"Damn!, double Damn!", he thought, "Not again."

He brushed a wayward lock of hair out of his eyes and tried to relax. It was strange - he'd had the same nightmare since he was a kid. After nearly thirty years it still scared the daylights out of him and try as he would, he'd never been able to remember much about the dream, except for the dragon. It always stood there, a silent but potent threat to his well- being. The color, the blood-red of the dragon's scales, sent shivers up his spine, even awake. As a child, the dream had brought his father to his side in an instant. Peter smiled as he remembered being scooped up by strong comforting arms and held tightly until the trembling stopped. He could almost hear Kwai Chang Caine softly crooning words of comfort. Wrapping himself in the warm envelope of a happier time, his breathing calmed. Peter relaxed as he sank back onto the mattress and drifted once again into sleep.

In Chinatown, Kwai Chang Caine was also flung abruptly into consciousness, dimly aware that something evil lurked in the darkness. He rose gracefully from his futon and strode quickly to the window. The moonless night was still and very clear. Even through the lights of the city, some stars were visible. Caine peered into the darkness for a while, attempting to determine the reason he was awake.

"Perhaps Peter?," Caine thought, remembering suddenly that the nightmares Peter had had as a child still plagued him as an adult. He also knew that the term "nightmare" was a misnomer. Peter's dreams would today be classified by psychologists as "night terrors". With the instincts of a mother protecting her cub, he reached out his thoughts gently to check on his son.

Sunlight streamed through the double windows in Peter's high-rise bedroom. The alarm sounded, pulling him back into reality. Peter rose, yawning, and moved his tall, muscular frame into the shower. As the water coursed over his body, he realized that he was still exhausted. The nightmares were once again invading his sleep and he was getting less and less rest every night. The dragon nightmare was bad enough, more because its memory always faded from his consciousness before he was ever fully awake than because of any terror it held for him. The dream he could remember, well it ... He stopped himself quickly, unwilling to think about THAT one even in the light of day. Once again meditation was not helping him. The last time this happened, he had decided to take the steps necessary to complete his Shaolin training.

Though he had refused the brands, Peter was, to all intents and purposes, Shaolin. Thinking about it, he realized belatedly that his work was also suffering. He hadn't turned in any updated paperwork in at least two weeks, and he had a nasty feeling that he had forgotten to get back to the DA on something. Of even more concern to him personally was the simple fact that he had not had trouble shaking a dream since the Eagleton visions. Those had plagued him until the maniac responsible for several deaths had been apprehended.

"Oh Great," Peter groaned inwardly, suddenly remembering that he was to meet his father and Lo Si for breakfast at Wo's cafe. Could he hide his thoughts from his Pop? Sighing quietly, he realized that the answer to that question was yes. Unfortunately, for him, thoughts were one thing, emotions were another. Shaolin training had enabled him to conceal his thoughts from his father, if necessary, but his emotions were an open book. "Hell," he thought, "I can't even hide those from Kermit."

*********************************************************

Kwai Chang Caine and The Ancient sat quietly at an outside table of their favorite café in Chinatown. The calm demeanor of both men contrasted harshly with the bustle of the street upon which they sat. Dawn was not far gone, but the street vendors had already begun setting up for their days events. Tourism was a major industry in Chinatown and the merchants knew when and where to set their traps.

An explosion of energy flung itself toward the Shamballa Masters. Caine sighed and shook his head. (Even Shaolin training had not slowed the being that was his son, but this morning Caine felt an unease that was in direct contrast to his son's cheerful greeting .)

"Morning, Pop, Lo Si. It's going to be a beautiful day." Peter planted a kiss on his father's forehead, nodded quickly to The Ancient and preceded to flop into the seat next to Caine.

"Good Morning, my son, -- You are -- disturbed?"

"Boy , Pop, you sure don't mess around do you? Never mind, don't answer that. Yes, I am, di-disturbed." Damn, Peter thought, you'd think Shaolin training would get rid of that nervous stutter. Turning to the waiter that had appeared at his elbow, Peter quickly accepted the offered cup of coffee and returned his attention to his father. "I'm having dreams again. Well, not really dreams, nightmares. Like the one I've had since I was little. You know, Pop, the one about dragons under the bed."

"Yes, I remember. This dream has plagued you for a very long time."

"Right, well, it's getting worse and I don't know why. I'm having it every night now. It's as bad as the one I had before we went to the temple for my training. And just like before, even meditation isn't helping. I feel like something is wrong and I can't figure out what." Peter stared morosely into his coffee cup and waited anxiously for his father's reply.

Caine watched his son carefully as he spoke. The tension that wrapped itself around Peter's expressive eyes told Caine more than his son's words. He glanced at Lo Si and found that he, too, was aware of the words that had been left unspoken.

"There is more..." Caine let the sentence hang, not quite a question.

"No, well not really, Uh, maybe, all right dammit, yes, there is more." Peter hated it when he lost it with his father but sometimes the priest/father was so irritating. "I'm sorry, Pop. The dragon dream is only part of it. There's another dream." Peter's voice had softened so much that Caine was almost unsure of what had been said.

"Tell me about this other dream." Caine involuntarily lowered his own voice to match his son's tone.

Peter glanced at his watch, "Can't right now, Pop, gotta get to work. I'll catch up with you sometime. Bye." Peter had risen even as he spoke and was moving quickly toward the Stealth by the end of the sentence. Reaching it, he practically threw himself through the driver's side door. Thrusting his key into the ignition, he quickly started the Stealth and shoved it into gear. Tires squealed on the pavement as he left two worried priests eyeing each other on the street.

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part - 02 ↑

The 101st precinct was, as usual, a rabid display of noise and motion. Broderick shouted commands at two patrolmen 'escorting' a pair of scantily dressed ladies to the holding cells. Mary Margaret Skalany argued loudly with Blake on the proper location of electronic listening devices on women's clothing. Jody Blakemore sat brooding at her computer screen and Kermit Griffin was occupied by pouring himself another cup of what passed for coffee in the squad room. Chief of Detectives Frank Strenlich surveyed his disheveled territory and shouted to no one in particular:

"Where the Hell is Caine?"

"Here Chief,", Peter said, suddenly appearing at the top of the stairs, "What do you need?"

"For starters, you to be here on time for once. Since I'll probably be old and gray before that happens, how about the updated files on the Murphy case - the Chou case - the Brown case, you get the picture." Frank turned abruptly away, then added over his shoulder, "And by the way, the DA is screaming for closure on the Wang file."

Peter moved quickly to his desk, looking with dismay at the mounds of untouched paperwork. He reluctantly pulled the Wang file from the stack and started to boot his PC. Running his fingers through his hair, he winced as he found a new bruise. "Odd", he thought, "that's the third bruise this week." His PC beeped at him, insisting he enter the correct password. That task accomplished, he lowered himself into his chair. Two hours later, he was putting the finishing touches to the update on the Murphy case when he felt a presence over his shoulder. Kwai Chang Caine stood quietly watching his son work, waiting patiently for a break in Peter's concentration. That having occurred, he calmly stated:

"Peter, we must talk."

"Can't right now, Pop, there's bad guys to catch. Or maybe I should say, 'file in triplicate'."

"We must."

"Pop, I...."

From across the room, Frank's voice appeared over the din, "Caine, the Captain wants to see you immediately, if it doesn't take away from your personal life."

"Right Chief, right away. Later Pop," Peter knew better than to even hint at the annoyance that paperwork always gave him when Frank was in this sort of mood. Striding quickly over to the Captain's office, he paused for a moment to look back at his father, then tapped lightly on the door.

"Come."

Peter sighed quietly and opened the door to uncharted territory.

*************************************************

Kwai Chang Caine walked slowly from the 101st precinct, once again frustrated in his attempt to communicate with his son. A feeling of unease washed over him, and he glanced quickly around. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he continued down the street, growing more concerned rather than less as the feeling of unease diminished. Across the street from the station, twin pairs of eyes watched and gloated as he left the precinct.

"The priest has left and the cop's not with him," one of the watchers spoke into a headset, "No, the Stealth is still where Detective Caine left it. The package was delivered before the priest arrived. Fine, the usual place.", removing the headset, he spoke to the other set of eyes, "We're to pack up and leave before delivery is accepted." The pair gathered their gear and quickly disappeared into the back alley behind the building.

Captain Karen Simms glanced up at the detective that had just entered her office, covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said "Sit down, Detective Caine. I'll only be a moment." She continued to take notes from the phone conversation as Peter carefully positioned himself in the chair nearest the door. Soon Simms hung up the phone without as much as a goodbye and turned her attention to the man seated not so patiently in her office. "Have you finished the paperwork on the Wang case?"

"Yes, ma'am, it's ready to go to the DA."

"I see, then perhaps you won't mind explaining why I've had to receive three complaints from the district attorney's office on this one issue alone." Simms was obviously annoyed with her number one homicide detective.

Peter winced inwardly, knowing there was little he could say in his own defense. He'd known the deadline on getting the paperwork completed and had blown it. Running over his behavior of late, he only hoped a lecture was all that Simms had in mind.

Simms was well underway in tearing strips out of Peter, when the building was rocked by an explosion. Without a word, Simms and Peter joined others from the 101st as they raced toward the door.

Sirens in the distance indicated that the fire engines were already on route. Already a crowd was gathering in the street in front of the precinct.

Simms plowed her way through the throng and started barking orders, "Broderick, start crowd control, Blake give him a hand. Was anyone hurt?" Meeting a negative reply, she continued, "Then we got lucky, what the hell happened?"

Kermit glanced at the irate Captain and said nonchalantly, "It appears that Peter's car blew up, but we'll know for sure when the bomb squad finishes."

Peter could only stare in horror at what remained of his beloved car. He'd managed somehow to keep the Stealth in one piece longer than any previous vehicle. There were three things that consoled him at the moment, one - that no innocent bystanders had been hurt, two, that he hadn't been in the car and three, Simms just might forget to continue the lecture.

"Detective Griffin," Simms turned toward Kermit, "I want the bomb squad findings sooner than possible." Glancing at Peter, she continued, "Caine, get back inside, finish updating your case files and determine as fast as you can it if one of your current cases could be the reason behind this explosion. It's possible that the bomb was left at random in your car, but I doubt it."

Peter reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the skeletal remains of the Stealth, nodded an affirmative to the Captain and started back toward the building. As he turned to go, Simms continued, "And don't get your hopes up. We WILL continue our little chat."

Wincing, Peter gave a quick, "Yes, Ma'am" and returned with renewed fervor to his paperwork.

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part - 03 ↑

The small, balding man glanced quickly around the darkened room. Seeing no one, he stopped in the center and waited with apprehension. No light filtered into the chamber from outside - the windows were covered with heavy tapestries. Adding to the oppressive feel of the room was the garish red carpet and matching walls. Studying the walls for a moment, the man was startled to realize that they appeared to pulse with a life of their own.

"Report.", the disembodied voice caused the messenger to start violently.

Lowering his eyes, and bowing his head, the little man spoke, the trepidation in his voice apparent. "My Master, delivery of the Caine package has been confirmed. The results were better than expected." He carefully looked up, unsure of his master's temper.

"NO! The conclusion was within acceptable parameters, not 'better than expected'", the speaker's voice held a rage that was barely controlled, "The building should have sustained heavy damage and loss of life would have been preferable. Peter Caine would have felt responsible because the attack was aimed at him. The guilt would have increased the intensity of his dreams. Now...", he left the thought unfinished.

Cringing, the first man hastily lowered his eyes once again. He replied, "I am sorry, Master. The servants who delivered the package, had not been told of the objective. The one responsible for delivery has been dealt with."

"And what of those servants?" The voice was calmer but not yet pacified.

"I await your command."

"No unfinished business. Terminate them."

"Yes, Master."

"Phase II - are the preparations complete?", the voice had suddenly changed from one of controlled anger to one of suppressed delight.

"Yes, Master. Shall I precede with the plan?"

A nod of affirmation sent the minion scurrying from the room, the thrill of serving such a master diminished slightly by the terror of being in his presence.

The curtain at the far end of the chamber was thrown back with the closing of the door. The woman walked to the windows and proceeded to tie back the tapestries. The man moved in behind her, his arms encircling her waist. Her breathing quickened slightly as he kissed the nape of her neck.

Panting, she pushed his hands away, and said, "There is no time for that now."

"Later, perhaps?", the man's voice was amused.

Laughing slightly, the tall woman said, "Perhaps." Moving quickly to an enormous desk, she lovingly fondled the knife resting there. Twirling it between her fingers, she continued, "Caine is a formidable adversary. You are wise to attack the father through the son. Do NOT become over-confident. The younger Caine has completed his Shaolin training. He could prove more difficult to handle than previously believed."

"If Master Dao had completed his mission the first time, these games would not be necessary. Both Caines should have died at the temple. "

The knife plunged into the wall, inches from his head. Xia's voice was tightly controlled, "You DARE to criticize my father!"

"YES! NEVER forget who is in control here, my dear. Your father had talent but his desire to kill the elder Caine in personal combat, cost him his life."

A multitude of emotions sped across Xia's face in a matter of seconds. Finally, her desire to see her father avenged, outweighed any perceived slight against the man himself. "He did not fail at everything.", she said tightlipped, "Without his aid, you would not be where you are today."

"True. Do not think, my dear, that I do not appreciate his sacrifice. The death of the woman was well-planned and brilliantly executed. Kwai Chang Caine has never once suspected his wife did not die of cancer. The destruction of the temple was another masterpiece. I am even willing to concede that it was not Dao's fault that the old man succeeded in protecting both Caines. Who would of thought old Ping Hi would be so ingenious as to separate the father and child."

Calming, Xia shortened the distance between them and carefully pulled the knife from the wall. Examining it closely she commented, "This is indeed a beautiful weapon. It is one of a pair?"

"Yes - the other is, shall we say, in use." Pulling Xia into his arms, he continued, "You, my dear, will have your revenge on the elder Caine but tell me - who is it you really wish to destroy, the father or the son?

"Both, but the son should die first.", she replied returning his embrace, "The father will suffer more that way."

Seizing her hair, he pulled her head backwards roughly. Bending to kiss her, he went on, "Oh, the line of Caine WILL end. Kwai Chang Caine will watch as his son precedes him into eternity. Detective Caine's dreams will destroy him". Laughing in maniacal mirth, Bon Bon Hi moved to take possession of the only woman who could claim to be his equal.

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part - 04 ↑

Six hours after the explosion had claimed Peter's car, the precinct was almost back to its normal chaos. There had been some touchy moments when Sandra Mason of Channel 3 News made her presence known at the station. Simms was able to prevent the pushy newscaster from finding out that the obliterated car belonged to the hot-shot cop (Channel 3's term though Simms tended to agree), Peter Caine. All hell would break loose in the media corps when that detail finally broke, but at least she'd bought the 101st some time.

Peter Caine sat motionless in front of his computer screen. He'd been reviewing current case details for hours but could find nothing that even remotely should have led to a bomb in his car. His mind drifted back to the parking lot where he'd left the Stealth. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary when he'd arrived at the precinct, but truth be known, his thoughts had not been on his surroundings when he got to work. Jack the Ripper could have been in the lot, covered in blood, and Peter would not have seen him. His thoughts continued to digress from the task at hand. Soon the din of the squadroom faded as his mind tumbled into oblivion.

"Caine, Griffin, in my office." Simms strode through the precinct toward her office. Kermit left his office to follow her, then turned when he realized Peter was still at his desk .

Peter remained motionless as Kermit's hand touched his shoulder. Concerned, Kermit said, "Peter, is anyone home in there? The Captain wants us in her office, pronto." " Damn, he thought, "the kid looks like he's in another world." Without a word, Peter stood and moved stiffly, as if in a trance, in the wrong direction. Kermit quickly grasped Peter's elbow and steered him toward the Captain's office. Kermit was successful in discreetly maneuvering Peter around a wide variety of objects that appeared to block his path until Mary Margaret planted herself in the way.

"What's going on, Kermit? Peter doesn't even look like he knows where he is much less where he's going." Skalany spoke softly in an attempt to be discreet, "I don't remember him ever looking like this, even when his father vanished the last time."

"I don't know, Skalany, but I intend to find out. Right now, we need to get into Simms' office so STAND ASIDE, please."

Reluctantly, Mary Margaret moved to let the pair pass and resolved that she would speak with Kwai Chang Caine as soon as possible.

Simms turned quickly at the sound of her door closing; her sarcastic welcome dying in her throat at the blank look on Peter's face. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Kermit replied. "You called and he didn't respond. When I went to get him, he suddenly stood up in this condition and moved away from your office. I figured I'd better get him in here and settled before he disappears into the night."

Peter suddenly groaned and begin to stir. He blinked a few times, his eyes wandering unseeingly around the office. Then he doubled over in pain and gasped for breath. Kermit steadied him as he collapsed.

"Kid what's wrong?! Are you hurt? -- Peter, tell me what you see," Kermit spoke quietly, quick to recognize that Peter was displaying the symptoms of seeing a vision.

"Dragons and towers." Peter mumbled, "Always, dragons and towers." His head shot up quickly, "Wh...what, where?" He glanced around in a daze, struggling for release from Kermit's grasp. Suddenly he relaxed, his body sinking into the nearest chair. Peter seemed to be fighting for every breath. Raising his head, he gasped, "How long?", looking questioningly at Kermit, ignoring an increasingly concerned Simms.

"About ten minutes, that I know of."

"Great, just great. Now it's happening when I'm awake." Peter spat hauling himself angrily to his feet, turning away from Kermit and the Captain's questioning stares.

"What's happening when you're awake, Detective?" Simms queried.

Peter sighed, took note of the closed door and decided he had nothing to lose, "I've been having dreams again. Up until now, they've been happening either when I was meditating or sleeping."

"Like the Eagleton case?" questioned Simms, a note of sympathy in her voice. She remembered those visions and what it had cost her number one detective.

"Not exactly," Peter replied. "Those were of real events. I was actually seeing the murders as they occurred. These have the same surreal quality but the subject matter is always dragons."

"What about the towers - you mentioned dragons and towers?", Kermit asked.

"I said something about towers?" Peter looked startled. "I-I don't remember."

Kermit's reply was cut short as Simms, all traces of sympathy gone, snapped, "Detective Caine, if I want fairy tales, I'll read the Brothers Grimm." Deciding it was time to get Caine back into reality, she added, "Right now, you both need to review the bomb squad report."

Controlling an urge to shiver, Peter turned his attention to the paperwork from the bomb squad. Kermit eyed the notes a moment or so before he allowed himself to continue his own review of Peter Caine.

Peter and Kermit walked from the station together, and were halfway to the nearly deserted parking lot before it occurred to Peter that he had no way of getting home. He also realized that he had not contacted his insurance company. Peter grimaced as he realized that his insurance rates were bound to go up this time.

"Uh, Kermit - could you give me a ride to my place?" Peter asked rather sheepishly. "I seem to have forgotten to make new travel arrangements."

"No problem, kid. The Kermitmobile awaits." Kermit hoped that Peter had not picked up on the relief he felt in not having to come up with an excuse to accompany Peter home. He'd watched Peter read the bomb squad reports and realized that the kid was lucky if he was comprehending half of what he read. Peter was obviously rattled, and that was a rare enough event that Kermit wanted to keep an eye on him.

The ride to Peter's apartment building was unusually quiet. The normally impossible to quell chatter that was an integral part of Peter Caine was missing. Under other circumstances, Kermit would have relished the quiet but now he found it unnerving. Attempting to ignore the silence, Kermit focused his thoughts on getting into Peter's apartment.

"No."

Kermit wondered for a moment if Peter was even aware that he had spoken the word out loud.

"No, Kermit, you may not come up to my apartment. I do not, repeat not, need a baby-sitter." Peter was emphatic as he turned his head towards his friend.

Kermit quickly snapped his gaping mouth shut as he deftly maneuvered the car toward the curb in front of Peter's building. For once the gods were with him - there was a parking place available.

"Kid, you may not need a baby-sitter but you sure look as if you could use a friend. Let's review the events as I see them: One - your father shows up and you don't want to talk to him. Two - you get reamed by Simms for poor work habits," Kermit held up his hand to silence the protest poised on Peter's lips. "Three - your car explodes, Four - you have a 'vision', for lack of a better word, in the squadroom. Need I say more? You need at least one drink, a good meal and good company. Now I know you've got the beer, pizza can be ordered, and I'm available for the company, unless of course you'd prefer me to find Jody or Mary Margaret."

Peter stared at Kermit for a moment before recognizing he was entirely too tired to argue. Kermit was determined to go with him, and Peter knew nothing short of physical force could keep the ex-mercenary from following through once he'd made up his mind. Fact was, Peter wasn't sure he could even stop Kermit, nor, surprisingly, was he sure he wanted to.

"Fine - what do you want on your pizza and don't say anchovies cause I'm not letting you win that argument," Peter commented as he climbed out of the car and headed for the door.

"Extra meat and cheese will do just fine. I'll let you slide on the little fishes for tonight, kid." Kermit was grinning as he followed his young friend toward the elevator.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

part - 05 ↑

Kwai Chang Caine quickly returned to the 101st upon hearing of the explosion. He was relieved to find no one injured but greatly disturbed to find his son's vehicle in flames. Assuring himself from a distance that Peter was truly fine, Caine scanned the crowd not knowing exactly what he searched for. Then it occurred to him - the aura of evil that had been so strong earlier in the day was gone. Deciding not to attempt to contact Peter again, Caine turned and walked down the street away from his son.

Caine wandered the streets of Chinatown in an effort to calm his troubled spirit. He finally arrived at his apartment in a somber mood and was met at his door by Lo Si. The elderly master handed Caine a cup of freshly brewed herb tea and quietly remarked, "The chaos of your thoughts has preceded you here, Kwai Chang Caine. The news reports tell of an explosion at the 101st? You are concerned for young Peter? "

"Your perceptions are correct, my old friend. It was Peter's car that was destroyed a few hours ago. Fortunately, no one was injured but I fear for his safety."

"You are afraid that the attack was not a random act of violence, as the media has reported. That it was meant for Peter?"

"Yes, as I was leaving the precinct before the explosion, I sensed an evil presence that dimmed as I walked down the street. I returned after the explosion to find the evil gone. All that remained was the burning hulk of Peter's car."

"Why does the absence of evil concern you? Could it not be that you simply sensed the pending explosion?"

"I do not think so, Lo Si. I had thought perhaps that I had picked up the presence of the bomber but if this was a truly random event, then I must dismiss this idea. Peter has told me that in most cases of random violence, the perpetrator stays to view his crime. Watching the car burn, I could sense no unusual thoughts in the crowd of onlookers. Also, the sense I had was calculated evil. It did not contain the confusion that so often appears in a deranged mind."

"I feel, also, that it is more than his physical safety that concerns you, my dear friend."

"Once again you are correct, Master. I cannot help but think about our meeting with Peter this morning. Is it only coincidence that Peter is obviously disturbed by dreams hours before someone places an explosive device into his car? I must discover what his dreams are about. The demons that ..." Caine's voice suddenly trailed off .

"What is wrong, my friend?"

It took a moment for Caine to compose himself, then he responded, "Peter has had another vision but I cannot see what it is that disturbs him. I only sense his confusion and fear."

"Can you tell where Peter is?"

"Yes, Master, he is still at the precinct but I believe he will not be there long. Please excuse me, Lo Si, I must go to my son."

Lo Si watched somberly as his friend walked slowly from the room.

***************************************************

The pizza and Kwai Chang Caine arrived simultaneously at Peter's door. The delivery boy was a little unnerved by the reception given to the Shaolin priest and hit the road without waiting for a tip. Kermit and Peter had gone through most of a twelve pack of beer while waiting on the pizza. Actually, Kermit had had one, Peter had consumed the rest. The beer, combined with an empty stomach and exhaustion, had gone to Peter's head much faster than usual.

"So you think I need a baby-sitter too," grumbled Peter as he moved unsteadily back toward the sofa, pizza box hanging limply from his side.

Kermit deftly pulled the carton from Peter's grip and placed it on the table. Opening it, he took a slice from the top, thought better of it (he liked his martinis' shaken, not his pizza) and proceeded to concentrate his energies on salvaging the slices.

"I did not when I arrived," replied Caine, "Now I think that might be an excellent idea. You have had too much to drink and too little food and rest in the past twenty-four hours. We must talk about..."

"Uh, Caine, I hate to break up a perfectly good lecture but the recipient is no longer with us." Kermit nodded toward the sofa, where Peter sat with his head on his chest softly snoring. "I'll be leaving now - I assume you're staying?"

Caine sighed, "Yes, I will remain here. Thank you for your assistance, Kermit. You are a true friend to Peter."

"No problem, Caine. I really like the kid, even though he is arrogant, rude, impossible to deal with and more than a little crazy, most of the time. Night."

Caine nodded to Kermit then turned his attention to his offspring. Collecting a pillow and blanket from Peter's bedroom, Caine repositioned him on the sofa. He gently stroked a wayward lock of hair back into place and leaning over, he lovingly kissed his son's forehead. Sinking into a full lotus position, Caine prepared for a long night.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

part - 06 ↑

Caine was roused from meditation by the moans coming from his son. Standing quickly, he moved toward the sofa. He reached for his son just as Peter sat bolt upright screaming, "NO".

Caine placed a steadying hand on Peter's shoulder and said, soothingly, "It is all right, Peter, it is only a dream."

Peter sat gasping, unknowing for a few minutes longer, then he sagged back onto the sofa. He lay there, shivering, eyes closed, attempting to let the terror fade. His breathing finally under control, he opened his eyes to see the concern in his father's face. Feigning a levity he did not feel, Peter said hoarsely, "Oh, Hi Pop, you still here?"

"My son, you must talk to me about this dream that haunts your sleep."

"What dream, Pop?", Peter attempted to keep his voice casual, determined to avoid the issue as long as possible.

Caine's eyebrows arched in disbelief, "Perhaps you would like me to believe it was the beer you consumed this evening that has caused you such distress?"

"Uh, well, now that you mention it, my stomach is awfully queasy. Did the pizza ever get here?"

"Yes, Kermit put it in the refrigerator for you. Peter, you are avoiding the truth."

"No, I'm not, Pop. The simple truth is that I drank too much beer on no food and my stomach has tied my system into knots. Could you fix me one of your herbal brews to settle my stomach? My head aches too, now that I think about it.", Peter rushed his words and kept his head bowed. He knew that if he looked his father in the eyes he would confess everything and he was not willing to do that, not yet.

"I will fix you something." The hurt was evident in Caine's voice. Peter winced inwardly at the sound but couldn't bring himself to confide in his father. "What would I confide?", he reasoned silently, "I only remember bits and pieces of the dream. And those make no sense. I'm an adult. I don't need my father to protect me from my dreams."

Peter quietly drank the remedy his father offered. "Thanks, Pop. That really helped. I think I'll be able to sleep now."

"You are welcome, my son, but you should still eat something."

"OK, Pop, I'll make a deal with you. I'll eat a couple of slices of pizza and you'll leave - Deal?"

Realizing that, for once, he was fighting a losing battle, Caine reluctantly agreed, remaining in the apartment only long enough to ensure that Peter was actually going to eat.

Disturbed by his son's reticence, Caine glanced upward toward Peter's rooms as he left the apartment building. Satisfied that the young man had fallen into a deep, relaxed slumber, Caine continued down the street.

********************************************************

Peter was seated at his computer terminal attempting to update his paperwork. Chief Strenlich paused as he passed the young detective's desk.

"To what do we owe this honor, Caine?"

"What honor Chief?"

"The honor of your company at this time of morning or should I point out that for the first time in recorded history, you're early." Not really expecting an answer, Strenlich continued his walk to the Captain's office.

"Funny, real funny.", Peter muttered under his breath.

"You say something, kid?"

Peter jumped at the unexpected comment, "Dammit, Kermit, give a body some warning. Heart trouble doesn't run in my family, but there's always a first time."

"Sorry, kid, mercenary instincts die hard. How'd last night go?

"Fine, after I finally got rid of both of my baby-sitters.", Peter winced at his own words, "Sorry Kermit, the sarcasm was uncalled for."

"It's OK, kid, from you, I'm used to it. Come into my parlor when you get a minute. I've got something on the explosives used in your car."

Peter leaped to his feet, then staggered as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Kermit quickly grabbed his arm to steady him. Peter winced as Kermit's arm closed on a tender spot on his arm.

"Thanks, Kermit, guess I really didn't get enough sleep last night. Let's go. I want to see what you've found."

Peter shook off Kermit's hand and move quickly toward the older man's territory. Kermit seated himself at his PC and began to access the information. Peter, never one to wait patiently, paced the length of the office. Griffin kept a wary eye on his young friend as his PC did its thing. He, therefore, was prepared when the hyperkinetic movements were replaced by a dazed, almost void expression. Peter's movements slowed, then stopped altogether. Kermit leaped to his feet and forced his young friend into a chair.

"Peter, tell me what you see.", Kermit spoke softly in an attempt to imitate Kwai Chang Caine.

"Robbery in progress, at the, the Art Museum.", Peter spoke hesitantly, as if having trouble focusing, "There's a new exhibit of ancient Chinese artifacts. There's a group of VIP's touring." Peter shook his head to clear it, "Kermit, we've got to get to the museum, if the VIP's run into the thieves, it could be bad, very bad."

To Peter's amazement, Kermit didn't argue, didn't hesitate. He pulled his Desert Eagle from the desk drawer, placed an extra round in his pocket and headed for the door saying, "Coming, or do I go alone?"

Kermit's voice mobilized a seemingly paralyzed Peter Caine who followed swiftly after him.

The two men were almost to the stairs when Strenlich's voice got their attention, "Griffin, Caine, silent alarm at ..."

"The County Museum of Art. On it, Chief." Peter's voice disappeared down the stairwell.

Strenlich stared in confusion after the two detectives, "How the hell - no, I don't want to know." Noting that the noise level in the squadroom had decreased dramatically, he continued, "What, did crime take a holiday just because the dynamic duo left the building?"

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part - 07 ↑

"I'll drive.", Peter called to Kermit as he raced after the older man.

"Drive what?", Kermit shot Peter a significant look, "you're not touching the Kermitmobile."

Peter grinned sheepishly and thought, "Damn, that was stupid, how could I forget that the Stealth doesn't exist anymore. I'm gonna miss that car." Throwing himself into the passenger side of Kermit's Corvair, he barely had time to buckle up before Griffin left the parking lot.

Three black and white units were already on the scene when the two detectives arrived to take charge. Ordering the patrol units to take the north, south and west sides of the building, Kermit and Peter moved quickly up the steps on the east. Kermit grabbed for Peter's arm as they got to the door but missed by inches. Peter moved swiftly through the door and headed unerringly for the stairwell on the left. Kermit cursed softly under his breath, "Shit! Peter, NO, go slowly, dammit Caine, haven't you got any sense? What am I saying, 'sense' and 'Peter' should never be used in the same sentence." Vowing that the kid WOULD listen to him, if he survived, Kermit followed his errant partner up the stairwell. He arrived at the top of the stairs in time to see Peter pause at a hallway. Peter glanced to the right then turned quickly towards the left only to be pulled to a halt by a strong grip on his elbow.

Holstering his gun, Kermit pulled Peter away from the hall. "Not one more step until we talk, Detective Caine.", Kermit whispered harshly, his voice tense with anger . He increased his hold on Peter's arm and roughly turned the younger detective to face him. His anger faded quickly as he noted the dazed, pained expression on his partner's face. "Peter, talk to me. What's going on?"

"I'm-m not sure. Something's wrong." Peter looked confused as he spoke, then his face changed expression and he turned, pointing back to the left, "They're down there."

Kermit assumed Peter meant the thieves and drew his Desert Eagle. Together the two men raced down the hall toward the newest Chinese exhibit. Squaring off on either side of the door, Kermit nodded to Peter. Moving as one, they burst into the room. Kermit went right, Peter left as they dove for cover behind waist high display cases.

"Police, put your hands in the air and freeze." The command issued forth simultaneously from Griffin and Caine.

The startled thieves hesitated only momentarily before throwing up their hands.

Kermit motioned Peter to take the point and warily covered him as he frisked the shell-shocked crooks for hidden weapons. Finding none, Peter cuffed the two smaller men together and deftly caught the cuffs Kermit tossed him to secure the larger man. Kermit, meanwhile, was on his cellphone telling the uniformed officers outside to 'get their butts upstairs'.

Thirty minutes later Kermit watched as the would-be thieves were led away. The trio had remained silent, except for the standard demand to call their attorney. Shaking his head in absolute disbelief Kermit said, "That was too easy. Something's very wrong with this picture."

"Right.", was the only comment Peter had.

"I mean, the collective intelligence that just left here couldn't light a 20-watt bulb let alone master-mind an art robbery. Hell, there's a rare gemstone exhibit next door and these yokels go for Chinese heirlooms. Peter, Peter are you listening to me?"

"What?, oh, sorry, Kermit, what were you saying?"

"Damn, kid, you have the worst attention span around. Peter, those guys, Peter? Shit. He's gone again."

Peter walked slowly toward one of the damaged display cases. Kermit followed closely and watched in fascination as the young detective's face paled visibly. Peter slowly reached into the case, hesitated as his hand hovered over an elaborately decorated dagger then he tentatively touched it. Kermit jumped as Peter suddenly screamed and toppled over, unconscious. Kermit lunged forward in an effort to catch his friend but was not quick enough to prevent him from hitting his head on the corner of the display case. Blood from a gaping head wound seeped through the tourniquet that Kermit hurriedly applied.

"Call 911,", he snapped at the young patrolman running into the room. The youngster never even broke stride as he turned to do as Kermit commanded.

Two hours later, Peter was still unconscious in the emergency room at County General. Kwai Chang Caine waited quietly with Lo Si in the hall. Kermit paced impatiently while Frank swore under his breath. All four men looked up expectantly as Dr. Sabourin left the examining room.

"He's still hasn't regained consciousness. I don't understand, the wound needed seven stitches but the x-rays show he doesn't have a skull fracture. He should be awake; sore but awake. His bruises will take several days to heal."

"May I see my son, Doctor?", Caine quietly asked.

"Yes but only for a few moments, I'm having him moved upstairs for observation."

"That won't be necessary," the voice in the doorway was weak but determined, "I won't be staying the night."

"Peter!"

"Kid!"

"Detective Caine, get back into bed, immediately! This is not a request!", Sabourin sputtered, equal amounts of concern and frustration at war in her voice. Concern that her patient shouldn't be able to stand yet, frustration because she knew Peter Caine would ignore whatever she said and leave the hospital regardless of his health.

"Sorry, Doc, not this time." Peter moved unsteadily away from the door frame. He shrugged off assistance from Strenlich, ignored Lo Si's concerned looks, glared inexplicably at Kermit and ducked his head to avoid his father's eyes. He moved to face the doctor and repeated himself, "not this time. I'm going home."

The doctor took a quick review of the pale features, noting the rapid breathing but based on previous tests could see no real reason to detain the man. Best to let him go home, particularly since, she reasoned, Peter Caine would not be the only Caine in his apartment and the nursing staff would breath a collective sigh of relief if the notoriously bad patient did not stay the night.

"Fine, Peter, on two conditions, one, your father stays with you and two, you must rest for twenty-four hours.", Sabourin smiled to herself as Kwai Chang Caine nodded his acquiescence then composed her face to stare down her unruly patient.

Peter, always at his worst when ill, opened his mouth to argue but Frank Strenlich interrupted, "You heard the doctor, Detective, rest for twenty-four hours, then it's back to the precinct. I'm sure there'll be plenty of paperwork left from the museum bust to complete."

Reluctantly agreeing, Peter moved slowly toward the admissions desk to sign the release paperwork. Strenlich muttered something about 'hard-headed, lucky son...' and left the emergency room. Kermit motioned to Caine that he would get the car. Lo Si grinned and slipped away unnoticed. Peter, ill, he would rather not deal with.

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part - 08 ↑

Peter almost snarled with frustration when he saw Kermit's green Corvair waiting at the curb outside the emergency room. It grated on his nerves, not to mention his ego, that he was forced, even temporarily, to depend on others for transportation. He had managed to find time to call his insurance company but with the number of work-related 'incidents' over the past year, they were taking their time approving a rental. If the paperwork didn't clear soon, Peter was determined to rent one at his own expense. A hand on his elbow caused him to jump and jerk away.

An angry, "Don't" escaped his lips before he could seal them. Caine's hand fell away from his arm and Peter sighed heavily, "Sorry, Pop, I'm a little edgy right now." Turning to Kermit he avoided his father's eyes and said deliberately, unable to keep the impatience out of his voice, " Kermit, please take me home." With that, he lowered himself into the car and buckled up.

Caine met Kermit's eyes over the top of the Kermitmobile and shrugged, silently admitting concern about his son's condition. Peter's settling himself in the front seat of the two-door Corvair, left Caine only two options, to get in on the drivers' side or not to go with Peter at all. Recognizing Peter's mood from childhood, Caine sighed and went to the driver's door. Kermit gave him a lop-sided grin, acknowledging both the younger man's bad humor and the father's stoicism in one reaction. As Caine folded himself into the back seat, Kermit raised his eyes toward the skies and privately thought, "Better his father than me."

The local anesthetic had worn off by the time they arrived at Peter's building and the headache that had begun as a small murmur had intensified to the sound and feel of a bass drum. In his hurry to remove himself from the hospital environment, Peter had, to his chagrin, neglected to ask the doctor for his prescriptions. The noise of the car door slamming behind him did nothing to improve his mood or diminish the pain in his head. Angry at the world but mostly at himself, he stalked to the double doors of the security building.

Caine skillfully extricated himself from the rear seat, then passed Kermit two pieces of paper. "Kermit, if I might impose on you for a short while longer. I must go with Peter but these need to be filled. One is an antibiotic, the other an analgesic. I will brew him tea but ..." Leaving the sentence uncompleted, Caine looked expectantly at the detective.

Laughing, Kermit took the scripts and said, "If he gets too bad just use his backup gun. It's in his bedside table. I'll be back."

"An interesting solution,", Caine said to the taillights of the car. He noted that Peter had already disappeared into the building, allowing the security doors to close behind him. Undaunted, but slightly annoyed, Caine walked to the doors. Using his 'Shaolin trick' as Peter called it, he opened them and proceeded toward Peter's apartment.

Peter's manners had improved slightly by the time Caine reached the apartment - he had left the door ajar. Entering the Shaolin priest took stock of his only child. Peter had flopped onto the sofa and now sat hunched over, head in hands, rocking slightly in an effort to diminish the pain in his head. Kwai Chang Caine shut the door and quietly climbed the steps to the small kitchen. He quickly filled the kettle with water and placed in on a burner. Opening his ever-present pouch, he removed a small quantity of herbs, placed them in a coffee filter and tied the bundle with a string. Noticing the kettle had begun to steam, he removed it from the burner and proceeded to pour the slowly boiling water over the filter of herbs. While he waited for the brew to steep, he opened the refrigerator to review the contents. Moments later, he'd put together a plate of fruit and cheese and placed it, along with the herbal tea, onto a tray.

Peter raised his head slightly as his father approached and looked rather embarrassed as he moaned, "I've done it again, haven't I?"

"Done what, my son?", Caine asked, looking slightly confused.

"Been nominated for Jerk of the Year," he spoke softly, not quite able to meet Caine's eye, "I'm sorry, Father."

"I am accustomed to it," Caine replied, "but I would prefer that you not make this a regular event." Watching his son's pain-filled movements closely, he continued, "The tea I have prepared will reduce the pain in your head but it cannot be ingested on an empty stomach. You must eat the fruit and cheese, then drink the tea."

"Thanks, Pop.", Peter ate the prepared food gratefully then downed the still warm liquid, "Hey, Pop, for one of your concoctions, this isn't half bad. Uh, would you hand me the phone please, I need to call the hospital and get them to call in my prescriptions."

"That will not be necessary, my son, I gave your prescriptions to Kermit, who has taken them to be filled. He should be here shortly."

"Still taking care of me, eh, Pop," Peter grinned, "Guess I still need help once in a while."

Caine's eyebrows arched in mock disbelief. Before he could reply, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. Motioning Peter to remain where he was, Caine opened the door.

Kermit stood at the door, "Beware of mercs bearing gifts." He handed the package to Caine and entered the apartment.

Caine read the instructions on the antibiotics, then filled a glass of water and took two of the pills to his son. Peter gratefully popped the pills and drank about half the water.

"You must go to bed now.", Caine stated firmly, "I do not believe you will be awake much longer."

"Jeez, Pop, always trying to drug me aren't you? Knowing his fathers mixtures better than he tried to pretend, he rose, kissed his father good night, nodded appreciation to Kermit and headed for the bedroom.

Caine watched Peter leave, waited until the bedroom door had closed then turned to face the other man, "Kermit, I must know. What happened in the museum?"

"Sorry, Caine, not my story to tell. I suggest you talk to Peter?". Kermit did not like brushing off the priest but found he was reluctant to speak of Peter's 'accident'.

Caine stood still, watching Kermit with what the mercenary recognized from Peter's descriptions as "that look". Sighing, Kermit relented, "OK, OK, I'll tell you what I saw."

The Shaolin priest listened closely to the chain of events, starting slightly at the mention of the dagger.

"Can you describe the knife?"

"No, sorry, Peter collapsed and my attention went to him and besides, the entire exhibit case consisted only of knives of all shapes and sizes. Since you're going to be stuck here for a while, I could get you a description of all the knives in the case if you like."

"Thank you, Kermit, I would appreciate that."

The ex-mercenary turned a worried eye toward the closed bedroom door, "What's going on Caine?"

Caine replied, with a shake of his head, "I do not know."

"But you will find out. Good night, Caine. I'll see him," nodding toward the bedroom, "day after tomorrow."

Caine accompanied Kermit to the door then returned to the living room. Sinking into a lotus position, he began the meditation exercises that cleared his mind.

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part - 09 ↑

Several hours later, Caine was pulled out of meditation by low cries coming from Peter's bedroom. Rising swiftly, he moved toward his distraught son. Opening the door, he paused a moment to allow his vision to adjust to the darkness of Peter's room. What he saw there tore at his heart. Peter lay helpless in the grip of a nightmare. He fought against his terror, tossing restlessly on the bed, but his movements were constrained by a tangle of sheets. A low moan escaped his lips as his father approached the bed. "Noooo", Peter gasped, and he moaned again, flinching in pain. Warned by a sudden increase in his son's labored breathing, Caine moved quickly forward as Peter, still in the control of the nightmare, cried out and flung himself from the bed. His feet caught in the twisted bedclothes, causing him to lose his balance and fall. A scream of pure panic erupted from his lips as his father caught him.

"NO - PLEASE!", Peter struggled to free himself from Caine's grasp but his father lowered him to the floor and held him firmly, his strong arms a brace against Peter's fear. As he roused to full consciousness, Peter responded instinctively to his father's touch, and gasping, he slowly surrendered to the embrace. He clutched the arms that supported him, desperate for their protection, aware of their fierce love. Caine felt his son tremble against his chest, and murmuring a few soft words into his ear, lovingly kissed the dark curls, prepared to hold his child as long as necessary. Too soon, as far as Caine was concerned, he felt Peter stiffen and push away.

"Thanks, again, Dad," Peter whispered, "No matter how old I get you still keep picking up the pieces."

"It is..."

"I know,", Peter interrupted, smiling weakly, "the function of a father." He ducked but not in time to avoid the mild slap of the 'lesson going in'.

"Will you tell me about THIS dream, my son?", Caine asked.

"I guess so,", Peter reluctantly replied, "At least I remember most of it."

Moving to the comfort, and the lights, of the living room, the two men settled themselves on the sofa. Peter leaned back, wincing as he leaned into bruises on his lower back.

"Peter?", Caine's voice was concerned.

"It's all right, Pop, I'm just a little sore, kinda bruised my back somehow." Hurriedly changing the subject in an effort to keep Caine's mind off of his injuries, he began to talk about his nightmare. "I don't really know how the dream begins. The only part I'm sure of is the way it always ends." Caine noticed the quickening of Peter's breath and the nervous tremor in his voice.

Placing his hand on Peter's arm, he said, "Go on, my son."

Peter covered his father's hand with his own as he took a deep breath, and continued, "There's not really a lot to tell. I'm running along a narrow path, I think. Suddenly, the path ends and I'm, I'm looking straight down into this ravine." Shuddering, his fear of heights evident in his face, Peter went on, "I lose my balance but manage to grab onto something, I'm not sure what. I go over the edge but continue to hold on somehow. My hands start to slip and I try to get a better grip but it doesn't work. I start to fall but it's in slow motion. I can see every hand-hold of the cliff going by as I fall but they're always just out of reach. Then I wake up." His large, brown eyes stood out against skin that had grown more pale as he related the dream. Hastily, Peter snapped them shut, hoping that for once his emotions weren't obvious. He would not, could not tell his father about the dream that had really awakened him.

Caine found himself adrift in a sea of his son's pain. Peter had been terrified of heights since he was a small child. Caine still berated himself for his own carelessness. Deep in meditation, he had been unaware that his small son had wandered to a balcony at the highest point in the temple. A fall over the side had been miraculously broken by a cart filled with clothing donations for the local poor. The father could still hear his child's terrified sobs as he raced to his side. That fall had resulted in a broken arm and a permanent fear, one that had paralyzed Peter on more than one occasion. Caine could well understand what an ordeal the dream he had just heard described would be.

"What about the other dream?", Caine asked.

"My dragon 'dream'?", Peter looked at his father, "No, I didn't have it tonight, yet - but there's hope. The night is young."

Peter's returning sense of humor indicated to Caine that it was time to change the subject. The falling dream, while not uncommon when Peter was a child, held only the obvious terrors for his son. The dragon dream, with it's unknown, or rather unremembered, menace, worried Caine more. Then too, there was the dream Peter had only alluded to briefly at the café. Was this nightmare a vision? From Peter's face the other day, Caine hoped not. Putting his own fears aside, he looked thoughtfully at his son.

"Tell me about the museum, Peter.", Caine's voice was soft but held all the authority of a father's command.

"I guess you want to know what happened before I collapsed."

"You guess correctly."

Peter rose and began to pace. Running his fingers through his hair, he said, "After we nabbed the bad guys, I noticed the case of knives. Since it was a Chinese antiquities exhibit, I thought it might have a knife like the one I gave you from the temple." Peter glanced at his father who nodded for him to continue. "At any rate, I walked over to the case to look. Suddenly, I felt something so evil, so obscene that I started to get dizzy. I grabbed for the case and as I did, I noticed a very ornate, black knife. It seemed ...", Peter suddenly stopped.

"Go on, my son." Caine was growing more concerned, the longer his son spoke.

"It's gonna sound really strange.", Peter took a deep breath and continued, "It looked like, I mean, the knife, well, it almost. Dammit, the damn thing reached for me. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the emergency room.", Peter wiped the sweat from his brow, "Is it hot in here?"

Caine sat eyeing Peter thoughtfully. He was now more anxious than ever to see the list that Kermit had promised to bring. He definitely did not want to discuss the knife any further tonight. There were too many unknowns. Noticing Peter was rubbing his head again, he replied, "No, Peter, it is not warm. You are injured and appear to be running a low-grade fever. I recommend that you take another antibiotic. Would you like a pain-reliever or more herb tea?"

Equally anxious to change the subject, Peter responded, "I'm really tired, Pop, I think I'll do the pill routine and try to go back to sleep. Are the pills in the kitchen?" Caine nodded an affirmative. As Peter walked towards the kitchen, he took note of the extra bedroom, "Eh, Dad, where are you sleeping?"

"I was meditating, Peter. I find it to be much more relaxing. Also, I am more alert in a meditative state than in sleep."

"Meaning, the better to keep an eye on your son.", Peter laughed, downed the pills and kissing his father on the forehead, continued, "Good night, Pop." Turning he returned to his room.

"Good night, my son,", Caine said softly , "Sweet dreams".

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part - 10 ↑

The remainder of the night was uneventful, much to Peter's, and Caine's, relief. By the time Peter arose, it was almost 10 am. Caine silently examined his son as he wandered into the kitchen. Peter, despite the nightmare, looked slightly more rested than his father had seen him lately, but he was still pale and drawn and his movements were slower than normal. Deciding to ignore the obvious, for now, Caine asked,

"What would you like for breakfast?"

"Is there any pizza in the fridge?"

"Peter ..."

"Hey, look, it's got cheese, tomatoes - at least sauce, mushrooms and other vegetables. There have got to be lots of vitamins there.". Noting the exasperated look his father wore, Peter laughed, "OK, Pop, I'll just have cereal and coffee." He added as an afterthought, "Hope the milk's fresh."

"It is. You will also have juice."

Noting that fathers never realized you weren't two years old forever, Peter nodded and poured himself a cup of coffee.

A knock on the door proved to be Kermit.

"Well, well, you're looking much better this morning kid. No blood." Kermit tossed a printout onto the table, "Here's that list of knives from the exhibit, along with their descriptions and approximate date/place of origin. I've got to get back to the precinct, but thanks, I will have a cup of coffee to go."

Peter watched Kermit in amazement as the words issued forth. "Whoa, are you sure you need more caffeine?"

"Funny, Peter, you're a real comedian. Take it easy today and I'll see you back at work tomorrow." Kermit poured the remainder of the coffee into a mug and left as quickly as he had arrived.

Staring as the door shut, Peter shook his head, then turned his attention to the papers Kermit had brought. Caine was already reviewing them, frowning slightly.

Blowing on his coffee to cool it, Peter commented, "What's wrong, Pop?"

"There is no black knife on the list."

"What, it's got to be, let me see the list. Maybe they forgot to list the colors."

Shaking his head in a negative, Caine passed the list to his son.

Peter frantically scanned the list. "It's got to be a typo, Pop, I SAW it." Leaping from his chair, he started to pace. Brushing his bangs out of his eyes, he began to mutter to himself.

Caine interrupted Peter's pacing with a calm, "Why do we not go see?"

"What?"

"Why do we not go see?"

"That's what I thought you said. This is a switch. Aren't you supposed to be making sure I rest? How does a trip to the museum fit into rest?"

"Unless I choose to physically sit on you for the remainder of the day, I can see no difference between watching you walk through the museum and watching you pace through your apartment."

Peter grinned, "Right, I'll get dressed."

Ten minutes later, Peter reappeared, dressed in his favorite denim shirt and jeans. Grabbing his keys from his desk, he headed for the door then slid to a stop.

"Dammit, I miss that car.", Reaching for the phone, he called a cab.

Twenty frustrating minutes later, the cab arrived. Peter climbed in, giving instructions as the he flung himself into the back seat. Caine suddenly hesitated, looking around as if searching for something.

"You coming, Pop?" Peter asked impatiently, flashing his father a puzzled glance.

Caine struggled for a moment to control his growing sense of unease. The feeling of evil was the same as he had felt before Peter's car exploded. Shivering slightly, he joined Peter in the cab. The driver tripped the meter and they were on their way to the museum.

As the cab pulled away from the curb, a watcher dialed a cellphone, "They've gone. Yes, both the cop and the priest. It'll be a snap. I'd say, in and out in under ten minutes.", disconnecting the phone, he turned to his companion, "We've got the go ahead."

Worry plagued both Caine and Peter as the taxi made its way to the museum. The bomb in the Stealth, increasingly intense nightmares and the bizarre knife episode played over and over in both men's thoughts like a bad tape stuck in a loop. The concerns of both needed to be discussed but neither Caine nor Peter were willing to start the dialogue. Arriving at the historic building, Peter paid the cab fare then rushed up the steps into the building. Caine followed at a more reasonable pace. Pursuing his son into the Chinese Antiquities exhibit, Caine watched, concerned as Peter moved from one display case to another, his agitation increasing by the minute.

"Pop, it's not here. I've looked in all the cases but it's not here. Maybe they moved it." Peter rushed out to find someone, anyone, who might be able to answer questions about the exhibit. Returning quickly with the curator in charge, Peter practically dragged the man to the display case filled with knives.

"It was about 13 inches long, with a curvy, black handle. It kinda looked like onyx. Even the blade was black, and wavy.", Peter's voice raced at light-speed as he motioned frantically at the knives in the case.

"I'm sorry, sir, this exhibit has never had a knife of that description in it." The little man appeared slightly nonplused either by Peter's description of the dagger or by his insistence that the dagger had been there.

"Look, I saw it yesterday. It was right here, in this case, in the middle!" Pointing, hand shaking in frustration, he continued, "The knives that were around it yesterday are still there! What have you done with the black one?!" Peter's voice had risen. Caine put his hand on his son's shoulder in an effort to calm him.

"I don't know what you thought you saw," the curator stated firmly, "but the dagger you describe was NOT and is NOT here. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." With that, the man stalked angrily out of the room.

Peter shrugged off his father's hand, glanced one last time at the knife exhibit and left the room. Caine caught up with him outside, as Peter was hailing a cab. Neither man noticed the watcher at an upstairs window.

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part - 11 ↑

The return trip from the museum to Peter's apartment was as quiet as the original trip had been filled with Peter's one-sided chatter. Never one to be quiet for long, Peter's mouth ran non-stop, often ahead of his brain, when excited, but the fact that no black knives, ornate or plain, had been found at the museum had effectively put a damper on Peter's speech patterns.

Caine felt Peter's confusion increase as they arrived back at his son's apartment.

"I just don't get it, Pop." Peter said irritably, "Was it a 'vision'? I know I saw it. I...I just don't know anymore if it was really there, in the case with the other knives, or if I I was only imagining it. Could it be that I'm going to actually find it later? Or have I already seen it somewhere before the museum? It seemed kinda familiar. Damn, now I sound really crazy. Sometimes, Pop, this Shaolin stuff is for the birds."

Opening the door, Peter froze, Caine at his side, "Someone's been here. Stay here, Pop." Drawing his revolver, Peter carefully searched his apartment. Finding no one was not unexpected. Caine, in the meantime, had ignored his son and entered the apartment.

Returning to the living room, Peter glared at Caine, "Dammit, Dad, don't you ever listen. I told you to stay in the hall."

Caine smiled at his son, "Peter you knew as well as I that the apartment was empty. Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not angry." Noticing his father's expression, he added, "All right, I am angry. Someone was in my place for some unknown reason. Nothing's missing but I've got a really bad feeling about this."

"As do I, my son. Tell me, nothing is missing but has anything been... added?"

"What? I didn't notice ... but I didn't really look."

"I will make tea. I suggest you look again."

Peter spent the next twenty minutes turning his place inside out. Caine watched and said nothing. Finally Peter stopped.

"There's nothing here. Nothing added, nothing taken."

"Peter you have not 'called this in'?"

Sheepishly, Peter replied, "Uh, no, and I'm not going to. I mean, we know someone was here but there's no forced entry, nothing was taken and I'm willing to bet that the only prints are yours, mine and any friends that have been over lately."

Caine nodded, "Drink your tea, Peter, then rest. You have been up too long." He pushed the cup into his son's hand then gathered up his herbs.

"You going somewhere, Pop?", Peter said wincing at the taste of the herbal tea, "Hey, this isn't the same stuff I had last night."

"I have patients to attend to and no, it is not the same brew. I will be back."

"Pop, I really think I'd like to be alone. I mean, I appreciate the offer but I really need to think."

"And you cannot do this with me here?"

Peter had the grace to look embarrassed. Caine moved forward and reached out to touch Peter's face. Tracing a line from Peter's forehead to his chin, Caine smiled.

"It is all right, my son. I will leave you to your thoughts."

"Thanks, Pop. I'll drop by after work tomorrow."

***********************************************

Once again, the little man was in the presence of his master. Bon Bon Hi stood in the entrance to the Chinese exhibit, Xia at his side. He strode leisurely into the room. As he reviewed the contents of the cases, he mentally took note of the fact that several of the items were excellent forgeries.

"Ah, Mr. Smithers, I see you are returning something to us.". Xia held her gloved hand out, palm up.

She could not keep her eyes off the weapon as the man carefully placed it in her hand. So intent was she on the dagger, that she missed the glance that Smithers gave the Oriental behind her. She would have been furious had she realized that Bon Bon Hi had nodded his approval for the curator to release control of the knife. Xia was not one to accept second place readily. It had not yet become clear to her that she was herself controlled by the evil man who was her lover.

"Report.", Bon Bon Hi stated succinctly.

Taking a deep breath, Smithers said, "Just as my master had said, Caine and his son came to the museum in an effort to locate this knife. Peter Caine was almost frantic when he realized the knife was not there. I was concerned that the father might get suspicious, but once again my master was correct, Caine was too concerned with his son to feel the presence of the knife in the museum."

"You doubted me?", Bon Bon Hi's voice held a dangerous note.

"N.N.Nnoo, master," stammered the museum curator, "It was just so impressive watching your visions progress."

The Oriental stared unblinkingly for a moment at the smaller man, then started to laugh, "Very well, as long as you do not doubt me, we can continue to do business."

"Yes, master.", replied the smaller man, shakily. Hoping to divert his master's attention from his mistake, he continued, "As you ordered, no one has touched the knife without gloves. The tests have shown that only Detective Caine's fingerprints are on the hilt."

"Very well, you may expect payment shortly. You may go."

The curator turned and made it half-way across the room before the dagger entered his back, between the shoulder blades. He collapsed to the floor, gasping out his last breath while Xia laughed.

"Fool!", Bon Bon Hi's tone was spiteful. Pushing the body with the toe of his shoe, he continued, "See how generous I am. Even in death, he will be allowed to serve me."

"It's a pity that the knife must stay here. It is a work of art.", Xia spoke sadly.

"Don't let it concern you, my dear, you still have it's mate." Bon Bon Hi took her arm and they quickly left the museum, unnoticed.

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part - 12 ↑

"Where the Hell is Caine?", Frank screamed over the din of the squadroom, "One of these days," he thought, "I'm just going to record that and save my vocal chords." Out loud, he continued, "Broderick, call him at home, he's supposed to be back this morning."

"I've already called him twice, Chief. The phone's busy."

"Well, TRY HIM AGAIN."

Irritated beyond words, Broderick hit redial, then shouted to be heard, "STILL BUSY.".

Strenlich didn't hesitate, "Griffin, get over to Caine's place and remove the phone from his ear, surgically if necessary."

Kermit swallowed the last of what passed for coffee at the precinct and nodded his acquiescence. As he passed the chief, however, Strenlich stopped him.

"I didn't want to shout this but with the unusual chain of events this week, his not being here today has me worried. I assume you've got your insurance."

"Oh, Yeah.", Kermit replied, lovingly stroking his Desert Eagle.

"Chief, may I speak to you a moment?", Mary Margaret was looking confused.

"What is it, Skalany? I don't have all day." Strenlich turned toward Mary Margaret as Kermit left the squadroom.

"This is really weird, Chief. One of the suspects from the art museum says that one of his partners added something to a display case in the Antiquities exhibit. He won't say who or what, but he wants a deal to tell all."

"No deal. This guy's out of his mind."

Skalany started to respond but was interrupted by her phone. Irritated, she turned her full attention to the party at the other end. Paling slightly, she turned back to the chief, "I'm not so sure, now, Chief. My suspect was just found dead in his cell - cause unknown pending an autopsy."

Strenlich stared for a moment, then said, "I want the autopsy results yesterday and talk to the other two again."

"That's the other thing, Chief, they've been released. That dirt-ball attorney Harrigan posted bail for the THREE of them. That's when the body was discovered."

"Special, go get the autopsy results."

Skalany nodded and Frank walked away muttering, "What the hell is going on?"

As he walked by the Captain's office, the door opened. Simms spoke quickly, "Frank, I need to see you."

Entering the office, Frank watched as the Captain worked on wearing a hole in her carpet. She paced for a moment longer then turned to Strenlich, "Frank, one of the curators at the art museum was just found by the morning guard, stabbed in the back. His body was in the same Chinese exhibit that was robbed yesterday. Have Caine and Kermit check it out."

"Yes, Captain, but you should know that one of the thieves was found dead in his cell and the other two were released earlier today. One other thing, Caine hasn't reported in yet. I've sent Kermit to his place."

Simms stared at the chief for a moment, then said, "Send Skalany and Blakemore - and, Frank, I want to see Caine in my office the minute he gets here."

Strenlich nodded as he left the office. Shaking his head, he thought, "Caine, you've outdone yourself this time."

**************************************************

Kermit arrived at the door to Peter's apartment a moment behind Caine.

"I thought you were staying with Peter?" he asked, confused.

"Peter, again, decided he would rather be alone.", Caine replied, "but I sense he is in now in distress. Shall we go in?"

"Oh, Yeah.", Kermit said as he made ready his Desert Eagle.

"That will not be necessary.", Caine stated calmly, "Peter is quite alone."

Kermit blinked twice, then holstered his weapon. It was no use arguing with the older Shaolin on certain issues.

Caine once again used his trick, Peter's word, to open the door and once again, Kermit wished Caine would teach him the trick. The only light in the apartment peeked through the drapes as the two men entered. Groans could be heard from the bedroom. Caine moved swiftly in that direction, followed closely by the former mercenary. Kermit picked up the bedroom phone and repositioned the handset into the cradle as Caine settled himself on the bed next to his son. Peter was drenched in sweat and his body twitched convulsively. "Odd,", thought Kermit, "He almost looks like he's falling." Caine placed a hand on Peter's head and another on his chest.

"My son, it is only a dream, you must wake up now.",

Peter jerked awake and glanced, dazed and fearful, around the room. Caine kept his voice low and smooth in an attempt to soothe his son's spirit.

"Peter, it is all right. You are safe in your room. You have had another nightmare. Talk to me, my son. Remember your breathing."

Kermit moved quietly out of the bedroom to call Strenlich. "Chief, Peter's OK, but I wouldn't count on him today. Let's just call it a another sick day.", He winced and quickly moved the phone away from his ear, "Uh, Chief, we seem to have a bad connection, I'll be back to the station in a little while." Kermit hurriedly hung the phone up, then removed the plug from the jack. Moving unnoticed into the bedroom, he disconnected that jack also. Caine glanced up and nodded as Kermit left. Kermit returned the nod, then reluctantly headed back to the station.

Peter lay quietly on the bed and attempted to calm his panic. His father's quiet voice reached through his conscience thought to work its magic. Peter's breathing slowed to a normal rhythm. He sighed, took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Hazel eyes met brown in a show of mutual love and understanding. His father waited patiently as Peter struggled to bring order to the chaos of his thoughts. Peter realized suddenly that he remembered more of the dream than he ever had. Maybe now was the time to confide in his father.

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part - 13 ↑

Caine watched his son hopefully. The father in him wanted to respond to his son's pain, to take his hurt from him, to 'kiss it and make it better'. The priest in him realized that Peter would have to make the decision to confide in him freely, that any coercion on his part would damage not only their relationship but Peter's psyche as well.

"Geez, Pop, look at the time. I've got to call the precinct."

"Kermit has already taken care of it, my son. They will not be expecting you today."

"Still baby-sitting, Dad? OK, let me shower then let's have breakfast." Caine did not miss the quiver in Peter's voice.

"My son..."

"Don't worry, Pop, I'm ready to talk about it now but Mom always told me not to discuss dreams before breakfast because they might come true. Call me superstitious but I'm NOT taking any chances with this one."

Caine met Peter's weak grin with a concerned look, then made his way to the kitchen while Peter headed to the shower.

Peter used his time in the shower to gather his thoughts. He' d remembered most of the dragon dream. With any luck, he could keep his father's thoughts occupied by the amount of detail in it. He wasn't ready to discuss the other dream that had plagued him of late. He shuddered at the thought of that dream. Drying off in front of the mirror, he noticed new bruises on his lower back.

"Where did those come from?", he asked himself. Reviewing his body carefully, he counted at least ten bruises and several small cuts he could not remember getting. The shower had left the bandage on his forehead damp. Peter removed it and was surprised to see that a couple of stitches had pulled loose and the wound was bleeding slightly. Hastily, he closed the open edges with a butterfly bandage, then covered the area again with a larger bandage. Realizing he was taking too long for a simple shower, he hurriedly dressed and went to join his father for breakfast.

An hour later found the elder Caine settled on the sofa, sipping tea, watching the younger Caine, once again, wear holes in his carpet.

"Peter, I do not mind your pacing as long as it is accompanied by words. This silence is not good for you."

"I know, Pop, I'm just trying to figure out where to begin.", Peter took a deep breath, "Well, here goes: The dragon dream starts off at the temple, I think, but it's really strange. Everything is really huge, almost like a scene out of Alice in Wonderland. I'm walking with someone at the temple, but it's not you or Ping Hai. I don't know who the person is but I think I'm a little afraid of him. He's moving down one of the halls really quickly and I'm having to run to keep up.", Peter stopped suddenly and glanced at Caine, "No, that's not right. He's dragging me along - I don't want to go. Damn, that's weird, I've never realized that before.", Peter paused as he gathered his thoughts, "At any rate, we continue past the first floor storage rooms - so we are at the temple - then we head up the stairs. I guess I'm not moving fast enough because I'm suddenly lifted off the ground and carried. Not a fireman's carry, though, he's got me stuffed under his arm.", Peter looked in confusion at his father for a moment, then continued, "I remember hitting the ground hard when we get to our destination so I guess I got dropped. Here's where it gets kinda blurry. I'm holding some object, I can't tell what, and he's saying - NO, he's chanting something. I don't like it, he's scaring me and I try to get away. That's when I see the dragon. It's so large and red, blood-red. It's between us and it's moving closer and closer. I try to scream but no sound comes out. Then I start to run. It's chasing me, getting closer and closer." Peter's voice was getting higher and higher as he related the dream.

"Peter, relax. You're awake and safe."

Peter took a deep but shaky breath, "Sorry, Pop, but the image of that red dragon really gets to me. The dream always ends before the thing grabs me. Actually, today's the first time that I've been able to remember what goes on in the middle of the dream. I've seen the first part and the dragon, but never the middle." He put his head in his hands and concentrated on breathing.

Caine sat unmoving on the sofa. Peter obviously had not really listened to himself as he related the 'dream'. Caine realized that he was very angry and worked to center himself before speaking.

"Pop?"

"Just a minute, Peter."

Peter Caine stared at Kwai Chang Caine. Peter could not remember his father delaying a conversation that had not involved herbal mixtures of some sort. Caine, in the meantime, had found his center and gathered his thoughts to speak.

"My son, I owe you an apology. I should have pursued this dream when you were a child, but I thought it only a nightmare produced by an active, intelligent mind. Now I see it was not so."

"What, it was produced by a slow, dull mind?" Peter's attempt at a joke fell short, "Sorry, Pop, you were saying?"

"Peter, do you not realize that this 'dream' is not a true dream. It is more than possible", he paused to take a breath, "that it is a memory."

"Oh, come on, Pop, a memory that involves running from a dragon?", disbelief was written on Peter's face.

Without replying, Caine rolled up a sleeve to reveal one of his Shaolin tattoos. In one graceful move, he raised his arm over Peter's head and quickly lunged it toward him. Peter gasped and, in a reflexive action born of fear, ducked. His eyes widened and he stared in horror at his father. He fought for control of his voice, "Oh, God, that's it, blood-red and ch-chasing me."

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part - 14 ↑

Peter sat motionless on his sofa, his head buried in his hands. The sight of the dragon over-head had reawakened the small frightened child buried within him. He struggled with his emotions. All control was soon lost, and when his father gently touched his arm, the tears began to fall, strangled sobs shook his body. Leaning into the comfort of his father's arms, Peter began to weep in earnest.

Tears of his own clouded Caine's vision as he held his weeping child. The realization that here was another instance in which he had failed his son had shaken the priest to the core. Peter's memories of the destruction of the temple and the nightmare existence of the orphanage haunted the father as well as the son. Caine's only consolation had been that at least Peter's early years, with the exception of the death of his mother, had been happy ones. Now, he realized, here was proof that he had failed his son miserably even as a small child. "I should have known!", he mentally reproached himself, "Peter was barely three when the dragon dreams started. I should have known he was too young to imagine such a clear image of a dragon." Hugging his weeping son tightly to his chest, Caine bowed his head in sorrow.

Peter's thoughts were more chaotic than his father's. He hated the vulnerability the tears revealed but was powerless to stop them. All he could think about was the dream - no, the memory. He couldn't even begin to count the number of times this particular memory had brought him terror in the night. Peter suddenly froze in mid-thought. He pushed himself out of his father's grasp, a look of horror suffusing his face.

"What is it, my son?", Caine studied the cherished features, concern for past events fading into fear of the present.

Peter sat unable to speak. His horrified thoughts raced through his head. Finally he weakly replied, "Father, I've been having a second dream lately. I never had it as a child or as a teenager. If the dragon dream is true... Well, what if th-this other's a not a dream, either? Oh, God, I can't... it can't be true, I won't let it be true."

"Let what be true, Peter?", Caine asked urgently, worry lines etched into his features, "What is it about this dream that frightens you so."

"M..Mother. It's Mother. I mean, well, the dream's about her, sort of.". With that, he leaped from the sofa and started to pace the floor of his living room.

Peter's confusion and anxiety were contagious. Caine suddenly found himself caught up in a tidal wave of fear. Swallowing his own fears, Caine said, "Peter, you must tell me what is troubling you so. Only if you talk about them, can the demons of the night be defeated. Held within, they only return to haunt us."

Without breaking stride, Peter said quietly, "I think someone hurt Mother."

Caine jerked in reaction to his son's comment, then said, "What do you mean, my son?"

"Just what I said, Pop, someone hurt Mother. I'm not sure how I know it, but I think the dream is real. At least that part of it."

Ignoring for the moment the last part of Peter's statement, Caine encouraged him to continue, "Go on."

Peter sighed and increased his pacing speed, "Well, Mom is big, just like the man in the dragon dream and since furniture and stuff all looks really big, I can only guess that I'm a little kid. I'm sitting on something soft, I think it's Mother's lap, yes, it must be, and there's something in my lap." Peter smiled, eyes shining with a pleasant memory, "That's it, she must be reading to me, because it's a picture book in my lap. I must be trying to turn the pages because she's holding my hands, kinda tight.", he stopped.

"Peter?"

"I'm thinking, Father, just a minute." Peter, closed his eyes while he gathered his thoughts, then continued, "Mother looks up at something, no, someone. She puts me on the floor and gets up to talk to a man. She's scared, Father, I don't think she knew him. He's got something in his hand. Oh, God, he's got a syringe. He grabs her arm, she's fighting him but he's able to hold her long enough to shove the needle into her arm. Mother's screaming, then I can't hear her. She falls to the floor. I see my hand shaking her arm. I'm crying and trying to wake her up. Then the images fade away." Peter returned to sit on the sofa and looked at his father, waiting on comment , but saw only Caine's expressionless face. It had drained of color completely.

"Pop?"

Caine shook his head to clear his thoughts and raised his hand to touch his son's beloved face. "Oh, Peter, that too is a memory, I think. I returned home one afternoon, slightly early. I remember wondering why you and Laura were not outside when I got home. The temperature was pleasant and there was no sign of rain. I heard you crying and ran upstairs to find your mother unconscious on the floor. You were shaking her and saying 'Up, Mama, Up'." He choked back a sob and continued, "It was not long afterwards that she was diagnosed with cancer. She died three months later."

"You think she was poisoned somehow?", Peter was horrified by his own conclusion but had to verbalize it to his father.

"I do not know. Cancer is not something that can be caught like a cold or transmitted like AIDS." Caine was overwhelmed by the thoughts of his wife being attacked in their home near the temple. The fact that he had known nothing about it only compounded his sorrow. So intent was he on the images of Laura unconscious on the floor, that he forgot that there was a another part to the dream. A part that the younger Caine had not related.

Peter in the meantime was lost in his own reverie. "I don't get it,", he thought, "why does the dream with Mother, always turn into the OTHER dream?" Lowering his head in frustration, his thoughts continued, "What is it that I'm not remembering?!"

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part - 15 ↑

"What have you got, Nicky?" Skalany asked the nervous young coroner.

"White male, age approximately 45, height, 5'4", weight around 190. He's been dead about 4 hours. The knife was apparently thrown with some force. It penetrated the victim's spine. Death was probably instantaneous. I'll know for sure after the autopsy is completed." Turning to the police photographer, Dr. Nicholas Elder asked, "Have you finished with the body?" Receiving an affirmative nod, Elder said, "Good, thanks. OK, fellas, the body's ours." With that, coroner and crew left the scene.

"Have you seen the knife, yet, Mary Margaret?" Jody was staring at the evidence bag.

Turning toward her partner, Mary Margaret gasped involuntarily at the sight, "Whoa, for something so deadly, it's absolutely gorgeous." Examining the list of artifacts associated with the exhibit, she continued, "That's odd. This knife isn't on the list."

"Oh, great - you're telling me that someone waltzed into the museum, in the middle of the night, carrying an ornate, antique dagger and killed the curator. Who, by the way, was thought to have gone home hours before." Jody's voice was a combination of confused and sarcastic.

"Actually, that's how the evidence reads, but I'm not holding onto any theories right now. I vote we get the knife back to the lab for a fingerprint check." With that Skalany walked toward the exit, followed by a contrite Jody.

************************************************

The bedroom was clothed in darkness but sleep was not on the minds of the pair on the bed. Moans, increasing in intensity as the night passed, were interrupted when the phone rang. One of the occupants cursed softly and reached for the receiver, "What?!", while the other switched on the light.

Returning the receiver to its cradle, Xia almost purred her satisfaction, "Everything continues on schedule. The walls of Peter's bedroom have been redecorated in the appropriate style. Our friends report that they were not seen entering nor leaving the apartment." Xia hesitated a moment, then went on, "I must admit to being confused. Will not the artwork in his bedroom reveal too much to the Shaolin and his son? I thought we were going to terrorize the boy a little longer."

Bon Bon Hi smiled tolerantly at the young woman. "Ah my dear Xia. Not everything is as it seems." Noting the confusion still etched in her beautiful face, he continued, "The images that have been planted are sacred to the Dark Warrior. They have been carefully concealed. Oh, I confess, as a Shamballa Master, Caine possesses the knowledge to make the symbols visible. The evil WILL be felt by Master Caine, but he will think it only a continuation of the evil he has already sensed around his son. Peter Caine's dreams are intensifying as planned. The seeds planted so long ago are coming to fruition."

Xia's delight was unmistakable.

"Something amuses you, my dear?"

"Oh, Yes, it is just such a pleasure to see Kwai Chang Caine squirm. He worries about Peter's mental state, what with the lack of sleep and the devastating dreams. Add to those, the realization that his dear, departed wife was attacked and possibly murdered. Oh, that is just too, too much. Poor, poor Daddy Caine."

"A pity that Peter cannot be of much more use to me. He is a such a strong-willed, talented individual. DAMN old Ping Hi! Dao was supposed to have brought the boy to ME. Twelve was not yet too old to be turned to the service of the Dark Warrior. He should have become my right hand and been instrumental in bringing the Dark Warrior into this realm. I had even contemplated a marriage between My daughter and the youngest Caine. His abilities would have served me well. My vengeance on the Line of Caine would have been absolute. But Ping Hi unwittingly hindered my plan. HIS only thought was to protect the child from Dao. In doing so, he only delayed Peter Caine's destiny." His voice rose with barely controlled fury.

Attempting to calm himself, Bon Bon Hi rose from the bed and moved toward the desk. Searching through the papers there, he finally found what he was looking for.

"I think it's time that this was delivered to Kwai Chang Caine. It's time that he began to know the truth."

Grinning wickedly, Xia moved to his side, "Who's truth? Yours or the Dark Warriors'." Taking the papers from his hand, she gleefully reviewed some of them: a marriage license for Kwai Change Caine and Laura Katherine Carter, a birth certificate for Peter Matthew Caine, a faded obituary notice for Laura Carter Caine.

A scowl suddenly marred Xia's features. "Little Boy Caine could be arrested for the murder of the curator, couldn't he?" Xia's mirth died slightly with the question.

"Perhaps. Captain Simms will protect him as long as possible but she will have to call Internal Affairs in within twenty-four hours. It is likely that she'll gain him an extension but the boy will appear to be a suspect. Peter's having been one of the arresting officers in the attempted robbery at the museum combined with the murder should be enough to throw a cloud over the good name of Caine. At the very least, Sandra Mason will enjoy the story." Rage built in Bon Bon Hi's voice once again, "The Line of Caine has always been an irritant. Because of their interference, the Dark Warrior was hindered from entering this realm. How ironic that Peter Caine will, at long last, be the instrument for releasing him from his shadowy existence. The blood of the last Caine will open the gateway for him. By the time Peter's father realizes the pattern to the game, his only child will be trapped in a battle from which he cannot escape. One which he cannot win and from which Caine will be powerless to save him."

Smiling Xia continued to place items in the envelope. She lovingly caressing the last certificate, newer and crisper than the others, before adding it to the package. Folding the flap down, she then used Bon Bon Hi's ring to mark the wax sealing the envelope shut.

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part - 16 ↑

Kermit slid into the squadroom, heading straight for the protection of his office.

"DETECTIVE GRIFFIN!", Frank's shout temporarily quieted the noise in the precinct. "Captain's office, NOW!"

Mary Margaret was just leaving the Captain's office, as Kermit entered. Skalany shot Kermit a troubled look as he and Frank passed her going through the door. Simms was scowling as she reviewed some paperwork on her desk. She looked up in surprise as the men entered.

Controlling both her surprise and annoyance, Simms said, "Where's Caine?"

Frank scowled at Kermit for a moment before replying, "HE", Frank nodded toward the ex-mercenary, "left Caine at home. Something about him needing another 'sick' day."

Simms took a deep breath, then said, "Call Caine and get him in here."

"Uh, Captain, his phone's not working right now." Kermit fervently hoped no one would ask how that happened.

"OK, Detective, let me run this by you." Simms voice was tightly controlled. "The thieves from the museum have been released, except, that is, for the one found dead in his cell." Kermit's head snapped up in surprise. Simms continued, "That's not all, the curator of the exhibit was found knifed to death this morning, in the exhibit room. Skalany just dropped off the lab results on the knife and the only prints on it belong to Peter Caine. Now, I don't care if Caine's on his death bed about to draw in his last breath. GET HIM IN HERE." Her voice softened and she continued, "preferably before anyone outside the precinct knows."

"Captain, you don't think...", Kermit voice reflected his shock.

"No, 'I' don't. According to the preliminary findings, the knife was thrown at the victim. The pattern of prints on the hilt are inconsistent with the way a knife is held to be thrown, but the prints ARE there. Add that to the fact that both Peter and his father visited the museum yesterday, where Peter had words with the victim and yes, I'd like to have a reasonable explanation for the prints BEFORE I have to call Internal Affairs. I can hold off contacting them for twenty-four hours but past that ...",

Kermit grimaced, remembering the last time IA had been involved with the 101st. Not a pretty picture. He rose swiftly and abruptly left the squadroom, ignoring the questioning stares of his friends and colleagues.

************************************************

Peter snapped out of his disconsolate thoughts long enough to realize someone was knocking on his front door. Glancing at his father, he realized suddenly that the elder Caine had also not heard the increasingly insistent knocks.

"Dammit, kid, I know you're in there. Open the door". Kermit finally punched the wood hard with his fist.

"Sorry, Kermit," Peter said as he swung the door open, "We didn't hear you."

"We, as in you and Caine, we? That's a first." Kermit pushed past Peter to enter the living area. Noting Peter's pale face, he added, "Just what have you two been doing?"

"Just going over old memories. What's up Kermit?" Peter knew he sounded short but he was impatient to talk to his father, alone.

"Oh, just a little matter of a bungled art theft and two deaths related to it in the past twenty-four hours." Kermit stifled a smile at the stunned expression on Peter Caine's face.

"W..What deaths?" Peter asked, distracted by his father's sudden appearance at his side.

Kermit nodded an acknowledgment to the elder Caine and turned to answer Peter, "One of the thieves was found dead in his cell, autopsy results pending. Then there was the museum curator, found dead with a knife in his back in the exhibit."

"WHAT!"

"Now that I have your attention, let me add that YOUR prints are on the hilt of said murder weapon. Oh, and the Captain would like to see you, immediately."

"My prints?" Peter replied weakly.

"Oh Yeah!" Kermit hated to pretend nonchalance but the kid needed to be jolted back into reality fast. If IA should request an interview, Peter Caine had to be in top form, otherwise he would be in real trouble. These visions, dreams, whatever, were wearing Peter down. Kermit sized up his friend's appearance and realized that the young man had probably not slept uninterrupted by dreams in days, possibly weeks.

Peter disappeared into his bedroom, slipping out of his wrinkled t-shirt as he went and returned quickly, working his arms into a fresh shirt as he came back into the living room. Kermit gasped as he caught a glimpse of Peter's back and sides. There were more injuries now than had been present at the hospital. "Damn, Peter", he thought, "What have you been doing?"

Shoving his shirt into his jeans and grabbing his leather jacket, Peter headed for the front door, Kermit on his heels, "Pop, I gotta go. We'll talk later?"

Kwai Chang Caine watched helplessly as the pair left the apartment, belatedly recognizing what Kermit had seen minutes before. Peter's torso was badly bruised.

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part - 17 ↑

Kwai Chang Caine followed Peter and Kermit out of the apartment, his thoughts swirling in confusion. "Why have I not noticed Peter's injuries before? What is happening to my son?"

Kermit's Corvair was nowhere to be seen by the time Caine reached the street. He slowly began his walk toward his home in Chinatown. Perhaps Lo Si would have some insight into this mystery. Assuring himself that this was the correct course of action, Caine changed course for his old friend's home.

Lo Si was seated in his living area, pouring tea, as Caine arrived. Handing the distraught priest a cup while raising his own to his lips, he said, "Drink, Kwai Chang Caine. This brew will settle your thoughts."

Caine sipped the tea for a few moments, then said, "Thank you, my dear friend. This is the first real moment of peace that I have had in several days."

Lo Si replied, "It is my pleasure to be of assistance to you but you would do well to tell me what troubles you."

Caine hesitated only a moment, then proceeded to spill his guts, as Peter would say, to his friend. Starting with Peter's appearance at the café a few days past, the story unfolded uninterrupted while Caine related the chain of events leading up to his arrival at Lo Si's quarters.

Lo Si remained silent, becoming more grim as his friend continued to speak. When Caine relayed his discovery of bruises on Peter's back the old man started in surprise.

"What is wrong, Master?" Caine asked concerned.

"I fear, my old friend, if my suspicions are correct, then Peter is in more danger than you earlier thought." Lo Si sighed deeply then continued, "I do not recognize the description of the knife... The bruises and the nightmares concern me more. You can think of nothing physically that would have caused the bruising Peter has received?"

"No, Master and I do not believe that Peter knows himself how he comes to have them."

"This is important, Kwai Chang Caine - have you noticed any bleeding that cannot be explained?"

"No, but I have only glimpsed the bruises. I have not had the opportunity to examine my son."

"You should do so soon, my friend, where is young Peter now?"

"He has returned to the precinct with Kermit."

"Then he should be in no immediate danger. I suggest you return to your home and rest. You are exhausted, Kwai Chang Caine. Peter's demons are also taking a heavy toll on you."

Confused and uncertain, Caine asked, "Should I not go to Peter now and look for bleeding?

"No, my friend, you must rest. You are too tired to be of use to your son right now. If I am correct, Peter is not in danger at the precinct and it would be better if he does not realize you are 'checking him out'. Now go home, Kwai Chang Caine."

"And if you are not correct, Master?"

"Can you ever recall such a time?" Lo Si smiled at the worried father, "Go home, my friend. I shall make such preparations as can be made, then I will come to you. Together we will confront the evil that haunts your son."

Bowing in respect and gratitude to the older Shaolin, Caine smiled weakly and walked from Lo Si's apartment.

The walk to his home seemed to take much longer than usual. Caine realized that Lo Si was correct in at least one thing - he was exhausted. Slowly climbing the stairs, he went straight to his sleeping platform, for once ignoring the ritual lighting of the candles on the small altar in his room. The package on the altar would remain unopened for a while longer.

************************************************

Peter felt a wave of fear pass over him as Kermit pulled the Corvair into the parking lot at the precinct. The debris from the explosion had been quickly removed but the evidence of the blast was still present in the form of a small crater where the Stealth had stood. "God," he thought, "how long ago was that? I can't remember. Everything, even my hair, seems to hurt and I'm so tired." Stifling a yawn, he followed Kermit into the building.

Griffin headed straight for Simms' office, Peter in tow. Strenlich noted their arrival and changed course to meet them there. He did not want to miss any part of this.

Kermit paused to knock on the Captain's door. Peter, too tired to really care where he was, slammed into Kermit's back.

"Careful, Peter!" Kermit said as Simms barked an invitation to enter.

"Sorry, Kermit." Peter apologized wearily, as the two men entered the office, closely followed by Frank.

"Take a seat. No, Detective Caine, not the one by the door. Detective Griffin, you may go." Frank propped himself against the far wall and waited patiently. Kermit glanced concerned at Peter but noting the look on Simms face he decided to leave. As the door closed behind him, she went on, "It was my understanding that you were to rest yesterday - doctor's orders AND the Chief's."

"This is not starting off very well," Peter thought to himself, but all he replied, for once, was "Yes, Ma'am".

"I assume Detective Griffin has filled you in on the events of the past twenty-four hours?" Noting Peter's faint nod, she continued, "Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell the Chief and me your version?"

The next two hours were torture for Peter and Kermit. Peter inside the Captain's office repeating his story in every excruciating detail. Kermit outside the office, wondering how long he should leave his friend to the pair inside before planning a rescue.

"I wouldn't", Mary Margaret commented as she caught Kermit looking at the door for the umpteenth time.

"Wouldn't what?" he snarled.

Ignoring Kermit's tone, she continued, "Internal Affairs has already called. The Captain's put them off for another day but she is not happy."

"Ouch, thanks Skalany."

"No problem."

The door finally opened and Peter emerged looking unusually subdued. Catching Kermit's eye, he nodded toward the door. Kermit winked and headed for the parking lot.

"And?", he asked as Peter climbed back into the car.

"I'm officially suspended, pending a complete check-up, physical and mental." Peter sighed morosely, face drawn with fatigue.

"What! Peter, I mean sure, you're tired and the week has been filled with a lot'a weird shit, but..."

"Leave it alone, Kermit. What with my pre-explosion screw-ups, the black-out / vision in her office the other day, my passing out at the museum, the run-in I had with the now-dead curator, and my prints on the knife, she let me know in no uncertain terms that she didn't have a choice." Peter's voice was bitter, "and I'm too damned tired right now to fight her. Resigning won't really help either, since I'm technically a suspect in a murder investigation."

"But, kid.."

"Kermit, don't go there, please. Just take me home, please. I..I can't even seem to think straight anymore. Everything that's happened this week has become one big blur. I'm not even sure what's real and what's a nightmare right now. For all I know, this is another bad dream. I promise, once I've rested, I'll go see Pop. Maybe he can figure out what's happening to me."

Hiding his concern for his young friend behind his glasses, Kermit could only reply, "Oh, yeah".

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part - 18 ↑

Peter shakily opened the door to his apartment. He had admitted he was tired to Kermit but had managed to conceal the true extent of his exhaustion. Convincing his friend that he would truly be all right alone had been a formidable task. He was on the verge of losing that war of wills, again, when Kermit was called back to the station. Peter had managed to escape the car without agreeing to let Kermit come by later.

The events of the week plagued him as he shuffled wearily to his apartment. The explosion of his car seemed a far away, and somehow unimportant, memory. The knife, seen first in the museum and then in the evidence bag, was what worried, and frightened him now. It seemed somehow familiar, and the dead curator - Peter had no recollection of the night the man died, his father's herbal brew had worked too well. What if ... NO, he wouldn't even start thinking that. Shaking his head in a vain effort to clear his thoughts, he wearily pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked his door.

Too tired to eat, Peter stumbled to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing as he went. Confusion eclipsed his thinking as he entered the room. Aware enough to realize the bedroom still 'felt' wrong, he looked, bleary-eyed around for a reason. Seeing nothing to explain his feeling of unease, he gave way to exhaustion. Collapsing onto the bed, he succumbed to a deep but unnatural slumber.

**************************************************

It began as such a pleasant dream, sitting snuggled onto his mother's lap, listening to her read to him. Peter felt the warmth of her body and the tenderness of her arms as she held him. "No", he heard himself wail as his mother's hands trapped his in her own in an effort to retain control over the book. Suddenly he felt himself being lifted and lowered gently to the floor. Looking up from that viewpoint, the two adults towered over him, heads disappearing into the ceiling. Laura Caine sounded frightened and angry. She started to reach for him when the stranger seized her arm. Something long and shiny was stabbed into her arm by the stranger. Screaming, she collapsed. As Peter crawled toward his stricken mother, the scene flickered and reappeared as, as hell.

The heat was unbearable. Peter recognized the warmth from his previous journeys to this place. He closed his eyes in despair. There was no way to go but up - up the narrow path in front of him. Reluctantly opening his eyes, he moved forward. With each step, the trail behind him dissolved into a cloud of ash. Higher and higher, he climbed. The further he went, the hotter and drier it became. His eyes and throat burned. His breathing became more labored. His legs felt like lead. He fought desperately to keep his eyes focused on the winding trail, fearing the depths that reached for him to the left. Peter began to tremble as he rounded a bend, knowing the first obstacle awaited him there but also realizing there was nowhere else to go.

He moved slowly, deliberately. As expected the rocks rained down, larger this time than in the past. Peter flattened his body as much as possible against the side of the mountain but to no avail. Shielding his head with his arms, he gasped in pain as his back and upper arms were pelted by falling debris. Bruises forming on top of bruises brought tears to his eyes. Wounds, from previous excursions into this reality, reopened, sending slow streams of fresh blood flowing down the contours of his back. Choking as the dust settled, he shook the grime out of his hair and moved reluctantly up the trail.

The bridge was next, he knew, and there it was. The rope bridge connecting the mountain peaks did little to conceal the depths below. In an earlier 'visit', he'd managed to drop a rock into the abyss. That attempt to gauge the distance to the bottom had failed - the rock had never landed. He stood gasping, sweating profusely at the beginning of the bridge, knowing that if he stayed his course much longer, the trail would disappear from beneath his feet, sending him into oblivion. Shuddering, he took a first tentative step onto the bridge. The immediate swaying brought the bile to his throat as waves of dizziness pursued his vision. Forcing himself forward, he cringed as the now expected flames reached for his feet. As before, he was able to dodge them, but once again at the cost of his balance. Falling forward, he grabbed desperately for the stanchions marking the end of the bridge. Like the trail he followed, the bridge also vanished, causing Peter to hang suspended momentarily on the edge of nothingness. Screaming, he forced himself to pull upward slightly, back onto the trail.

The dragon appeared right on cue as Peter attempted to regain his equilibrium. Slashing at him with dagger-like claws, it aimed for his belly. Exhausted from previous trials, Peter was not entirely able to dodge. His side tore open, as he spun away. Crying out in pain and grasping the wound to staunch the flow of blood, he managed to duck a repeat attack. Lashing out with his feet, Peter caught the creature in the abdomen, sending it over the edge into nonexistence. Clutching his side, he gathered his thoughts and applied the Qigong techniques he had learned to slow the bleeding. There was no time, he knew from experience, to heal the wound.

The path ended as suddenly as it had begun at what appeared at first glance to be a sheer wall. Further study revealed the hand-holds that dotted its surface sporadically. Unwilling to proceed, but unable to stop, Peter found his hands moving involuntarily to make the first tenuous connection with the wall. He'd never been this far before. Each nightmare had added a new dimension to the location and somehow he knew that to fail to defeat a previously revealed obstacle would result in his death. Stifling a sob, he climbed upward, higher and higher. The wall below him disappearing into dust as had the trail earlier. Exhaustion played with his mind, his fingers strained to grasp and retain their hold on the increasingly smaller hand-grips. Slipping suddenly, he screamed. Struggling to retain his hold, he felt his feet flaying underneath him. For an eternity, he hung in mid-air, secured by one hand only. A ledge presented itself to him and he grabbed it, as a drowning man grasps a lifeline. He pulled himself onto it and sagged, sobbing in reaction to the terror. The exertion had cost him dearly. The wound on his head had torn open and the blood streaming into his eyes eclipsed his vision. The wounds on his side and back were also bleeding again. Forcing himself to rise, he continued upward. Somehow, he knew, this time, he would reach the top and whoever or whatever waited there.

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part - 19 ↑

In the darkness of his rooms, Kwai Chang Caine awakened to the distant screams of his son. Crying out in reaction to the terror he knew Peter felt, Caine sprang to his feet.

Shaking