A Touched by an Angel / Beauty and the Beast crossover story
And ‘The Wind Will Guide Me’ continuation
© 2002 not intended to infringe on any previously held copyrights.
Part 1
Travis Parks stood on the balcony of his friend’s apartment overlooking the city. It had been a week since he had moved out of his father’s apartment. He had enjoyed the first week of his new job, and he liked the fact that he could finally have some time to himself. Behind him, three angels were standing and watching his actions.
The two women and the man each carried a look of contemplation on their faces, but no words were spoken, they merely watched, their eyes filled with the utmost empathy and kindness. It was no secret, they had been watching over Travis' younger sister, Melissa for the past several months, but none of them had come into the lives of her or her family until now, and each one of them understood that this special girl needed some divine intervention in the most profound way.
Their attention was diverted to the actions taking place before them as Travis' friend Scott came into the apartment, his voice filtering through the small living room. "Hey dude! Where are you?"
“On the balcony,” he said and turned around.
Scott came outside, his waist length brown hair blowing in the gentle New York breeze. “Listen, I know you had asked me to check the apartment ads for you, but I thought you might want to see this, I found it in the paper this morning after you had gone to work.”
“What is it?”
“Well, take a look, it’s about your kid sister,” Scott said.
Travis accepted the newspaper and followed Scott back inside. “Poet Melissa Parks Disappears” was splashed across a headline. Beneath it, was, what appeared to be a paparazzi style photograph of his sister.
As he read the article, he sighed deeply. “Maybe I shouldn’t have left,” he said softly as he put the paper back on the table.
“Listen, you told me about what had been happening with your old man, and I don’t blame you a single bit for wanting to split,” Scott said running his hand through his hair. “Besides, you’re not the one who should have to answer for her.”
“You don’t understand, Scott, Missy’s only 12, I mean, she’s a kid and I was all she had,” Travis said. “I think it was selfish of me to just up and leave her like that.”
“All I know about this is that you’ve been griping for years about how you felt like a slave in that stupid shop. I mean you basically had to make an appointment a month in advance to even get out of there for an afternoon. Sure I feel for your kid sister, and even my dad says that it was a raw deal for her, but it was also one for you. Travis, you’re my best friend, and you and I both knew that it was eventually going to come to this.”
“I know,” Travis said. Deep inside he knew that his friend was right, but he still felt guilty for what was happening. “The fact is, I still feel responsible for her.”
“OK, but if you still want to do something about it, why don’t you go visit this lawyer chick that she was staying with over spring break? I mean if anything, she’ll probably know where Missy is, and she probably can put your mind at ease,” Scott said.
“Maybe you’re right, Missy did tell me to keep the address,” Travis replied. “So you think I should go there and see what's going on?”
“It would be a good idea, and it might make you feel better,” Scott offered.
Travis stood up and turned as though he intended to walk towards the front door. His friend could clearly see the worried look crossing his face, and instead of going into detail about the hopelessness of the situation with Missy, he took a deep breath and spoke.
"Hey Travis, I nearly forgot to tell you," he finally called thus causing Travis to stop and turn around. "I think I may have found you an apartment.” He reached for the paper and opened it to the back page where the classifieds were listed. As soon as he found it, he spread it out across the table and Travis looked down at where Scott was pointing. “It’s right here listed, but it says that it's on the Eastside not too far from where you work, it's a one bedroom, but you said that that was all you really needed.”
“Yeah?” Travis asked but when he saw it, his face fell. “It would be perfect, but I would need a $1,200 deposit. You know I don’t have that kind of cash.”
"Well, if they have a one-bedroom, maybe they also have a studio apartment, you know they probably don't want to list everything, it would seem to obvious," Scott reasoned. "Besides, you should really consider borrowing the money you were saving for Missy."
“That’s her money, Scott, I won’t go there,” Travis said assuredly.
“No, I don't mean swiping it, I mean, you just borrow the money you need. Since the money from the book sales have come in, you use that to pay the deposit, and then when you get paid at the station, you can put the money back a little at a time. I mean; it's not like your stealing it, but from what this article has said, she may not come back to claim it when she's 18 anyway,” Scott said shrugging his shoulders.
“Don’t ever say that, you know she’s the only family I have left,” Travis said angrily as he felt tears brimming from beneath his eyes.
“I’m sorry Travis, that just slipped out,” Scott said shrugging his shoulders.
Travis nodded numbly as he walked towards the front door. He wasn't necessarily angry with his friend, it was just that Scott's words seemed to have too much truth in them and that was what was bothering him.
“Hey, where you going?”
“I’m taking your advice, Scott, I’m going to see Missy’s friend, Catherine,” Travis said. “I’ll be back later, maybe I can find out once and for all what is going on.”
Scott nodded as his friend opened the door. “Hey, Travis?”
He turned around from where he stood in the doorway. “Yeah?”
“I’m really sorry about what I said,” Scott said. “It was completely out of line.”
“Don’t worry about it, I only reacted because I see too much truth in your words,” he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
Out in the hallway, he pulled Catherine’s address from his pocket and walked with weighted steps towards the elevator.
~*~*~*~*~
The angels were left standing in the hallway after Travis had left, none of their faces had changed since arriving at Scott's apartment, and the pretty auburn headed woman watched the young man disappear through the doorway and descend a flight of stairs. "Tess, I know we've been watching this family for some time now, but what's really happening here with them? Are we here to help Missy and Travis come back together or is that really beyond repair?"
"Well, as you said, Miss Wings, we have been watching the goings on with this family, but keep in mind, nothing in God's world is beyond repair. He can take the most insignificant concept, change it and turn it into something precious and beautiful, so I have a feeling with this brother and sister, He's got something wonderful in mind for them as well." Tess replied and she looked over at the blonde headed man who was standing next to them, but when he said nothing, she simply continued speaking. "This is what is going to happen, Monica, you're going to be working at a magazine here in New York called 'Expression', I'm going to be the land lady the Eastside Apartments."
Monica looked over at the man, who was still quiet, and she cast a concerned glance in his direction. It was certainly not like him to not say anything. "What is Andrew going to be doing?" She finally asked.
"All I can tell you is that Andrew will be right at the root of the problem," Tess began as she took a deep breath and looked at her two angelic charges. "I can see that this is a little confusing for you two, so I'm going to start over and tell you what is going on. You remember about three months ago, Melissa and Travis were both living with their father and two brothers near Central Park. Melissa's mother had died over seven years ago, and instead of grieving for the wife he lost, Mr. Parks decided to delve himself into his work, thus leaving his little girl alone much of the time, and resenting her for reasons none of us are aware of. Melissa is a poetic prodigy and she has been writing poetry as a way of silently grieving her mother since she was nine-years-old."
Monica nodded as Tess continued. "As you know, Melissa was always called Missy, and it was during the time that she started reciting her poetry in school, that the other kids started to belittle and jeer at her, calling her 'Missy the sissy'."
"And then she met Vincent and Catherine," Monica said as the story started pulling itself together.
"Don't forget Jacob Wells," Tess said smiling at the mere mention of the older man who was the patriarch of the tunnel community. The wise angel really liked this man, he was stern in ways that paralleled her own personality, but he had a gentle nature that reminded her often of Andrew.
"I remember how I would be at her apartment and she would pray to have someone love her the way Vincent and Jacob did, even though it took Jacob quite some time to warm up to her being there," Monica said softly.
"That's right, it was around that time that Vincent and Catherine started to see a great deal of potential in her writing, so they took one of her poems, and submitted it to a contest, and when she won, she was given the chance to publish a book of poetry. But, this was a two-edged sword for that little girl. Because of her age, she was acclaimed an instant celebrity, and later she was even stalked by reporters. Catherine and Vincent helped her get through all of that, but what is important to realize, Angel Babies, is that Missy, no matter how good she is at writing poetry, there's still a big hole in her life, and that's where we're going to come in. Not only are we going to help her brother Travis get back on his feet, but we're also going to show them both that they need each other, that they are family and they can work through any difficulty together, if they but give themselves the chance."
Monica smiled, but after a few moments, she looked at Andrew. It struck her as odd that he had not said a single word throughout this entire dialogue and she reached over and touched his shoulder, her overwhelming concern becoming completely evident in her next question. "Andrew, is everything OK?"
Andrew shook his head but said nothing. He merely shifted his weight uncomfortably, and seconds later, instead of being dressed impeccably, he was wearing a dirty black overcoat, ripped blue jeans and a brick red colored t-shirt. Without a word to his two friends, he ambled away leaving Monica and Tess standing and watching as he went in the direction of Central Park without even looking back.
Monica watched as one of her best friends disappeared in the distance. "Tess, what's wrong with Andrew, and where is he going?"
"He's going to the park, and Monica, there's something you need to know about him right now. He's mute," Tess said softly.
"Mute?" Monica looked at her friend with obvious surprise shadowing her face. "Why would God make Andrew mute?"
Tess shook her head. "I really don't know why, Miss Wings, but He knows and we're going to have to trust Him on this one."
Monica, continued to stare after her friend, but when Tess started to walk away, she shrugged her shoulders reluctantly and started to follow her supervisor down the street and when they reached a large glass building, the elder of the two angels motioned with her hand that she was to go inside, and as she did, she nearly ran straight into Andy Hudson, who was coming out of the building.
The young reporter had suddenly stopped as though he realized that he had forgotten something, but instead of dwelling on this, he offered Monica a friendly smile.
"I'm sorry," she said softly as she glanced back in Tess' direction to see if she was supposed to enter the building. When Tess nodded, she reached over with the intention of opening the door, but Andy had already done so and was holding the door open for her. "Thank you," she offered with a smile.
Once they were both inside, he spoke. "It's nothing." He offered her a cordial smile as he followed her through the lobby and in the direction of the elevators.
"Excuse me," she spoke once they were both standing next to the elevators and waiting for it to reach the floor and the doors to open. "Could you please tell me what floor the literary magazine 'Expression' is on?"
"Fourteen, but there's nobody else there tonight. They usually close early on Friday afternoons. But, if you want, I can show you around," he said smiling at the angel. "I work there. My name is Andy Hudson," he said as he extended his hand towards her.
"Monica," she replied.
"OK, I'm guessing from your name that you're the new reporter from upstate, right?" Andy asked.
"Yes," she smiled and nodded as the doors opened and the two of them got out on the floor where the magazine's offices were located. "You could say that I'm sort of on hiatus down here."
"It's always nice to have some new folks around," he said. "Sorry that Mr. Franklin isn't here this evening, but he got called away this afternoon. He should be back on Monday, though. He's the editor, by the way, a good guy, and very serious about publishing a quality literary journal."
"Thank you, Andy, you've been very helpful," she said smiling.
"My pleasure, maybe we'll get to work together," he said as he went into an office and retrieved a hard cover book. Once he had tucked it in the pocket of his briefcase, he joined her out in the hallway.
"Did you forget something, is that why you came back up with me?" She eventually asked him.
"Yes, guilty as charged. I had gotten an autographed copy of The Wind Will Guide Me and wanted to read some of it over the weekend. Mr. Franklin said that I needed to get my transcript finished up, and I sort of need this book to do it," he said smiling as he retrieved the book once again and showed it to the young caseworker.
"It's a lovely picture," Monica said, as she looked at the picture that adorned the cover. It was a photograph of a tree whose limbs were blowing in the breeze and leaves of many autumn colors were drifting across the cover. It seemed the most fitting cover for a book about the wind being a guide, Monica thought as she turned the book over and looked inside the back jacket. When she saw the photograph of a young girl, she looked at him. "Is this the author? She looks so young."
"Her name is Melissa, uh, I call her Missy, and I've been asked to write all the articles for 'Expression' about her. I guess because she's a friend of mine, and Mr. Franklin doesn't want just anyone interviewing her."
"Sounds like she's been through a lot," Monica said sympathetically, and something in her words was a strong indication to Andy that she could be trusted. Instead of ponder this; he looked at the lovely woman standing next to him.
"You know, I guess I shouldn't be telling you this stuff, but I think I can trust you," he took a deep breath.
"I think you know you can," Monica said softly. "After all, we will be working for the same publication."
He nodded and smiled. "Missy has been really raked over the coals because of being so young, she's 12 now, but she's a poetic prodigy. You read any of her poetry and you see a wisdom that can't be compared with anything else. She is so mature about things, but I sometimes think…" his voice trailed off and he shook his head.
"That perhaps she uses the wisdom to hide away from the pain?" Monica asked.
Andy nodded. "Yeah, she's been like this since the first day we met. I should tell you about it, because it's pretty fascinating. I had been sent to see her right after her book was released…"
Andy's Flashback
“Miss Parks, do you have a minute to answer some questions?” Andy had been standing near the front door of the apartment building and when he saw Missy coming up the steps, he smiled cordially at her.
“I suppose,” she said softly.
“I have read your book, and I think your writing is wonderful,” he said sincerely.
“Thank you,” she said weakly.
“Are you sure I’m not bothering you, I could always come back later?” he asked causing her to look up. He was nothing like the usual reporters that had been hounding her during the past weeks. Something compelled her to take a good look at him. He had pale green eyes and dark brown hair, and stood about six feet tall. He seemed to be about 30 years old, and was holding a small tape recorder in one hand, a copy of her book in the other.
“Why don’t you come up, it looks like rain?” she said smiling weakly as she looked at the sky.
“If it isn’t too much trouble,” he said. “My name is Andy Hudson, and I work for the literary magazine ‘Expression’.”
She shook hands with the young reporter and opened the door.
As they walked up the stairs and into the apartment, she tossed her backpack onto the sofa and turned to face him. “Make yourself at home, I’m going to get something to drink, would you like anything?”
“No, thanks,” he said smiling as he sat down on the sofa. Internally, he thought a tea would have been nice, but he did not wish to overstay his welcome.
When she returned, she sat down across from him, a glass of lemonade in her hand. “So, what would you like to know?”
“Well, first, off the record. Why did you invite me up?” He asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, “I guess because you seem different from the other people who have interviewed me.”
“How do you mean?” He asked.
“Well, in the last two months, since the announcement came down...” Her voice trailed and she blushed slightly.
“Do you mind if I tape this?”
“No,” she said and began again once he had started recording their conversation. “Since the announcement came down, I have been asked so many questions, and often the people asking have been rude and obtrusive. They have written more into my words than what was there, and they have tried to ask me for meanings that I wish not to discuss. You seem different is all; somehow more gentle.”
Andy shifted, “thank you. I’m really glad that you agreed to this interview. I must tell you, I started at the magazine some two weeks ago, I’m new there, and this story is my first real assignment. I didn’t want to come across trying to impose on you, but I also knew that my editor would not be pleased if I showed up at your building and had no chance to speak to you.”
Missy smiled weakly at his apparent honesty. “I wouldn’t wish to get you into any kind of trouble, so I guess I’m ready to answer your questions.”
Andy cleared his throat. “First of all, I really appreciate that you are talking to me, and I want you to know right off that this is not about what the meanings of your work is, it’s about you, the person,” Andy began. “I want to make it clear that you are not obligated to answer any questions if you feel uncomfortable about it, OK?”
She nodded.
“How did you get started writing?” he asked.
“I was 9-years-old at the time. My mother had died when I was 5 and I wanted to honor her memory somehow. So, I started writing poetry about her, all the memories I had of her came out in the verses I wrote. Then when things started getting bad at school, I discovered that I had started writing about everything that I felt was significant; loneliness, heartbreak, love, friendship, just about any topic that touched me,” she answered.
“Did it help you?” he asked.
“Yes, it did,” Missy began. “I found solace in writing, found it to be addictive in some ways. I would get inspired in strange places, and have to stop whatever it was I was doing and write.”
“Do you write about specific people or emotions?”
“I write about both, but mostly my poems are centered around emotional ties I have with either people or ideas,” she answered. “To say that one person or idea inspires me is absurd, because I can be inspired by abstract things like a rainbow or a sandy beach. I suppose it’s how one looks at things.”
“You mentioned school, how were things for you at school?” Andy asked.
“The poetry I had kept to myself until I started junior high last year. When I tried to share it, I suddenly became the outcast, pushed around and insulted, treated as though I had no feelings or didn’t belong. It was hard, the other kids called me ‘Missy the sissy’ believing that their words gave them power over me. I realized some time ago, that they did not because I refused to allow it to happen. But, these words hurt more than a fist ever could, because they scarred my spirit, leaving me to feel insignificant and humiliated. I was lonely much of the time, only spending my afternoons trying to find peace in writing, all the while searching...”
“Searching? What were you searching for?” Andy asked.
“A friend, a true friend, someone who would understand the pain I was in, and would accept me for the person I am,” she answered.
“Did you ever find that?”
“Yes, but don’t want to elaborate, as this publicity is bad enough for me, I could not subject my friends to it by naming names,” she said softly hoping her blunt answer would not offend him.
“The poem ‘Treasured Friend’, was that written for what you had found?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said softly but said nothing more. She reached for her glass and took a sip of her lemonade all the while, waiting for his next question.
“It’s a beautiful piece, and if one person could call me their Aslan, then I would be deeply honored,” he said, and cleared his throat. From looking at her, he knew that he would not get any further comments on this particular poem. “OK, next question, what do you enjoy besides writing?”
“I love poetry, not just writing it, but reading it. If I could write only one percent as good as Shakespeare, I would be ecstatic,” she said. “I used to read his sonnets when I was lonely, and I found that if I read them, then if I was sad, I would feel happy, but if I was happy, I would feel joy.”
“It’s not often that one so young can see such depth in Shakespeare, how did this come about?” he asked.
“I don’t really know, I guess it started when I had seen A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream with my family,” she grinned sheepishly. “My dad had said something about taking my older brothers to see it, and I had wanted to go too. He then said that it might be dull for me because I probably wouldn’t be able to understand it. I started wondering if it was possible for a nine-year-old to comprehend it, so I went to the library and checked it out. It took me days to read it, but then right before my father went and got the tickets, I went and told him what it was about, and he was shocked,” she paused smiling at the memory. “Later, I started reading the sonnets, and other plays, and through them, I got into other poets, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Robert Frost, and so on.”
“Who is your favorite, besides Shakespeare?” Andy asked.
“It’s kind of hard to answer that, there are so many good poets. I think Robert Frost, because I love the poem The Road Not Taken.”
“Why is that?”
“I guess it’s because, I have chosen that road less traveled by. I know what it feels like to be different, and sometimes it’s hard and it hurts. I have seen things through both sides. I was once considered an outcast because of who I am; and now I am walking among false friends because I have suddenly become popular. In all honestly, I cannot determine which is worse,” she answered.
“Please elaborate,” he asked, quickly becoming entranced with her words.
“My wish would be to walk undisturbed down the street, to see my friends smiling and waving to me at the other end, and not see people trailing behind us with the hopes of asking me the meaning behind my work. Imagine not being able to go and see your friends because you feel deep in your heart, that though your dream has come true, you cannot impose on them the attention they do not crave. It has been two months since I learned that my poem had won the contest through Varient Publishers, and though I am overjoyed that I have the chance to write professionally, I have found a deeper loneliness in my heart, because those who hurt me when I was down, are now knocking at my door hoping to taste this superficial celebrity that seems to have encompassed me,“ she paused and looked up. “I do not want to come across arrogant, but every person in this world needs to know that a friend will stick by them through all times, not kick them when they are down, only to come back later and wish to help them back to their feet when times are good.” She took another sip of the lemonade.
“You have pretty much had your fill of fair-weathered friends, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, they used to tease me, calling me names. One boy tripped me in the cafeteria, and then the same day this other person caused me to have a bloody nose in the middle of a kickball game in gym class. Afterwards, I was too embarrassed to talk about it, but then one of my real friends said to me that it was important that I realize that a friendship is an honor and that he would stand by me no matter what happened. He was there for me during some of the most painful parts of my life and he accepted me even though I was an outcast,” she paused. “After the announcement came down, those people who had humiliated me suddenly came to me and wanted to be my friends, but they never were, they were friends with this so-called ‘celebrity status’ but not with me, not ever with me.”
“What would you like to tell the readers?”
“To accept people and not base it on appearance or status, but rather, what is in here, in one’s heart,” as if by impulse, she put her hand over her heart. “I have tried in the last months to be a friend, and to help those who are faced with the same thing I was. One never knows what will happen in the future; today’s outcast might be tomorrow’s celebrity,” she paused. “Those people who teased me need to learn that strength is not measured in how many people they can shove around, or how popular one is, but it is measured in the heart and how many people are really there when they need them.”
Andy nodded as he turned off the tape recorder.
“I think this has been the most fulfilling interview I have ever conducted,” he said. “You give people a lot of food for thought,” he said extending his hand to her. “If I could have my way, I would post your interview tomorrow. Unfortunately, it’s going to take some time, at least a month before our next issue will hit the stands.”
“I enjoyed this interview, too,” she said honestly. “Thank you, Mr. Hudson.”
“Please, call me Andy,” he said quickly and fished his card out of his pocket. “If you have anything further to say, feel free to call me. I will come back so you can see the transcript before this goes to print, OK? We’re going to work together on this, I won’t betray your trust.”
Andy's Flashback End
"Since then, every time I've written something about her, I've shown it to her before going to print, and she has been completely honest and straightforward about what she likes and what she doesn't," he smiled weakly at her. "I guess Mr. Franklin as well as the others at 'Expression' have taken Missy under their wing, so to speak. I mean; we all know she's young, we know she's been hurt seriously, so we just won't do anything that could leave long-term damage.
Monica nodded and as they walked towards the elevators, she realized that she really liked Andy Hudson and could see the utmost sincerity in the young man's demeanor.
As soon as they came downstairs, she said good-bye to Andy and rejoined her supervisor. "Tess, is Andy Hudson my assignment?" She finally asked once they had reached a small café and had gone inside.
"He is connected to your assignment, Miss Wings and like he said; he and Missy are friends," Tess began. "However, there is one thing you have to understand and that is whatever he decides to do with regards to the articles he writes about her, he will have an impact on her."
"Tess, he seems perfectly conscientious about this, so why does he need an angel?"
"Well, Andy has a story of his own, and that boy is going to need an angel to help him face a part of the truth. Missy has reminded him in some ways of this."
"Are you saying that I'm not going to meet Missy at all?" Monica asked, the disappointment evident in her face. Based on what she had been told about the young girl, she really was anxious to meet her.
"I'm not saying that Miss Wings, what I am saying is that the role you play here will have an indirect influence on what happens to Missy."
"But, this is like playing a game without knowing the rules," Monica objected.
"Now, don't go and underestimate your influence here," Tess began. "Do you remember what happened some time ago at Flynn's?"
Monica's face paled, but she nodded as she remembered the restaurant she and Tess had visited when she was having one of the worst days of her existence. She had been in a bad mood, and her attitude had caused what some would call, a chain reaction of negative events that spread throughout an entire restaurant. It was a domino affect that spread from one person to the next over the course of the evening, all of it starting with Monica and ending with a grieving woman who had been considering suicide. "You're saying that how I approach these people will indirectly leave an affect all of those they come in contact with?"
"Now, you've got it," Tess smiled proudly at the younger caseworker. "Now, if you have no more questions, I have to get to the Eastside Apartments and get ready for a visit from a young man named Travis Parks. Don't worry, the Father is in complete control here, and He knows that you're the best angel for the job."
Monica nodded numbly as Tess disappeared. Once the elder of the angels was gone, she made her way slowly down the street in the direction of an apartment building where she would be living for the duration of this assignment.
~*~*~*~*~
At the same time, below the streets of New York, in the security of an underground world, Melissa Parks was sitting alone in her chamber flipping through some papers as her friend Jamie arrived and came into her small room unannounced. “Hey, you weren’t at Father’s reading tonight, what’s going on?” She asked all the while looking around the cramped looking room and thinking about the various stories the patriarch of the tunnel community shared with them that evening.
“I was trying to get my chamber a little organized. Between lessons, chores, and our explorations, I haven’t had very much time to get settled,“ Missy answered honestly.
Jamie looked around the chamber and shrugged her shoulders when she saw there were still four large boxes in the center of the small room. It appeared as though Missy had spent less time getting unpacked and more time contemplating the entire situation she was now forced to live with.
Overnight success certainly left its toll on her. The book was still selling well, but whenever she thought of her family it only succeeded in making her unhappy.
Now with organizing and unpacking at the top of her list, she was frazzled to say the least. She glanced over at the dresser and could see the framed photograph on top, a rose made from pink paper rested next to it. “Is that the picture of your mom?” Jamie asked when she saw Missy's eyes land on the picture and how it held her gaze for some twenty or so seconds.
In the back of her mind, all she could think about were the last few minutes at her father's shop, and the disastrous confrontation that had ensued as a result of her going and trying to talk to him.
Missy's Flashback
Missy approached the counter where her father was standing. “Daddy?” She spoke his name as though it was a question.
He looked up and his eyes widened when he saw his daughter standing in front of the counter boldly looking at him.
In the back of the room near the door, Missy's friend, Catherine Chandler looked at the older man who was the protector of the underground world. “What did you tell her?”
“She has to try,” Jacob Wells whispered watching Missy’s movements.
“There’s no way, he won’t listen,” Catherine said, “I’ve already tried.”
Jacob said nothing, he simply watched.
“What are you doing here?” The man demanded looking at his daughter. “You should be in school. I don’t have time for this.”
She said nothing, pulled the snapshot from her pocket, placed it on the counter, and pushed it across it so that he could see it.
“Where the hell did you get this?” he demanded once he had looked down at the photo.
“You never have time for me,” she whispered. “I mean, what difference does it make where I got the picture? When you look at me, you see her, don’t you?”
He reached down and took the photo and tore it in half. Missy stood watching, her eyes filling with tears as she watched him throw the two pieces across the counter. They skidded across the top and drifted to the floor. “Now, I want you to get your tail back to school, and I’ll try to forget that you have been so disrespectful.”
“I had believed once that if I were successful that you would stop working so hard and become my father again. When I found that picture, I realized that that would never happen, that you would still stay here in this stupid shop avoiding me. You may not believe it, but I had hoped the book would help bring us together.” She shook her head as she looked down at the floor and could see the two halves of her mother’s picture resting against the cold linoleum.
“I said you need to go,” he raised one of his hands as though to slap her, but when she didn’t even back up, he lowered it once again.
“You may be able to rip her photo to shreds, and live in denial, but you cannot rip me up. I’m a person, and I’m your daughter. If you cannot accept and love me, then I will leave, so you can at least heal the wounds you still carry in your heart.”
Mr. Parks looked up at her once again, but after a few moments, he simply grunted and returned his focus to the newspaper that was in front of him.
Missy could feel the tears continuing to stream down her cheeks. “I know you may not want to hear this, but all the money from my book, I have given to Travis, because he has taken care of me. I know that all the things he did for me did not come from you, they came from him, and I’m glad that he left, even if it hurts me more than your rejection does. At least now, he can make something he wants of his life rather than something he feels he has to do.”
“I’ve heard just about enough from you, now get out, and take your worthless friends with you,” he shouted.
Missy backed away from counter, fear in her eyes at hearing her father’s voice rising in intensity and anger. “My mother would have never treated me this way,” she said softly. “She would have loved me for who I am, and would have tried to make our family happy and complete.”
“Get out of here, I don’t want to see you again,” he shouted. “Go live with your brother.”
From his vantage point in the back of the shop, Jacob shook his head sadly. He looked at Catherine and sighed deeply. ‘Perhaps this had been a mistake,’ he thought as he watched Missy backing away from the counter. She had not yet turned around, but when she did, the look in her eyes was of the most intense anguish that anyone could suffer. He could see the shame hidden in her eyes, and after a moment, she closed them, her head bowed. In her humiliation, she was unable to meet his gaze.
He walked slowly over to where she was standing and rested his hand on her shoulder. She looked up for a split second as the man she had come to know as 'Father' spoke. “Come, my dear, we’re going home.”
Missy stood unable to move. After a few seconds, she slowly got down on her knees and retrieved the two halves of the photo. Once she had found them and was holding them in her hand, she slipped them inside her pocket and remained on her knees staring down at the floor. “It’s hopeless,” she mumbled. “Dear God,” she began to pray softly, “Please, help me.”
It was obvious to both Catherine and Jacob that the shock of her father’s words was still with Missy, but now they would both be with her, and they were not going to leave her alone, not ever. Silently, they helped her to her feet and led her outside.
Once on the street, Missy began to sob uncontrollably. “I wanted him to love me,” she cried. “I wanted him to realize that I need him,” she looked at Jacob helplessly, “I did, Father, I really did.”
“We know you did, Missy,” Jacob said softly. “We know.”
“He’s obviously not deserving of your love,” Catherine said gently. “I feel sorry for him. He’s missing out on so much.”
“What’s going to happen to me now?” Missy asked; her face streaked with tears as she looked from one to the other. “I can’t go live with Travis.”
Jacob smiled gently at her, “I know, but you don’t need to worry, Missy, we won’t leave you alone. I meant just what I said in the shop. We’re going to go home.”
“You mean?”
He nodded without saying a word.
Missy looked down at the pavement, “I guess I always knew my father would toss me aside, but I wanted to believe something else. I wanted to believe that I was special.”
“Now you cannot believe anything else about your father,” Jacob said gently. “But you must never believe that you are not special, because you are. We want what’s best for you, and I know you will now be able to find true happiness, because you won’t be forced to live in loneliness any longer.”
Missy's Flashback End
As her thoughts were catapulted back to the present, she watched as Jamie went over and picked up the picture. "This is really harsh," the girl said looking at the rip that extended across the photograph.
“My father ripped it up last week when Father, Catherine and I went to see him,” Missy offered softly. “Before I moved down here, I was able to salvage the two pieces and brought them with me. Mouse took them some time later and tried to repair them for me. Then he gave me the frame yesterday.”
“Mouse has always been nice about doing those kinds of things," Jamie offered freely, but when Missy did not acknowledge what she had just said, the other girl looked at her. “Are you OK?”
“I guess. I think it’s going to take some time to get over all the things that have happened above,” Missy said honestly. “I sometimes wonder if it will ever happen, or if I’m just imagining the entire thing. You know, part of me wishes that I had a place above where I belonged, but I know that is like asking for a miracle.” She walked over to one of the boxes in her room. Opening it, she pulled out a stuffed tiger and hugged it against her chest.
Jamie nodded, “I think it’s like that for a lot of people who move down here.”
“I suppose so, but not being able to go out in the park isn’t really fair. I like the sunshine, Jamie, I want to sit outside and write, but I can't even do that anymore. I think now I know how Anne Frank must have felt.” Missy put the tiger on her bed and returned to the box and pulled a small tape recorder out. She looked at it as she ran her hands across the smooth texture. Seeing the cord that was dangling down to the ground, she unhooked it, and looked at Jamie grinning with a trace of embarrassment. “I guess in all the stuff that happened, I forgot to buy batteries.”
Jamie laughed, “Don’t worry. Father can probably get you some.”
“I don’t know if I should ask him. He’s done so much for me already,” Missy said softly as she put the recorder back inside the box.
“But he does it because he cares,” Jamie objected. “If it’s important to you, he’ll find a way. He knows you’ve been through so much.”
“Jamie, I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me, especially not him,” Missy said. “I would feel so silly if he did.”
“Nobody gets into that kind of stuff around here. Missy, what you have to understand is unconditional love. Father isn’t going to stop caring for you if you ask if there is a chance that someone could bring you some batteries for your tape recorder.” Jamie stood up and walked over to the box. As she began to dig around, she pulled out three tapes. “Besides, I like music too, and it would be fun to listen to it together, or at least to share it with everyone else. I mean; I like classical, but I think it would be fun to listen to something else once in awhile. Look, you’ve got lots of different music here,“ She continued to pull cassettes out of the box. “You must have at least 30 tapes.”
Missy smiled weakly, “I love music, but my tastes aren’t the typical stuff that kids our age listen to. I mean when I was in school above, if the other kids had known that I liked Barry Manilow, they would have probably laughed at me. Well, more than they did.”
“Why?”
“Because they consider him un-cool,” she said. “I used to listen to his music when I was with my mom. She had a bunch of his records and after she died, my father broke them all. I managed to make this tape of his music before they were all destroyed. I could listen to this stuff all day long, and feel good because it would remind me of her. Even today, I would dance around my room holding the album cover while this music would fill the house.”
Jamie smiled as she heard Jacob call to Missy from out in the passage. Her smile faded slightly, “I guess I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered and Missy nodded.
“Good night, Jamie,” she said softly. Looking towards the passage, she called out to the man as he appeared in the doorway. “You can come in, Father,” she said and watched as he came slowly into the chamber.
Jamie looked at him smiling guiltily. “I was just on my way to bed,” she said innocently and turned to Missy. “Good night, Missy. Don’t forget to ask.”
“Good night, Jamie,” Jacob said as she left the chamber. “Ask? What about?” He looked at Missy.
“She said that I should ask you if I could get some batteries for my tape recorder,“ Missy said softly. Her attention was on the box of tapes rather than on her guardian, who had seated himself at the table.
“Well, I think we can arrange that,” he said. With concern in his gentle eyes, he spoke. “You weren’t at the reading tonight. Is everything alright?”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” she said honestly. “I enjoy hearing the stories so much, but I wanted to get some stuff unpacked.”
“Is it just me or did you fail to get much accomplished with it?” He asked smiling.
“I guess not. Jamie said the same thing when she was here,” Missy said. “I guess I was getting more caught up with remembering things than I was with actually unpacking. I suppose I didn’t realize I had so much stuff.”
“Why? Haven’t you ever moved before?”
“No, I lived my whole life in that apartment,” she began. “I guess that’s why it was so hard for me to leave. I mean, it was good, but it was also kind of sad. When I would try to unpack things; I would find sentimental stuff, and then I would remember when or where I had gotten them.”
“What were you remembering?”
“Nothing bad. I was just thinking about things like when my brother, Travis, had given me this stuffed tiger for my birthday or how I used to dance around with an album cover and listen to music with my mom,” she said softly. “I guess that’s why I wanted to see if I could get some batteries, so I can listen to my favorite music again.”
“The music brings you closer to your mother, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I never really thought much about it before, but these days it seems to be on my mind a lot.”
“Well, I think with all the changes that have happened to you in the past week, it seems only natural that you would depend on that to help you a little,” he said.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what, my dear?” he asked.
“For understanding and helping me to deal with everything,” she said.
He smiled, “There’s no reason for you to thank me. It is, after all, what I am here for.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
Jacob nodded approvingly. “It is getting pretty late now, so why don’t you try and get some sleep? You can finish unpacking later.” He stood up to leave.
“Oh, Father, I nearly forgot something.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out forty dollars. “Do you remember when Vincent brought me here to spend Spring Break? It was when I was dodging the reporters above and was tired all the time."
He nodded; he would probably never forget how exhausted she looked when Vincent had brought her below that night.
Jacob's Flashback
There had been no time to prepare for her to come, as no one was aware that Vincent would be bringing her back with him. Jacob entered the chamber some moments later when he saw the light illuminating out in the tunnel.
“Vincent?”
“Shhh, she’s asleep,” he whispered.
Jacob nodded, “What happened? You had said that you were going up to Catherine’s apartment to see her, I didn’t think you were going to bring her here.”
“I had no choice, Catherine asked me to bring her down for some rest. They had spent all afternoon running from reporters,” Vincent said keeping his voice as soft as he could.
Jacob looked down nodding understandably as she slept. “Now that you mention it, she does seem to carry the traits of someone who desperately needs rest. Did her face look this pale in the light in Catherine’s apartment?”
“Yes,“ Vincent said softly.
“Could you tell if she looked sick?” He asked, his concern shifting from their safety, to the wellness of their young friend.
“She was extremely pale, as though she had not been eating right since all of this started and I barely recognized her when I saw her. Catherine had said that she looked as though she had lost a lot of weight, and when I picked her up, she was noticeably lighter than she had been when I carried her from your chamber to this one two months ago,” Vincent said.
“Would you say that this is a drastic weight loss?” Jacob asked.
“Yes, I would,” he said as he brushed her hair away from her face.
The older man nodded once again. “The reason I ask is because she appeared to be pretty healthy when she was here before. But, now she looks as though the pressures above are effecting every thing about her, the main thing being her diet, but probably also her emotional state.”
“What do you suggest?” Vincent asked.
“That we get some vitamins in her system before she has a nervous collapse,” he said grimly.
Vincent nodded, “and here I was thinking she had forgotten about us all.”
“I don’t think she has, from what I understand, she was probably conscientious of her promise from the start, ” Jacob said gently. “For once, I am glad you did not take my suggestion about letting her go, she is indeed a very special little girl.”
Vincent nodded, “should I stay with her?”
“No, she’s in no real danger, in fact, I think she’ll sleep through the night,” he said. “Come, you can stay in my chamber tonight.”
Vincent nodded and followed his father out of the chamber, leaving Missy peacefully asleep.
“How long did Catherine want her to stay with us?” he asked once they entered his chamber.
“A week, Missy has holidays from school,” Vincent answered. “Would this be alright?”
Jacob nodded. “I think so, but we’ll have to arrange a chamber for her while she is here. I’ll ask Mary in the morning to help with this, but we can discuss all that then, right now I think it would be best if we get some sleep.”
Vincent nodded; it had been a long day.
Jacob's Flashback End
As his mind returned to the present, Jacob could see that Missy was still battling her emotions. This seemed to happen every time she would mention her brother, or the situation with her family "Travis had given me this money when I was at Catherine's apartment just before Vincent had arrived there,” she began. “Anyway, I tried to give it back to him when he moved out last week, but he wouldn’t take it and I don't really know what to do with it, so I thought maybe you could give it to the Helpers for food or something.”
Jacob took the money she offered. “Thank you, but now it’s time for you to go to sleep. Good night, Missy.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead before leaving the chamber.
Once he was gone, she grabbed her nightgown and got ready for bed. Bringing the candle over to the bedside table, she crawled under the covers and blew the light out. She could still hear the faint tapping of the pipes and smiled as she looked up to see the shadows dancing across the ceiling. As she lay there, she contemplated the sounds that emerged from the tunnels and how they completely contrasted the hectic life above. She thought about her mother and whether there was really a heaven. Finally, she snuggled up to her stuffed tiger and closed her eyes.
~*~*~*~*~
That same evening Catherine Chandler was at the table looking over her files when the doorbell rang. ‘Who that could be,’ the assistant District Attorney wondered. She closed the file, stood, and went to open the door.
“Travis, what are you doing here?” she asked once she recognized her visitor.
“May I come in?” Missy’s brother asked.
“Of course, please.” Stepping back from doorway, she allowed him to come into her spacious apartment.
He spoke as he came through the door. “I’m really sorry to bother you so late, but before Missy left, she told me to keep your address. My friend, Scott, told me about this,” he held up a newspaper. “I thought I should come see if you know where she is or if she’s OK?”
Catherine took the newspaper he held and looked at the article. After reading it, she looked over at him shaking her head in sadness. “Travis, half of what is printed here is garbage. Missy is fine. She’s living with friends and is doing much better now.”
“What happened last week?” He asked.
“I can’t tell you. I don’t want to hurt you,” she said softly.
“Listen. I know about keeping secrets from Missy but you can’t keep this a secret from me. I happen to know that you and she were at the shop last week with some older guy,” Travis said.
“Who told you this?” Catherine asked.
“When I called the shop to return a storage room key, my brother Matt told me that Missy had confronted my dad and that he had basically flipped out about it.”
“Your brother was telling the truth, Travis. At first I was there to ask about the reporters and the problems. Your father refused to speak to me about the situation and wanted to kick me out. He even threatened to contact the police if I did not go.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Then as I was leaving, Missy came in. She tried to speak to him but he basically told her to leave and that he didn’t want to see her again. She went with her friend back to the apartment, packed, and left.”
“I didn’t know that part,” Travis said softly.
“I didn’t want to tell you, because Missy knew that it was time for you to pave out a life for yourself,” Catherine replied. “Travis, she has known for sometime that you were much more than an older brother, that you had dreams and ambitions. I think she felt guilty because she did not want to be the reason you kept living there.”
He shook his head, “But I’m her brother. I should have been there for her.”
“You were there for her. Since your mother died seven years ago, you have been taking care of Missy and sacrificing everything you could for her. Now, you have to try and let go of the guilt, Travis. She is OK, she’s got friends who will take care of her and make sure she’s happy. However, she also knows how important it is for you to move on with your life and to stop feeling guilty.” Glancing past the young man, she could see through the window that Vincent was standing on the balcony and waiting. “Right now, you must do for yourself and find your own happiness. I think you know that.”
“Catherine, when you see her again, please tell her that I love her,” he said quietly. “I don’t want her to hate me.”
“She doesn’t, and I’m sure she loves you too.”
“Thank you,” came his soft reply.
“There is something I would like to speak to you about. It’s a much more serious matter though. You remember the reporters that were stalking Missy ever since her book was released? Well, I'm the DA who was put on the case, and although I am not certain if you know the extent of what happened the day her spring break vacation started, I was with her when the reporters were chasing her, and my friend Edie and I helped her dodge them."
As she spoke, she found herself telling him about what had happened that afternoon to her as well as to his little sister.
Catherine's Flashback
Inside the large building, Catherine could see the persistent reporters coming through the glass doors at the front of the building. She quickly pressed the button to summon the elevator, and sighed with relief when the doors immediately opened. She ushered Missy quickly inside and pressed the number 14 for the floor that her office was on. As the doors were closing, she could see the two women running towards it in hopes of catching it and trapping them inside.
Missy could feel her palms beginning to sweat as the two women came closer, but when the doors were completely closed, she sighed with relief and leaned up against the wall.
As the elevator made it’s ascent, Catherine began to contemplate the possibility that the women would know which floor they were running to and after a few moments of contemplation, she pressed the number eight.
“Why did you do that?” Missy asked.
“Because, I know reporters, they are persistent as lawyers, and I figure if we got off at eight, we can take the stairs up and give them the slip.”
As they came out of the elevator on the eighth floor, Catherine recognized that Joe Maxwell was waiting to get on.
“Joe, can you act as our decoy?” Catherine asked.
“What’s going on, Radcliffe?” he asked. “I thought you had left for the day.”
“I did, but now we’re playing dodge ‘em with a couple of annoying reporters,” Catherine said. “There’s no time to explain. This is Missy Parks, the author of ‘The Wind Will Guide Me’. They’ve been trailing her since the book was released,” Catherine quickly explained.
“I see,” Joe rubbed his chin, “well, then, get going you two, I’ll hold them off.”
“Thanks, I owe you one,” Catherine said and the two of them ran towards the door leading to the stairwell. Catherine threw it open and together they ran up to the tenth floor. By then Missy was completely out of breath.
“It would probably be easier if I did the stupid interview,” the young girl whispered.
“Perhaps, but do you want to?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Don’t worry, if I know Joe, which I do, he has everything well under control. He’ll take care of them, and they’ll wish they never stepped foot in this building,” Catherine said when they reached the door for the restroom. Inside, Missy splashed some water on her face while Catherine watched the door. “We’re safe now, I haven’t seen anyone coming down the hall that looks like them.”
Missy sighed with relief.
“Has it really been this bad every day?” Catherine asked once she had closed the door again.
Missy nodded, “I can’t go anywhere without being followed. People stop me on the street and ask me about the poems I have written. These two women have been at the school every day this week, and no one is doing anything to stop them.”
“It is now bordering on harassment, isn’t it?” Catherine asked.
Missy nodded, “yeah but there is very little I can do about it.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Catherine said smiling. “My father always said that one should have a doctor and a lawyer in every family, and you, my dear, now have one of each.”
“I do?”
“Well, extended family, you’ve got me, and Father is a doctor,” Catherine whispered. “Now, all we have to do is keep you out of the newspaper business.”
Missy smiled, as Catherine opened the door once again and peeked out into the hallway.
Catherine's Flashback End
Catherine looked at Missy's brother. "The long and the short of it is my office is prosecuting those two reporters for their involvement in harassing Missy after her book was published. And so far I have had nothing but bad luck in trying to get people to talk to me about what happened. Would you be willing to meet with me tomorrow afternoon to discuss this? If I know reporters, they would probably be hitting every angle that they can find, and one of those angles happens to be the family.”
“I’d like to, but I have to work. I know it's Saturday, but I just started working at one of the local radio stations and they need me tomorrow because they are short handed. Would you mind coming by the station? I mean, I don’t know if what I have to say is all that important, but I could talk to you there.”
“That would be great,” she said. “I appreciate it. How about three?”
“That’ll work. I’ll take a late lunch, and we can grab a bite from the local deli. I hear they have great submarine sandwiches, and I have wanted to try them. You know, kill two birds with one stone,” Travis said. “Besides, I probably need to see about getting some legal advice regarding Missy’s book royalties. She wants everything in my name until she turns 18.”
Catherine nodded. “She mentioned this to me and she wanted you to have it because you have taken care of her.”
“I told her I wanted it go for her education. She’s got a lot of potential and she deserves it,” he said. “I figure she could do just about anything she wanted to. I kinda envy her. It seems like she’s got it all.”
“And she has a pretty remarkable brother, too,” Catherine said gently.
“Thanks. I don’t know if that’s the case but I do appreciate the compliment,” he said as he extended his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow at three. You know where the station is, right? 47th and Main?”
“I do now. I’ll see you then, and thanks, Travis, I appreciate your help,” Catherine said.
“I’m only doing it for Missy,” he said and walked towards the door.
“I know, and I’m sure she will appreciate it, too.”
Once Travis had left, she hurried to reach the balcony door. Opening it, she stepped outside to greet her friend. “Vincent?”
“Catherine,” his soft, but husky voice emerged and he stepped out from among the shadows. She looked up at him and smiled, his face endearing to her. Although many saw a beast when they looked at him, she saw a friend and trusted confidant, a man with the stature and appearance of a lion who had the soul of a poet. His voice was gentle when he spoke to her. “Who was that?”
“That's Travis, Missy’s brother,” she said smiling weakly. “I am finally getting somewhere on this case. I didn’t think I would find someone who was willing to help, but he seems to believe that harassing reporters are the reason for Missy leaving, but even though he knew about when Father and I were with her at the shop a week ago, it's not true and Travis is starting to see that.”
“How is he doing?”
“I think he feels guilty because he cannot do for his sister any longer,” replied Catherine.
“He can do no more, he must now learn to do for himself,” Vincent said calmly.
“That’s pretty much what I told him,” she said. “But, like the old saying goes, ‘old habits die hard’. It’s not easy for someone to stop doing something they have been accustomed to for over seven years.”
Vincent nodded. “Does he believe she’s in a safe place?”
“I told him, but I don’t think it makes much of a difference, he's still worried,” she offered and when he saw her face, he could see the genuine concern there. "Is she at least getting settled below, Vincent?"
“Three days ago, I had gone by her chamber to pick up a book that she had asked me to come get, and when I came in, I noticed that she had not even unpacked her things, but that she had made a paper rose for her mother,” Vincent said softly as he shook his head sadly. “Jamie said that she had put it next to the photograph on her dresser and Mouse had given her a frame for it. I think she looks at it each day, and I know she must be grieving this loss, somehow I can't help but consider how she is finally able to remember and grieve her mother, this is something that she was completely unable to do when she was living with her father and brothers.”
“Do you really think it was that hard for her?” Catherine asked. “She never saw them.”
“I believe that rejection is a very harsh and painful thing for anyone to live with. Missy understands that she is now in a place where she has the freedom to work through entire grieving process. It’s has been hard because she was never able to properly grieve her mother's death, and today she is learning to cope with it on top of that, which has transpired in her life.”
“I think having you and Father with her will help,” Catherine said.
“Perhaps, but she also seems to have Jamie, and they seem to be relating to each other quite well. A lot of it has to do with their similarity in ages, but I think she uses this a way to block her feelings. Missy and Jamie are always together, they go off everyday after their lessons, and Jamie even asked Father if Missy and her could have the same chore so they could work together. I wonder if this is really a healthy outlet for Missy.”
“Are you jealous?” Catherine chided putting her hand on his arm.
“No, I’m quite happy for her, but I do miss some of the talks we have had,” he said honestly. "Like the first day we met, it was a day I am not likely to forget ever."
"Tell me about it, Vincent, please," Catherine pleaded with him and they went and sat down on her balcony, her head now coming to rest against his strong shoulder as he began to speak.
Vincent's Flashback
Vincent had been writing, but when he began to hear the sounds of a girl crying in the distance, he laid his pen down and glanced up from his work. Something about living in the tunnel world, the voices of the kids who lived there often would resonate through them making it seem as though they were close by rather than being far away.
He knew that someone was crying, and this disturbed him. Was it one of the children who lived there? Had she fallen down and cried over a skinned knee? Usually if someone in their world had fallen down, they would have stopped crying after some moments had passed, picked themselves up off the ground and dusted themselves off. The kids that lived in the tunnels were pretty tough and could usually handle the bumps and scars of growing up. Seeing as many had already lived through some pretty nightmarish situations, he could not understand why the sobs did not end after some moments, but rather continued. Obviously, this was not one of their children, he concluded, it was a girl, and she probably had somehow found the tunnels, but had lost her way.
He stood up, his writing forgotten as he stepped towards the entrance to his chamber. When he saw Mary coming through the tunnel towards him, he stepped out into the corridor, and went to meet her. Mary had probably heard the crying herself, he concluded, and was looking for someone who could go and find help for the lost child. Normally, they would have immediately gone to Jacob to ask what should be done. The patriarch would then ask a Helper to go into the tunnel and show the girl how to get back home, but presently, Jacob was not there, and both Vincent and Mary knew this. The word going around was that he would not be back until later that evening.
“Vincent, can you hear it, too?” Mary asked once he was standing beside her.
“Yes, I think it’s coming from the Central Park entrance, maybe Mouse caught someone sneaking around in the tunnels,” he said.
“It can’t be anything serious, it sounds like a little girl,” Mary said. “The poor child must be so frightened.”
Vincent nodded, “then someone must go to her. Do you know when Father is due back?”
“Not until later, but we can’t wait for him to return, we have to figure out what to do now. That’s why I was coming to your chamber. I thought maybe you could do something about this,” Mary said. “If the child is caught in one of Mouse’s booby traps, then I wouldn’t have the strength to help get her down.”
“I’ll go then,” Vincent said softly. He returned to his chamber and grabbed his cloak. He draped it over his shoulder and walked towards the entrance to the tunnels, which lead to the drainpipe that extended out into the park.
“Are you sure, you know Father’s always warning us about strangers,” Mary asked. “If he knew that you were going alone to get her, he’d hit the ceiling. I mean, you know as well as I, it is better that as few people as possible from up there know about us. There is a potential danger here.”
“Perhaps everything you say is true, but as you pointed out, this is a child, Mary, and I cannot in good conscience leave her alone and afraid in the tunnels. Eventually, she would be discovered, and I think you know that it would be better if someone were to go to her as quickly as possible,” Vincent answered assuredly and walked without a candle towards the tunnel where the weeping had originated.
Mary nodded as Vincent walked past her. “OK,” she conceded, “but do be careful, Vincent.”
“I will, don’t worry,” came his soft response as he took the hood on his cloak and covered his head with it.
He walked slowly through the tunnels and up the spiral staircase that led towards the wall that separated their underground world from the tunnel, which led to the large park in the middle of New York City. As he made his way, he could tell that he was going the right direction, as the weeping had grown louder.
When he reached the spot where Mouse’s booby traps had started, he looked up and saw the silhouette of a child over his head. She was hanging overhead in the net, her face in her hands, her body shaking, and he could see that she was frightened.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said softly. “No one will harm you here, little one.”
The girl seemed not to have heard his soothing words because she continued to weep. He went over to the rope that acted as the control for the net, which kept her hanging over his head and pulled on it causing it to start unwinding and beginning to lower her to the ground. As the girl began to feel this happening, she started to scream when she felt herself falling.
The net loosened and she tumbled down and landed securely in Vincent’s arms. “It’s OK, I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”
In response to his words, she threw her arms around him and held onto him burying her face in against his shoulder. He could not tell if she was crying out of relief or fear, but it did not matter, he wrapped his arms around her and held her. “It’s OK, you’re safe now. No one will harm you.”
As soon as her crying had subsided, Vincent lowered her gently to the ground and once she was securely on her feet, he released his hold on her shoulders. She immediately dropped to her knees and began to grope the ground as though she was searching for something.
“What are you searching for, Child, maybe I can help you find it?” he offered.
She said nothing, only continued to search, all the while trying to get away from the voice of the man who was addressing her.
Vincent took a few steps backwards and when he stopped again, he could feel something on the tunnel floor under his feet. He reached down and picked up the object. It was a small notebook and he concluded that this was what the girl was looking for.
He looked up and could see that she was still groping around searching, and at this moment, she was crawling towards another of Mouse’s traps. Luckily I can see much better in the dark than most people, he thought to himself, or else rather than a warning, I might be helping her out of another one of the traps.
“Wait,” he said softly. “You’re moving towards another trap. Come back over to me and I’ll take you some place safe. I found your book, and everything will be OK. Just follow the sound of my voice.”
The girl, obviously not wishing to be trapped again, followed Vincent’s instructions and crawled closer to him. When she could feel the rough boots he wore on his feet, she remained on the ground and looked up at him. She could not see his face, though through the shadows, she could make out his silhouette as he towered above her. “W-who are you?”
“My name is Vincent,” he said softly. “What is your name, Child?”
“M-Missy,” she stammered.
“And what brings you to these tunnels?” he asked gently.
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong, Vincent. Honest, I wasn’t,” she said softly, and he could detect a sort of waver in her speech and knew that she was still frightened.
“It’s OK, Missy, you have nothing to be afraid of,” he said gently.
“It’s just that I was trying to get away from the music in the park,” she said softly. “I wanted to find a quiet place to write.”
Vincent nodded, “I understand. Down here it is rather quiet. But, how ever did you manage to get in here?”
“I was walking near the entrance of the large drainpipe in Central Park. I went in thinking that I could sit somewhere near the entrance and write. But, the music was too loud and I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate,” she said.
“So, you went in deeper?” he asked.
“Yes Sir,” she said weakly.
“No formalities, Missy, but do continue.”
“When I got closer to the sliding wall, I could hear voices, and these two boys came out from behind it. I guess they didn’t see me, so after they were gone, I came through the entrance and ended up in this tunnel,” she said softly. “I’m sorry if I did anything wrong.”
“No, you didn’t,” he repeated, “but if you are wanting to write, then perhaps I should take you to a place where you can.”
“You’re not angry with me? I thought I had done something wrong when I got trapped in that net,” she began.
Vincent smiled, “no, the nets are rigged to keep unwanted guests out of our tunnels, but you’re not unwanted,“ he said and she could detect a friendly sort of laughter in his voice. “Come with me, you’ll be my guest while you are here.”
“Thank you,” she said softly as Vincent offered her his hand and helped her off the ground. Once she was on her feet, he led her back through the tunnel. When they reached the light at the other end of the corridor, Missy had to rub her eyes because the brightness caused them to hurt a little. Although the light was somewhat dim, it was better than the dark tunnel where she had been trapped.
They descended the staircase and when they reached Vincent’s chamber, she turned around and finally got her first real glimpse of him. He was tall and she had to strain her neck to see his face, but when she did, she backed away from him. He had the appearance of a lion, but stood upright like a man, and seemed to possess immeasurable strength. “I,” she wanted to scream, but it got caught in her throat, and she swallowed trying to keep her fear at bay. She wrung her hands together in order to calm herself down.
Her nervous movements did not go undetected by him, but instead of addressing her fear immediately, he pulled a chair for her, and backed slowly away from it, trying to appear as serene as he possibly could. “Please sit down, Missy.”
“W-who are you?” she whispered sitting in the chair, which he offered. The last thing she wanted to do was to antagonize him, and she couldn’t imagine what he might do to her if she were to refuse. Somehow, she had the strange sensation that it would anger him if she showed him just how terrified she was.
“I’m the same person who freed you from the net, and spoke with you in the tunnel,” Vincent said softly. “Although, I promised you that no one would harm you here, I have a feeling that you are now frightened of me simply because of how I appear. Are you so afraid of me?”
Missy nodded slowly, but after a few moments of hesitation, she stopped as she remembered the soft and soothing voice she had heard back in the tunnel and how it seemed to match the voice of the person now addressing her. Eventually, she shook her head.
“Yes or no?” Vincent asked gently. “I assure you, Missy, I would do nothing to hurt you.”
“N-no,” she whispered but he could see her body was trembling violently and he knew that she was speaking an untruth.