Peter, struggling to loosen the bruising arm held tight against his neck, felt sudden recognition slice through him. Blurred vision struggled to focus. Eyes widened. Paul! It was Paul! He was here, but how? He was pointing a gun at Grayson. At that moment, Peter wanted nothing more than to be brave for the lieutenant, but he could not stop the tears as they spilled over, plopping onto the arm held firmly beneath his chin.
A split second glance at his foster son's face caused Paul's heart to tighten in his chest. Those familiar hazel eyes swam with raw, primal fear. There was a slow trickle of blood now running down the kid's neck, turning the blue windbreaker to an ugly brown. A bruise covered one side of his face. Paul knew he had to force the image from his mind and focus on the moment. His heart ached, but he had to stay in mercenary mode. Peter's life depended on the decisions he made in the next few seconds. Grayson was a large, well-muscled man. Paul didn't doubt he could quickly and easily snap Peter's neck or crush his larynx. Kermit remained poised off the man's right shoulder with his gun pointed at his head. He knew his partner's plan was to draw Grayson's attention in his direction, to get him to take his eyes off of Paul for only a second. It was all the time he would need to take Grayson out and he would never again hurt Peter or any other child.
Griffin glanced at his lieutenant and instantly knew the outcome of this confrontation. Every fiber of his being screamed his agreement. If, in the next few seconds, Paul did not kill Grayson, Peter would be dead. He steeled himself.
"Ah, the venerable Lieutenant Blaisdell, I presume. Come to save the day? Where have you tied your white steed, sir? Grayson's eyes narrowed as his arm tightened slightly across the boy's windpipe, causing him squirm and desperately pull at his arm.
"The only question left is, have you arrived in time? What do you say, Peter, my boy? Can he save you, or has our illustrious hero simply come to watch you die? Shall we test him? Speak up, boy!"
At that precise moment, Kermit Griffin made his move. One single step to his right edged him into the killer's line of vision. Paul saw the instant Grayson eyes slid from him toward Kermit and that was all the time he needed, because what the man didn't know was that Paul Blaisdell was a sharpshooter.
The lethal grin never finished forming across Grayson's face as the crack of a gunshot echoed across the forest, sending birds into the sky and animals scurrying for shelter. The bullet caught him square between the eyes. Jerking backwards, he took Peter to the ground with him.
Kermit, gun held out straight in front of him, watched Paul move quickly to where Peter lay, his head against the dead man's chest. The man's arm rested loosely, but heavily across the kid's neck. Lowering his gun, he hurried to kneel next to Peter, across from Paul.
Blaisdell reached over and quickly removed the man's arm from across his son's throat. Peter, with his eyes shut tightly, trembled uncontrollably. The child had not uttered a single word or made a sound during the entire ordeal. That worried Paul.
Gently brushing errant, sweat soaked hair off the boy's forehead, Paul took notice of his breathing, which was coming in short, quick gasps. He forced words passed the growing lump in his throat as he allowed himself the luxury of softly stroking the unmarked side of the kid's face. "Peter? Peter, open your eyes. It's okay, son. You are safe now. I'm here and nobody is going to hurt you." He watched as the boy slowly opened his eyes, his breathing edging closer to normal. Hazel eyes locked onto steel blue.
"P-Paul?"
"Shhh, it's okay. I'm right here and so is Kermit." Paul inclined his head in Kermit's direction.
Peter's eyes focused on Griffin for a split second and then quickly slid back to Paul's face.
"Come on, son, let's get you on your feet. Think you can stand?" Peter gave a nod in the affirmative. Kermit and Paul carefully lifted him off the still form of the lifeless man, supporting him between them.
"Think you can walk?" Paul asked.
"Uh huh." Peter's body trembled and his voice quivered. He would have fallen, if not for the support of the two men.
"Okay, let's walk you over to that big tree. Looks like a pretty good spot to settle ourselves." Running his arm across the kid's back, Paul drew him in close to the shelter of his own body. Slowly, they walked around to the other side of the tree's large trunk. From that vantage point, Grayson's body was no longer in view. They stopped, steadying the boy. Paul reached out to gently cup a hand beneath his foster son's trembling chin, raising it until the kid's eyes met his.
"Softly, he asked, "Where do you hurt, Peter?"
"Everywhere," came the whispered reply as tears began running down the boy's face, spilling onto Paul's hands.
"I-I'm s-sorry, P-Paul. I-I don't mean to b-be such a b-baby."
"Oh, Peter." A lump once again formed in Paul's throat. He put his arms around this boy he so desperately wanted to father and gently gathered him against his chest. "You never have to be sorry for crying, son. You have earned the right. I don't want you to ever think you are a coward for crying. He was an evil man. You had every right to be afraid of him, but he is gone now and he will never hurt you again." Paul's eyes brimmed, finally releasing one lone tear to drop gently onto the head now buried against his chest, soaking the front of his jacket. His heart ached for this child who was now his. He would have given almost anything to spare Peter the ordeal he had just been through. He almost missed the muffled words drifting up from the vicinity of his chest.
"You, you c-came after m-me."
Paul felt a great sadness as he gently caressed his son's back. "Of course, I came after you. I will always come after you, son. No matter the circumstances, Peter, I will always find you." He carefully rested his cheek on the dark head just beneath his chin and gently rocked the trembling body.
Kermit leaned against the tree, watching the interaction between Paul and Peter.
<Yep, you are one lucky kid, Peter Caine.>
He waited as long as he dared, allowing the man and the boy some time together without interruption. Finally he spoke, "We should get him to help, Paul."
Blaisdell nodded. "See to it, would you?" At the moment, he was not about to let go of his precious bundle. He looked over at Kermit who nodded and wordlessly disappeared around the tree.
Several minutes passed. Finally, Paul spoke, "Peter? Son?" Sliding his hands down the boy's arms, he attempted to take a step back. Peter instantly resisted. "It's okay, I am just going to check you over. I'm not going anywhere."
Peter's hands dropped to his sides, allowing Paul to take a single backward step. He was careful not to lose physical contact with the boy as he took stock of his injuries.
Fifteen minutes later, Kermit was on his way to guide the rescue team to their location. Blaisdell knew it would be well after dark before help arrived. He now sat on a soft bed of old pine needles, his back resting against the tree's substantial trunk. His foster son, wrapped in his jacket and Kermit's, lay cradled against his chest. A soft purring sound told him that Peter had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep. If it were up to him, he would be content to sit here for hours with his arms wrapped around this child, knowing he was safe within his own arms. But the fact was, Peter needed treatment for his injuries. Paul felt the rage surge as he recalled the brutality that had been inflicted upon his foster son by Grayson, not to mention his own guilt. He couldn't throw off the feeling that he should have known what was happening to Peter sooner. If only he had walked him into the orphanage last night, that is all it would have taken. But he had been too caught up in the excitement of signing papers and surprising the boy with the announcement of his fostering. Instead of a celebration, they had almost lost him. His logical mind was telling him not to be so unreasonable, he had no way of knowing, but damit! He wanted to know. His need, his desire to protect the boy now sleeping in his arms from being hurt by the Graysons of this world was overwhelming. Peter moaned and stirred. Paul quickly loosened his hold, realizing that in the throes of his growing anger at Grayson and at himself, he had tightened his embrace. Gently, he rested his cheek against the soft, dark hair just below his chin.
"Shhh….rest, Peter. It's okay, I am right here. You are safe. I won't let anyone hurt you. I love you, son." The child settled, snuggling against Paul's chest as darkness settled in the forest around them.
++++++++++++
A week later
"Surprise!"
Peter Caine stopped, standing framed in the doorway of the Blaisdell home, eyes widening. Decorations hung from the ceiling and adorned the walls. They seemed to him as though they flowed out of the walls themselves. Carolyn and Kelly Blaisdell appeared to be in the throes of some sort of crazy dance as they twirled, laughed and clapped their hands. Standing behind the girls, Peter spotted Kermit, Chief Strenlich, Sgt. Broderick and Captain Drummond. Next to him stood a woman he thought must be his wife. To the woman's right he saw….Trager? Peter suddenly felt overwhelmed. He wasn't sure what was expected of him. He felt Annie's soft touch on his shoulders as her quiet words, filled with love, reached his ears. "Welcome home, sweetheart. Go on in, Peter. They won't bite, I promise." He heard the smile in her voice.
"That's right, kid. We wouldn't want to disappoint your sisters. They've been planning this party for over a week." Blaisdell smiled. "Welcome home, son."
++++++++++++
Several hours later, Peter lay in bed inside his very own room on the second floor, staring up at the ceiling. Moonlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the room. He still could not quite believe that this was to be his permanent home. It seemed surreal that he had only been released from the hospital this afternoon. Surprisingly, it wasn't the two cracked ribs, the scrapes and bruises, or even the concussion that had caused his forced incarceration by the medical staff. It had been an infection and raging fever that had kept him within the confines of those sterile hospital walls. Even now he was being required to force fowl tasting medicine down his bruised throat. He sighed. Those hospital people certainly had a "thing" for needles. He felt like a pincushion. At least now he could be counted amongst the escapees. Peter decided he really, really hated hospitals and would, in the future, do everything possible to avoid them.
Two days ago, as soon as his fever had broken, Paul and Annie Blaisdell had given him the news. The papers were signed and they were now his foster parents. He would be going home with them - to stay. The lonely, angry kid from the orphanage now had a home, parents and two sisters. It was a big leap for a fourteen-year-old orphan boy from Pathways who just over a week ago had been running for his life. Paul had come to his rescue and saved his life. Tears welled, filling his eyes. He stared up at the ceiling as they spilled over, tracking down his temples into his hair.
"Well, maybe sometimes it is okay to be a crybaby," he decided as a smile began to form beneath the cleansing tears. "After all, it isn't everyday a person gets a new family.
End
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