Part 4
Author: Joann Stroh (comments only in English please!)

 

Tony Laureano sat nervously twitching next to his boss, Lionel Castellanos, while swiping a handkerchief across his perspiring brow and stealing glances at his boss. He wasn't sure what to expect next. Earlier, some high muckety-muck came in to have a little 'chat' with Tony. Even though he had been privy to the conversation, Lionel was still a bit confused as to the underlying message. All he knew was that something big was about to go down and it involved him and Tony. Three hired guns stood spaced around the back of the room, watching and apparently waiting.

He jumped as the door flew open, banging back against the wall with a loud crack. Tony's head swiveled toward the entrance so quickly, Lionel was surprised he didn't injure himself. Five men filed silently into the room, taking positions at various points around the two seated men. He watched, fascinated as his boss's face drained to a parchment white. And then, he felt it, racing up his spine, coursing out through his veins - fear. Not a word had yet to be uttered. Glancing up at each of the men surrounding them, he could almost see the raw power contained within each, like a coiled snake ready to strike and Lionel knew his fear was well founded. Even the hired guns glanced at one another and without a word left the room, closing the door softly behind them.

Voice cracking, Tony Laureano managed to speak, "Who...who are you?"

The taller of the silver-haired men spoke, his voice cold as steel. "By all means, allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Peter Caine's grandfather."

Coming from the shorter of the silver-haired men, "I am his foster father."

The strangely dressed man with the longer, thinner gray hair spoke, his hypnotic eyes literally pinning the two men to their chairs. "I am Peter's father."

Rykker stood just to the left of Tony Laureano's chair, looking down at the now perspiring man. "And I am Peter Caine's uncle."

Turning, both men gazed into the piercing, razor sharp stare of the intimidating man wearing green sunglasses.

"I, gentlemen, am your worst nightmare. Detective Caine is a very close friend of mine."
Slowly removing his glasses, Kermit's face hardened. "In fact, he's more like a younger brother and I get extremely upset when someone tries to hurt him."

Rykker spoke next, his cold, hard stare directed at Tony. "I am going to ask you just one question. Being more generous than my companions, you have fifteen seconds to give the correct answer. You will not get a second chance. Now that we have your attention, the question. Where is Peter Caine?"

"I uh," Tony, fought to control his breathing while trying to spit out the words. Words he hoped would save his life. "Well, you see, I was sitting in jail at the time." Laureano jumped, letting out a startled squeal, as a hand made painful contact with the side of his head.

"Now, let's try this again. Where is Peter Caine?"

Looking up into the business end of a revolver now pointing at his left temple, Tony slumped in his chair, avoiding any further eye contact. "Tell him, Lionel."

Five sets of eyes intently focused on the second man's face.

"Stone Mountain. He is on Stone Mountain."

"Where on Stone Mountain?"

"Well, we uh, we had a couple of those...those orange panel trucks with the big blade on the front. You know, like road maintenance uses."

Sweat ran down his face and his throat felt like sandpaper. Tony Laureano's right hand man cleared his throat and nervously licked his lips. <Gawd, there was no easy way to say this.> "We...we pushed his car off the road."

"Where?"

"Miner's Peak, just to the left of the turnout." The words were spoken just above a whisper.

Without warning, both men were jerked up out of their seats, thrown against the nearest wall and cuffed. Other hands did a quick, but thorough search.

Kermit growled into Tony Laureano's ear as he roughly snapped the handcuffs into place. "You are going down hard, you little bastard. Pray, Laureano, because if we don't find Peter Caine alive, there is not a hole big enough to hide you. He's dead, you're dead!"

Paul opened the door. Several police officers rushed in, led by Strenlich.

"Take these bastards in, Frank. Book their sorry asses. Charge them with attempted murder of a police officer and anything else you can think of on the way."

"Peter?"

"We're going after him right now. Call it in, Frank. We need a mountain rescue team, fire department and an ambulance with a doctor on board to meet us ASAP on the other side of Stone Mountain at the Miner's Peak turnout."

"Yes sir, Captain."

Rykker, now standing near the door, spoke: "Gentlemen, let's go get our kid."

++++

"Peter!"

<Who, what? Go away!>

"Open your eyes, Peter. Look at me."

A slight stirring of memories. A knowledge buried deep within the very bowels of his soul. <Must obey the voice, but why?>

Weighted lids struggled open to reveal pain filled eyes. He strained to focus on the man standing before him. Dark eyes locked with hazel, pinning him with their intensity.

"Who are you? I don't know you." The words barely made it past blue lips.

"Yes, you do know me. I have come to help you. There are men standing on the precipice above you, my brother. The special place you occupy within each heart has led them here to begin their desperate search. Each one greatly fears your loss. Speak to your father, Peter. Call out to him with your heart and his will answer. They will come for you."

"No, I can't." The whispered words were laced with pain.

"You must!."

"Don't understand. Can't break my promise….can't…" Peter lost his fragile hold on consciousness as his eyes slowly closed.

++++

Caine, standing unmoving, concentrating, reached out, searching for his son's essence. Flashing lights, sparking off the multitude of emergency vehicles, mixing with the many floodlights gave an eerie expression to the surrounding mountains. The rain had stopped, but another, colder storm was moving in quickly upon its heels and it was only hours away. Fifteen minutes ago, a circling helicopter's strobe lights had discovered his son's blue Stealth in the ravine below. It lay crushed like a child's discarded toy at the bottom of this cliff upon which he now stood. A freezing wind rushed up the face of the cliff from the deep canyons below to buffet those standing on the precipice, their eyes straining to catch a glimpse of the car now spotlighted by the hovering copter. A mountain rescue team was preparing to descend into the deep ravine in an effort to reach the small blue sports car.

"Caine?"

As he spoke, Blaisdell turned toward the priest. He and P.T. Sinclair stood on either side of Peter's father, clutching their long coats against the bitter cold. The wind did its best to wrench the flapping material from their grasp. Kermit and Rykker paced between the nearest fire truck and the other three men. Somehow, without speaking, each man managed to establish his own path, near to, but separate from the other.

Kwai Chang Caine pulled back from his desperate search to answer the plea he heard in the other man's voice. "He is not in the vehicle, Captain. He is on this mountain, but not inside the car. I am searching, calling out to him. We must wait for him to answer."

Suddenly, the men instinctively ducked, as a large presence glided overhead on silent wings, disappearing down into the canyon. An unearthly screech filled the night air, drawing
startled eyes to scan the night sky.

"What the hell was that!" Kermit sputtered as he rushed over to stand beside Rykker, who now stood almost shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother.

Raising his hands skyward, palms open, the Shaolin priest closed his eyes in concentration. He faced into the biting wind. The others watched in silence. Sucking in a deep breath, he slowly exhaled. Finally, lowering his arms, he turned to face the other men. "It is a spirit guide. A guardian."

"What the hell's a spirit guide?" voiced Kermit.

Kwai Chang Caine spoke, "It is the legend of a very ancient tribe. It is said that in the beginning, when the earth was very young, there existed a tribe known only as The People. They dwelled in the regions of the high mountains. The People believed that once in every seven generations, a special child would be born into the great family of The People. This child would possess many gifts. When such a being was born, a Guardian, or Banarai was chosen from among The People, one who would, upon fulfilling his own years, become a spirit guide, a guardian to the Child of Destiny on his or her Journey of Many Lives. A ceremony called the Banah was held in which the Banarai took the sacred oath of the Spirit Guide. This oath bound their souls for eternity."

"Yeah, well it sure as hell didn't sound like a legend to me!"

"You are correct, Kermit. This is also my first encounter with such a being. It is said the Guardian returns only in times of greatest need." Caine's gaze dropped to an outcropping of rock approximately 100 yards below them. Pointing his finger, he spoke, "Our son is not in the car. He is there. The guardian sits next to him."

Kermit, quickly turning, rushed to where the rescue team's leader stood. After a brief discussion, the man walked back and reached into his vehicle, hurriedly speaking into a hand-held instrument. Suddenly the copter swung around to direct its dancing patch of light onto the rocky knoll, illuminating not only Peter, but a large, dark apparition closely resembling a bird. Whatever it was, it sat on a short stump next to the young detective's sprawled body. Slowly raising its head, eyes glowing green from the reflected light, it stared up into the faces of the men standing on the precipice above. Suddenly, the strange bird-like animal spread its powerful wings and rose with the grace of an eagle to circle once above the young man and with a triumphant screech, disappeared into the dark sky.

Caine bowed low. "Thank you, my friend."

++++

<Noise; random, indiscernible. Strange lights; dim, growing brighter.
Voices; far away, coming closer. Confusion. Hands touching, bringing pain. I don't understand? Leave me alone. You're hurting me! Can't you hear me? Dammit! Wait.... My father's voice? Paul's? Other voices, some I recognize. No, can't be! What the hell would they be doing on the side of this mountain, in the cold, the rain? Am I dead? That's it, I must be dead! They have come to retrieve my body. At least they beat the buzzards. I see the darkness approaching, coming for me. Time to return to my secret sanctuary where I will be safe. No pain. No bad guys. No mountains.>

Dr. Reider paused briefly before pushing his way through the swinging double doors of the east wing waiting room. Having been informed earlier, he knew of the overflow crowd anxiously awaiting word of his patient's condition.

"You are here for Peter Caine?"

Nine pairs of eyes gave him their rapt attention. Faces, seconds ago chiseled with deep lines of worry and fear, quickly changed to anticipation and hope.

"I am Dr. Reider, Detective Caine's attending physician."

"How is he, Doctor? How is Peter?" Words repeated in unison by several of those in the room. Others waited to hear the doctor's words, unable to bring themselves to ask the question.

Dr. Reider sighed, rolled his shoulders and spoke. "We have a few more tests to run, which should be completed shortly. Peter is being treated for exposure. We've set his broken right arm. It is a clean break, no problem there. He has a moderate concussion. Deep bruises on his ribs, back and legs. Three ribs are cracked."

"Will he be okay?" Paul Blaisdell held his breath as he waited to hear the answer.

Several people now stood, willing him give the correct answer, the one they desperately needed to hear. He could see it in their expectant faces. They begged for reassurance that the young man would live and make a full recovery. It was the one thing he, Dr. Joshua Reider, could not give to these people who cared so deeply for his young patient. Time to drop the bombshell.

"Peter also has pneumonia."

A gasp from the blond woman clinging to Captain Blaisdell.

<I've met the captain before. Doubt he remembers. It has been a few years. One of Peter Caine's shorter visits. They've been here so many times, one doctor's face probably looks like another. The kid was much younger then. Hell, he still looks twelve!>

"Peter's condition is very serious, but I assure you he is receiving the best possible care. He is young and strong. We are treating him aggressively, using everything we have in our arsenal. I wish I could tell you more at this time but its just too early. We have no choice. It is a wait and see situation."

<Way to go, Reider. You've just scared the hell out of these people. Jesus, they should all just go home and get some rest.>

Advice he ached to give, but couldn't as he looked at the faces staring back at him. The blond woman was quietly crying in the police captain's arms.

"The next forty-eight to seventy-two hours are critical. We'll know a great deal more by then. He is a very sick young man. I promise you. We will keep you posted. If you have any questions, or concerns, do not hesitate to ask one of the nurses."

"Can we see him, doctor?"

"Once we finish the tests and settle him into ICU, I will have the nurse take you in to see him, but I am placing a five minute curfew on each visit.

++++

Sitting beside the hospital bed, Annie's hand rested lightly against Peter's uninjured arm. Hearing the soft swoosh of the door opening, her sensitive ears followed the advancing footsteps, recognizing them as they came to a halt near the foot of the bed.

"Any change?"

Annie sighed deeply. "No, P.T., at least not for the better. The doctor just left."

"What did he have to say? Hasn't there been any improvement at all?"

"No. If anything, he is worse. His temperature is up. Now they are worried about convulsions unless they can bring it down."

Annie couldn't stop the tremor in her voice. She wanted so badly to be strong, to have faith, but as the hours ticked away it was becoming more difficult to remain upbeat. Peter was not responding to treatment. As the doctor had promised when Peter was first brought in, three days ago, they were trying everything in their arsenal, but her foster son simply was not improving.

P.T. moved quickly to Annie's side. Pulling up a chair next to her he reached out, taking her trembling right hand into his and cupping it between his larger, rougher ones, as his quiet voice filled the space between them, "Annie, you are exhausted. Why don't you let me take you home?"

Annie, pulling her hand away, wiped at the tears slowly trickling down her flushed cheeks.

"I can't, P.T., I can't. I know it sounds stupid, but I just....I just feel as though if I leave, he will die, but if I can just keep touching him, keep physical contact between us, he will feel how deeply I love him and will not dare leave us."

"It is not stupid, Annie. We are all here trying to convey the same message. If love can save this kid, then I am absolutely certain he will pull through because he should be drowning in it about now."

"Where is Paul?"

"He achieved a small miracle by managing to fall asleep in one of those damned vinyl torture contraptions they call chairs around here." Sinclair smiled. "I promised him I would keep an eye on you. Make sure you go home and get some sleep. You cannot help Peter if you get sick, Annie. You know you don't have to do this alone. We are all in this together. It's okay to lean on each other. The kid will not be alone for a second, I promise you that. In fact, we are tripping over each other." P.T. smiled.

Annie reached out and gently touched Sinclair's cheek. "You are right, of course. I have been selfish. It is time to share my son and give the rest of you the opportunity to take part in his recovery, to share your strength with him." Annie's smile was both sad and sweet. "If you will be so kind as to walk a blind chick to the waiting room, I am quite sure I can get Carolyn to drive me home. A warm bath and a few hours of sleep will, no doubt, do wonders. When Paul wakes up, would you tell him I will have Kelly drive me back this evening?"

"My pleasure, ma'am." P.T. stood. Taking Annie's hand, he helped her to rise from the chair.

Straightening her clothes as best she could, Annie slid her hand under the offered arm, resting it lightly on Sinclair's coat sleeve. Her fingers brushed along Peter's arm as she walked away from the bed and out of the room on the arm of her son's grandfather.

Within seconds of Annie's departure, Kwai Chang Caine entered his son's room. Walking to the bed, he stared down into the silent face of his only child. Beads of sweat peppered Peter's forehead. The swooshing of the respirator, pumping much needed oxygen into Peter's resisting lungs, assailed his ears. The doctor's words, spoken only minutes ago, sparked through his mind taking on a life of their own. "Peter is not responding to treatment. We have thrown everything at him we have. We are out of options. Now it is entirely up to your son. I'm sorry, but it is almost as if he has given up."

Leaning over, Caine wiped the sweat from his child's forehead. "Peter, hear me, my son. We are all here waiting for you. Feel our love. Use the strength we offer. You must fight. Do not leave behind so many who love you and will greatly mourn your passing. Do not cross the bridge, Peter. I cannot lose you again. We cannot lose you. Hear me, my son....please."

Caine bent down, placing a gentle kiss on his son's forehead. His fingers brushed along Peter's cheek, lingering at his chin. Tears streaked down his face. "I cannot survive your death, my beloved son. Fight for your life." Caine sat in the chair vacated by Annie only a few minutes earlier. Reaching out, he wrapped his fingers around Peter's unresponsive hand.

++++

"Peter! Open your eyes."

"What?"

"Peter!"

"No, go away! Let me sleep. It is so peaceful here and I am so tired. "

"Open your eyes, my brother."

Heavy lids struggled to obey. Hazel appeared to stare out across a tranquil blue lake.

"My secret place. No bad guys here and no mountains. Am I dead?"

A strong presence from behind drew his attention. Rising quickly from a seated position, Peter turned.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Th-this is my secret place. You are not invited."

A man, muscular and tall, slightly taller than the detective, smiled brilliantly as he stared into the younger man's eyes. His ebony hair glinted in the bright sunlight, his eyes a matching color. The man's clothing was strange, even stranger than his Father's and yet, somehow seemed familiar, as did the face. Recognition stirred, the answer whispering through his soul on the wings of time.

"You are a great warrior." Puzzlement brushed across Peter's face. "Where the hell did that come from?" he muttered.

A gentle smile settled on the other's face. "Yes, you know me."

"No." A slight shake of his head.

"Yes, my brother. Remember, Anar, remember."

The man's voice was a whisper, reaching into the deepest recesses of his mind.

"Why did you call me by that name? My name is Peter Caine, not A-nar."

"Think back, Peter, to another time, another place. Peel back the layers of time to a long ago place, before your recent birth."

"My birth?"

"Before your Father was born, your Grandfather and Great-Grandfather and his Father. When Mother Earth embraced us with such joyous passion."

Peter strained with the effort to remember.

One step brought the man next to his side. Reaching out, his right arm encircled the detective's shoulders, as he pulled him closer. And then...Peter felt it. A love so profound and enduring, it washed over him in large, crashing waves as it engulfed his entire being.

Turning his head, he gazed deeply into the eyes of his companion. "Lobeh?"

A gentle smile rested on the taller man's face. "Yes Anar, it is I. You do remember."

Peter swung around, clutching the other man in a tight embrace.

Lobeh held his brother, cradling the dark head.

"I have missed you, little one."

"I don't understand! How?"

Lobeh chuckled. "So many questions. Throughout your many lives, your essence has never changed."

The man's smile faded as a great sadness filled his eyes. "You left us before your time, Anar. Our father was a great and respected leader of The People and was much loved. He lived many seasons, but never stopped mourning your loss. You were the child of his spirit. I passed through the banah, my brother. I took the oath of the Spirit Guide. I could not save you during our shared space of time, but father knew you would go on to live many lives and eventually reach your destiny. Someday you too will become a great spiritual leader of many. Believe this, my brother. It is the message I bring to you, but first you must complete this journey. It is time to return.

"I cannot. I made a promise to my father and grandfather as I drove the mountain. I promised to never be a burden to either of them again. If I return, I will have failed them."

Peter looked into his brother's gentle eyes. A whispered, "They will leave me," filled the space around them with such pain and fear, it ripped through Lobeh's heart like a dagger.

"No! You must not attempt to fulfill such a promise, Anar. It was made without the knowledge of those who deeply care for you. You still have much knowledge to gain here, in this life. Feel their love. Even now it draws you back, little one. It reaches out across the void and holds you in this place."

Peter's head dropped to his brother's shoulder.

"You have denied your father entrance to this place where your spirit rests. He pleads with you not to abandon him. So many souls are reaching out to you through the mist, preventing your crossing. You can no longer deny them. It is time return and complete your journey.

Peter raised his head to gaze deeply into his guardian's dark eyes. "If I return now, I will lose you."

The older man slowly smiled. "No, Anar, you have never lost me. I have always been at your side, watching, waiting, protecting. I am only allowed to appear during times of greatest need, and have done so many times." The man cocked his head, smiling at the astonished look on Peter's face.

"You are unable to remember now, but someday the knowledge you seek will be yours. The questions will be given answers."

"When I reach that place, will you be there? Will we be together? How will I know you, Lobeh?"

"You will know, my brother, I promise"

"But...how will you find me?"

"As I have always found you. I will simply look for the brightest light. Come, it is time to return to your family and friends who anxiously await your return, just beyond the mist."

Eyes gazing out across the crystal lake, Peter noticed a soft white mist forming, growing brighter as it drifted across the lake toward him. Within seconds he found himself swallowed up in the intensity of its brilliant glow. He could no longer see Lobeh standing next to him and yet, suddenly, he felt strong, gentle arms carrying him through the mist.

++++

The only sounds in the room were those of the whirring machines as they beeped and swooshed out their messages. Kwai Chang Caine sat unmoving in the chair next to Peter's bed staring at the steady rise and fall of his child's chest as he had been doing for the last three hours. His hand remained wrapped solidly around his son's, moving only occasionally as he tried to elicit some sort of response from the silent detective. Paul Blaisdell sat directly across the bed from Caine. At the moment his head was bent forward, resting in his right hand, fingers gently kneading his aching forehead.

Rykker and Kermit sat in chairs placed against the far wall. Peter's Grandfather stood just to the right of the hospital bed staring out the window, watching the hospital lunch crowd bustling on the street below.

Caine's body suddenly lurched forward, eyes searching Peter's face. The sudden movement caught the attention of every man in the room.

"His hand,...it moved. He is struggling to awaken. Our son fights to regain consciousness."

The words struck the others in the room like a physical blow, rousing them to action. Kermit and Rykker stood, immediately moving to stand at the foot of Peter's bed. Three quick steps brought P.T. to stand next to Caine, his eyes never leaving his grandson's face. Paul leaned over the bed railing, intently searching for signs of returning consciousness.

Peter moaned and slowly opened his eyes. The young detective strained to focus on the faces now intently scrutinizing his every movement. Attempting to speak, he discovered his vocal cords were unresponsive. Something rested between his teeth, disappearing down into his throat, preventing speech. Realization registered and he grimaced, fighting down panic. Every cell in his body screamed in protest at this awakening. Tears pooled in his eyes as he stared up into his father's eyes and his body upped the pain another notch.

"Peter, my son. You have returned." Caine gently reached out and wiped the tear from the young man's right temple.

"Just relax, Peter. You have been fighting pneumonia. They have you on a ventilator to help you breath. Don't fight it, son. Try to relax." Paul kept his voice low and soothing.

From somewhere near the foot of the bed emanated Kermit's voice, "I'll get the doctor, or nurse, or whatever. Be right back."

The next face to peer down at him was his Grandfather Sinclair's. <My grandfather. I still love the sound of those two words.>

Eyes drifting to the foot of the bed, and he spotted his uncle. <Hmmm, Rykker.>


The door flew open as Doctor Reider, with Kermit on his heels, rushed into the room. "If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I need to examine my patient. If you will just wait outside, I will be with you shortly."

Once again the east wing waiting room filled. Annie, Kelly and Lo Si arrived within minutes after Doctor Reider kicked everyone out of Peter's room. Informed of the young man's changed condition, silence once again descended upon the waiting room as anxious loved ones waited for the doctor's report.

Twenty minutes later Doctor Reider appeared, rushing through the swinging doors. "Please, everyone sit." A smile slowly spread across his face. Dr. Reider finally had good news to deliver to these people regarding his patient in room 504 and it felt wonderful.

"Peter's condition is finally improving. Not a great deal, yet, but improving nonetheless. The medication is finally kicking in. We have taken him off the ventilator. We will see how he does over the next few hours, but frankly, I believe he is going to do just fine."

For an instant, every face in the room froze, as each one digested his words. Suddenly, the quiet room was filled with smiles, animated faces and embracing bodies. The room echoed with, "Thank God, he is going to be okay." Tears of relief and joy spilled.

"Everyone! I have just a few more words I would like to say."

Immediately, the room stilled and all eyes turned toward Doctor Reider.

"Right now, Peter is sleeping. He has been through one helluva of an ordeal and he is going to require a great deal of rest, if he is to recover. The best thing right now for everyone concerned is to go home, eat a good hot meal and get some sleep. You can return this evening. You have all earned a rest. Now, go do something nice for yourselves." Reider raised his hands as lips gave rise to the expected question.

"Yes, I will have one of the nurses take you in by pairs to have a look at him, but only for a minute. See for yourselves that the ventilator has been removed and he is resting comfortably. Just remember, it is important that he get copious amounts of rest. I am extending the same prescription to the rest of you."

Smiling, Dr. Reider turned and left the room.

Kwai Chang Caine slowly pushed open the door to his son's hospital room and paused. How many times over the last four days had he repeated this same action, only this time there was a wonderful difference. Peter would live and he would recover. His son had, once again, been returned to him. He had waited patiently for each of the others to complete their visit so that he might spend this time alone with Peter. Caine walked over to bed and gazed down upon the beloved face. Carefully, he sat down on the mattress next to his child, being careful not to disturb any of the medical equipment still attached to his son. Reaching out, he ran gentle fingers across the young man's forehead and down the left side of his face. Eyes fluttered and slowly opened. Peter briefly locked eyes with his father and then sighing softly closed them once again. Caine continued to stroke his son's face.

"Peter, my son. Can you hear me?"

"Father?" A frown creased the pale face.

Caine leaned closer. "I am here, Peter. You are in the hospital. You have been very ill. Now you must rest. Save your strength."

The words came slowly, barely a whisper. "You're still here? You didn't leave me, again?" A tear slipped from below closed lids.

Caine's heart twisted painfully within his chest. Tears filled his eyes. With his thumb, he wiped the moisture from his son's cheek and cupped his face between trembling hands.

"Peter, I am here. I will not leave you. Please forgive me, my son. I did not know how difficult my leaving would be for you. You are my beloved child and I almost lost you, again. Rest, my son. We will talk later." Caine watched Peter's face soften as sleep overtook him.

++++

A week later....

"Well, kid, you ready to blow this place?"

"Yeah, Kermit. If I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to totally lose it!"

"I believe your Uncle Rykker is, at this very moment, springing you."

Peter thought back to yesterday morning when Rykker informed him, in no uncertain terms, he would, henceforth, refer to him as "Uncle Rykker." Not Rykker, not Great-Uncle Rykker, just simply Uncle Rykker. Then, he went on and on about waiting almost thirty years to be called uncle again and he sure as hell was not going to wait another day, finally ending with, "So get used to it, kid!"
<Amazing, I've never heard that many words come out of Rykker's mouth. Didn't know the old guy had it in him.>

Peter still felt a bit uneasy around his uncle, but he supposed he could, with a little practice, get use to calling him Uncle Rykker. <Hell, if it means that much to him!> Besides, a picture suddenly popped into his head of his uncle grabbing him by the ear and dragging him along until he complied.

Something gently brushed against the outer edges his mind. An image whispered through the deep recesses of his soul. He strained to reach out and grasp it, but like a passing shadow, it disappeared. Damn, he wished he could remember! Something was there, just beyond his knowledge. Before regaining consciousness, he'd had the strangest dream, but so far all he could recall were bits and pieces, strung out like a disjointed puzzle. Why couldn't he remember? If he could just clear the cobwebs from his mind and give substance to those shadows.

<Dammit! Maybe I should talk to pop. Probably be a piece of cake for a Shaolin priest.> Peter sobered at his next thoughts. <There is still the promise I made to my father and grandfather on the mountain. Not off to a very good start, thanks to Laureano, but I will make good on that promise, I swear to you pop, grandfather.>
Peter's heart felt heavy.

"No, Anar! You cannot! You must not!"

The young man's head jerked up, his gaze flitting around the room. It soon became obvious that he and Kermit were the only two people present. <What the hell!?>

"Kermit, did you hear anything just now. Someone talking, maybe out in the hall?"

"Nope. You hearing voices now, kid? Maybe the doctor should check you over one more time before we leave this joint."

"Yeah, right."

But Peter knew what he had heard. The words, the name, the voice. All were so familiar and yet? The answers were teasing and tapping at the edges of his mind, just beyond his grasp. The words were a warning, but of what? The shadows danced just out of reach, eluding him. Well, he would have to save it for another time. All this mind searching was giving him a headache. Maybe he would wait and just dump it all in his father's lap.

"Where are my dads and my grandfather, Kermit?"

Peter sat down heavily on the bed. All he wanted to do was make his escape before anyone discovered just how exhausted and weak he felt. He really needed to be in a horizontal position.

"They stopped in to speak with Dr. Reider. They'll be here any minute."

"Great! They're probably getting a long list of instructions so they can torture me.

"That's right, kid." Blaisdell entered the room with Sinclair and Kwai Chang Caine right behind him.

"That is not fair, Paul. Three against one isn't fair!"

"Oh, I think your adding is a bit off, son. Understandably so, though. You've been sick."

"What do you mean?"

"You forgot to add Kermit, Annie and Lo Si to your list, not to mention Jody and Mary Margaret, who will ensure you do not get involved with what is going on at the station during your recovery."

"Shit!"

"What was that, son?" P.T. asked innocently, suppressing a smile.

"Nothing, Granpop. Sorry."

"Would you care to hear the plan, my son?"

"I can hardly wait, Pop."

Ignoring the dreaded 'pop,' Caine felt a momentary twinge of guilt. They were, in fact, ganging up on his hyper, stubborn son.

Entering the room, Rykker moved silently to stand next to Kermit.

Seeing the gathering storm on his foster son's face, Paul strengthened his resolve. At least this time he had backup. "The doctor has given explicit instructions that you are to get plenty of rest, Peter. We are simply here to make sure those orders are followed to the letter. We have worked out a schedule."

"A schedule!? In case you haven't noticed, I am a grown man and I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself! Don't I have anything to say about this?"

Paul thought it best to ignore that particular question. "You will spend the next week out at the lake with your grandfather, then a week in Chinatown with your father and a week with me and Annie."

"Jeezus, Paul, that's three weeks! I need to get back to work. There are bad guys out there!"

"Wrong again, kid. The doctor will not give you a medical 'return to duty' clearance for a full six weeks. Those are doctor's orders and Dr. Reider is adamant."

Peter glanced around the room and seeing nothing less than steadfast determination in each face, slumped a little deeper into the mattress. What he wanted to do was jump up and down and tell them all to go to hell, but this war of words was depleting what little energy he had left. He desperately tried to hide his exhaustion, knowing it would only lend credence to his foster father's words.

Rykker looked over at P.T. and winked. "Oh by the way, kid, just so you know, I'll be around to drive you wherever you need to go. That includes doctor appointments and the changing of the guard every week. Once you are back in your own apartment, I will be more than happy to stop in and check on you, see if you need anything."

Peter's head drooped a little lower.

Kermit couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun. The lines had been drawn in the sand. He could not wait to see how Peter would fare against this small army. It was going to be a very interesting six weeks and he wouldn't miss it for the world!

Walking to the end of the bed, Kermit picked up Peter's suitcase. "Well, kid, you ready to go? Let's see, it is off to Grandfather Sinclair's place first, right?"

Peter glared at Kermit.

Rykker spoke up, "I will go down and get the car. Meet you out front."

Walking past Kermit on his way out the door, he gave the ex-mercenary a small, knowing smile, making sure his nephew did not see it.

"Peter, are you ready to go? We should get you settled in before dinner."

Sinclair saw, as no doubt did the others in the room, that Peter's complexion had grown a few shades paler and his shoulders slumped with obvious weariness. It was time to get the kid home.

"I have enlisted the same cook I hired during your last stay. We certainly would not want to miss one of his meals."

"Yeah, Granpop, I'm coming."

His body felt heavy, but Peter was determined not to show his exhaustion to those in the room.. He prayed his legs wouldn't give him away as he pulled himself up off the bed. Walking slowly, he crossed to the door. Looking out into the hallway he spied Lo Si standing next to a wheelchair.

"Your chariot awaits, young Caine." The old priest smiled a big toothy grin while canting his head toward the wheelchair.

Peter was not amused. It seemed to him that Lo Si was enjoying this whole situation far more than was warranted.

Kermit stood quietly next to the open door waiting for the young cop to move out into the hallway.

Peter's expression darkened as he paused to glower at his friend. "Not one word, Kermit, not one word. "

The ex-mercenary managed to keep his face devoid of any expression, as he followed behind the 101st. precinct's young hot-shot detective, who was finally making his way toward Lo Si and the so-called chariot.

<Yep, this is going to be as much fun as that time in Istanbul with the gorgeous little belly dancer....well, maybe not quite that much fun, but close.>

Caine, pausing near the door, looked over at Sinclair. Raising an eyebrow, he questioned, "Granpop?"

P.T. shrugged his shoulders and raised both silvery brows, grinning. Then, turned and exited the room just ahead of the Shaolin priest.

Caine gazed at Sinclair's exiting back. The small smile grew and grew until it dominated his entire face. Laughter bubbled up from deep within his belly. Kwai Chang Caine threw his head back and allowed the deep, rumbling laughter to burst forth and wash over him like a spring shower. He could not remember the last time he had laughed with such delightful glee, with such abandon and he was ready to admit.... it felt wonderful!

End

 

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