Down From Below

He walked slowly along the dark alley, keeping his burgundy cloak wrapped close and his hood carefully covering his distinctive features. He was broad shouldered and tall, and walked with a certain stride in his step. He travelled, on edge, ready to leap into hiding at a moment's notice, whether at the sound of passersby or the headlights of a car. Wary, and almost catlike was his tread, and it was this caution that enabled him to walk upon the scene in the next alley without being noticed. He had felt rather than heard the presence of someone in trouble rather that heard any sound.

Sensing a dire need to be cautious, he crouched down and ducked behind a garbage can. Sensing the coast was clear, careful footsteps carried him around the corner of the building where he froze in shock. Stretched out full length on the asphalt was a man stripped to the waist, and his back was covered in whip marks and bruises. Blood was pooled around his mouth and nose. Vincent could tell he was dead just by looking at him. A soft growl escaped his lips as he felt the lion like anger rising in his chest. He never could tell how it happened, but at that moment there was a feeling, or a slight sound, just audible to his extremely keen ears. Something made him step further into the alley, and he froze again.

It was a girl that he had sensed the urgency from. She was lying prone, the back of her shirt a mass of tatters and blood. His mind flashed back to the man who he had just seen that had been whipped to death that he had just seen. Not the girl too! With gentle but quick strides, he came to the girl's side. She was making a slight whimpering noise that Vincent had heard before - from those who were deeply and painfully hurt, and in too much agony to cry. He could feel the tragedy, intense fear and pain radiating from her. He lay one tender paw on her arm but she didn't stir. She was only half conscious and bleeding badly. Her face had the appearance of being maybe 16 or 17 years old. There was only one thing to do. Vincent carefully picked her up and made his way back toward Below, stopping for a second to glance down at the dead man. He had a terrible feeling that this was the poor child's father.

_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

"Father, come quickly!" Vincent stumbled into Father's cozy chamber lit by many candles around the room, their light bouncing gently off of the hewn rock walls. The older man jumped to his feet, and dropped the heavy book that he had been absorbed in. Kipper was playing nearby with the chess set.

"Vincent!" He rushed over as his adopted son laid his burden down on the bed, his face already drawn with worry at the sight of so much blood and such a young girl in pain, and a vague fear that Vincent may have been seen above, or was hurt himself. He shook his head to clear his racing thoughts.

"Vincent, my son, this does not look good. Kipper, go fetch Mary. Hurry, child. Vincent, where on earth did you find her?"

Vincent carefully brushed back the shoulder length curly copper hair from the thin blood streaked face. "In an alley, Father. A man was there too. Looked like he had been whipped to death. She very nearly has been too." A small growl followed those words again, and the girl gave a small whimper and half consciously put one arm up as if to protect herself. Vincent laid a paw on her arm and spoke tenderly in his kind, soft-spoken tone," You don't have to be afraid. You are safe now. No one is going to hurt you." At the sound of these words, the girl's face visibly relaxed, and her lips parted as if she was going to speak. They opened and closed a few times, but no words came out, and her breathing was shallow and labored.

Vincent laid his other massive paw on her head and looked over at his Father, who nodded and hurried away to retrieve his medical bag. From it he took a syringe and a thin needle, as well as a small clear vial. He withdrew some of the contents into the needle and turned back to the prone girl. Vincent had lowered his head down toward hers and was speaking gently.