Author's Note:
Although several details in "The Return" are similar to the history established in "Child of the Moving Tide," this story is not related to the "Child" stories. I would like to express my gratitude for being allowed to use those similarities in this story.….Joann Stroh

"He's going after this kid, you know that, don't you?" Kermit asked, his voice pitched low.
Drummond inhaled deeply. "Yeah, I know. You understand that whatever he decides to do has to be off the record. I can't know anything about it."

THE RETURN

Tuesday - 9:00 a.m.

The boy sat on a narrow swath of sandy beach staring at the stream rushing headlong before him. Tightening his arms around bent legs, he pulled them in closer to his torso in an attempt to conserve body heat. Fourteen-year old Peter Caine glanced back over his left shoulder at the large, slate colored rock; it's rough surface draped with his wet clothing. Dark blue sneakers, appearing black in the mid-day sun, sat resting near its base. A soft spring breeze rustled through nearby trees causing him to shiver. The sun, just peeking over the treetops, felt good on his naked back and shoulders. If only it had the power to warm the chill in his soul and dispel the gnawing fear. Peter leaned forward, resting his forehead against bony knees.

<What am I going to do, Father? I wish you were here; I need you. I'm so scared, pop. Grayson is back and he's going to kill me! I just know it! There is a terrible darkness in his soul, Father. He hates me. I have to find the trail and get off this mountain, but I'm not sure I can do it. My only chance is to reach Paul.>

Monday evening

Peter stood in the doorway surveying the small room he shared with two other boys at Pathways orphanage. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the nearest of the three narrow beds occupying the room and plopped his suitcase down on its quilt-covered mattress. Paul had just dropped him off after a long weekend. As always, he spent these first few minutes alone. He needed the time to prepare himself to face another week in this place of loneliness. He hated his life here. Nights were the worst. After almost three years, he still desperately missed the father he had lost in the destruction of their Shaolin temple in Northern California. Sometimes his heart felt like a physical ache inside his chest.

His thoughts drifted. Six months ago today, he had met Paul Blaisdell. The police lieutenant visited the orphanage yearly to give his presentation on police work as a possible career choice. Peter smiled at the memory. He remembered not being at all interested in Paul's lecture until realizing it would get him out of a hated math class. Due to his upbringing, the public education system came as quite a shock. Peter had spent the first twelve years of his life living in the protected, somewhat secluded society of a Shaolin temple. His teachers had been his father, Kwai Chang Caine, and other resident priests in the temple.

He might never understand why, but Paul Blaisdell had taken an interest in him from their very first encounter. In pure desperation, Peter grabbed onto the offered lifeline. The lieutenant had hired tutors to help him with his schoolwork and stopped by regularly to check on his progress, giving him much needed encouragement.

He fondly remembered that fateful Saturday morning when Paul dropped by the orphanage to take him out for the day. Before that day ended, Peter Caine found a family, a real family. Almost best of all, he found a mother.

Their fist stop had been Paul's precinct. The instant he stepped into the squad room of the 101st, police work became his fascination and eventually his goal. Unbridled energy literally sparked through the rooms, finding a kindred spirit in the kid from Pathways. He loved every second. Next, the two of them had gone to a fast food restaurant for lunch and then to a movie, both firsts for him. Afterwards, much to Peter's surprise, the police lieutenant had not immediately returned him to the orphanage. Instead, he had taken him to his home for dinner, to meet his family. Peter would never forget walking into the Blaisdell home that evening, so frightened and unsure of himself. A home so filled with warmth and love, he wasn't sure it was real. It was there that he met Annie Blaisdell, the woman who reached out and captured the heart of a boy so very desperate for the unconditional love she offered. She quickly became the mother he'd never really known. His own mother had died when he was barely two.

Paul and Annie's two daughters, Carolyn and Kelly, had in their own way managed to make him feel welcome. Before the evening ended, Peter decided that Carolyn, two years his junior, and Kelly, six years younger, weren't so bad after all - for girls.

His visits rapidly became regular events. Weekends morphed into holidays and then included vacations. The shy, withdrawn boy began to feel part of a real family. Sighing, Peter muttered, "Well, all good things come to an end." He would look forward to next weekend; it was what kept him going.

"Yo, Pete!"

Glancing over his shoulder, Peter observed his best friend, Kyle Bettinger, craning his neck around the doorframe.

"Kyle, what the hell are you doing?"

The teen peered back down the corridor as if expecting someone to suddenly jump out of the shadows before finally moving into the room.

"Hey, man, I just wanted to warn you."

"Warn me? About what?"

"Somethin' real serious went down while you were off playing sonnyboy."

"Yeah, like what?"

"I don't exactly know how to tell you this, Pete, but…"

"Jeezus, Kyle, just spit it out!"

"It happened last night."

"Okay…what happened last night?"

"Well, this guy shows up at the door, all jumpy and scared like. Asks to see Trager, so I walk him down and point out the headmaster's door. Thinking somethin's up, I decide maybe I should hang around. You know, see what happens? I swear, Pete, that guy wasn't in there more than five minutes before Trager comes tearing out of his office. I hear him tell Old Bones not to worry; he'll take care of everything. Before you know it, our headmaster is roaring off down the highway like the devil himself is ridin' his shoulder. Then the little weasel-faced guy calls us all into an assembly. Tells us that Trager is going to be gone for awhile 'cause his mom is seriously ill, but not to worry, there's a replacement on the way." Kyle stopped for a much-needed breath.

"Yeah, so? I mean, it's too bad about his mom, of course. Trager's not such a bad guy, even if he is the headmaster of this dump. So what's the big deal?"

"Guess who's standing in for him?"

Peter stared at his friend. Seconds passed. "I don't have a clue, Kyle. Maybe if I had been here? Would you just tell me, please?"

"I don't know how to tell you this, man." The teenager cleared his throat, eyes darting nervously around the room, unable to meet his friend's questioning gaze.

Peter stood quietly waiting. "You are starting to scare me. Who is replacing Trager? Just tell me, okay?"

"Grayson."

Peter felt the blood drain from his face. He felt lightheaded, like he was going to pass out. He must have gone pale, because he heard Kyle, sounding worried.

"Say something, Pete, anything. You okay?"

He was not okay. His vision was tunneling, his breathing becoming quick and shallow. A fear, deep and primal, rose from the very depths of his bowels, burning out through his veins. Familiar words whispered through his mind, "Embrace the fear and…let it go." His friend stood in front of him, lips moving, but he couldn't seem to make out the words.

<Okay, Caine, get hold of yourself. Can't let the fear control and immobilize. Your life depends on it.>

Consciously struggling to slow his breathing, Peter finally attempted to speak around the dryness filling his mouth and the lump growing in his throat. The words came out soft and breathy. "But, Grayson, he…he's gone. Th-they made him leave. How can he b-be here? Th-They w-wouldn't let him come b-back…would they?" He paused, shaking his head. "No…no, they couldn't! Are you sure it's him?" Peter stared into the muddy brown depths of his friend's eyes and read the answer.

"Afraid so, Pete. It's him all right. He wasn't here fifteen minutes before he started asking about you. Where you were, when you would be back. He's probably read your case file and knows about your visits to the Blaisdells'. Man, after what he did to you, I don't see how they could possibly let that guy come back here."

Oh god, Grayson. No, please let Kyle be wrong. Let it be anybody but him. The black monster of fear was rapidly swallowing him. His worst nightmare had returned. It had been two years, but seemed like only yesterday. He remembered those three months well and they carried the bitter taste of unrelenting fear and mind-numbing pain, clawing at his soul, thanks to the monster who had invaded his world upon his arrival at Pathways.

Grayson hated him. He had demanded nothing less than absolute obedience of the new arrival. He also insisted Peter Caine become a Christian, like everybody else, and let it be known that he considered Buddhism nothing more than a pagan cult. The darkness in Grayson's soul steadily grew in direct proportion to the boy's resistance and he took out his anger on the young son of a Shaolin priest.

In those days, it took very little to bring Grayson's wrath crashing down around his head. Sometimes it was the leather belt kept locked in the lower, right-hand drawer of the headmaster's desk. More often, it was the man's large, punishing hands that left bruises where clothes would be sure to hide them. The last incident, as they called it, nearly killed Peter and cost Grayson his job. If not for the new counselor, Miss. Kainz, returning to retrieve a forgotten case file, he knew this cycle of his lives would have ended that day.

"Listen, I need to think. You better get the hell out of here before the old bastard catches you talking to me. Promise me, Kyle, you will stay out of this."

"No can do, Pete." The teen shook his shaggy head vigorously. "We're friends and friends stick together."

"No! You have to stay out of Grayson's way. It's me he hates and it's me he is coming after. I can't chance anyone else getting hurt, not again. Promise me!"

"I don't know, it just doesn't seem right. How can I abandon a friend?"

"If you really are my friend, you will do this for me. It is the only way."

"I don't like this, not one little bit."

"Promise!"

"All right, all right, damn you! I promise." Suddenly, Kyle snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute! What about Blaisdell? He can help; he's a cop. I bet Blaisdell isn't afraid of that guy. Call him, Pete!"

"How? Phones are off limits to us inmates, remember? I would have to break into the headmaster's office. Grayson will be watching, just waiting for an excuse to beat the crap out of me. I can't chance it. Besides, if he suspects anything, by the time Paul could get here it would probably be too late."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Get the hell out of here as quickly as possible, that's what."

"How? When? Where will you go?"

Peter began to pace back and forth in the narrow space between the beds. "Let's see, I haven't seen anyone but you since I walked in here, which means Grayson can't possibly know I'm back yet." Peter dropped to his knees beside one of the beds and rummaging beneath it, pulled out an old brown book bag.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting out of here! It is my only chance"

"But, where will you go?"

Once again on his feet, Peter opened the suitcase, pulled out a blue windbreaker and stuffed it into the book bag. Pausing, he looked at his friend. "I absolutely do not want you involved in this Kyle." Peter slid a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a somewhat flattened candy bar and threw it into the bag. "I'll head north, through the woods. If I can hike up over Tulome Mountain, I'm sure I can connect up with the road on the other side and hitch a ride. I'll get to a phone and call Paul."

"Jeez, I don't know. That's a tough hike. It gets cold up in those mountains this time of year. What if you get lost? What if Grayson follows you?"

"He won't follow. That s.o.b. is into inflicting pain, not experiencing it. He doesn't have the balls to follow me."

"What about Blaisdell? He will be here Friday to pick you up for the weekly sleepover."

Peter reached out, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't worry, Kyle, I will be back here with Paul and reinforcements long before Friday evening. You just watch your back.…and stay out of Grayson's way. Promise?"

"Seems to me I am the only one making promises. If there is anything I can do, you know, to help, you'll tell me, won't you Pete?"

"Yeah, Kyle, I will. Thanks. You are a good friend. Now get out of here before he catches us together and decides to take it out on you." Peter gave his most engaging smile.

"Okay, okay, I'm going, but I don't like this." The teenager started to turn away and then quickly turned back, pulling Peter into a bear hug. Releasing him, he turned and slouched out of the room, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his faded denim pants.

Peter waited for his friend to disappear around the corner at the far end of the corridor before collapsing onto the edge of the bed. He began to tremble. The fear was stealing over him again, making it difficult to think. He wasn't sure of his ability to carry out the quickly formulated plan to hike through the mountains, but he really didn't see any other option. He couldn't stay here. He had to leave before Grayson discovered him.

++++++++++

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the little Buddhist brat, himself. You've grown, boy."

Head snapping up, the teen's startled eyes made instant contact with those of his own worst, living nightmare. His mind had been so focused on what lay ahead, he had missed Grayson's entrance. Peter slowly rose from the bed, willing his trembling legs to support him. His breath caught in his throat. He was unable to tear his gaze away from those cold, steel gray eyes now locked on his face, pinning him in place like an insect impaled on the end of a pin. There was madness in those eyes.…cold, swirling madness. Fear sliced through him.

The man took a step closer. Reflex dictated Peter step back, away from the looming danger, but he felt the low mattress brush against the backs of his legs. There would be no escape. He held his breath. Suddenly, Grayson's hand shot out, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, the material bunching at his throat. Peter's hands instinctively came up and wrapped around the man's arms, just above the wrists. With lightening quick reflexes, Grayson backhanded him across the face, breaking his hold on the man's arms, while releasing his own hold on Peter's shirt. The blow sent him reeling out of control, tumbling and scraping along the bed's footboard on his way to the hard, unforgiving floor. The pain was instant and excruciating. It felt like an explosion inside his head. Tears blinded him as he unsuccessfully tried to bring his tormentor's face into focus. His brain was telling him to run before the next blow fell, but action was presently beyond his capabilities.

"Uh, Mr. Grayson, sir?"

Whirling around, the acting headmaster was startled to find two small boys watching him from the doorway, fear and uncertainty reflected in their thin, elfin faces. Damn! He 'd been so intent on his prey, now sprawled at his feet, that he had missed the children's arrival. I really must be more careful!

"Mr. G-Grayson, is something wrong with Peter? Is he sick?"

Quickly moving to kneel next to the fallen form, his voice feigning concern, he quickly reassured the children. "No, no, he is quite all right, aren't you son?" Receiving the slightest of nods, he smiled. He well knew this kid's deep-seated need to protect those smaller and weaker. It would be his downfall as it had been in the past. "You boys run along, now." He flicked a hand in their general direction, as if shooing away a couple of annoying flies.

The boys turned to leave, but it was obvious they were reluctant to abandon their older friend. They managed a couple of backward glances before disappearing around the corner.

Placing one hand under each arm, Grayson heaved him to his feet. Peter's knees threatened to buckle, but the man's 6'5", 250-pound frame was more than capable of keeping him upright. He was quickly dragged and dropped onto one of beds.

Peter closed his eyes, moaning. The bed was softer than the floor, but it still didn't do much for his throbbing head and the growing pain in his ribs. Opening his eyes, he watched Grayson move to stand in the open doorway, his gaze intent on the hallway. After a moment, he seemed satisfied. Turning, he once again focused his full attention on Peter. He curled himself into a protective fetal position as Grayson approached.

The man reached down and forced him onto his back. Leaning over him until he was only inches from Peter's face, he spoke, his words quiet and menacing, "Saved by the kids, Peter Caine, but your luck is about to run out. Just know that the time of your demise grows nearer."

He tried to melt deeper into the mattress, away from the monster looming above. He felt weak with relief as Grayson straightened, turned and walked back to the door. His fear surged once more when the acting headmaster paused, glaring back at him.

"Your two little friends seemed genuinely concerned for your welfare. Let's just hope that you are as concerned about theirs as they are about yours. Something to think about, just in case you get any ideas about running out on me." Grayson exited the room and disappeared down the corridor.

Peter rolled slowly back onto his side, the pain in his heart far outweighing the pain of his aching ribs and throbbing head. Tears slid from beneath tightly closed lids. He began to tremble. Clutching the spread between balled fists, he moaned, "What am I going to do, Father? What am I going to do!"

Kyle slid into the room he shared with his best friend, while also watching for any appearance of the headmaster. He found Peter curled up on his bed, eyes closed. He quickly perched himself next to his friend's head. Keeping his voice low, he spoke, "Pete? Peter? You awake?" Receiving only the slightest movement in response, he tried again. "Come on, you gotta wake up, buddy." Kyle jumped as the other boy's eyes suddenly snapped open with a startled cry and an arm was thrown up as if to ward off an impending blow.

"Hey, hey, it's me! It's Kyle. Take it easy, okay?"

With a deep sigh of relief, Peter dropped his arm and plopped back onto the bed. "Kyle?"

The teen reached over and switched on the small bedside lamp. Turning back to his friend, he couldn't help the sharp intake of breath. Slowly reaching out, he lightly brushed his fingertips over the darkening bruise spanning the right side of his friend's face, from cheekbone to chin.

"Shit, man! What the hell did that bastard do to you?"

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, sure you are."

A look of horror flashed across Peter's face as his eyes frantically searched the room. "Where is he? Where is Grayson?"

"Easy, easy. I just saw him in the library. I made sure the coast was clear before I came back in here."

"Well then, if you'll please move your butt off my bed, I think I would like to sit up."

Kyle stood up and took a step back from the bed. His concern grew as he watched his friend slowly push up from the mattress and carefully swing his legs over the side. Reaching out, he gently placed a steadying hand on the other teen's shoulder.

"Pete, I think you might need a doctor."

"No! I'll be fine. Just give me a minute."

"Jezus, we've gotta do something. This guy is going to kill you!"

"We are not going to do anything. You are staying out of this, remember? You promised."

Kyle kicked the side of the bed in frustration. "Well, what the hell are you gonna do?"

"Just what I said before, I'm getting out here."

"Like that? You can hardly sit, much less walk!"

"Just give me a few minutes and I'll be fine. Besides, what other choice do I have?"

"I can break into the headmaster's office and get to the phone. I'll call Blaisdell."

"No! He has already threatened to hurt Timmy and Phillip, if I try anything. If I stay here, he will use them against me. They'll be safe only if I leave. Without me, he won't have any reason to go after them. It's the only way."

Kyle sat down next to his best friend, careful not to jostle him. "When are you leaving?"

"As soon as it's good and dark, when everyone is asleep. If I don't, he'll kill me."

"Let me help you. I can keep an eye on Grayson. Let you know when the coast is clear. You gotta let me do something! Please?"

Peter exhaled, his shoulders slumping. "Okay, I guess maybe I could use a lookout, but that's all you are going to do, understand? Be a lookout. Let me know where Grayson is when I'm ready to leave. You got it? And be careful."

A smile creased Kyle Bettinger's face. "That's me, Mr. Careful."

Peter couldn't prevent himself from responding with an answering smile as he looked at the other boy's sloppy grin, even as he pressed a hand against his aching side.

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