'm sorry, Samantha. Mary told me you were already asleep and I didn't want to waken you."
������ The large brown eyes dropped. "I was asleep," Samantha admitted. "But then I woke up. The room was awful dark, and - and I wanted a hug." Her lips trembled and her face was downcast.
������ Vincent gently tilted her delicate chin up with one huge hand, so that her eyes looked into his. "The darkness can be scary, even when you know there is nothing in it that can harm you," he agreed. "Why don't you ask Mary for a night lamp?"
������ The small face brightened. "Do you think she would let me have one?" Samantha asked hopefully.
������ "I'm sure she will," Vincent nodded gravely. He looked over Samantha's shoulder. "There she is, going into Father's library. Why don't you run and ask her now?"
������ Samantha nodded. "I will." Suddenly she threw her arms around Vincent's neck and hugged him tight. "Thank you, Vincent. Goodnight."
������ He returned the hug. Dear Samantha, usually so confident, so poised. She must have been truly frightened to come seeking reassurance.
������ "I love you, Vincent. I wish you were my daddy," came the soft whisper in his ear before Samantha, made shy by her own temerity, dashed away in search of Mary.
������ Stunned, Vincent remained kneeling. Inside him a door long closed creaked further ajar. Old, forbidden thoughts began to burgeon, putting forth wispy, lengthening tendrils through the opening, seeking release - early warning of years-old, deeply buried pain. With effort, Vincent slammed shut the traitorous door. He rose to his feet and resumed his journey.
������ At the entrance to the Park, he paused, cautious, alert for any nearby presence. Except for the faint sough of the late-night breeze through lofty treetops, the night was eerily still. Even the relentless traffic noise was muted, as though the drifting white fog rising mistily from the cold ground served to muffle the ever-present backdrop of sound. Silent as a wraith, Vincent glided out into the darkness.
������ He moved aimlessly through the cold, damp grass, keeping always to the shadows of the trees. Countless times had he done this; as a youth, despite Father's express forbidding; and later, as a man, despite Father's silent, tight-lipped worry. By day his movements were restricted to the world Below; only at night could he experience even a small part of the freedom most people - even those of the Tunnels - took for granted.
������ Suddenly Vincent stopped short. Wavering, he put out a hand and leaned against a convenient tree, feeling curiously disoriented. His vision blurred. Something was pulling at him, a feeling such as he had never known...a sense of something deep within him reaching out, dividing...splintering off...as though a part of him, long denied and neglected, had suddenly disappeared and was calling out to him. Moving like one in a dream, he turned and walked out into the large grassy clearing which lay to one side.
������ A long, dark shape showed dimly through the mist, lying sprawled on the frosty ground. A bundle of clothes or trash someone had carelessly dumped? As Vincent came closer, he could see it was neither trash nor discarded clothing. It was a person - a woman, by the longish hair which had fallen forward, concealing her face. Now he caught an unmistakable scent, and his pace quickened. In two long, rapid strides he had reached her.
������ He knelt down and put out a hand, seeing the dark splotches on the ground beneath the limp body. Blood. Grim-faced, Vincent touched one shoulder. Instantly, glowing warmth spread throughout his being. He closed his eyes, pierced to the heart by the sweetness enveloping him with silent, shimmering melody. The night hushed to absolute stillness around him . . .
������ . . . and a portion of his soul he had never known was missing winged its way home.
* * * * * * * *
In the still of the night...
Do you hear me call?
THE END
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