Chapter 8
Only when his partner had left, did Peter notice how much this short visit had worn him out. While he was still speculating whether this was a side-effect of the medication or caused by the concussion itself, he drifted off to sleep.
He awoke from his nap because he felt a light touch. Someone was holding his hand. He muttered drowsily: 'Who is it?' when he heard a quiet laughter. 'Good morning, honey.' – Annie!
'Morning, Mom,' he greeted her sleepily, happy she was there. 'How are you?'
He heard her chuckle. 'Isn't that supposed to be my line?'
'Yeah, you're right', he replied, grinning. Then he continued very seriously, 'My head and eyes aren't better yet, but my fears have lessened because of your telling me off yesterday. Thanks for that, Mom.'
'Anytime, my darling.'
It felt very good to have Annie around. She had always been the only person who could make him show his best behaviour when he was sick and hated the whole world. Annie would calm and comfort him, just by being there for him. When she was with him, he couldn't be cross or sulky for a long time, she made being sick much more bearable to him.
In his current situation, Peter appreciated her presence even more than usually – not only did she understand and ease his frustration and fears, but she also could show him a few 'tricks' to tackle the problems that were caused by his being blind. With Annie's help he might be able to cope with them.
She had brought her old watch for him and taught him to open the watchcase and feel the position of the hands. It took a while, but then he got the hang of it. Having achieved this little bit of independence elated him extremely, and suddenly he remembered a similar feeling of triumph when one day, during an exercise in the Shaolin temple of his childhood, he had exactly known where his father had been although he had neither seen nor heard him approaching from behind.
* * * Flashback * * *
Caine: Understand the patterns. Feel the textures. Know the colours. You do not need to see... to know... what is there. (touches Peter)
Peter: I knew you were there.
Caine: That is good. See with your body, and you will always know where your enemy is.
Peter: You didn't make a sound.
Caine: I never do.
Peter: If I ever lost my sight, would my other senses intensify so I would be able to see with my mind?
Caine: That is how you always see.
* * * End of Flashback * * *
He told Annie about it, who simply remarked, 'Your father is a wise man. He is perfectly right.'
*
The effects of this little 'victory over the darkness', as Peter called it, lasted until lunch time when he was confronted with the task of eating a bowl of soup. His initial relief that his meal was only broth with vegetables and noodles – which meant that he wouldn't have to use a knife and fork – soon gave way to frustration. Why on earth was it so difficult to move a spoonful of noodles to his mouth without spilling most of it?
'I can't do this, I'm making a fool of myself,' he declared angrily, not even half-way through his meal.
But Annie had expected this and was prepared for it. 'Oh yes, you can and you will do this, Peter,' she ordered firmly. 'You refused to be fed by the nurse, so now you go ahead and eat yourself.'
At her stern tone, Peter winced slightly, then replied defiantly, 'I'm not hungry anymore,' only to be proven wrong by his stomach's loud rumbling.
Annie smiled faintly. 'Ah, yes, I see... Come on, don't be foolish, eat your soup now,' adding softly, 'Don't worry, nobody apart from you expects you to do things perfectly at your first attempt. It takes time to cope with losing one's sight. Give yourself that time, don't be so impatient. You expect too much of yourself.'
'But..'
'There is no 'but', Peter,' Annie interrupted resolutely. 'You just try again. And again. And again. When have you ever given up so easily? Where's that usual stubborness of yours? You can do this, remember how fast you learned to read the watch.'
Peter instinctively ducked his head, ashamed of his childish behaviour. 'You're right, Mom, I'm sorry I lost my temper,' he apologised slowly, in a low voice.
Silently, he continued to struggle with his soup until the bowl was empty.
*
Shortly afterwards, student nurse Granger came to take Peter downstairs,
for Dr Sabourin had arrived and wanted to run another series of tests.
This was the perfect opportunity for Annie to take a break and get something
to eat. So she left the room with them and took the lift to the ground
floor where she went to the cafeteria for some stew and salad.
While supping her stew, she thought of Peter and his embarrassment at spilling his soup. That was so typical of him – always seeking perfection, at the same time only too ready to believe his efforts weren't good enough, that he wasn't good enough.
The irony of it all was that Peter had actually done astonishingly well for someone who had always relied on his sight and never explicitly trained his other senses. At least since the age of twelve.
Did Peter unconsciously build on his early Shaolin training, however incomplete it had been? Or was there a kind of Shaolin heritage of which he could make use now? After all, Shaolin were said to have greatly enhanced perception and awareness, and in the line of Peter's family there had been plenty of Shaolin priests – could they have handed down that awareness to some degree?
Annie sighed. Further speculation about such things was pointless and she had better use the rest of her spare time to get some fresh air. That would do her good. After all, the morning had been wearisome enough even if Peter had dozed off occasionally, giving her the chance to get a bit of rest herself which she definitely needed after a practically sleepless night.
Determined, Annie checked her watch. Peter would be back in his room in thirty to forty minutes at the earliest; that gave her more than enough time to go to the hospital's garden and take a short walk.
* * *
Chapter 9
In the early afternoon, Robert Carruthers finally had overcome his initial shock and felt ready to face the reproaches detective Caine must surely – and rightfully – have against him. He left his daughter with a good friend and went to the County General.
302... 303... 304. There it was. He knocked gently at the door, briefly wondering whether he should enter or rather wait for an answer. A pleasant female voice replied, 'Come on in,' and he opened the door and entered the room.
A slender blond woman was standing by the window, looking outside. As she slowly turned in his direction, he noticed that she was very pretty, perhaps in her forties. She wore dark glasses, possibly as a means to conceal that her eyes were red and puffy from crying.
There was nobody else in the room, not even a bed, let alone the young man he intended to call upon. Was this really the right room? In his confusion and horror, back at the precinct, he might well have misunderstood detective Skalany.
'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't want to intrude, I seem to be in the wrong room... I was looking for detective Peter Caine,' he apologised.
The woman replied amicably: 'No, no, you're not intruding. This is Peter's room. At the moment, he's with Dr Sabourin, for a few additional tests; but he should be back any minute. Would you like to wait?' She walked toward him, extending her hand. 'I'm Annie Blaisdell, Peter is my foster son.'
His foster mother! This was worse than he had anticipated. Well, too late to back out now, and anyway, she had a right to know who was responsible for the disaster that had hit her son. Shaking her hand, he cleared his throat and introduced himself. 'My name is Robert Carruthers. It was my daughter who caused your son's accident yesterday. I... I came to thank him for saving Celia's life and to find out how he's doing. And... and to ask whether he needs anything, whether I can be of help in any way.'
She smiled at him. 'That's very thoughtful of you, Mr. Carruthers, thanks for the offer. But there is very little anyone can do for Peter right now. I guess we'll just have to wait until his sight returns. I assume you know that he is temporarily blind?'
Robert nodded. 'Yes... Yes, I know... Detective Skalany told me... I am so sorry! I don't know whether he can ever forgive me for doing this to him. It's...' He gulped, then continued in a very low voice, 'You know, this accident was my fault.'
At these words, Mrs Blaisdell frowned slightly. However, she sounded only uncomprehending, not reproachful when she asked, 'Why would that be, Mr Carruthers?'
He was saved from having to answer her question by the door being opened. An orderly pushed a bed into the room, immobilised the wheels and turned to the pale young man in the bed, whom Robert had recognised immediately. 'Here we are, Mr Caine. Can I do something else for you? Do you need another pain killer for your headache?'
His patient answered wearily, his eyes closed, 'No, thanks, I'm fine, I just need some rest, that's all. – I can sense that there's someone else in the room. Mom, is that you?'
'Who else?' Mrs Blaisdell cautiously approached the bed, moving slowly and carefully. 'And it's not only me, honey. You've got a visitor. Mr. Carruthers, the father of the girl you saved yesterday, has come to see you. I can imagine that the two of you will need some time alone, so I'm going to the coffee machine in the waiting area and get myself some of this dreadful stuff they call coffee.'
'Thanks, Mom.' Detective Caine reached out for his foster mother, touching her arm. She took his hand and pressed it gently, then bent down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Straightening up, she took a handbag from a chair beside the bed, opened it and took out something small and white.
The orderly asked, 'May I help you?' but she shook her head and said, 'No, that's not necessary if the way to the door is clear. I'm already familiar with the dimensions of this room. But thanks anyway.'
She shook the object in her hand, springing out a cane. She was blind, too! Robert gasped in surprise.
'Haven't you noticed?' Mrs Blaisdell turned in his direction, a delightful smile on her lips. 'Why, thank you for the compliment. I am very pleased to hear that.' She nodded to him and left. So did the orderly.
After a moment of awkward silence, Robert approached the bed whereupon the young detective turned his head in the direction of the steps, half-opened his eyes and said, 'Thanks for coming by, Mr Carruthers... How is your daughter? Is she ok?'
Robert nodded, then became aware that this was useless and replied, 'Yes, Celia is fine, thanks to you. I can't find the right words to express how grateful we are. We'll always be in your debt, all the more since you have only been injured because of Celia and me. It's entirely my fault you're blind, I'm so sorry for that. I had no idea...' He faltered, then simply repeated desperately, 'I'm so sorry.'
The young man looked bewildered. 'What do you mean, it's your fault? – Please, can you tell me what exactly happened? I don't remember much of the accident itself, only that your daughter... Celia... ran at my car... and then everything went dark.'
'There is not much to tell. Celia and I were going home from Church and were walking down Main Street when she suddenly saw a kindergarden friend across the street. She broke free from my hand and ran to meet her friend at the very moment you came driving up Main Street. You slowed down immediately and swerved to avoid her. It was a narrow miss, but you did it. Unfortunately, the car didn't come to a halt and crashed head-on into a street lamp.'
Peter had closed his eyes, taking in the infomation, thinking. After a while, he nodded to himself and said, 'Thank you, it's a bit clearer now. But why do you think that the accident was your fault?'
He heard Celia's father swallow hard. 'Because I had been distracted the moment before Celia ran away, and so I realised too late that she was about to run to her friend. When I finally did notice, she had already broken free and was almost on your lane... If I had just reacted a bit faster nothing would have happened,' he admitted, his tone full of bitterness and self-reproach.
Peter thought about that for a moment, then objected determinedly, 'No, that wasn't your fault. You couldn't foresee what happened. How should you have known in advance that your daughter was going to run across the street? Don't blame yourself, it was an accident. Just an accident.'
'That's very generous of you, detective, I appreciate that. But it's not true. If I had just held my daughter a little bit tighter or if I had been more attentive I could have prevented her from running away in the first place so you wouldn't have gotten hurt.'
This guy seems determined to feel responsible for the accident, sounds like he's as stubborn as I am, Peter thought, grinning inwardly. Aloud, he said as confidently as he could manage, 'It seems that we all got off lightly. I'm very glad that your daughter is fine. And I should be out of here pretty soon, too. According to the doctors, my sight will return within a few days. So, there's no reason whatsoever for you to blame yourself.'
He truly meant what he said, even though the optimism which he pretended to have about his eyes getting better was almost a downright lie.
But my doubts and fears, that's something I've got to deal with, that's not his problem. Anyway, he'd probably feel even guiltier if he knew about them.
It was to no avail. No matter what the young detective said, Celia's father wouldn't change his mind. So Peter gave up, hoping that the message would eventually sink in and penetrate the feeling of guilt in which Robert Carruthers seemed to wallow most obstinately.
To change the subject, Peter asked about Celia. Maybe talking about his daughter would cheer his visitor up. He was right. By the time Annie returned, accompanied by Kelly and Carolyn, they were both engaged in a superficially normal conversation.
* * *
Chapter 10
When Dr Sabourin came to see Peter for the last time during her shift she was so content with the improvement in his condition that she offered to let him sleep during the night – without the periodic checks by the night nurse – if Peter consented to being surveilled again by a cardiovascular monitoring unit. Sometime during the morning, the doctors had decided that they could do without this close monitoring as long as Peter was awake; however, they would possibly use it for the night (and in case his condition should deteriorate unexpectedly).
'This is just a precautionary measure. I don't think there will be problems during the night, but I want to make sure everything is ok while you sleep. And I can imagine that you prefer this device to the other option, which is being woken up every two hours. After all the visitors you've had this afternoon you must be dog-tired,' Dr Sabourin added with a clear note of amusement in her voice.
'Count on it,' Peter agreed, grinning weakly. 'I had no idea how strenuous the company of my friends could be. I think I'll sleep like a log tonight.'
'Then we just have to make sure you're not disturbed by wake-up calls.' Dr Sabourin attached several electrodes to Peter's chest, switched the monitoring unit on and left shortly afterwards, bidding him good night.
Peter had expected to fall asleep instantly, but to his great surprise he felt exhausted and wide awake at the same time. Too much had happened during this day for him to drop off immediately.
To start with, Annie had taught him several useful things which helped to reduce his feeling of helplessness. Each of them was, by itself, just a tiny step towards adjusting to the darkness surrounding him. A sighted person probably would think they were of no consequence whatsoever. But to Peter they had given great satisfaction. Especially his being able to read the watch. It was astonishing how much this little bit of autonomy had done to cheer him up. The darkness around him still was appalling, but somehow no longer as fathomless as before. It seemed to have become measurable, to some degree at least, and thus a little less intimidating. Peter had tried to explain that to Annie but had given up soon, at a loss for the right words. However, he suspected that, somehow, she had understood nevertheless.
Then, in the afternoon, many of his colleagues and friends had come to see him. It was as if the entire precinct had dropped by. At least those who were spending Chrismastime in Sloanville anyway. Peter had been glad to have them around; still, the numerous visits wore him out, and he couldn't help feeling relieved that they all had been so thoughtful to leave after a few minutes. Only Molly and Frank Strenlich had stayed a little longer, as much for Annie's sake as for Peter's. The couple held Annie in very high esteem, and when Paul had left both had been there for her in a very unobtrusive way.
However, the very thing Peter was most happy about, apart from the support of his family and Annie's help, was Mr Carruther's visit. At last, Peter knew for sure that Celia would be all right once she had overcome the shock.
It's strange. I was afraid her father would put the blame on me. After all, I almost killed his only child. Instead, he believes that he is responsible for the accident. If it weren't so serious I'd find it amusing... I'm happy that Celia will be ok. And I hope she's not too scared to come and see me soon, I'd really like to meet her.
Thinking of the little girl and her father, Peter slowly drifted off to sleep.
* * * dream sequence * * *
They were sitting in Paul's car, discussing the recent murders, debating why Peter thought the Shadow assassin had returned and why he believed that all the people he loved were in danger. Paul listened to his arguments and gave him a very Caine-like answer.
'That sounds like something my father would say.' The words were out of Peter's mouth before he realised what he had said and how much that must have hurt the man he had called 'Dad' for more than a decade.
'But not your foster father?'
'Paul – I didn't – I... No, I didn't mean...' As always, he couldn't find the right words to express how sorry he was for his thoughtlessness, but Paul interrupted him, most likely understanding him (as he always did). 'Oh, no, it's all right. Listen, just because I don't practise KungFu doesn't mean I don't understand it.'
They turned around the corner, and suddenly there he was. The Chi Ru. The shadow assassin they thought they had defeated more than a year ago. Before Peter could warn his foster father, the Chi Ru lifted his right arm to divert their course and make the car swerve off the road.
But suddenly his form changed into Bartlett Stiles, the man who had tried to frame Paul, have him convicted for a murder Stiles himself had committed. He was holding a gun, aiming at them. He was about to shoot when Peter, his initial shock now overcome, pushed Paul aside, towards the car door, while at the same time grabbing the steering-wheel, trying to spin the car so that the shot would miss them. Or at least hit Peter instead of his foster father.
* * * end of dream sequence * * *
'NO!!!' Peter was suddenly wide awake, his own scream still ringing in his ears. He sat up slowly. His heart was racing, his breathing heavy and laboured and he was trembling like a leaf. It took a few seconds until the horror of this dream ebbed away and was replaced by clear thinking and the realisation that he had had a nightmare and that it was over now. He remembered that he was in hospital, it was the middle of the night, and he was suffering from the aftermath of an accident, and the only thing moving in the room was the strange green dot on the monitor next to his bed, displaying his heartbeat. Calmer now, he sank back into the pillows, gathering his wits.
Green? ... A GREEN dot?
He sat up with a jolt, his heart racing again. He turned his head .... there it was again ... green, pulsing, much faster than before. Yes, that definitely was a green dot! He could actually SEE it! There was something beyond this frightening dark-greyish nothingness that had threatened to envelope him!!!
Quivering with excitement, Peter tried to concentrate on the green dot, but it faded in and out of focus. Suddenly, he felt an agonising pain inside his head. He collapsed on the bed, panting, hands clasped around his head. The pain was paralysing, he couldn't do anything but hope that his head wouldn't explode – he was in agony!
Remembering his father's teachings, he concentrated on his breathing, inhaling slowly, imagining the oxygen reaching every part of his body, including his throbbing head. After what seemed an eternity – although it probably was no more than a few minutes – he noticed that the pain gradually subsided, faded away. He was so exhausted that he could not even reach for the alarm button which would call the nurse, but fell asleep on the spot.
* * *
At half past five, nurse Mitchell went to make her final round before the day nurse's arrival, already looking forward to the end of her shift and going to bed herself. The moment she entered room no. 304 and turned on the dim night light, she noticed that something was wrong. The patient was lying motionless on his bed, curled up, his hands clutching at his head.
Turning on the other lights for a better view, she hurried over to the bed and checked for vital signs, finding to her great relief that the patient was not unconscious but fast asleep. He looked utterly exhausted. To get a reaction from him, she started shaking him, softly at first then more firmly, and after a while he reacted to her efforts. Muttering something incomprehensible, he opened his eyes, only to shut them again tightly, groaning. 'Aaah! That hurts! Please, turn it off! Please!'
Peter's eyes were hurting from their sudden exposure to light. The blinding brightness was searing, and all he could do was press his hands to his eyes to protect them.
He heard the nurse go back to the door. 'I've switched off all the lights but one. Now it's very dim in here. Try again. Is it better now?'
Very cautiously, Peter opened his eyes a crack. The room was in a kind of semi-darkness. Since his eyes seemed to be coping with it, he opened them fully, trying to take in his surroundings. A blurred human shape – the nurse? – was standing by the door. She seemed to be looking over and was now coming in his direction. He couldn't see her clearly, even when she had reached him; but he didn't care. All that mattered was that he could see at all! He beamed at her, speechless, delirious with joy, his eyes suddenly filled with tears. Then he looked at his hands, at the furniture, back at his hands, at every single object in the room. In his trance-like state, overcome with infinite gratefulness, he didn't even notice that the nurse left the room and went for a doctor.
Epilogue
Nearly three weeks later.
Sitting motionless on the floor after a short meditation, Peter was enjoying the peaceful atmosphere around him, listening to the subdued sounds from the kitchen where his father was brewing tea.
He couldn't help smiling. Kwai Chang Caine's herbal teas were the only thing his son could easily have done without during the previous days – he simply preferred coffee – but he would greatly miss all the other aspects of their time together.
After Peter's release from the hospital, father and son had spent a glorious week together in the old brownstone, sharing their thoughts and feelings, having long discussions about almost anything, learning about and from each other, enjoying a closeness they scarcely experienced before, not even in the Shaolin temple of Peter's childhood where moments of intimacy had been very rare because of the seemingly incessant problems the students or monks brought forward and expected Caine to solve.
Tomorrow, their leisure time together would be over. Peter would go back to work, having passed Dr. Sabourin's final examination at last; and then it would be business as usual in the 101st precinct, which normally meant stress, hectic pace, working overtime, spending too many week-ends in the office or on stake-outs in Chinatown, having too little time for family and friends.
Peter didn't mind. On the contrary – after two long weeks in the hospital he had been desperate to go back to work, growing more and more impatient every day. At first he had even been mad at Dr Sabourin for denying him the certificate of health he needed to resume work, furious that she insisted on at least another week of recuperation until the last side effects of his injury had vanished.
But in hindsight he was immensely grateful for
her persistence since she had practically presented him with a very precious
gift: quality time with his family. With Annie and his sisters, who had
come by every day. And, most of all, with his father.
Both of them knew that a week together could not compensate fifteen years
of separation, but it was a start. And it definitely was the first time
since their reunion that they could spend more than a single day together
without interference by demons, bad guys, hikers who had lost their way
or Peter's beeper calling him to an emergency.
Having his father all to himself had done Peter very good, especially now that his foster father had disappeared without a trace.
So, this week more than made up to him for the pain and fears he had suffered after his accident. This time, the saying really was true: All's well that ends well.
THE END