"Mind telling me what's going, Paul?" Kermit braced himself as they careened through the streets, siren blaring, lights flashing.

"Blaisdell's eyes never left the road, nor did the car's speed slow, but Paul's words were the epitome of control and he knew what that meant…his lieutenant had slipped into mercenary mode.

"I don't have all the details yet, but the gist of it is, Bill Trager, he's the headmaster out at Pathways, called me from Porterville. Last night some guy showed up at the orphanage to tell him that his mother was in the hospital, gravely ill. The guy seemed legit and had what looked to be the proper credentials. He said he was there to relieve Bill immediately so that he could go to his mother's bedside. He didn't give Trager any reason to doubt him. That is, until he arrived in Porterville to find his mother enjoying reasonably good health. She had no idea what was going on. Early this morning, he started making inquiries at the SS offices here in town. They told him they had no record of any David Gentry, or of anyone else being sent out to Pathways to relieve him. They were also unable to come up with any record of having received a telephone call yesterday regarding his mother's health. About that time, his mother remembers a nice young man that stopped by her house about three weeks ago looking for her son. The guy told her that he and Trager went to college together and asked if he still worked at Pathways. She remembered the man's name was Grayson. That's when he went straight to the police, explained the situation, and had them call us. He was pretty shook up.

"I take it there is more?"

"Trager told me to check the police report on Grayson filed a few months after Peter entered Pathways, but first we needed to get the hell out to the orphanage as fast as possible. He is positive that Grayson is in town and he is going after Peter. He told me this guy is violent and very dangerous."

"Did he happen to mention what happened between the kid and this Grayson guy?"

Paul finally glanced over at him and then turned back to stare at the pavement ahead, but not before Kermit saw the pain in his eyes.

Paul's anguished words filled the void between them. "He tried to kill Peter and he almost succeeded. He beat him to within an inch of his life."

"Well, if he's at the orphanage, wouldn't someone recognize him, some of the staff?."

"No. All those who worked there at the time have since left. Trager replaced him and he is the only one who would recognize the man on sight."

"Do we have a description?"

Paul's voice filled with emotion as he spoke, "Yeah, 6'5", 250 pounds, gray eyes, sandy blond hair. An outdoorsman, although I am not sure what significance that has at this point." Blaisdell slammed his hand hard against the side of the steering column. "Damit, Kermit! I didn't know. Somehow, I should have known, but I didn't." The raw anguish in those words battered his friend.

Kermit had met Peter Caine on several occasions since the Blaisdells' had taken the boy under their wing. It was not difficult to compare the kid's lanky, not yet fully developed frame against that of the description just recited by his Lieutenant. He would have been even smaller and lighter two years ago.

<Shit! You just may be a dead man, Grayson!>

++++++++++++

Pulling up in front of Pathways orphanage, they encountered four parked squad cars. Blaisdell was out of the car before the other man could unfasten his seat belt. Kermit caught up with him as he stopped briefly to speak to a uniformed officer guarding the entrance. Once inside, it was back to a trot as they headed down the hallway and around a corner, finally reaching another uniform standing next to a closed door. Panting, Kermit was grateful for the reprieve.

The officer greeted them with a nod. "Lieutenant Blaisdell, sir."

"What have you got, Connors?"

"I arrived about twenty minutes ago, sir."

Suddenly, the door to the right of the officer opened. Kermit recognized Captain James Drummond as he stepped out, closing the door behind him.

He beckoned to them. "Come on, Paul. Walk down the hall with me." Nodding at the younger man, he added, "You too, Kermit."

"Jim? Where is Peter?"

James Drummond was the Captain of the 187th precinct and this was his jurisdiction. He could be an exacting commander, but he was also a fair one. He garnered a great deal of respect from those under his command. He and Paul Blaisdell were two old war-horses who had decided within a few months of each other to start new careers in law enforcement. Both had managed to establish enviable reputations for themselves. There were a multitude of officers more than willing to work under either man. He and Paul had been friends before joining the force and, over the years, had made a concerted effort to stay in touch. It was only last week that he and his wife Sally had been to the Blaisdell home for dinner. They well knew of Paul and Annie's efforts to foster a young kid from the orphanage. He had met Peter Caine on several occasions when he had accompanied Paul to the 187th. The kid was fascinated with police work. "Where is my son?" pretty much summed up how Paul felt about this boy. A missing kid was a worst case scenario for any cop.

Paul and Kermit were left with little choice but to follow Drummond as he strolled off down the hallway, finally stopping where two halls intersected.

Turning, he faced the other two men and immediately began his run-down. "I have personally spoken with the so-called acting headmaster. A guy by the name of David Gentry. Ran a check on him. He's got a mediocre rap sheet; short and sweet, petty stuff. I leaned on him a little and he crumbled. Gentry's known Grayson for about ten years. In his own skewed way, he considers the crazy son-of-a-bitch his friend. The guy called in a favor and Gentry answered. Didn't ask questions, just showed up and did what he was told. Sounds like he was pretty much kept in the dark. Claims he knew Grayson was planning to take someone out; he just didn't realize it was a kid, until now. The plan is, he's supposed to stick around here until 3:30 or so to keep a lid on things and then meet Grayson at the Tulome trailhead parking area by 4:00.

Blaisdell opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped by Captain Drummond's raised hand.

"There's more. Officer Lyle spoke to a kid by the name of Kyle Bettinger, a friend of Peter's. Actually, he called us shortly before your call went out, Paul. He is pretty shook up, but has also been very helpful. Told us Peter left here about 12:30 this morning. He knows because he helped him escape. Said Peter was wearing blue denim pants, a red flannel shirt, blue windbreaker and blue tennies. Took nothing with him except an old book bag and a candy bar, plus a couple of snacks the Bettinger kid managed to sneak from the kitchen. He also said Peter told him Grayson threatened to kill him."

"I brought him back last night. It was a holiday, so we kept him an extra day. I dropped him off. I didn't come in." Paul's voice was reflective, his voice barely above a whisper, "How could so much have gone wrong in so short a time? If only I had walked him inside."

Drummond sighed. "Yeah, well, I guess shortly after you dropped him off, Grayson roughed up your boy pretty good. Have you read the police report filed on him two years ago, when he was headmaster here?"

Paul's voice filled with pain as he shook his head. "There wasn't time, but Trager told me over the phone that Grayson beat Peter to within an inch of his life."

"That's right. He was in the hospital for almost a month. Came close to dying. Grayson was arrested and charged. He spent a week in jail. Some bigwig by the name of Aaron Bradley made his bail."

"Tell me he went to trial, Jim."

"Wish I could, Paul. This is where the story takes a twist. There was a single witness. A very credible witness. One Miss Sarah Kainz, part-time counselor. Seems she returned unexpectedly the afternoon of the incident to retrieve a forgotten case file. The file room is just around the corner down that way." Drummond gestured back over his right shoulder. "She came in the front door and passed in front of the headmaster's office on her way to get the file. In her statement to the police, she said she had suspected bad blood between Peter and Grayson ever since her arrival, two months prior. Stated that every time she attempted to broach the subject with Peter, he would clam up. Anyway, as she passed the headmaster's door, she heard strange noises. She didn't hesitate, just opened the door and walked in on them. She found Peter in a heap at Grayson's feet. The man stood over the boy with balled fists, breathing hard, with a, and I quote, "Murderous look on his face." To make a long story short, three days after our headmaster made bail, Sarah Kainz drove her little red sports car off the loop curve up on Stone Mountain. No witnesses. Grayson claimed Peter was always accident prone and fell down the stairs that day and that he carried him into his office with the intent of calling an ambulance when Miss Kainz burst in screaming that he'd killed the kid. With the only witness dead and no other corroborating evidence, they didn't feel they had a strong enough case to go to trial. They did manage, however, to convince Grayson that they were willing to take it to trial anyway, unless he agreed to resign from Pathways and check himself into Dover Hall for a 90-day psychiatric evaluation. They also slapped him with a restraining order. He was not to go within a mile of Peter Caine or the orphanage. I had just gotten off the phone with a Polly Mulhaney out at Dover Hall when you arrived, Paul. She was there during Grayson's stay. In spite of her recommendations, he was released at the end of the 90-day evaluation. He then dropped out of sight - until now. As far as Dr. Mulhaney is concerned, the man is a certifiable psychopath.

"Wait a minute. What about Peter's statement after Grayson arrest?"

"He refused to make a statement. He was scared to death. Just closed down."

"He got to the kid, the bastard!" The green glasses hid his eyes, but every inch of Kermit's body telegraphed his growing anger.

"Yeah, I think you can take that one to the bank."

"Where did Peter go, Jim?" The words were without inflection, perfectly controlled

Kermit tensed as he recognized the tightly controlled rage those quiet words reflected.

"His plan, according to the Bettinger kid, is to go through the woods and hike up over Tulome and try to meet up with the road on the other side where the trailhead begins."

"He's an outdoorsman. Knows these hills well."

"What?" Paul's unexpected and confusing statement caught Drummond by surprise.

"It's what Trager said about Grayson when I spoke with him on the phone back at the station. I wasn't sure what he was getting at, until now."

"Well, your kid is going to try to hitch a ride to a telephone." He paused, hating what he was about to say, knowing full well what his next words would do to Paul. "He's going to call you for help."

Paul's fist suddenly connected with the wall to the Captain's left; the action coming so quickly that both men were momentarily stunned as the loud thud echoed up and down the hallways.

Each man grabbed an arm. "Easy, Paul, easy," Kermit soothed. "You can't help Peter if you start breaking bones. What about Annie? You had the Chief tell her to expect your call, remember? You need to call Annie."

"Listen to Kermit, Lieutenant. You know he is right. We will find Peter."

Paul slumped back against the wall, sanity returning. "Right….right. I have to call Annie. Oh God, what am I going to tell my wife?"

"The truth. You need each other's strength right now. Go on, you can use the phone in the counselor's office around the corner. It'll give you some privacy."

Blaisdell pushed away from the wall, his shoulders slumping with the weight of the news he was about to deliver. He slowly walked around the corner, out of sight.

The other two men waited until he disappeared.

"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."

"Oh yeah!"

I will do everything humanly possible from this end to find Peter before Grayson reaches him." The Captain of the 187th started to walk away and then stopped, turning back to meet Kermit's gaze. "Watch his back, will you? Don't let him do anything stupid, like throwing away his career?"

"Ill do what I can, but if he loses this kid, I'm not sure any of us can stop him."

Drummond held his gaze for two heartbeats and then turned to continue his journey back to the headmaster's office.

++++++++++++

Tuesday, 4:00 p.m.

Peter stumbled on a rock in the path. "Ouch!" Balancing on one foot, he raised the other and briefly rubbed at his toe through the thin canvas. The shoe was still damp from his fall into the stream earlier in the morning. His pants and shirt were now dry, thanks in part to the large rock he had draped them over after his mishap and the bright sunlight filtering down through the tall trees during his day's walk. The blue nylon jacket the Blaisdells had given him at Easter was zipped up under his chin. That, and the physical activity of hiking through the forest, was keeping him comfortably warm. It was a welcome change from his misadventures of the morning. First, he had misjudged the swiftness of the stream, along with the reliability of one of the rocks he had chosen to use as a stepping stone in his attempt to cross to the other side. He had been carried down stream for a good distance before extracting himself from the fast moving water. By the time his clothing had progressed from a state of dripping wet to only damp, he had lost precious time. Then, of course, there was the lost time hiking back up stream to where he had left the trail.

He entered a small clearing and noted how low the sun now hung in the sky. He tried to beat back the rising fear. "Please, let me find the road soon. I have to get out of here before it gets dark. I have to call Paul."

He found the sound of his own voice to be somewhat comforting. It made him feel less alone. Trying hard to ignore all the aches coursing through his body, Peter attempted to force his exhausted body to pick up the pace. He valiantly pretended his head didn't throb, his ribs did not ache, the scratches covering his body did not sting and the multitude of insect bites did not itch. Oh yes, and he was not getting blisters on his feet. A tear slipped down his cheek. He reached up and roughly swiped it away. "Damn, Caine! You are a real mess. Don't be such a baby!"

++++++++++++++

Grayson bent down, checking the trail twisting away into the trees just ahead of him. Rising, he walked several feet, taking note of the bushes growing along the trail. "You are not far ahead of me now, Boy! What you don't know about the forest is going to be your downfall. This is a dangerous place for the inexperienced." He chuckled and quickened his pace.

++++++++++++++

An unmarked beige police car pulled off the road into the Tulome Peak parking area. Three men exited the vehicle and walked about twenty yards to a sign designating the path leading off into the forest as the Tulome Peak trailhead. Two of the men wore camouflage; one sporting a bandage covered with a strip of camouflage material wrapped around his right hand. The third man, built like a tank, wore dark gray slacks, a white shirt and a light gray sports jacket; no tie.

Paul stopped and turned back toward the man following him. "Frank?"

"Sir?"

"You sure you want to do this? There could be repercussions. You can still turn and drive away, no hard feelings."

"I'm a big boy, Lieutenant. I make my own decisions. If the situation were reversed, you would be right by my side. I'm in this for the duration."

Paul placed a hand on his Chief of Detective's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "Thanks, Frank."

"We better get moving. Not much daylight left." Kermit Griffin checked his Desert Eagle and took a step closer to the trees stretching skyward before them.

"Okay, Frank. You stay with the car. We'll contact you as soon as we find Peter. It's been fifteen hours. He should be close to the road by now. This is the only trailhead around here so he has to come out at this point."

"Don't worry, Lieutenant. Anybody shows up, I'll give 'em my best run-around. You concentrate on finding that kid and getting him out of there, okay? Watch your backs. I've read the report on Grayson. He's crazy and dangerous as hell."

Nodding, Paul headed down the path to catch up with Kermit who was impatiently moving off under the canopy of trees.

"Good luck!" Strenlich added under his breath, "You'll need it."

+++++++++++++++

Peter leaned back against the large rock behind him and closed his eyes. He pushed against his bruised side with an open hand trying to ease his breathing. It hurt with each inhalation. The pain could no longer be ignored and the obstacle of his exhaustion was looming larger with every passing minute. "Where's the road? I gotta find the road." A loud cracking noise to his left caused him to jerk upright, eyes snapping open. Peering into the trees, he waited. Suddenly a deer emerged from its hiding place and bounded away from him through the trees. Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "Just a deer." Once more he reclined back against the rock. "I'm so tired. A couple more minutes shouldn't hurt anything," he whispered to himself.

It came like a lightning bolt out of nowhere, without warning. The only thing Peter Caine would ever remember regarding those few seconds between being jerked forward off the rock and the blow to the side of his head that sent him crashing down into sudden darkness, was the mind-numbing fear rocketing through his battered body.

++++++++++++

Kermit Griffin melted into his surroundings, moving on silent feet approximately fifteen yards off the Tulome trail, which was to his left. He stopped, eyes searching, ears acutely tuned to the sounds of the surrounding forest. He knew Paul was matching his movements directly across the trail from his location. Most of his mercenary skills and knowledge, he owed to the man he considered to be both his best friend and a father figure. His own father had died suddenly and unexpectedly when he was about the same age as Peter. There wasn't anyone with whom he would rather work a mission. Each of them knew how the other operated, what to expect. Kermit cleared his mind of everything but the mission: move quickly and silently, honing in on anyone appearing on the trail ahead of him. The instinctive actions allowed his mind to temporarily ignore the possibility that this mission could easily end in disaster and the ex-mercenary did not even want to contemplate the consequences of such an outcome.

Paul moved on silent feet, eyes searching the woods.

<Come on, Peter, come on, son….where are you?>

It took concerted effort to keep the sound of Annie's trembling voice from intruding on his mission. It had been one of the hardest calls he had ever had to place. Not simply because of the news he was delivering, but the fact that he had been unsure of his ability to maintain enough control to spit out the words. In the end, he had broken down and it was Annie who was left to do the comforting. Paul forced the distracting thoughts from his mind and slipped back into mercenary mode, which brought with it control, focus, renewed energy and the determination needed to reach the established goal. He would find Peter. He would not lose this boy whom he loved with every fiber of his being. He and Kermit would find his son.

++++++++++++

Gray eyes held soft hazel in an iron grip. Peter found himself lying curled up on his side under a large pine tree. Birds chattered above him as they waged their daily battle for prime territory. His eyes remained locked with those of the man sitting on a fallen tree branch, not more than ten feet away. He didn't know how long he had been unconscious, but he had enough of his wits about him to realize that he was in mortal danger. His entire world, his very life had now tunneled down to encompass this single moment. He struggled to hide the terrible, paralyzing fear, but knew he was failing miserably. Pain thrummed through his head and he could not count the number of places on his body that ached. He felt the need to move and stretch becoming overwhelming. He was cold and nauseous. There was no doubt in his mind that Grayson was here to kill him.

<Why didn't I listen to Kyle and try to call Paul from the orphanage. Oh God, I didn't think he would follow me!>

Peter's fatal error now sat staring him down.

"About time you woke up. I was beginning to lose my patience. Surprised to see me, brat? You thought you had out-smarted me, didn't you boy?" Grayson shook his head. "A very serious tactical error, Peter. Always know thine enemy and do your research well. You see, I know everything I need to know about you, Caine."

"Please…"

"Please what, Peter? Please don't end your worthless life? Sorry, no can do." A lethal, twisted smile crossed Grayson's face.

"I didn't do anything to you. Please, just let me go. I won't tell anyone."

The man simply laughed, a cold, mirthless sound. "Oh you did plenty, little man. They couldn't see your evil, but I did. The others only saw the poor little orphan boy with the innocent face who wore his cloak of self-pity like a Boy Scout's badge of honor, but you didn't fool me. I did make one mistake, though. I underestimated the depth of your evil and that little error cost me my reputation, along with all that I had worked so hard to obtain. A man's reputation is tied to his soul, Peter. You single-handedly destroyed everything I built. Without warning, Grayson suddenly sprung to his feet, covering the distance between them in a split second. Peter had no time to react. The man grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, bringing him violently to his feet.

"No, please! I didn't do anything!" His knees buckled, but the man towering over him easily jerked him back up onto his feet.

"Stand up, you little bastard," growled Grayson, "or I'll drop you where you stand!"

"POLICE! FREEZE!"

The man swung around, carrying the boy with him and found himself starring down the barrel of a pearl handled Beretta, aimed at his head. His eyes traveled upward from the rock-steady hand gripping the gun, to a pair of unblinking, steel blue eyes. The pressure of his arm around Peter's throat kept the kid's head snugly against his chest. He could tell that the brat's toes were barely making contact with the ground beneath them.

"Let him go, Grayson! Step back away from the boy and I'll consider allowing you to live."

"You heard him, asshole! Move away from the kid." Kermit stood off to the man's right, just out of his peripheral line of vision. His position would force the man to turn his head to look in his direction, requiring that he momentarily take his eyes off Blaisdell. It made the s.o.b. vulnerable. Problem was, he had the kid pressed tightly against his massive chest. Damn! They needed to move on this guy and quick.

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3   Part 4

Back to author's index      Back to Story index