“For the most part.  Oh except this one thing.  He insisted it be included among the Halloween decorations.”
JenniAnn looked at the man with a raised eye brow.  “What Halloween décor could Andrew possibly be attached to?”
“This here.  I think it’s weird.  Awfully girly don't you think?”  Cliff indicated a small, brown, ceramic spider with little blue ribbons tied onto its legs.
“Itsy!” JenniAnn exclaimed.  “This spider isn’t Andrew’s.  It’s mine.  Sorta.  My mother gave me a lil black one named Teensy and I adored it.  I have that in my home in Nebraska but last year I made this one to put out in Dyeland for Halloween.  He must have remembered.”  She was touched by it and smiled warmly at the smiling arachnid then looked back to the makeshift football field where Andrew was being tackled by Jess and Miriam.  She laughed thinking what sordid conclusions her over-dramatic mind had come to earlier.  Football had bedeviled her once again…

I don't know, I guess in the end I liked leaving the means of Itsy's appearance a mystery.  And while I had established some personal meaning with the spider for JenniAnn and Andrew the previous Halloween, this seemed a lil too sappy.  The idea of Andrew going through her *Halloween* decorations, searching for this spider, and insisting the Halloween contingent find a place for the spider just to have a part of LJA there seemed a bit... well, like something John Cusack might do in one of his movies.  Not particularly Andrewish.  But who knows!  Somehow the spider got there.

I wrote the following on September 8th 2005 after an IM conversation with a friend about some of the more dramatic aspects of TBAA fanfic.  I just couldn't resist the idea of Andrew reading about all this stuff he was up to or that happened to him in these stories.  And I always wished TBAA had had more Andrew and Adam scenes cause they were quite enjoyable to watch together.  So I brought the two together for this.  I hesitated using it for JABB (it took me 4 months to work up the nerve) because I didn't want to alienate any fanfic authors.  However, I did really like the piece.  Of course, what actually ended up in the newsletter was something that diverged from this original.  My friend Jess had some spare time and I'd been wanting to co-author something with her since we'd written a conversation-story about the "Heart of the Beholder" trailer.  So basically JABB 183 started as a conversation between the two AODs but then shifted to a conversation between Andrew, Lady JenniAnn, and Jess O'Neill.  I'm really happy with how that turned out.  It's one of my favorite JABBs.  But I thought I'd put the original form, featuring only the AODs, here.  (Typed out 3-3-06 and 3-4-06)

Adam walks into a computer lab somewhere in Dyeland. He notices Andrew is all ready there and staring at a computer screen. His eyes are rather glazed over and his lips are pursed as if thinking on some big problem.
Adam: Andrew, you okay there?
Andrew: I'm dying.
Adam: What?!
Andrew: Yeah I just got shot... Oh... yeah... there's the flatline. I'm dead.
Adam: ::plops down into a chair in front of the nearest computer:: *What* are you reading?
Andrew: Fanfiction.
Adam: ::hurriedly types the url into his own browser:: Hmm... ::begins chuckling::
Andrew: What?
Adam: Look here, Romeo.
Andrew: ::reading:: Andrew gazed longingly across the room. He couldn't keep it in any longer. He loved Monica and he was going to show her. ::pauses:: Uh, no he's NOT. ::starts guzzling ginger ale::  (I just want to clarify that I do not think shippers are bad or immoral or anything of that nature.  I do not want all shipper-fics to disappear.  Whatever floats your boat!  However, I am not personally comfortable with Monica and Andrew as a couple.  So the angels as they appear on JABB don't form romantic attachments.  As such, I assume in the JABB universe they'd find such talk a bit blush-inducing.)
Adam: Oh, hey you're going into cardiac arrest over here. And, by the way, that gazing across the room is nothing compared to some of this stuff. Congrats, you're going to be a father! What's Monica doing slumming with a guy like you, though? ::devilish grin, grabs own bottle of ginger ale and taps it against Andrew's::
Andrew: Hey now! At least I've not married Gloria. Geez, Adam! What is she five? That's pretty pervy.
Adam: ::laughs:: Pervy, Andrew?
Andrew: ::shrugs:: I heard some of the girls use it.
(Okay, all of the above was pretty much what started the story in JABB 183.  At this point in the final draft, Adam excused himself because he had an assignment to go to.  Eventually both Lady JenniAnn and Jess showed up.  But here Adam stays and the two examine more fanfic.)
Adam: Well, I may be pervy but at least I don't seem to be forever on the verge of cheating on the missus.
Andrew: Oh great, now I'm breaking Commandments on top of being in a sordid, oft forbidden romance!
Adam: At least your stories are interesting. Barring the Gloria one, I just spend a lot of time burying you or otherwise mourning you. By the way, you have cancer. Sorry to have to tell you. Oh and you've been stabbed. And... ooh that's harsh. Let's just skip over *that* one.  (That's a reference to one fanfic someone posted ages ago that I simply could not handle.  Seriously, it made me want to bash my head into a wall.  And I'm not generally self-destructive.  :0)
Andrew: I hope we have good health coverage!
Adam: Andrew, are you sure these people really like you? I don't know... you may wanna watch your back. Many of them seem awfully bent on destroying you. Hey, you're in Hell now.  (giggle...  I'll admit, sometimes I wonder how people do manage to write about really bad things befalling Andrew.  I've tried and it's really tough!)
Andrew: ::dramatically bangs head on desk::  (Ha!  He's like me!)
Adam: Stop that! You're going to give yourself brain damage and I'm gonna have to lug you to a hospital and my back's just not up to it today! Then I'll probably feel obliged to work to support all your misbegotten progeny. ::more ginger ale::  (For some reason I really liked the sound of the phrase "misbegotten progeny" and was sorry to lose it.  Hmm... may be that could be a good band name?  "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome.... MISGOTTEN PROGENY!!  WOOOOOO!!  AAAHHH!!!  MOSH PIT!!!"  Okay, may be not...) 
Andrew: I think I may have just killed a guy... Well, that's it. I'm out. ::clicks off computer:: I'm supposed to meet Monica and Tess at the Cafe. Wanna come?
Adam: Sure, that way I can be sure you don't try to seduce Monica.  (Haha!  How much do I love Adam in this??  Seriously, I wish I had an Adam around to say something delightfully droll or sarcastic whenever I started to get moody.)
Andrew: ::rolls eyes:: Well, then I'll be sure you don't sit by Gloria if she comes, you dirty old man!
Adam: Let's just not mention this to them, okay?
Andrew: I couldn't agree more.

The End

Yay!  Okay, so as much as I liked some of the dialogue it didn't seem real.  And, despite my own inclinations otherwise, I really doubt Andrew would bang his head into a desk.  There was also another version of this I toyed with also.  As I said, this switched from solely Adam and Andrew to involving also JenniAnn and Jess who show up after Adam leaves for an assignment.  In the finished product, Adam never sees either of the women.  However, for a time I considered that JenniAnn entered after he and Andrew had left the room.  She reads the fanfic, mistakes it for a blog, goes into hysterics, and when Andrew re-enters basically throws herself at him in grief and dismay.  Adam was then going to re-enter, having forgotten something, and say "Geez, Andrew would you just stop seducing the women?!" with a wide, teasing grin.  And I think Adam would really say something like that to Andrew cause, well, he's a kidder.  But he wouldn't say it with LJA present cause I think he'd be sensitive to her unrequited interest in his friend and not want to cause her embarrassment.  I ran it by Jess who agreed heartily that that wouldn't do.  Also, I (in a saptastic mood) had written an Adam and LJA moment in JABB 182 and didn't want to ruin that by following it with an awkward, insensitive moment.

As those on the JABB YG know, I write for Vincent on the list.  And also Andrew and Lady JenniAnn and occasionally Catherine.  It had been established for some years that Vincent was both JenniAnn's cousin (via Catherine) and her godfather.  However, it had never really been said how the two met.  So in March of 2007, I decided to make something up.  Vincent then wrote the following letter to LJA (whom he calls Psyche).  I posted a url leading to the letter for anyone interested in the backstory.  However, I've since decided to also put it here lest I actually need a refresher on how the two characters came to meet. 
The letter also kind of explains how the TV show "Beauty and the Beast" figures into the Dyeland storyline.  Unlike TBAA, it's not embraced.
(Typed out 11-16-07)

Dear JenniAnn,

I hope you know, Psyche, that one of the last things I would ever want to do would be to hurt you.  I spent a very long time, when you were younger, contemplating what I should tell you and what should be kept secret.  I did not want to darken the happiness of your childhood.  Despite the strangeness of your very early years, you were a smiling, joyful child.  For me to have dimmed that smile would have been unforgivable.  But now it seems fate has brought us to this place.  I had intended to tell you how we met in honor of St. Patrick's Day.  I had not intended to tell you the entire story which I will set forth to do now.  As you read this please know above all else that I love you.
 
It was the fall of 1984.  September 8th, to be exact.  Catherine and I had met that previous April.  I loved her from the moment I saw her and I knew I would do anything to keep her from pain.  I protected her and I hurt people in doing that.  Sometimes I killed them.  I received no joy from this, no pride.  It was something I had to do to protect the woman I loved.  That does not mean I felt no remorse.  Sometimes it would keep me up at nights.  I wondered if I had orphaned children and of how many widows I had made.  Catherine tried her best to console me as did Father.  This was, in fact, what Catherine was doing as we walked the Tunnels that day.  She was trying to convince me that not only had I saved her but countless others these men may have brought to harm.
"I am not God, Catherine.  It is not right that I decide who lives and dies.  This violence with in me..." I whispered, looking away from her.  I stared down at my hands and their sharp nails.
Catherine sighed and put her hand on my arm.  "They gave you no choice."
"I showed no mercy," I continued.  "I'm a..."
"Monser!!!" a childish voice cried.  "Monser!!!" came the scream again.
I prayed that no child had followed us and heard all we'd said.  I scanned the dim cavern for another presence.  Then suddenly I felt a pressure against my leg.
"Hello sweetheart!" Catherine greeted and stooped down.
I was in a daze.  I looked down and saw a small, blonde girl clinging to me, her face pressed against my cape.  "Monser, monser..." she repeated.  Her shoulders shook and by this I knew she was crying.
I whipped my hood around my face and stared at Catherine.  "Take her to Mary.  Do not let her see me."
Catherine nodded and tried to pry the little one away.  The child shrugged her off.  "Vincent, she won't come to me.  She seems to like you."
"This child is terrified of a monster.  If she sees me..."
"Vincent!"
"We cannot pretend my face is not frightening, everyone who first sees me is frightened."
Catherine looked away at that and her face colored.  I had not meant to make her feel bad but I knew at once she was thinking of our first meeting.
"Do you have any candy?" I asked, trying to change the subject.  "Perhaps, a bribe..."
Catherine withdrew a candy bar of same variety from her purse.  She offered it to the child who looked at her briefly and shook her head.  Still she clung to me.
"Vincent, I think you're going to have to speak to her."
"Child, say hello to Catherine.  She wants to help you," I tried, still carefully guarding my face and keeping my hands behind my back.
"NO!" she cried, obstinate.  That's when she looked up at me.  "Up, up."
Catherine chuckled.  "She's stubborn, that's for sure."
I responded with silence.
Catherine sobered then.  "Vincent, please, I know this frightens you.  I know how much it hurts when people look at you with fear.  But this little girl needs help and for whatever reason she thinks she needs it from you."
It was my turn to sigh then.  I knew she was right.  I braced myself and bent down to pick up our small visitor.  I stared at her and she stared back.  She bore a quizzical expression.  I could see tears in her eyes as she blinked but they seemed to be from before.
"Monser," was all she said and pointed to another cavern.
Silently, Catherine and I, with the child balanced on my hip, walked to where she pointed.  Only upon entering the next chamber did she cry out in fear and burrow her face into my shoulder.  "Monser..." came the plaintive cry.
Catherine and I surveyed the area but saw nothing.  Then Catherine pointed.
"Look at that rock formation.  It looks rather ghoulish.  May be that scared her.  May be that's her monster."
It was only then I was finally able to transfer the little one to Catherine.  The two looked on as I approached the rock.  I touched it.  "See, it is only stone.  Come here and see."
Catherine set the child down and she toddled toward me and hesitantly touched the rock.  She began to laugh heartily.  "No monser!"
Catherine smiled.  "That's right, there are no monsters here," she agreed and cast me a pointed look.
I smiled at her and then picked our new friend back up.  The three of us headed back to the hub of the Tunnels where Mary fussed over the newcomer a great deal.  She cleaned her up and clothed her in warmer garb then returned her to Catherine and me.  We fixed her hot chocolate and fed her all manner of foods.
I had fetched some children's books and after her meal, I let her choose one for me to read.  She seemed to carefully consider each and then chose an illustrated version of "Cupid and Psyche."  So we read the myth.  After I finished she asked me to read it again.  Five times I read that book before she fell asleep.
"Rest well, Psyche," I whispered, naming the child since she had offered no name to Mary nor myself.
And that, Psyche, is how we met.
 
 
After the practical matters of getting you comfortable, fed, and feeling secure in your new environment were taken care of; we moved onto other matters.  Father was concerned that, perhaps, you were a child of the band of people who had gathered around Paracelsus.  Spies were sent to listen for any whisperings of a missing child but none were heard.  Catherine scanned local missing children reports from Above to no avail.  You were a mystery.  I suppose that's part of why I felt such a kinship with you.
You were a quiet child and when you did speak it was often only in single, lisped words.  However, in only a week your speech had improved and we guessed it had only floundered for lack of use.  Father gave you what we assumed was your first check-up and declared you to be in perfect health, though malnourished.  But you had a healthy appetite and this was soon remedied.
While you seemed to enjoy the company of the other children your age, you were shy and often clung to myself or occasionally Catherine.  Unfortunately, you kept Mary up many times crying through the night.  Father, at last, grew tired of seeing her sleepwalk through the day and one day I re-entered my chamber to find a crib at the foot of my bed and Father sitting in my chair holding you.  You were squirming and looking quite irritated although a bit intimidated.
"Mary needs to sleep, Vincent.  You're the only one that seems able to keep this child quiet."  Then he handed you to me and left the room.
"Please read 'Psyche', Vincen?" you asked, completely nonplussed by being unceremoniously left with me.
I chuckled and grabbed your favorite book and began to read.   And so went our lives for many weeks.  I took you to class and you played on the floor with blocks as I taught the older children about the stars, Romanticism, Jean Val Jean and Anna Karenina.  Eventually your social circle widened and you grew more comfortable around others.  Indeed, it seemed as if you had been with us since birth.
 
 
It was about two months after Catherine and I discovered you that Father approached me holding his record book.  "Psyche's name should be entered, Vincent.  She's part of us now it would seem," he said.  He was smiling and I thought seemed proud although I was unsure why.
I had never entered anyone into the record book.  That was always Father's domain.  Nonetheless, he handed that and a pen to me.  I stared at the columns.  "Date of arrival", "Name," and "Parents' Names(s)."  I quickly filled in "September 8th, 1984" and "Psyche."  Then I looked at Father.
"I do not know who her parents are, Father," I reminded.
Father looked to the crib where you still slept, not yet having outgrown it.  "I do," he answered and looked up at me.
"Father, no!  I cannot give her the life she deserves.  What if when she grows she wants to move Above?  How can I possibly prepare her for life in a world that has never been mine, Father?"  I began to pace, not believing he was asking this.
"Many of your peers have only known this world.  Did that prevent them from having children?"
"It is hardly the same thing and you know it.  It is enough that Catherine has to mold her life around my limitations.  I will not subject my child to that!"  I paused then.  I realized what I had said.
"Your child, eh?" Father asked with a knowing smile.
I looked at him and I looked at you and I signed my name.
 
 
You were thoroughly spoiled that first Christmas.  All the children were.  Catherine was overjoyed when I told her of your adoption and she channeled that joy into new books and toys.  It was a happy time for us as a couple.  Fatherhood gave me a new appreciation for my protective nature.  I cannot say that it did not still trouble me when I went Above to protect Catherine, but when you giggled and wrapped your fingers around one of mine and said "Don't be sad, Vincen.  Cath'rine love you.  Me too," things did not seem so dark.
 
 
It was only a few days after my birthday and you were playing in the box that a record player Father had Mouse build for me had been wrapped in.  Musetta's Waltz was playing.  I was reading when suddenly an overwhelming sense of shock and then great sadness came over me.  Catherine's sadness.  Frantic, I looked to the clock.  10 AM.  I knew Catherine was at her office and there was no way I could go there.  However, I sensed her drawing near.  She was coming Below.  I scooped you up and brought you to Father.
"It's Catherine, something has happened.  She is filled with sadness.  I need to speak with her," I explained hurriedly.  "Please watch Psyche."
Clearly troubled, Father nodded and took you.  You were whimpering, sensing something was wrong, I believe.  I kissed your hair and rushed out of the chamber.  The last thing I heard was Father singing you a lullaby.  The same lullaby he had regularly sung to me.
 
 
I made my way to the entry tunnel where Catherine and I often met.  I could feel her drawing still nearer.  She had taken off work to see me, that alone betrayed the seriousness of the situation.
When I saw her I knew at once she'd been crying.
"Catherine!  What is wrong?  Please tell me!" I embraced her and could feel her shoulders shake.  "Is your father unwell?"
She shook her head.
"Did something happen at work?"
A nod.
"Catherine, whatever it is, please tell me.  It is not right you bear this burden alone."
She pulled away and, with a shaking hand, withdrew a piece of paper and held it out to me.
All I could think was that it was a newspaper article.  Coverage of something I had done.  I steeled myself then turned it over.
"Oh Vincent, I'm so sorry!" she cried and threw her arms around me.
I stared at it.  I read the words but my mind could not process what they meant.
"It turns out they're distant cousins of mine.  I don't even know them.  I didn't even know they had a daughter, let alone a missing one.  I was looking through missing children reports for a case.  This one shouldn't have even been in there.  They were supposed to be only New York abductions but this... Nebraska.  Vincent... tell me I'm mistaken.  Tell me that's not Psyche!"
But the photos were unmistakably you.  The real photo of the infant and the age progressed graphic both looked exactly like you.
"I will be alright, Catherine," I assured her more out of habit than genuine feeling.  I did not feel alright.  I felt disoriented and angry and sad.  Yet, even then some tiny part of me leaned towards happiness.  At least you would know of your origins.  At least you would know your family had loved you, they had not abandoned you, and they were desperately hoping for your safe return.  They could give you a life I could not, Psyche.  They could give you theatre and amusement parks and cathedrals and museums.  "What do we need to do now?"
Catherine stared at me blankly.  "I... uh, I guess I should take a photo.  Send it to the detective in Omaha for verification.  He'll notify her parents if..."
"This is the same child, Catherine.  Do not give into false hope.  It will only hurt you."
She nodded.  "I'll take her Above.  Invite the family to my apartment to... to pick her up.  I'll... I'll tell them I found her wandering, alone."
I looked at the paper again.  "JenniAnn Chandler.  It is a beautiful name," I murmured.
"I just can't believe... she's my cousin.  What are the odds?"
"It's not odds, Catherine.  It's God.  As hard as it may be to bear, this is God's will."  I held her for a moment then.  She later told me I spoke at some length about the miracle of our finding you, of the flyer ending up on her desk, and of everything now being as it should be.  I do not recall any of this.  I only remember that after I left I returned to Father, muttered something of what had occurred, and took you back to my chamber.
Trying to gain control of myself, I grabbed your book, sat down with you in my lap, and began to read.  "Once there was a maiden named Psyche.  She lived with her father and two sisters.  Her father loved her very much..."
Untroubled, you sat and listened and giggled happily when Cupid came onto the scene with his long blonde hair and green eyes and boyish smile.   (I have often wondered if that book planted the seeds of what would become your love for Andrew.)
I was crying by the time the book had ended.  So were you.  I did not know whether it was because I was or whether some part of you knew something was going to happen.
"I love you, Psyche, my child," I told you, hoping that even if you forgot me you would not forget that.
"Love you, Vincen," you responded and then nestled your face against my shoulder and fell asleep.
 
 
Father woke us up for dinner.  He had told everyone of the developments so the sad task would not fall to me.  It was a quiet meal.  Few people spoke and those that did only to offer condolences.  I had never expected fatherhood and certainly they had not expected it of me.  But they only wanted me to be happy and so, when you were found, they all rejoiced.  This was a difficult blow for everyone.
Along with me, Catherine fared the worst.  I believe she felt guilty for having found what she did.  I tried to assure her that night as we took turns holding you as you slept.  I do not know that she took my words to heart.
And I do not know how she made it through the following work day.  Certainly, neither of us had slept.  Around 9 she got the call from the detective.  He and your parents had verified Catherine's photo of you.  Your parents enthusiastically booked the earliest possible flight to Manhattan.  Catherine spoke to them over the phone.  She told me she had seldom heard such joy in adult voices as she did that morning.  She arranged for them to meet you at her apartment around 9:30 that evening and even offered them her spare room for the night which they gladly accepted.
At 8 that night she came Below to retrieve you.  I had put this off for as long as I could but it was time now to tell you.
I sat you on my knee and tried to put on my bravest smile.  "Psyche, Catherine has found your parents and she's going to take you to meet them."
You only looked confused.  "I live here."
"I know, dear, little Psyche, and we have loved having you here but your parents have been looking for you and it is time you lived with them.  They love you very much and they are so happy..."
"So you come too?"
I froze.
"No, Vincent's not coming.  Your parents don't live here.  They live far away and they want to take you to your home.  With your room and your toys and your books and I hear you even have a dog," Catherine told in a voice far cheerier than she actually felt.
"I have books and toys and this is my chamer.  I stay with Vincen!" You slid off my lap and stomped your feet in a very dramatic fashion.  I could not help but laugh but that soon gave way to tears.  Then you started to cry.
"Wanna stay here!!!"
"Catherine, you must take her now!" I cried.
Catherine swooped you up and tried to console you.  I handed you a doll Mary had made and your "blankie."  You just kept screaming.
"I love you, be well," I whispered and kissed your hair.  I stared pleadingly at Catherine.  "Please, a delay only makes this harder.  Take her."
She did.  I just stood and listened to your cries echoing down the corridors.
 
 
After I composed myself as best I could, I went Above and to Catherine's balcony.  Unlike previous times, I went with little joy.  I stood there and looked into Catherine's living room.  You sat on the floor with some blocks, looking less sullen.  The doorbell rang and Catherine answered it.  In an instant your parents had you in their arms, passing you back and forth.  They were crying and laughing.  You smiled, too.  It was the first time since Catherine showed me the flyer that I felt peace.  Still an aching sadness but peace.
The next day you traveled home with them and I never thought to see you again though I prayed for you every night.
 
 
What happened next I later heard from Helpers and your parents but some explanation about what happened in our community needs to be made.  Catherine and I fell more deeply in love.  It was a source of joy to all who knew us.  But I am afraid to one it was something else entirely.  About a year after you left, Morgana, one of our Tunnel dwellers moved Topside.  She had always been a creative sort and told us she went Above to pursue a dream of being an author.  What happened was quiet different.  She tried to pitch a book about the love between a half-lion, half-man living in the tunnels beneath New York City and a beautiful DA.  The publishers were uninterested but word got to a TV executive.
One day Catherine came to me, devastated.  She told me she'd seen previews for a TV show that looked stunningly like our story.  It did not take long for our Helpers to piece together what had happened.  They pleaded with Morgana to stop this, fearing such publicity would make it more difficult for Catherine and I.  But it was too late.
 
 
The ads made their way to Nebraska, as well, in the summer of 1987.  One day your mother was flipping through a magazine and you saw a full-page promotional shot.
"Vincent!" you cried out.
Your mother looked at you, thoroughly mystified, and a little bemused at the similarity between the woman in the photo and her husband's cousin, Catherine.
You clamored for the photo.
"JenniAnn, what are you doing?  Who's Vincent?" she asked.
"There!"  You pointed to the photo.
"Sweetheart, that's just a man in some make-up.  An actor.  Remember how we talked about make-believe?"
"Vincent!"  You stomped your feet.
"Whoa there, missy," she gently scolded and then called for your father.  "Honey, can you please come here?"  He appeared then.
"Look at this," your mother directed.  "JenniAnn, tell daddy who this is."
"Vincent!"
"What do you make of that?"
"He looks like someone out of her fairy tale books.  She probably just names the characters that don't have names.  After all, it's not entirely polite to only refer to someone as 'Beast.'  Although... that actress looks strikingly like my cousin.  Catherine.  The one who found JenniAnn."
"Of course, I remember who Catherine is.  But you're probably right."
At ease, your parents went back to what they were doing and the matter was forgotten for some weeks.
 
 
Curious, your mother tuned in when the first episode of "Beauty and the Beast" aired.  As the show progressed, she grew more and more uneasy.  The hero's name was Vincent.  The heroine?  Catherine Chandler.  Your mother called Catherine, with whom they'd kept in touch, immediately.
Catherine had spent that evening answering phone calls from friends teasing her about her similarities to this newest TV character.  In a fake merry voice she laughed them off.  Then came your mother's call.
Voice shaking she said, "I'd like to know why my daughter correctly identified that character as Vincent months before this show aired.  Please Catherine, I always sensed your story of how you found JenniAnn was not complete but I trusted you had good reason to keep your own counsel.  But... I need to know."
As I said, your parents and Catherine had kept in touch.  Catherine knew your parents were good and trustworthy people.  So she told your mother everything.
 
 
That winter your parents took you to New York.  Catherine met you at the airport.  You quickly left all your bags at her apartment and then headed to the basement.  For the first time in nearly three years, you came Below.
I worried how you would react.  It had bee three years since you had seen me.  I worried, too, what effect the television show might have had on you.  I learned only later that your parents had kept you from it after you had spent an entire night wailing following an episode in which my character was help captive by gangsters and rendered temporarily blind.
When I heard the approaching voices of Catherine and your parents, my heart began to race.  I wondered if may be this was a bad idea.  My worries were quickly put at ease.
"Vincent!!!" you cried and ran to me.  I picked you up and hugged you and began to cry happy, relieved tears.
My Psyche was back.
 
 
When Catherine told them of my intention to adopt you when we had thought you orphaned or abandoned, your parents were moved and named me as your godfather.  And so you came back to the Tunnels every summer after that and sometimes during other times through out the year.  In time I think you began to believe it had always been so.  You have even commented, at times, on when I babysat you when you were very young.  I was content to let you believe it was only ever that.  I was relieved that you seemed not to remember that, in fact, during that period you were living Below, as my child, and not a visitor.  I did not want you to ever think I had wanted to give you up or that it had been easy.  It was the right thing to do.  I still believe that.

I also did not want you to harbor ill will against your parents for taking you Above.  This was especially a fear or mine when you were a teenager and often said you wished you lived with us.  It was when you began saying those things that I retrieved the record book from Father and smudged out my name on the line designating myself as your parent.
 
I am still not sure how you came to the Tunnels.  I can only guess that you found a portal to our home when you had been staying with Kiwi's family in Dyeland (then Asteriana).  I have wondered if perhaps you watched us for some days and that is why you were not disturbed by my features.  But these are things we may never know.
 
But there is something I do believe.  Everything worked out as God intended.  You were born Above, your early months were spent in Asteriana, and for a few wonderful months you were a child of the Tunnels.  I've wondered if that nontraditional upbringing might have set you up for a feeling of being detached, never quite knowing where home was.  But perhaps if it were not for your ties to those three places, the friendships and bonds that stretch between Dyeland and the World Above and the World Below would not be there.  I hope that brings you peace, my Psyche.

Please remember that I am here for you. Now I will answer all you ask and tell you all I can.

Be well, my child,
Vincent
 

I was very tempted to dub this entry "The Last Temptation of Vincent Wells" but decided that was a bit much.  But "The Last Temptation of Christ" was an inspiration in writing this.  Whatever people want to make of the film theologically, I couldn't help but embrace the premise of someone desiring a different life than their own only to find out they preferred their real life.  I had actually thought it woulda been really intriguing for "Beauty and the Beast" to have a storyline in which Vincent saw what his life would be like were he to look "normal" and found it less than desirable.  Plus, woulda given Ron Perlman a break from make-up for a few days.  That never happened for him but I decided to play around with the idea myself.

In June of 2007, we had a storyline on the JABB YG in which a young girl, Andi (introduced by Yvette), beecame infatuated with first Vincent and then Nigel.  During her Vincent phase, she became terribly reckless.  She had a poster-sized photo of Vincent on display.  Obviously given Vincent's uniqueness, this was very problematic.  Had he been found out he would have no doubt ended up either paraded around like a circus freak or else vilified.  It would also have meant exposing the Tunnel World and led to its demise.  So in our story, Vincent decided the safest plan of action was to leave the main Tunnels and go off by himself.  He then intended to turn himself over to any curious invaders and sacrifice himself to save his world.  This was obviously very troubling for Father, the Dyelanders, and especially Catherine who was to marry Vincent on the 30th of June.  But he would accept no arguments and off he went.

While alone, Vincent began to believe that none of these terrible things would have happened had he just been born looking like a normal man.  But he learned that by living that life those he loves still faced terrible dangers.

I wrote this intending to post it to the YG but it became far too long, involved characters I wasn't sure people would recognize, and was considerably darker than anything I'd previously written for JABB.  I mean two and possibly three main characters die!  But as this is my Author's Cut, I decided to put some finishing touches on it and put it here.

This probly isn't as polished as something I would have eventually put on the YG or a JABB Newsletter but oh well.  It's kinda jumpy but I decided I liked that.  Made it more dream-like.

I decided to open with a quote from RENT cause I love it.  But later there are other song lyrics sung by Catherine.  They're from the BatB episode "Ashes, Ashes."  I hope I transcribed them correctly.  In any case, the episode was written by Gus Trikonis so I assume he wrote the lyrics. 

One more note: I had a heckuva time thinking of a last name for alternate-world Vincent.  Paulson was actually derived from St. Paul who, in "Last Temptation," is the character who really gives Jesus pause and makes him realize that his "better" life is anything but.  (Typed up on 11-16-07)


Vincent sat in the lobby of the police station.  A woman at a desk cast him what he hoped were prematurely sympathetic looks.  After what had only been minutes but seemed hours, a uniformed officer came for him.
"Dr. Paulson, this way, please."
And Vincent followed him to the morgue.  As the smell of chemicals grew stronger and his heart beat more loudly in his ears, he began to wonder when everything had gone wrong.  What choices had he made that had brought him to this?  His memory drifted back to the first moment in his life he'd begun to think he was missing something, that somewhere along the line he had gone horribly and irrevocably off his path.


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To outsiders, Vincent seemingly led a charmed life.  He'd grown up in a mansion, the only son of a banker and his wife.  He'd gone to the best schools, had the best cars, and wanted for nothing except the acceptance of his parents.  To them he was never handsome, smart, ambitious, or charming enough.  They were ashamed of their quiet, reflective son and had more or less written him off when he'd gone to college to pursue psychology.  He was determined to become a psychiatrist, have his own little clinic, and help those who needed him most.  But then he had met Lisa.  She was sparkling and beautiful and social.  She was studying dance, ballet specifically, and everything he was not.  He proposed the evening of their graduation and they were married by summer's end.

Only weeks after their honeymoon, Lisa was accepted into the New York City Ballet.  Life changed dramatically then.  Their little brownstone was no longer homey but shabby in her eyes.   They needed a glamorous apartment like her friends all had.  Of course, a glamorous apartment needed copious rent money.  So Vincent gave up his job at a little clinic in Greenwich and accepted a position at a prestigious psychiatrist practice frequented by stock brokers, debutantes, and those who didn't seem to have a job beyond living off their inherited wealth.  He promised himself it would only be a few years, just long enough to save enough money to give Lisa the life she craved.  A part of him thought, too, it made sense to build up a nest egg.  They had both discussed having children and had both agreed to it.

So Lisa spent her days dancing and Vincent spent his listening to corporate lawyers complain about spouses who just didn't understand and bosses who were clowns or jerks or associates who were the boss' untalented progeny. 

Years passed.  Occasionally Vincent would bring up the prospect of children but Lisa would always defer it for just one more year.  She just needed one more chance at playing Juliet or Copelia.  Finally after one such discussion, Vincent brought up adoption.  Lisa readily agreed (too quickly, Vincent would later decide).  She suggested adopting an older child.  A toddler that "wouldn't need diapers changed or any of that mess."  Vincent had raised his eye brow at Lisa's logic.  Diapers or not, it did make sense.  Older children were more difficult to adopt out.  They could give one a chance at a good life. 

Vincent set about preparing a room for the child.  Lisa had insisted she couldn't possibly give up her practice room and so Vincent converted his office into a child's dreamworld, retaining only a small, partitioned corner for himself which he would renege when the he or she grew older.  He waited anxiously for the call that would tell them their child was on the way. 

In August of 1983, Jennifer entered their life.  Lisa cooed and danced about with the two-year-old.  Occasionally the girl would giggle but it became obvious to Vincent she, like him, was a pensive, quiet child.  Lisa's attentions grew less.  Even on days she was off she had the nanny come. 

One night Vincent returned home after a late night meeting with his partners and found Lisa sleeping on the couch.  Vincent proceeded into Jennifer's room and crept up to the little bed.  He grew troubled when he noted it was empty.  Alarmed, he ran out of the room.  But a soft noise drew him back in.  He peeked around the corner of his little cubicle and there saw the small girl, seated in his chair, a large book on her lap.

"There you are!  Daddy was worried when you weren't in bed.  What have you got there?" 

"Book."

"I see that.  It looks like one of my books," he answered, not entirely disapprovingly.  "Jung."  He laughed.  "Reading about the psyche are you?"

"Psyche," she echoed.

Vincent smiled then.  Psyche.  It somehow seemed appropriate as a nickname for her.  He'd thought from the first that Jennifer was too trendy and too formal for such a little girl.  "Yes.  And you're my Psyche.  Come on, let's get you to bed and find something else to read."

"I'm hungry."

"Didn't mommy feed you?"

Jennifer-now-Psyche shook her head.

Vincent felt his face color in anger.  One night Lisa was left alone with their child and she couldn't manage to feed her!  Covering with a smile, Vincent scooped the little one up and proceeded to the kitchen where they ate sandwiches together and talked about their days.


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Vincent never got over the incident of that night.  Lisa's neglect of their daughter was unforgivable.  Despite his relief, he ached when she made no attempt at seeking custody when they divorced. 

Vincent adjusted to life as a single-father better than he would have supposed.  Psyche, that was all he ever called her now, loved her nanny and seemed happy enough.  Lisa called every so often but she'd left for a world tour after the divorce was finalized.  Even thought he felt sorry for his motherless daughter, he was not terribly sorry for Lisa's absence.  He'd worried what her disinterest would have eventually done to the child's sense of self-worth.

For the girl's sake, Vincent kept his well-paying job but supplemented it with one or two days a week volunteering at the free clinic he'd once worked at.  But it was during one of his days at the uptown clinic that he first felt the nagging feeling that things were desperately wrong. 

It way May 22nd, 1984 and he had a new patient arriving.  Another corporate lawyer.  Charles Chandler.  But from the first glimpse, Vincent sensed this man had more than the woes of the corporate world weighing on him.  His hair was disheveled and his expensive suit wrinkled.  Deep lines creased a face whose eyes were rimmed in red.  Charles seemed unsure of himself and deeply sad.  After introductions, the man sat down and, for a moment, merely rested his head in his hands. 

"A friend recommended I come see you," he said finally.

"I'm glad you did, Mr. Chandler.  How can I help you?"

"My... my daughter," his voice broke and he began to sob.

Vincent set a hand on his shoulder.  "I'm sorry.  I read..."

"I... I just think about what those last moments... of her being... being alone...  God!  Cathy!"  Charles sobbed more and Vincent let him.  "She was so beautiful and she had so much to give.  Here let me..."  He reached into his pocket and drew out a billfold.

Vincent found himself staring at a beautiful, smiling woman of about 32.  Her green eyes shown and seemed to be staring at him.  He felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.  A strange guilt crept into him.  "Why weren't you there?" a woman's voice whispered.  That was the moment it began.  The moment he felt his entire life was a mistake.


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The years drew on.  The feelings of discontent grew in Vincent.  He saw other patients that brought about the same heart-breaking sense of lostness that Catherine Chandler's photo had.  There was Jacob, the elderly institutionalized man that was brought to his office during his days at the free clinic.  Then there was a transient whose name he didn't know but that dropped in every week.  He was a young, blonde fellow that spoke little but only stared at, sometimes shaking his head.  The feeling came again when another transient was brought to him.  This one's name was Andrew.  Of his history a bit more was known.  He'd been working as an investigator into internet crimes when his partner was raped and murdered during an investigation.  He had lost it then.  He confided he'd thrown away friendships through his refusal to speak of what he felt. 

But worst of all was his Psyche.  As she grew older, she grew more distant.  Despite all the love he poured onto his daughter, Vincent seemed unable to save her from a sense of unworth.  The girl had grown up adoring her mother from afar, collecting articles from papers and magazines.  But Lisa had always remained aloof.  She tried to visit every few months but never did a good job at feigning interest as Psyche spoke about school and friends and little girl things.  Lisa's gifts were always expensive but showed little thought.  At first Vincent thought Psyche didn't notice but with age came wisdom.  Psyche knew her mother cared little for her and so she withdrew into herself.  Increasingly, Vincent noted times when not even he could get through to her.  Then came that horrible day the high school called.  She'd never shown up.  Vincent thought, then, of the unexpected hug she had given him that morning.  The "I love you, Daddy" that he'd not heard for years.

The police were called.  Vincent himself searched all through the night.  That morning two officers found him in Central Park.  He began to walk away when he saw their grim faces.  Something wild in him made him want to run away from them and into the trees.  But it passed and instead, he calmly let them usher him into their squad car.  He sat silently as they drove to the station.  Silently as they told him about finding a body and needing an ID.  He sat silently in that lobby.  Silent as he walked into the cold, sterile room.  Only after they lifted the sheet did he choke out the name of his eternally silent daughter. 


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Lisa came to the funeral.  She sat next to him, staring blankly at the coffin.  Though stuck in his own grief, he briefly noted genuine tears sliding down his ex-wife's cheeks.  She had loved Psyche in her own way, a way that could never be complete.  Some of Vincent's clients were there.  Jacob sat on his other side, occasionally patting his hand.

Vincent remained even after everyone had left.  He stared at the sad pile of freshly turned dirt.  He wept until he couldn't any longer.  Then he stood up and walked aimlessly around the cemetery.  Not knowing why, he suddenly stopped and stared down at a near by grave.  He read the words upon the stone:
Catherine Chandler
Beloved Daughter
1957-1984

Charles' daughter.  As Vincent stared at the marker, grief rose up anew in him.  He fell to his knees and began to sob again.  When he looked up, the sun was setting.  He saw two figures standing beneath a tree.  As if hypnotized, he went to them.  He gasped as he came nearer.  They were Psyche and Catherine Chandler!  His eyes traveled quickly from one to the other.  They looked terribly sad and there was something else... a hint of accusation. 

"Why weren't you there, Vincent?" Catherine asked.

"Why weren't you there?" Psyche echoed. 

Vincent stood, dumb and staring.  The two pairs of green eyes welled with tears.  They turned their backs to him and began to walk away.  Vincent reached out, calling their names, but they continued.  As they drew farther, the two figures faded into wisps of light and then nothing at all.  Vincent began to stumble.  Air suddenly seemed very difficult to bring in.  He felt dizzy.  Then he felt as if he were falling.  His head hit the ground.  His face was turned towards the gravestone.  "Catherine Chandler, Beloved Daughter, 1957-1984."