Shattered - by Pho

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part - 01

Kwai Chang Caine felt the disturbance in his son's chi. The shift from light to dark had been almost instantaneous and the horror involved so intense that Caine had been overwhelmed. Only his Shaolin training prevented him from collapsing in the middle of the Farmer's Market. Home, all he could think about was getting home. Gathering his packages together, Caine ignored the calls from friends and acquaintances alike as his feet moved automatically toward Chinatown.

Lo Si spotted his old friend as he moved blindly along the sidewalk in front of the park. Caine stepped into the street and froze as a car honked furiously at him. He stepped back, dazed, not really hearing the driver scream "Stupid, look where you're going" as he drove away.

Crossed the street quickly, Lo Si took Caine by the arm and pulled him to a halt. "My old friend, what is wrong? What has happened?"

Caine stared unknowingly at the old Shaolin. Concerned, the elderly man tightened his grasp on his friend and guided him toward the closest unoccupied park bench.

Lo Si forced him down onto the bench, then seated himself beside the distraught man. Placing his hands on either side of Caine's head, Lo Si gently turned Caine's face toward his own. "Kwai Chang Caine, you will talk to me now."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Caine kept repeating the words.

Lo Si touched a pressure point on Caine's neck. The pain caused Kwai Chang Caine's head to jerk.

Glancing around frantically, Caine gasped, "What? Lo Si, how, how did I get here?" Bowing his head, he cried, "Oh, my son, oh, Peter."

A sharp "Kwai Chang Caine" refocused Caine's attention on the elderly Shaolin.

"Stay with me, my old friend. What has happened to your son?"

"I do not know, Lo Si. I can only feel his pain and horror. I cannot tell what has happened or where he is. I must go home."

"Why must you go home, Kwai Chang?"

"I...I do not know." Caine looked around, confused. "Lo Si, what is happening? Since we were reunited, Peter's chi has always been so strong, so clear to me. Now it has faded so much that I can barely detect it. Is my son dy..dying?"

"I do not think so, my friend. Since Peter completed his Shaolin training, has he not been able to conceal his thoughts from you?"

"When he wishes to. But it has never been like this."

"Then something has occurred which he wishes to block from you, consciously or not. He is not yet skilled enough to conceal both thoughts and emotions if the event causes emotional turmoil. Do you know where he is?"

"No, my old friend. I do not. I must find him. I must go to my son." Caine rose quickly and started to walk away.

"My friend, where will you go?" Lo Si had followed the distraught father.

"I do not know." Caine turned pain filled eyes toward Lo Si. "Master, please help me."

"I will be honored, my friend. As you said before, I believe we should return to your home. Perhaps young Caine will go there. If not, then it will be the first place his friends will go."

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

The coroner's wagon advanced slowly toward the crime scene. A crowd of curious spectators moved aside reluctantly to let it pass. The ambulance was still there, its flashing lights indicating that someone had made it out of this mess alive.

Captain Karen Simms' face was grim as she approached Chief of Detectives Frank Strenlich, "What happened, Chief?"

"A hostage situation gone bad, Captain. Seven dead, five adults, including the perpetrator, a fourteen year old boy and a seven year old girl." Strenlich's hands shook in rage as he led the Captain toward the crime scene.

Karen closed her eyes for a moment to brace herself. "Identities? Next of kin?"

"Next of kin's gonna be tough. The six hostages were members of the same family."

"Dammit!" Karen slammed her hand into the wall.

"I know, Captain, I know. The perp was the ex-husband. The others were his former in-laws, his ex-wife and new husband, and, and the children. It happened so fast that the hostage team didn't have time to respond."

"Who was the talker?"

"Peter Caine."

"Peter's on vacation."

"Not anymore."

"I need to talk to that young man. He's not trained for this kind of situation. Where is he, Chief?" She was barely controlling the anger in her voice.

"Captain, you should know, he did the best he could. By the time we got the call, the only one alive was the little girl. The perp had executed the others within minutes of catching them here."

"Then how did Detective Caine get involved?"

"With typical Caine luck, he was playing tourist at the museum next door. The guard had a police band radio and Peter took off the minute the call came through."

"Captain, Chief?" Mary Margaret was pale and her voice shook.

"What is it, Skalany?" Simms forced her voice to be calm as she turned toward her detective.

"We've got to do something. Peter's on the ground and won't let go of the little girl. He just sits there rocking her body back and forth. Captain, he keeps telling her he's sorry. It wasn't his fault, Captain, it really wasn't." Skalany couldn't stop the tears from falling.

Simms was speechless. Strenlich replied, "We're coming, Mary Margaret. Captain, that's what I was trying to tell you. Peter had gotten the little girl into his arms and was backing away. He had just started turning, protecting her with his body when something happened, God only knows what, and the nut shot her in Peter's arms. Put a slug straight through her head then took his own life."

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part - 02 ↑

"Take me to Peter." The concern Karen felt showed in her voice. "Where's his father? I would have thought he would be here already."

"I don't know." Skalany responded. "It doesn't make sense to me. Should I go get him?"

"Not yet. I want to see what we've got. Chief?"

"This way, Captain. Skalany, make sure the media does not get through the lines. Keep a particularly close lookout for that Mason woman. The last thing I want is that kid's picture on the Six O'clock Report."

"How do I stop her, Chief?"

Strenlich replied grimly, "Anyway you have to short of shooting the bitch and I'm not so sure I wouldn't sanction that."

"On it, Chief." As Skalany left, she wondered which kid the Chief wanted to protect, the dead child, or Peter Caine.

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

Lo Si accompanied his friend through the streets of Chinatown. With Lo Si's encouragement, Caine was gradually regaining his center.

Caine was noticeably improved by the time they reached his home. "Thank you, my friend. I do not believe I would have been able to get here without your support."

Bowing, Lo Si replied, "It was my pleasure to be of assistance to you, my dear friend. Do you know what is the matter?"

"Not yet, Master. Whatever has happened to Peter has so disturbed his chi that he was able to interrupt the flow of mine. I believe that for a short while our chi were merged. His distress overran my emotions. And...." Caine paused.

"Please continue, my friend."

"Lo Si, I believe that I have suffered what Peter would call a 'short circuit'. My connection to my son is gone. I can no longer feel his emotions. Not only that but I cannot determine where he is, or what he is doing."

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

Karen Simms knew that as long as she lived she would never forget the image in front of her. Her best detective sat in a heap on the ground, a small girl's lifeless body clutched to his chest. Peter Caine rocked gently back and forth cradling the still form. He was no longer speaking but tears flowed freely down his cheeks. The head shot that had killed the child had splattered an obscene pattern of blood over the scene of the tragedy. Peter was covered from head to toe.

Kermit Griffin knelt beside his friend, with Dr. Nicky Elder behind him, "Peter, kid, you've got to let them take the child. She's gone, Pete. Let Nicky take her."

Peter said nothing but simply shook his head and tightened his grip on the child. Kermit reached out to touch the distraught young man, but Peter shied away from the contact.

Karen moved Nicky to one side and placed a hand on Kermit's shoulder. "Let me try."

Kermit eyed his Captain for a moment, then shrugged, and moved away from his closest friend. Karen Simms shifted to stand where her ex-mercenary had knelt. Knowing she would hate herself for a long time to come, she mentally braced herself for what she knew had to be done.

"Detective Caine." Somehow she was able to keep her tone firm. "You are not following procedure. The body must be turned over to the coroner's crew. Detective! Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Slowly Peter turned his head toward his commander. He stared at her for a moment, then relaxed his grip slightly. "I..I'm sorry, Captain. I..I"

Simms was kneeling now. Reaching out she touched the dead child's shoulder. "I know it's hard, son. You did the best you could."

She almost didn't hear the whispered, "It wasn't enough, not nearly enough. It never is."

"Peter. It's over. Let Nicky have her. He'll take really good care of her." Simms motioned for Nicky Elder to move in closer.

"That's right, Pete. I'll be very careful with her. I promise."

Peter looked blankly at the coroner for a moment then nodded shakily before he handed the child's body to his friend. Nicky Elder steadied himself and took her into his arms. Ignoring procedure, he carried the dead child to the coroner's wagon.

Simms watched as Nicky gently placed the still, small form into the wagon beside her family. She bowed her head in prayer for a moment, then returned her attention to Peter Caine. "Oh, my God! Kermit, get the paramedics over here. Peter's hit."

The shell that had taken the child's life had gone straight through her head and lodged itself in Peter's left shoulder. Blood from the victim merged with that of the young detective, making it almost impossible to tell how badly he was injured. Peter swayed dizzily where he sat on the ground. Simms lunged forward to catch him as his eyes rolled back in his head.

Kermit's frantic call brought both the paramedics and Mary Margaret. Kneeling beside her young friend, she reached out and placed a hand on his hair. "Oh, Peter. I'm so sorry." As she and Simms moved aside to let the EMT's work, Mary Margaret turned to Simms, "Captain, I need to get Caine. I don't know why he's not already here but with your permission I'll meet the ambulance at the hospital."

"Go, and hurry."

"Captain Simms?"

Karen turned her attention to the paramedic, "How is he?"

"His left shoulder is shattered, the shell's lodged in the bone. I think he's lost a great deal of blood. It's hard to tell how much. The little girl's head was basically destroyed by the slug, sending blood everywhere. We're gonna take him in now."

"I'll meet you at the hospital."

"Right."

The paramedic joined his partner at the back of the ambulance. Together they lifted the gurney bearing Peter Caine's inert form into the vehicle.

The older man turned to his partner, "I hope this kid's right-handed."

"Are you kidding? This is Peter Caine. He holds every marksmanship record in both the city and county. He even holds honors at the state level and he hasn't competed there but twice. He's got to be the best shot I've ever had the pleasure of watching."

"That's great. I'm glad you enjoyed watching him shoot, but my question still stands, left or right?"

"Left. Why?"

"Damn. Harry, I'm no doctor but that shoulder injury looks really bad to me. At best, he'll need months of therapy. At worst, he's looking at a medical discharge off the force."

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part - 03 ↑

Lo Si had finally managed to get Caine to drink some herbal tea, when Mary Margaret bounded up the stairs.

Breathless, she gasped, "Caine, Peter's been shot."

Barely had the words escaped her lips than both Shaolin leaped to their feet and crossed the room. Caine's face was devoid of color as he asked "How badly is he injured?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry, Caine. It was a shoulder wound but there was so much blood from the other victim that I'm not sure how badly Peter was hurt." Mary Margaret picked up her pace as she led the men toward her vehicle.

"Thank you for coming for us."

"No problem, Caine." Mary Margaret pointed to her car, "I finally got rid of my clunker. That's my new car, the dark green Taurus."

As Caine climbed into the front seat, and Lo Si carefully maneuvered himself into the back, Mary Margaret continued, "Caine, there's more you should know." As she drove toward the hospital, she detailed the morning's tragedy. Caine bowed his head in grief for both the victims and his son. Lo Si's face became very grim as he struggled to come to grips with the latest tragedy to plague the youngest Caine.

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

The ambulance and Mary Margaret arrived at the hospital almost simultaneously. Karen Simms looked at Skalany then at her watch.

Mary Margaret winced, then said, "You did say to hurry."

Simms nodded then turned toward the ambulance. Caine was at the doors just as the paramedics threw them open. Even his Shaolin training could not stop the gasp of horror as he saw the blood soaked body of his only child.

"Sir, you'll have to move."

Captain Simms intervened, "This is his father."

"Yes, ma'am, that's fine, but I really need him to move. We have to get this man inside."

Caine bent over and gently kissed Peter's forehead, then moved to let the paramedics pass. A single tear trailed down his cheek as he watched his son disappear, once again, behind the trauma room doors. Mary Margaret took his arm, and together they walked toward the much too familiar waiting room.

One hour later found Caine, Annie, Lo Si and much of the 101 st encamped in the surgical waiting room. Strenlich had arrived with Annie shortly after Peter disappeared into surgery. Like Mary Margaret, Strenlich had given Annie as many details as necessary of the events leading up to Peter's injury.

Kwai Chang Caine took her hands as she walked into the room. "Caine, how is Peter?"

"Annie, our son is in surgery. The damage to his shoulder is considerable but Dr. Sabourin has assured me that Dr. Miller is the best orthopedic surgeon in the state."

"I see. Caine, what about the damage to our child's soul?"

Caine stood silently for a moment, not knowing how to respond to that question.

"Caine?"

"I am sorry, Annie. I do not know how to answer you. Peter was not conscious when he was brought in."

Surprise colored Annie's tones, "Kwai Chang Caine, what is it that you are not telling me?"

Sighing, the Shaolin responded, "Annie, Peter has been severely traumatized by this tragedy. So much so that our link has been reduced almost to the point that it is non-existent..." Caine's voice became choked with emotion, " No, I am misleading even myself. The link is gone. I did not know where my child, our child was today, Annie. I..I could not find him."

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

Across town the editor of the local paper was reviewing the crop of articles for the next edition. There were several hours yet before they had to go to press but she wasn't completely happy with any of them for the lead story. She sighed, and picked one, hoping that something else would come up before she had to use it. She glanced up in surprise as one of her junior reporters ran in.

"Check this out. Photos and everything."

Phyllis Murray stared for a moment. "Jeff, did you know I graduated journalism school with Sandra Mason."

"No. Why?"

"I was just thinking that Sandra would kill for these pictures. Get over to the morgue. I want names, ages, the works."

"What about the cop?"

"Jeff, you know I love you but I need someone seasoned to manipulate the police. Ask Kyle to step in here please. Then get me that information from the coroner's office."

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

Annie sensed rather than heard Caine rise from the floor to move toward the door of the waiting room. Trusting Caine, she stood and joined him. Simultaneously, the double doors swung open and a middle-aged woman in surgical greens entered the room. Looking directly at Caine and Annie, she said, "Mr. Caine, Mrs. Blaisdell?"

The affirmative response caused her to continue, "I'm Doctor Harriet Miller. Your son is in recovery. His injury was not in itself life-threatening but he did lose a lot of blood. We had to replace three units. Now for the shoulder injury. There was a great deal of damage to the shoulder. We're using a device called an external fixiator to hold the bones in place. It's a very ugly metal appliance that does a very good job, but it does take some getting used to. He won't be able to raise his arm above his shoulder for the six weeks the device is in place. Once it's removed, we'll have to see how therapy goes."

"Will he recover completely, Doctor? I mean, Peter is left-handed." Annie knew what any loss of mobility would do to her child.

"I don't know yet. We'll know more in a few weeks. I'm sorry I can't tell you now but a lot his recovery will depend on your son's cooperation."

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part - 04 ↑

Frank Strenlich stormed into Karen Simms' office and slammed the door shut. Karen watched her furious chief of detectives pace the confines of her office. She waited for a few minutes but no explanation appeared to be forthcoming.

"Frank, you're making me dizzy. Take a seat and tell me what's wrong."

Strenlich tossed the newspaper on her desk, and sat, saying, "You obviously haven't seen this morning's paper."

"No, it was late this morning." Curious, she unfolded the paper. For a moment, she was too stunned to speak. Finding her voice she asked, "Where the hell did they get this?"

The headlines read, "Hot Shot Cop Not So Hot". Underneath was a picture of Peter Caine clutching something to his chest. The angle was such that the viewer would not be able to easily tell what he was holding.

"It gets worse, read the story."

Karen was already reading the article and her mood was not improving.

*** Tragedy struck near the Museum of Antiquities yesterday *** morning. Mr. and Mrs. Henry Fields, their daughter and *** son-in-law, Alice and Michael Metts, and Mrs. Mett's children *** Ronny and Kimberly Thomas were gunned down on the *** street by Mrs. Mett's ex-husband, Mr. Ronald Thomas. *** In spite of a restraining order issued against Ronald Thomas, *** the local authorities were unable to prevent this massacre. *** Witnesses state that Detective Peter Caine of the 101 st *** precinct, was the first officer to arrive on the scene. Our *** photographer was able to capture graphic evidence of his *** failure to 'protect and serve'. .....

"This is absolute rubbish. This trash...." Captain Simms was sputtering furiously when her phone rang. "Simms, What! ... Oh, Commissioner Kincaid, yes sir, I have seen the paper. No sir, except for the victims' names, their facts are not correct. Yes sir, your office, thirty minutes. Yes sir, Chief Strenlich and I will be anticipating his arrival."

Simms slammed the headset down in its cradle. "The wolves are circling. Chief, Ken Samuels from public relations will be here shortly. All inquiries, media or private, on that shooting are to go to him. Set him up somewhere quiet, if that's possible. I've got a meeting with the commissioner in thirty minutes. He's fuming, this newspaper report caught him blind and Sandra Mason got her claws into him at a breakfast he attended this morning."

"Ouch!"

"Yeah," she nodded toward the lobby, "unless I miss my guess that's Samuels now. Bring him in. I want to review the details personally with him before I leave."

In a shorter time than she believed possible, Samuels had been briefed, and was already fielding calls. Normally Karen Simms had little use for public relations personnel but Ken Samuels moved from obscurity to the realm of God-Hood when he squelched Sandra Mason, in person. Karen had the pleasure of witnessing that turnabout personally as she left for her meeting with the commissioner.

"Ms. Mason, It is an honor to finally meet Channel 3's star reporter in person."

"Can the sarcasm, Mr. ..."

"Samuels, Ken Samuels. And it's not sarcasm. Your reporting on the illegal chemical dumping was nothing short of brilliant. I understand congratulations are in order on that story."

To the astonishment of the entire 101 st, Sandra Mason blushed, "Well, uh , I didn't know it was known, just yet."

"Ah, Ms. Mason, I have my sources. Now how can I help you?"

"Yes, as you are obviously aware the local paper ran a story on Peter Caine's blatant failure to save any lives in the hostage situation yesterday. Would you care to comment?"

"Actually, yes, the department is extremely proud of Detective Caine's efforts yesterday. The young man was on vacation and happened to be near the location when the tragedy began. Through no fault of his, there were no survivors."

"But the reporters from the paper ..."

"Obviously do not adhere to the high standards of Channel 3, Ms. Mason or they would have known that all but one of the hostages were dead BEFORE Detective Caine arrived on the scene."

"Before!"

"Yes, Ms. Mason, and Peter Caine was severely injured attempting to save the life of the last hostage. An attempt which tragically failed. May I confide something off the record?"

Stunned by the amount of information she was receiving, Sandra Mason turned off her mike.

"Thank you. Ms. Mason, it is my belief that the editor in charge, Phyllis Murray, deliberately tried to discredit both the police department and the local broadcast media, yourself included."

Sandra Mason eyed him suspiciously, "Why do you say that?"

"Well, Ms. Mason, the restraining order against Mr. Thomas was issued on behalf of his current wife, not his ex-wife."

The look on Sandra Mason's face turned from nonplused to exhilarated in less than thirty seconds. Turning her mike back on, she asked, "Thank you, Mr. Samuels for confirming that Channel 3 was correct not to air the story as previously presented to us. Our prayers, and I'm sure the community's, are with Detective Caine in the hope that he will make a complete recovery. He is a credit to the police force." With that she turned on heel, and left the precinct.

Karen Simms broke the silence that had invaded her squadroom, "How did.. what did. I don't get it."

Ken Samuels smiled, "Phyllis Murray and Sandra Mason are not unacquainted with one another. To say they loath each other would be an understatement. If one of them is ever found dead, the odds are very good that the other one did it. Excuse me. My phone appears to be ringing." The man turned and walked back toward the desk he'd been assigned.

"Chief... Chief!"

A stunned Strenlich turned to face his Captain.

Captain Simms patted his arm, "I agree, Frank. That was amazing. Looks like Samuels has things under control. I'm off to get my beating from the Commissioner."

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part - 05 ↑

Three days had passed since the shooting. The Channel 3 special report by Sandra Mason had brought an insincere apology from the paper, on page A27. Ken Samuels was still handling damage control but the calls were becoming fewer. He estimated that the crisis would be over by the end of the week.

The same three days saw Peter Caine held prisoner of the drugs that controlled his pain. On day three, his medication was reduced to allow him to return to consciousness. Kwai Chang Caine had spent the entirety of the seventy-two hours at his son's side. Since Kelly was away at school and Carolyn's little family had moved to New York, Annie had been chauffeured back and forth to the hospital by various members of the 101 st.

A low moan was the only indication that Peter was no longer completely under the influence of narcotics. Caine moved forward, Annie by his side.

"Peter, my son, your mother and I are here."

"F..." The attempt to speak was stymied by the dryness of his throat. Caine gently placed an ice sliver on his son's tongue.

"Do not try to speak just yet, my son, let the ice soothe your throat for a moment. Nod when you think you can drink."

The pain increased as Peter became more and more aware of his surroundings. After a moment, he nodded and Caine held a straw to his lips. Peter drained the cup dry. This time he could find his voice, "F..Father? Mom?"

"Yes, my son."

"We're here, baby."

"W..Where?"

"You are in the hospital, my son."

"Hospital? How long?"

"Three days, baby."

Peter's face was a mask of confusion, "Three days?"

"Yes, baby, but you're still weak you should rest." Annie stroked her son's hair as she spoke. "Are you in any pain."

Peter's voice was stronger, "Some, Mom, but don't worry, it's nothing I can't handle, and" He paused to catch his breath, "I've been resting for three days." Glancing around he spotted the bandages and pins on his shoulder, "What the?"

"Your shoulder was damaged, my son. Dr. Miller did surgery to repair it. The pins are holding everything in place while it heals." Caine surveyed his son's face with growing concern. Peter was staring at his shoulder but no longer appeared to really see it. "Peter, do you remember what happened?" Caine watched as the confusion of his son's face was suddenly replaced with a look of absolute horror.

"Oh, God, She was a baby, just a baby, Why? Why!"

The anguish in his voice brought tears to Annie's eyes. Caine braced himself to deal with his son's pain. "Peter, there was nothing else you could have done."

"She died, Father, don't you understand. She was in my arms one minute, alive, terrified. She was counting on me to save her and I failed her. I failed her." His voice faded to a whisper.

"No, baby. Your father's right. You did all you could do. You tried. That's what matters."

"I didn't try hard enough. I never try hard enough."

"My son, no, you always ..."

In his agitation, Peter attempted to rise, "NO, Father. Don't lie to me. I can't get it right. I never follow procedure. I'm not a talker. A talker could have gotten her out alive. I killed her. Father, don't you understand, I killed her."

Caine struggled to hold his son on the bed, "Peter, you must stay still. The injury to your shoulder is severe. You are in no condition to move around."

"NO. I must..."

Caine touched pressure points on Peter's neck and watched as his son slipped into an uneasy sleep. "No, my son," he said sadly, "There is nothing you must do except get well."

Annie was openly weeping. Caine enfolded her in his arms and stroked her hair, "Oh, Caine, he has never been like this before. I've never heard him so tortured. Will he be all right?"

"I do not know, Annie. I do not know."

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

Ken Samuels had proven correct. The crisis over the hostage massacre disappeared from all media reports within a week of the event, replaced by larger, more spectacular stories elsewhere in the world. Great care was taken during that week to shield Peter Caine from the wide variety of fact, fiction and speculation that went on.

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

The next five weeks were agony for Annie and Caine. Peter was released into their care a week after surgery. His parents forced him into his old room at the Blaisdell home. His father took up residence in the Blaisdell guest room to assist Annie in the care of their son. Peter's mobility was severely hampered by the external fixiator and everyone, Caine included, counted down the days until the device would be removed. To everyone's relief, Dr. Miller scheduled the next operation a full four days early. Caine suspected she was as tired of Peter's complaints as everyone else was.

Kwai Chang Caine was as concerned about his son's emotional well-being as he was about his physical health. With the exception of the single outburst in the hospital, Peter had not mentioned the hostage situation at all. Caine desperately wanted to counsel his son but could find no reason to instigate a conversation on the event. He knew that Peter, being Peter, would talk about it in his own way, in his own time.

Peter's reticence would have been disturbing to Caine under any circumstances. For Peter to be silent, the emotional pain must be deep indeed. What worried Caine the most was that for the first time since he had been reunited with his son, he had no barometer to Peter's feelings. Six weeks after the horrific event and his link to Peter was still non-existent.

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part - 06 ↑

The removal of the pins went exceptionally well and Peter Caine was once again released from the hospital early. To both Annie's and Caine's dismay, the young man insisted on going home to his apartment.

"I appreciated all you've done but I've put you both out far too long. I just want to sleep in my own bed, in my own place for a change. And I know Father wants to get back to Chinatown."

Caine found himself wincing as Peter used the title 'Father' rather than the hated 'Pop'. During his convalescence at Annie's, Peter had never failed to call him 'Father'. Although he could not completely understand why, this bothered Kwai Chang Caine more than he cared to admit.

Kermit Griffin had volunteered to drive Peter home. Caine elected to ride with Annie and Mary Margaret to collect his things. He would have preferred to go with his son, but his fatherly instincts told him that Peter needed to do this without his assistance.

The ride to Peter's apartment building was abnormally quiet. The silence unnerved the former mercenary as a reticent Peter usually meant trouble. Unable to take the silence, Kermit asked, "How long until you can come back to work?"

"Three months and then it's desk duty for at least another three until I'm cleared for the streets. If I'm cleared."

"You'll be cleared."

"What are you psychic now, like my father?"

Kermit shot Peter a sideways glance. The young detective's face flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Kermit. That was uncalled-for."

"It's OK, kid."

"No, Kermit, it's not OK. I..I'm just running a little scared. My shoulder is so stiff and sore. I'm afraid it won't ever be right again." Silently he thought, "And what if it's never OK? God, what if I can't shoot anymore?"

"Kid, you just had the pins out. Give it some time. Don't you start therapy tomorrow?"

"Yeah, the hospital arranged for home therapy for the first few weeks. By the time I'm released to drive, I'll supposedly need to start using the big guns down at the rehab center."

"And the shrink?"

"Shrink?"

"Yeah, the resident mind bender. I'm surprised Simms hasn't had him call you yet."

Peter blushed again, "I, uh, told him not to call back. I do not need to talk to a damned psychologist."

"Peter, you know as well as I do that with the hostage scenario that got you shot, you'll have to have at least one meeting with the staff psychologist before you can return to work. And let's face facts, as bad as that situation was you need to talk to someone."

"It will be a cold day in hell before I talk to a shrink."

"Kid, you can't keep ignoring this."

"No, dammit. Nothing happened that I can't handle. I'm fine."

"Right."

"Really!"

"I'm not arguing."

"Oh. Thanks, Kermit." Peter's tone was contrite.

Kermit skillfully maneuvered the green Corvair into a parking spot that was much too small. Peter start to gather his belongings, just as it began to rain.

"Great, that's all I need, now it's raining."

"Peter?"

"I'm OK, Kermit. It's just been a long six weeks. I'm glad to be home." Peter started to open the door.

"You sure you don't need help?"

"No thanks, Kermit. I just need to be alone."

"Peter."

"Kermit, please, I appreciate the concern but there's nothing to talk about. The victims didn't do anything to cause their pain and deaths, it just happened. They didn't deserve what happened. Nothing can change that and I've completely accepted it. I'll talk to you later." Peter climbed out of the car, turned and ran for cover.

Kermit watched concerned as his young friend vanished into the building. "Yeah, kid", he said to himself, "you're right, they didn't deserve what happened, but neither did you, son, neither did you." Wanting to do something, but knowing Peter had just shut him out, the ex-mercenary watched the building until he saw the lights come on in Peter's apartment. Starting the engine, he turned his green Corvair toward Chinatown, and Caine.

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

Caine opened the door for Annie, then followed her into the house. Knowing Peter's parents needed to speak alone, Mary Margaret waited for Caine in her car.

"Caine, Is there anything I can do?"

"No, thank you, Annie. I do not have much to pack."

Blushing, Annie Blaisdell said, "Actually, I was thinking of Peter."

"Ah. I fear that you and I have the hardest task of all. We must wait Peter out."

"I feel so helpless, Caine. He was so upset at the hospital but never even mentioned it here."

Caine smiled at the woman who had become the only mother Peter had ever known. "Annie, Peter is trying to come to grips with this tragedy without our aid. Eventually he will find he needs us, but for right now, all we can do is wait."

"You still don't have that special connection of yours back, do you Caine?"

The Shaolin's voice trembled as he spoke, "No, I..I have no connection with my son. I cannot even be sure that he is at home right now."

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

Peter breathed a sigh of relief as he shut his door behind him. Dropping his sports bag on the table, he looked at his home with satisfaction. It was good to be back. Spying a neatly piled stack of newspapers, he thought, "I haven't seen much news lately. Wonder what's going on in the world." As fate would have it, his cleaning lady was addicted to cross-word puzzles and assumed that the rest of the world was also. Thus, the oldest paper was stacked on top. The headline, and the picture, from so many weeks ago screamed an accusation at him. In Peter's tormented mind, the accusation was equivalent to a conviction. His failure to 'protect and serve' was vividly displayed for all to see.

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

part - 07 ↑

Kwai Chang Caine stood at his window and watched the rain. Peter had disappeared on a day like this one, almost three weeks ago. Concern rose in Peter's circle of friends and loved ones as time passed with no word from the young man. That he'd been terribly distraught when he'd left had been painfully obvious to those who knew and loved him. But to stay out of touch, this was unthinkable. Communication was an important part of Peter's job, as well as his basic personality. To those closest to him, however, the most inconceivable fact was simply that Peter had left with no message to his father or Annie.

Lo Si entered the room bearing a steaming cup of herbal tea. "My friend, you must rest - you cannot keep depriving yourself of sleep."

"How can I truly rest, not knowing where Peter is. I pray that he lives but even that certainty is blocked from my view. As a Shambala Master I should be able to pierce this cloud and determine my son's fate. But I cannot." Caine stated bitterly as he turned to face his friend. "The 'short circuit' I suffered weeks ago still plagues my ever waking hour."

Lo Si watched the distraught father sympathetically, "My friend, I feel I must suggest something to you, but I fear that it will cause you additional distress."

"Please go ahead, Master."

"When the temple was destroyed, you could not tell that Peter was alive, correct?"

"That is correct."

"When you found your son, your 'link' as you call it began to develop again."

Caine nodded, puzzled by Lo Si's comments.

"Then my friend, is it not possible that the link you have with your son is as much a result of his ability to 'broadcast' to you as it is your ability to sense him?"

Stunned, Caine could only stare at the elderly Shaolin.

"I do not mean to offend you, Kwai Chang Caine, but the evidence is there. He thought you died in the temple. His emotional shut-down kept you from finding him. Again, when he is injured now, you know immediately. The only injuries you have been unaware of, have been trivial ones. Those that he does not need to make you aware of, either consciously or unconsciously."

"So you are saying that Peter suffered the loss of connection, not I?"

"I believe it to be possible, my friend. I am sorry."

Caine sighed, "Do not be sorry, Master. It would explain much." Caine remained silent for a short while longer, "It has been three weeks, Master. I must do something, anything."

"You can do and see nothing in this state," Lo Si countered, "When your son is found, he will need your assistance to overcome this tragedy."

"If he is found alive."

"My friend, that is your despair speaking, not you. Please do not bury young Peter too soon."

Kwai Chang Caine bowed respectfully to the older man, "You are once again correct, Master. I will drink your tea and hope that it will provide the peace that has been alluding me of late."

Lo Si watched as his friend downed the bitter brew but could think of no words of comfort to offer as Caine turned back toward the window.

"Where are you, my son?" Caine whispered as he leaned his head on the frame, the rain outside proving to be a pale imitation of his own tears.

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

Three weeks earlier:

The physical therapist had arrived early at Peter's apartment. She had to be at her next appointment by ten and knew the first session required the patient to do more paperwork than actual therapy. Since this patient was left-handed, and it was the left shoulder that had suffered the injury, it would take longer than usual to complete it. She knocked on the door, and was surprised to find it slightly ajar. The young woman suddenly remembered from her case briefing that Peter Caine was a cop who had been injured in the line of duty. Becoming concerned that something was wrong, but afraid to enter the apartment, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911.

Within minutes Kermit Griffin was on the scene, followed closely by Jody Powell. A quick search of Peter's apartment turned up no signs of foul play. The sports bag still lay on the table where its owner had abandoned it.

Jody returned to the living room, bypassing the stack of newspapers in the dining area.

Kermit, meantime, had stopped to pick up the single paper crumbled on the floor. Unfolding the mangled section, his eyes narrowed, "Jody, look at this."

"It's an old paper, Kermit. There's more stacked over there."

Kermit gave her a scathing look from behind his glasses. "Look at it, Sweet Cakes."

Bristling at the hated nickname, Jody took the paper from him and gasped in horror. " Oh, my God, Kermit. You think he saw this one?"

"He's not here. I've already checked the bedroom. This is crumbled on the floor of the living room. I'd say, yes, Peter saw it."

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

Present day:

The young man sat alone on the beach, watching the waves crash onto the rocks. He'd been there at dawn and was still there at sunset. The lifeguards had seen him everytime they had driven past that stretch of beach. The younger of the two, an eighteen year-old girl on her first beach patrol, saw nothing but a handsome man. The older, more perceptive team member saw the distress hanging over the man like a cloud. She'd tried approaching him during her lunch break but had gotten no response. The next morning, when the mysterious man was nowhere to be seen, she couldn't help wondering if his next appearance would be as lifeless, in the surf.

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

part - 08 ↑

Helen Jones watched the gaunt young man in the food line. Her experienced eyes immediately told her two things - that this boy had never accepted food like this before, and that he carried a burden which she could not quite define. The closer he came to the servers, the slower he got. Finally, his pride, at least that's what Helen assumed it was, got the better of him and he slipped out of line. Without a backwards glance he headed for the door. A sudden impulse sent her flying after him.

It was not hard to spot him. He was the only Occidental on the streets of Chinatown. Even without that distinguishing characteristic, his height, Helen guessed over six feet, would have given him away. He stood now leaning against a street light, head bowed in despair.

"Sir, why don't you come back and get some food. You're obviously hungry."

"No, it wouldn't be right. I can't take food away from people who need it."

"You're hungry, why don't you need it?"

His brown eyes met her blue then dropped. The sorrow she saw there rocked her badly. He was much too young to be hurting this much. She barely heard his words, "I don't deserve it."

"Why not?"

"I haven't earned it."

Pushing her graying hair out of her eyes, she asked, "Do you have any money, any place to sleep?"

"Not here, I do back ho..."

Ignoring the broken off sentence, she replied, "No matter what, you do deserve to eat. And sleep in a bed for a change. From the look of those clothes, you've been on the street awhile."

"Yes, ma'am." He blushed in embarrassment. "But I still can't accept anything I haven't earned."

Smiling, she said, "Tell you what. We can't afford to hire a handyman but I'm willing to offer you a bed and three meals a day if you'll help me out."

"Why?"

"Because you obviously aren't going to eat if I don't hire you."

"No, I mean, why me? There're lots of others in the shelter."

"True. Most of the people in there have hit the point that they will take the food at least, without any hesitation. There comes a point when almost everyone swallows their pride. We help as many people as possible but we aren't able, unfortunately, to save them all. Some of them are on the run from the law, some are just plain lazy, and others, poor souls, have been released as cured from mental hospitals. Then there are the ones who've lost everything. Some of those have lost the will to try, at least for now. Others make an effort, but fate, destiny, or whatever keeps pushing them down."

"Which category do you put me in?"

"Well, you don't look lazy, the cut of your clothes says you didn't come out of a mental hospital and your eyes tell me you're not a criminal. I'd guess that puts you in the last grouping except you don't quite fit there either. I may have to come up with a new category for you."

"You don't have to do this."

"No, I don't. I'm Helen Jones. And you are?"

"Peter, just Peter."

"Well, Just Peter, welcome to San Francisco's Chinatown Shelter."

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

Kwai Chang Caine sat quietly on the large sofa in the Blaisdell den, watching Annie Blaisdell gracefully pour tea. He quietly reached out and took the cup she offered.

"Thank you Annie."

"You're welcome." She paused for a moment, "Caine, I spoke with Captain Simms just this morning. There is no news of Peter, but I'm sure you know that."

The Shaolin's voice was hushed as he replied, "Yes."

"Please don't misunderstand me, Caine, but why are you here?"

"I have come to say goodbye."

"You're leaving? With Peter still missing? Caine!"

"No, Annie, I'm leaving to search for Peter."

"Caine, what can you do that his friends at the 101 st have not already done? Has your link returned? Do you know where he is?" Her voice had risen in excitement.

"No, I am sorry, Annie, my link with Peter may very well be gone forever. I do not know where my son is."

"You are avoiding my first question. I'm asking again, what can you do that his friends have not already done? Kermit has resources far beyond the local police."

"I realize that, Annie, but I feel so useless here. Without my son, I have once again lost my purpose. Peter has been gone for a month now."

"Forgive me, Caine, but I must ask you not to leave just yet." The pain in her voice rocked his equilibrium.

"Why, Annie?"

"Paul is gone, God alone knows where, Carolyn has a life of her own in New York and Kelly is in school. Peter is truly my rock right now. Without him, I feel so lost. Would you consider staying in town until Kelly finishes this term and comes home?

"When will she return?"

"In two months."

Caine sat silently for several moments. His heart wanted to search for Peter, but the woman in front of him was so very important to his son. Annie and Paul Blaisdell had rescued his child from an existence that would surely have claimed his soul. His debt to her, to them, was beyond measure. There was no choice.

"I will stay, Annie."

"Thank you Caine, thank you."

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

Peter followed Helen back into the shelter. She pushed him toward the line, "Get something to eat. You look famished."

"I'd really rather ...."

"Young man, if you're going to work for me, even just for room and board, you're going to have to take my orders. Now, get some food. After you've eaten, come to my office and we'll discuss your duties. It's down that hall, third door on the left. Well, what are you waiting for?"

Peter's eyes had widened in astonishment as she spoke. Her question released him from his momentary paralysis, "Yes, ma'am. I'll be there shortly."

Nodding, she turned and walked away. Peter, still reluctant, joined the food line. Unable to get his left arm to cooperate, Peter switched to using his right hand and awkwardly selected utensils and a tray. Gingerly taking a filled plate from a server, he thanked her and carefully walked to the far end of the room. There were fewer patrons at that end, thus the risk of conversation was lessened.

Helen glanced back to make sure her truant was still with her. "Hmm, wonder why I'm thinking of him that way? Just Peter, you're a mystery that I'm going to have to solve."

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

part - 09 ↑

The knock was so quiet that Helen almost missed it. "Come in."

Peter slipped into the office and stood silently in front of her desk.

She smiled as she looked up, "How was dinner, Just Peter?"

Blushing, he replied, "I..it was fine, thank you, a.and my name's Peter."

"Oh, I know that. I wanted to see how long it would take before you corrected me."

"What are you, some sort of shrink?"

Helen noticed the suspicion and genuine fear in his voice as he spoke. "No," she replied gently, "I'm a retired school-teacher who got bored and took a very low-paying job as the supervisor of this establishment."

"I'm sorry." Peter absently rubbed his shoulder.

"No, need. What's wrong with your shoulder?"

"I broke it a while back. It's fine."

"I see. Now, let me tell you what I need help with." Helen sighed, "Everything, absolutely everything."

Her response, she was pleased to see, elicited a slight grin from the young man. She went on, "At any rate, I'll show you to what we'll call your room and I'll point out the handyman chores on the way."

Peter turned too quickly and stumbled, knocking over a picture on her worn metal desk. He hastily picked it up, saying "I'm sorry, I hope I didn't break it." His voice faded as he caught sight of the images in the frame. A handsome young man stood next to a pretty young woman. A small girl of about eight, wearing a frilly pink dress and a smile made of sunshine, stood in front of the man.

Helen reached for the photo. "That's my son, Steve, his wife Amanda, and my granddaughter, Katy."

Handing it over, Peter managed, "They make a very handsome couple and the little girl's beautiful. Do they help you here?"

"Amanda helps two or three times a week after she gets off work. Katy comes with her some of the time. Her daddy also brings her whenever he can. Both of them feel it's good for her to understand that not everyone is as blessed as they are."

"They're very wise, but it looks like Steve had a good teacher. If you don't mind my asking, where do they work?"

"Amanda's a nurse in the clinic here in Chinatown. Steve's a homicide detective at the 71 st precinct, which just happens to also be the Chinatown beat."

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

Kwai Chang Caine sat motionless in front of the candles, legs neatly folded in a lotus position. He'd been attempting to find his center for over an hour, but to no avail. He eyes trailed down the delicately carved features of the wooden candlesticks. They had been a present from his son. Peter had found them in an antique store in New Orleans. Caine smiled as he fondly remembered that particular misadventure. The candlesticks had been a thank you gift from his son for, as Peter put it, "Once again saving my behind."

Reaching out, he absently stroked the distinctive features of the dragon and the tiger. The dragon's ruby eyes seemed to glare at him, flashing an accusation of negligence in the care of his son. The eyes of the tiger, a muted jade, were more forgiving, reminding the father that the son was an adult, free to make his own choices.

That had been their last trip together. Kwai Chang Caine didn't notice as, once again, his tears began to fall.

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

"Dammit, I should never have left the kid alone." Kermit's hand slammed once more into the side of his PC.

"I take it that means you've found nothing." Mary Margaret spoke from the door to Kermit's cave.

"No. He hasn't used any of his credit cards or his ATM card. The only transactions on his checking account in the past month have been the automatic deposit of his paycheck and the automatic bill payments he'd set up."

"I guess that means we haven't had any feedback on the missing person report?"

"No, not one damn thing has come through. We've had matches on his description at bus and train stations, and at the airport, but all of them turned out to be dead-ends. It's almost like he never existed. Have you heard from his snitches?"

"Only Donny Double D. He says the streets are buzzing with the news that Peter's missing but the only information he's gotten has been from Sandra Mason's reports. Kermit, are you sure he's still in town?"

"Not anymore. With Annie and Caine being here, I was sure Peter would stay in town or at least run no further than the Blaisdell lake house." He rubbed his aching head in frustration.

Mary Margaret briefly considered patting Kermit's shoulder, but thought better of it. She made a verbal stab at consolation, "You weren't the only one thinking that way. The whole precinct went on that assumption. I came in here to let you know, the Captain's ordered the missing persons report on Peter faxed to every major law enforcement department in the country every week until he's found, one way or the other." She paused, "Uh, Kermit, I guess your other sources haven't found anything either?"

"No. His identity hasn't been erased but the dead-end trail is usually where an erasure starts. But if there's a reason for that action, I can't find it."

"Erased? Oh, you mean the Witness Protection Program."

"Something like that."

"I'll tell the Captain we've still got nothing. Then I think I'll go see Annie. She's trying to hide it but I can tell that she's been very depressed lately."

As she left his office, she once again heard his haunted voice, "Dammit to hell, why did I leave the kid alone?"

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

part - 10 ↑

Peter listened closely as Helen Jones described a wide variety of 'jobs' that needed to be done, pointing out various needs as they walked the hallways of the shelter. The most obvious need was for the fix-it jobs, requiring non-existent materials that would arrive any day from mysterious donors. Then there were the regular housekeeping jobs such as floor, window, and dish-washing, trash-pickup, and laundry.

Helen eyed Peter curiously, "You don't by any chance cook, do you?"

"I'm sorry. Not very well."

"Oh, well, it was a thought. Here we are." She'd stopped by a narrow door. "It's not much, only a junk closet right now, but if you clean it out and move a mattress in here, you can use it as a sleeping area. I wouldn't recommend spending too much time in here. In an area this small, with no windows, you could go claustrophobic on me."

"Mrs. Jones," Peter began.

"Dr. It's Dr. Jones. I've got a PhD in Early Childhood Education." She'd considered allowing the boy to call her Helen but rejected the idea as impractical for the time being. There was something appealing about the young man walking beside her. She instinctively trusted him but there was an air of mystery and tragedy surrounding him For now at least, she would maintain the distance that the formal title granted her.

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

Helen wondered to herself why this young man felt the need to apologize so much.

Peter continued quietly, "Dr. Jones, I can sleep in the main room with everyone else."

"Nope. You're an employee here now, very under-paid and no social security credits but still an employee. You'll need your own space to get away from the environment at the end of the day. Now let's go to the kitchen and get you started on those dishes."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Peter followed the supervisor to the kitchen, where several volunteers had started the massive clean-up effort.

"Martha, this is Peter. He'll be handling odd jobs around here for awhile. I'd thought we'd introduce him to the workload with the dishes."

A smiling fifty-something red-head grasped Peter's extended hand firmly, and almost shook it off. "Pleased to meet ya, Peter my boy. Doc can use all the help she can get." Keeping a tight grip on his hand, she led him to the sink. "Here ya go, boy, they're all yours."

Peter gazed in dismay at the mountain of dishes, then rolled up his sleeves and went to work.

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

"I'm sorry we have to meet again this way, Captain Simms. The Commissioner thought it best that I return to help with the press coverage of Peter Caine's disappearance."

"I appreciate the help, Mr. Samuels. I have outstanding police officers working for me but unfortunately media handling is not a subject covered at the Police Academy."

"I'm quite certain that your department can handle most events but Detective Caine's disappearance combined with that damned hostage scenario has really brought out the vultures."

"Sandra Mason?"

"No, actually she's being surprisingly supportive. Once she came out with the pro-Police slant against the newspaper, the lines were drawn. I'll have to throw her a bone pretty soon to keep her that way though."

Simms looked puzzled.

"Sorry, Captain. I mean I'll give her a harmless inside scoop that we want leaked anyway. I'll figure out what later."

"I don't envy you your job, Mr. Samuels."

"Please, call me Ken. Actually Captain, my job can be quite interesting at times. Mundane at others. But back to the original topic. The vulture I had in mind is Phyllis Murray. Channel 3 and Sandra Mason made her look very, very bad and she's out for revenge. Mr. Caine's AWOL status is exactly what she'll be looking for. Your staff did a good job down-playing the event for so long but putting his face on the wire every week definitely put an end to your charade."

Simms voice grew cold, "Are you suggesting that we shouldn't fax his photo?"

"No, Captain, not at all. I would never presume to tell you how to do your job. I just hope Peter Caine doesn't have any skeletons in his closet. It would also be better if his family is skeleton free, too."

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

Peter wearily walked the main hall of the shelter toward his 'room'. He'd taken a couple of hours while supper was being served to clean it out and move a thin mattress in. Exhausted, he flung himself down onto the hard surface and prayed that for one night he'd be free of the nightmares.

He'd been asleep less than two hours when his latest demon returned to plague him. The images swirled through his dream, dragging him through a maze of dead, or dying, nameless, faceless, children. Crying out in terror, he leaped to his feet to bolt from ... from what? Confusion masked his features as his wakefulness returned. Slowly the memories of the previous day returned, bringing with them the warm, caring face of Helen Jones. Peter sank shivering onto the mattress and buried his face in his hands. He remained like that for several moments. Reluctant to try returning to sleep for fear that the dreams would return, he climbed wearily to his feet. Pacing the length of the small chamber only added to his unease. Throwing open the door, he began to wander the corridors of the shelter.

Peter walked quietly toward the main sleeping chamber. All was quiet there. He continued on through the kitchen and then toward the stairs leading to the laundry. The muffled sounds coming from the basement room, aroused every cop instinct he had. Moving stealthily forward, he paused at the door in an effort to determine exactly what he was facing. His sharp ears picked up three, no four distinct voices.

Running now on auto-pilot, he threw open the door. Heading swiftly down the stairs, he roughly asked, "Just what the hell is going on in here?"

He'd expected teenage hoodlums, he got hired thugs. The attack took him completely by surprise. The Kung Fu kicks, which he had so dramatically improved over the last two years, served him well. Unfortunately, against four attackers, kicks were not enough. The delicate hand and arm movements necessary for hand-to-hand combat were severely hampered by the injury to his left shoulder. The last thing Peter saw was the butt end of a gun heading toward his skull.

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

part - 11 ↑

"Left him gently, Steve, I'm afraid he has a concussion."

"I know, Mom, I've seen a few head injuries in my time."

"Sorry, sweetheart, but I really like him. I hope he didn't hurt himself too badly with that tumble down the stairs."

Steve glanced at his mother as he maneuvered the lanky form of the unconscious young man into one of the infirmary beds. He'd expected to have trouble lifting the man his mother called Just Peter, but the figure was thin, too thin.

Helen was too concerned about Peter to notice the odd note in her son's voice, "No, Mom, I don't think a tumble did him much harm. He's going to have one heck of a headache, though."

"Help me get his shirt off, it's covered with blood. I want to make sure he's not bleeding anywhere else."

Steve Jones gently raised Peter off the bed and using one hand helped his mother pull the bloody shirt off.

"Is he...?"

"No, I think the blood's from the head wound. They bleed almost as badly as an ear nick." Steve studied the head injury more closely. "Mom, I think you should call a doctor."

"Already did, Dr. Li is on his way, with Amanda."

"You're terrific, Mom. Why don't you get a compress for his head?"

"Good idea." Helen rushed to the supply closet in search of a clean wash cloth.

Amanda Jones raced into the shelter infirmary followed closely by an young Chinese doctor. Her worried features relaxed when she saw her husband. "Steve, what on earth, your mom called and Sherry said she sounded so upset. I..I was afraid you'd gotten hurt."

The young cop moved to embrace her. "I'm sorry, darling. Mom's latest pet project got injured in the laundry last night."

"I heard that."

Steve winced, "Sorry, Mom, but you're always taking in strays."

"And I'm usually right about them, aren't I?"

"Yes ma'am."

Helen Jones turned to the doctor, "How is he?"

"With him still unconscious, I can't tell if he's got a concussion or not. In general, he's minimally twenty pounds underweight for his size. Then there's his left shoulder. Helen, do you have any idea what happened to it?"

"He said he broke it but that it was fine."

"Broke, yes. Fine, I'd say no."

"What do you mean?"

"He's had surgery no more than six weeks ago. From the scarring, I'd say it was his second operation recently on the shoulder. Unless I'm mistaken, his shoulder was probably pinned, meaning he's supposed to be undergoing physical therapy to get it back to normal."

"I did see him rub it a lot yesterday and thinking about it, he'd always start what he was doing with his left hand then switch to his right."

"If he's left handed, and from what you've said then I assume he is, then therapy is an absolute must."

A low moan from the bed drew everyone's attention. Peter's hazel eye's fluttered open and he made a move to sit up. Steve Jones planted a hand on his chest as his mother said, "Don't move, Peter. You took a bad fall. Let Dr. Li see if you have a concussion."

"What? Where?" Peter's voice betrayed his confusion.

"You're in the shelter infirmary. This is Dr. Li. Now lie still." She placed her hand beside Steve's and pushed downward on his chest.

A weak "Yes, Ma'am" brought a smile to Steve's lips, "Got him trained already, I see."

"Steven." Helen managed to convey a great deal to her son with that one word.

Laughing he rose and hugged Amanda again. "Mom's really fond of this one, Mandy."

Giving her son an exasperated look, Helen turned her attention to Dr. Li. The doctor was carefully reviewing his now conscious patient's vitals. After using his pin-light to examine Peter's eyes, he said, "Well, it doesn't look like you have a concussion, however, I'd recommend bed rest today."

Peter shook his head, "There's too much too do around here. I've got to..."

"Stay exactly where you are. You could have been seriously hurt with that fall down the stairs and I want to make sure you're OK before I put you back to work."

Peter started to speak when he saw Steve in the background shaking his head frantically. Remembering the young man was a cop, Peter reduced his reply to a simple, "Yes, Ma'am."

Amanda, in the meantime, was cleaning the wound on Peter's scalp. "Since you're awake, let me do the introductions. I'm Amanda Jones, this is Dr. Li and the handsome guy with the scowl is my husband Steve."

Peter nodded, "I'm Peter" then winced as she hit a particularly sore spot.

She immediately stopped. "I'm sorry."

"That's OK." Peter replied, "It's just a little sore."

Dr. Li laughed loudly, "A little sore? I'll just bet it is. Amanda, get it cleaned up then come on back to the clinic please."

"Yes, Dr. Li. I'll be there shortly." Amanda went back to work on Peter's wound, as Dr. Li left.

She finished quickly, hugged her husband and mother-in-law good-bye, then left for the clinic.

Helen was about to leave to let Peter rest, when she noticed Steve not budging.

"Steve?"

"Sorry, Mom, you know I've got to stay and do my usual 'cop son talks to latest project' routine."

"Steve, Peter's hurt."

"I'm not going to stay long, Mom, but I am staying."

Realizing she'd lost round one, she said, "OK, but Peter, as far as I'm concerned you can spar with my son with your gloves off."

Peter smiled nervously as Helen followed Amanda out of the room.

Steve Jones eyed the young man in the bed. He quickly saw the haunted, pain-filled eyes and gaunt features. He smiled reassuringly at Peter. "Don't worry. Mom and I have a deal. As long as her current project doesn't give me a reason, I don't run a check on him, or her." Growing more serious, he went on, "Do I have a reason?"

"No."

"Fine. Now what happened last night?"

Peter hesitated only briefly, "I couldn't sleep and got up to take a walk around the shelter. When I got near the door to the laundry, I heard voices. Like an idiot, I figured it was kids out to do some damage. It wasn't. There were four men down there. I didn't get a chance to see what they were doing. It went dark pretty quick."

"Do you think you could identify them?"

"I'm sorry." Peter's voice was contrite, "I only saw outlines. Things just happened too fast. You should know that at least one of them was armed. I got slugged with the butt end of a revolver."

"I thought so." Peter's confused look caused Steve to elaborate. "My partner just got over a very similar head wound, caused by the same thing."

Peter paused for a moment, "Look. It's none of my business but you obviously don't want your mother to know about this. Why? What's going on?"

"I don't know, yet. I just don't want her to worry. She has enough to worry about with this shelter, and," he sighed, "my job. But trust me, I'll find out what's going on. Nobody gets away with anything that could hurt her. Nobody."

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

part - 12 ↑

"Nobody gets away with anything that could hurt her. Nobody." The words looped through Peter's thoughts long after Steve had left the infirmary. There was a passion to his words that Peter envied. At one time he would have been able to relate to that passion, that concern, that love. Now Peter felt drained, completely incapable of such feelings any longer. Memories stirred within him of the friends and family he'd abandoned when he fled. He shoved those memories into a mental vault and threw away the key.

Peter knew that his inability to 'protect and serve' had cost him the right to be loved and respected by anyone. He had been unwilling to remain in his home and watch as those he loved, came to hate him for his failure. A still small voice inside him whispered that Mom and Pop could never hate him for any reason, but Peter was not in a listening mood. The same voice also urged him to contact either Annie or his father. This plea was likewise ignored by the anguished young man. A single tear trailed down his cheek as he drifted off into a troubled sleep.

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

"Well?"

Steve wondered exactly how his mother could say so much with so few words. Sighing, he said, "Mom, I agree with you. I like Peter. There's something bothering him very badly but I don't think it's criminal in nature. Or maybe I just don't want to think badly of him. One thing's for sure, there's a lot of intelligence hiding behind the pain in those eyes."

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" A streak of lightning flew across the room and into Steve's arms.

Swinging the child in a circle, Steve laughed, "Hello, sunshine, how was the museum?"

Rocking dizzily on her feet, the child replied, "Great! Grandma, Miss Martha says you've got a new elf. Did he work for Santa? Why'd he quit? Can I meet him?"

"What? Oh, Peter. Katy, sweetheart, Peter's no elf. Miss Martha meant that I had a new helper."

"Oh." The child's face was awash with disappointment. She brightened suddenly, "Can I meet him anyway?"

"I don't think..."

Helen interrupted her son, "Katy, Mr. Peter's sleeping right now but if you're very quiet you can do Grandma a big favor."

"Sure!"

"Mr. Peter hurt himself by falling down the laundry room stairs." The child's eyes widened at this. Helen smiled and continued, "I need you to watch him and let me know when he wakes up. Could you do that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you darling. Mr. Peter's the only one in the infirmary. Go on down there, and remember to be quiet."

"ALL RIGHT!" Katy Jones raced away down the hall.

"Mom!"

"You agreed with me that Peter's OK, right."

Steve reluctantly nodded.

"Then what's the problem? Katy really will be helping me and somehow I think her presence will be good for him."

"You win, Mom. I've trusted your instincts for years and I'm not going to stop now. Well, I'm off to work. The Captain will be wanting my head if I'm much later."

"Be careful, my darling."

"Always, Mom, always." Steve vigorously hugged his mother before leaving.

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

Peter turned his head, opened his eyes and found himself staring into two of the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. He was quick to notice that the eyes belonged to the pretty little girl in Helen Jones's photograph. "Hello."

She watched him closely for a moment, then very solemnly asked, "Are you awake?"

Stifling a smile, Peter replied, "Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sweetheart, I'm awake. Why?"

"Grandma said I was to tell her when you woke up. I should go tell her now, shouldn't I?"

"I suppose so." Peter winced as the child flew out the door screaming, "Grandma, he's awake now." at the top of her lungs.

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

Helen entered the infirmary a short time later. To his surprise, Peter was disappointed that Katy was not with her. Instead she was accompanied by a haggard looking man.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Much better, Dr. Jones."

"Call me Helen. People who fall down stairs here get to skip the title."

"OK ... Helen."

"Fine. Peter, I'd like you to meet Brandon Webber. Brandon's going to help you with your shoulder injury."

Peter's smile faded, "There's nothing wrong with my shoulder."

"Young man, let's get one thing straight right now. I will not tolerate lying, nor will I put up with people denying that they need help. Your shoulder bothers you. I saw that yesterday. Today, Dr. Li tells me that your shoulder needs therapy. Therefore you get therapy. Brandon used to be a physical therapist before he developed a drinking problem. He's going to work with you for an hour on your shoulder, and show you exercises to do three to four times a day. Isn't that right, Brandon?"

"Yes, Doc" He wasn't quite laughing but as far as Peter was concerned Brandon might as well have been.

"Fine. Peter, once you've finished therapy, Martha needs you in the kitchen. I'm afraid that the breakfast and lunch dishes are both waiting for you. Now, have I made myself clear?"

A weak, "yes, ma'am" was all the flabbergasted young man could manage.

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

Annie Blaisdell stood forlornly in her kitchen. Mary Margaret had just left and the house felt empty. Annie made herself another cup of tea and started to sit at her kitchen table. The ringing telephone drew her slowly across the room.

"Hello? .... Oh, hi baby. .... No, no word on Peter yet. Mary Margaret just left.... Kelly, honey, I know you're worried but you've still got another couple of months of school this term.... No, baby, absolutely not. I will not hear of it. You are to stay at school, young lady. No arguments..... That's better. Our friends from the 101 st come around regularly and Caine is here whenever I need him, usually before I know I need him. I'll be fine. I love you too, sweetheart."

Hanging up the phone, she spoke to the empty kitchen, "Peter Caine, you had better be all right. I can't lose you too."

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

part - 13 ↑

Kermit Griffin walked slowly up the stairs that led to Kwai Chang Caine's apartment. He hated to be the bearer of bad news. He cringed inwardly as he watched the hope rise in the older man's face only to fade as the Shaolin mysteriously picked up on Kermit's despair.

"There is no news." It was no longer a question but a statement of fact, delivered without hope of contradiction.

"Not about Peter." Now that he was here, Kermit briefly wondered why he'd volunteered for this duty. Then he remembered, he owed it to Peter, and his father.

Caine's eyes spoke the question.

"Look, I just want you to know that the Captain's been fighting this for a month. She just finally lost to THOSE people."

"Kermit, you have always been a good friend to my son, and myself. Please tell me what has happened."

The ex-mercenary took a deep breath and removed his sun-glasses. Wiping them nervously with a handkerchief, he finally said, "The investigating team on Peter's disappearance has been disbanded. They've all been assigned to other duties. Peter's case is..is considered, damn it." He stopped, took a deep breath, then went on, "They don't really think we'll ever find Peter. They want his folder shelved." Kermit found he could not meet Caine's eyes.

"But you do not believe this." Caine's voice was filled with sympathy. Kermit suddenly realized that the Shaolin's concern was for him, for what it cost him to deliver this news.

This time he met Caine's eyes, "No, I do not. The Captain, bless her, managed to get permission for the file to stay open and be worked, on a part-time basis. I'm the only one on the case as of this morning. Caine, I promise you, I will never give up until I find Peter."

"Captain Simms is a woman of much honor and great compassion. I am deeply in her debt for allowing the official investigation to continue, no matter how limited it may be."

Kermit laughed dryly, "Actually she said she didn't have a choice. She told me she knew I'd work on it off-duty if I wasn't allowed to on-duty. She, um, seems to know me very well."

"As do I, my friend." Caine place a hand on Kermit's shoulder. The jaded ex-mercenary found his veneer cracking as he realized the Shaolin's hand was trembling with suppressed emotion. "Kermit, I truly believe you will find my son."

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

The mood at Chandler's was grim. Rumbles of mutiny ran through the crowd from the 101 st.

"I can't believe she'd let this happen. I know she and Peter have had their differences but to let them close the case." Jody shook her head in angry disbelief.

"Yeah, when the Captain told me to type my final report I almost dropped my teeth. And stupid here didn't argue, just said "yes ma'am" nice and meek as can be."

"Don't kick yourself so hard Mary Margaret. We all did the same thing. Buckled under pressure just like she did." Thomas Jefferson added his bit to the conversation.

"What do you mean 'just like she did'?"

"Well. Jody, when she told me to turn in my notes, I, uh, did just that. Then I called my father."

"Good for you, TJ."

"Not exactly. Dad told me that closing the case was a decision handed down to Captain Simms. Then he gave me a twenty minute phone lecture on respect for my superiors. I'll be lucky if he doesn't tell the Captain that I ran to him." TJ's tone indicated that was a very real possibility.

"Ouch. You'll be doing file reports from now until you die, if the Captain gets wind of that conversation." Mary Margaret added sympathetically.

"Yeah, I know."

The grumbling and general complaining about life under Captain Simms continued unabated as Kermit strolled up to the bar. He listened to the innuendo's, half-truths and outright idiocies for a while before commenting. "I thought the 101 st was a precinct of adult detectives. It looks to me like all its got is a bunch of childish paper-pushers."

Jody snapped, "What the hell does that mean?"

Kermit's voice was calm, too calm. "Just that if any of you fine detectives had bothered to check, you would have found that she's been fighting this every way she could for a month now. You'd also know that even though THEY wanted her to shelve the case, she convinced them to let ME work on it officially part-time."

The rest of the detectives from the 101 st looked at each other with decidedly sheepish grins.

TJ stood and raised his glass, "I vote we toast the Captain for the fine woman she is."

Glasses clinked all around.

TJ went on, "and another toast to a fine group of idiots."

Glasses again clinked, but this time with added fervor.

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

A nondescript homeless man meandered his way toward the Chinatown shelter. He'd heard you could a good meal and a clean bed there. Helen Jones was a name well known among the homeless in San Francisco. She was reputed to be a saint among those who knew about such things. Among those of more questionable character, her reputation as a 'damn fine woman', was a major selling point.

Fear filled his being as three young thugs surrounded him and forced him into a near-by alley.

"Where ya going, old man?" the smallest of the three jabbed a finger into the man's chest as he spoke.

"To the s..shelter. Please, I don't got nothing."

"Yeah, you do. You got a message to deliver."

"W...What m...message?"

"Sell!" Turning to his comrades, he said, "Drive the message home, boys, but make sure he can leave walking."

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

part - 14 ↑

A month after the 'stair' episode, Peter was getting physical therapy on a daily basis. He'd protested strenuously against it at first, but Helen's arguments to his heart, won him over. "Peter, Brandon needs this as badly as you do."

"What do you mean?"

"You need it physically, he needs it emotionally. He lost his wife and little boy to a drunk driver. Tragically he took up drinking himself, and ended up losing his job and his home as well. He's been sober for six months now but he needs to work toward getting his job back. To do that, he needs to heal emotionally."

He'd had no option then. Peter remembered that Brandon had appeared as reluctant to do the therapy as he was to receive it. He'd wondered what argument Helen had used on the man. A sharp pain in his shoulder brought him back to the present, "Ouch! Dammit, Brandon, are you trying to help me or kill me?"

"Help you of course. Doc wouldn't let me kill you. Says you're the best all-around, fix-it man she's ever had."

"Yeah, but look what she's got to compare to. OUCH! Stop! UNCLE!"

"Don't mess with the guy twisting your arm, my friend."

Peter rubbed his now free arm and decided to change the subject, "Who's Helen got in with her?"

Brandon returned to manipulating Peter's arm and shoulder, "Don't know. Three guys in suits is all I saw."

"Did they look OK to you?"

"OK, as in normal, clean business types or OK as in not bad?"

An exasperated sigh escaped Peter's lips, "Brandon, you are the most, OUCH!, wonderful physical therapist I've ever worked with. OK, as in not bad."

Brandon's face look troubled, "I don't know, Peter, they kinda looked too clean to me."

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

"So you see, Dr. Jones, CLT International wants to be a help to the community. We've been looking for the right site and have narrowed the choices down to three, this one and two others."

"Exactly what does that mean?"

"Well, unfortunately, it would mean moving the shelter to another location. We'd have to demolish this building and the ones around it to build the complex we have in mind."

"Where would the shelter move? This building belonged to my grandfather. He ran a mission out of it before the 1906 earthquake. When that disaster happened, he added beds and the shelter started."

"We're aware of that Dr. Jones. We'd assist the shelter in purchasing a new site on the edge of Chinatown."

"But it wouldn't be home."

"No, but with the money from the sale..."

"Gentlemen, I'm sorry, but I love this place, my father loved it and my grandfather loved it. Were you aware that the city granted a special dispensation for Grandfather to be buried here?"

"No, Ma'am, we weren't."

"I didn't think so. This shelter is not for sale. Please thank CLT International for their generous offer but they should select one of the other sites for their project. Have a nice day."

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

Helen sat and stared at her door. This was the second unsolicited offer she'd received on the shelter in as many weeks. Reaching for her phone, she quickly dialed her son.

"Hello, darling...Yes, I'm fine....No, nothing's wrong, at least I don't think so... I know you're busy right now but could you stop by on your way home?... Thank you Steve. Yes, I love you, too... Bye." Returning the hand-set to its cradle, she rose and headed for the kitchen.

Helen detoured around past the infirmary. "That's the advantage to an old building." she thought, "So many, many ways to get around." Helen paused outside the infirmary and listened in delight to the banter between Peter and Brandon. It was good to hear them laugh.

The past month had brought a number of changes to the shelter, most of them for the better. Peter had been a God-send. The young man could fix just about anything, and worked harder than anyone she'd ever seen, other than Steve. She was willing, however, to admit to some bias in that regard. Peter had recently begun to open up and in doing so revealed a gregarious personality that she suspected was the 'real' Peter. Whatever had traumatized the young man had robbed him of his joy for living. As a retired teacher, nothing saddened her more than seeing a zest for living, and learning, die.

Helen had briefly considered having Steve run a check on Peter a couple of weeks back. She and Peter had been walking to the hardware store to barter for paint. A disturbance from a nearby alley had caught their attention. One of her patrons was being mugged. Helen had been about to rush forward, when Peter seized her arm, and ordered her to stay where she was. She'd stared after him in amazement as he dispatched the thugs with moves straight out of a Kung Fu flick. The homeless woman had fortunately been unharmed, but Helen only had eyes for Peter. She remembered watching him closely as he stood glaring after the fleeing men, absently rubbing his injured shoulder. He'd flushed a variety of shades of red, then white with obvious fear when she'd asked him about his skills. She had quickly changed the subject back to paint, ignoring both the martial arts and the mugging. The laughter now coming from the infirmary made her glad she hadn't confided the incident to her son. She shuddered at the thought of what the betrayal of a police check would have done to her young friend.

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

Peter watched through the infirmary window as the three men left the shelter. There was nothing outwardly wrong with their appearance, but his gut told him something was not right. "I'll have to ask Kermit." He froze as he realized what he'd been thinking. That life was over. He could never return.

A child's voice begged sweetly for his attention, "Mr. Peter?"

"Yes, Katy my love?" Peter unconsciously knelt to be on eye level with the child.

"Grandma says if you and Mr. Brandon are through, would you please go to the hardware store and ask Mr. Willis for more paint?"

"OK, sweetie, go tell your Grandma that I'll bring back as many gallons of paint as I can carry."

This statement was met with a puzzled frown, "I think we only need three."

Peter stifled his laughter, "Then three it shall be. Now go tell your Grandma." He watched lovingly as 'his' little angel ran off at her normal breakneck pace.

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

part - 15 ↑

The man was there again. This time he sat on a bench across the street. The day before he'd stood on the opposite corner. Kwai Chang Caine had been aware of his presence for a couple of weeks but had ignored him as no threat. As Caine started to enter his building, the man stood and made his way across the street.

"Mr. Caine?"

Caine turned.

"Sir, my name is Kyle Crosby. I'm a reporter for the Daily Chronicle. May I have a moment of your time?"

Caine's thoughts became chaotic. Mary Margaret had told him that the vicious article and picture in this paper had probably been the catalyst behind his son's disappearance. Caine had been warned repeatedly by various members of the 101 st not to talk to reporters. He looked at the nondescript man in front of him and his curiosity got the better of him. Caine, the priest, wanted to discuss the paper's ethical behavior with the reporter. Caine, the man, wanted to know why anyone would go to such lengths to harm someone they didn't know. Caine, the father, wanted .... The Shaolin hastily buried 'those' feelings.

"Yes."

The simplicity of the answer threw the reporter. "Uh, where?"

"Here."

"Yes, uhem, Mr. Caine, your son has not been seen in town for two months. Our readers would like to know when you last spoke with him."

"About what?"

"Sir? Oh, no sir. In general, when was the last time you and your son talked."

"It has been some time."

"One month, two months?"

"Yes."

"OK, let's go to something else. How did your son feel about feel about the botched hostage situation?"

"Badly."

"So he was aware that his actions were to blame for the fiasco?"

"No."

"So, he was not aware that the entire thing was his fault?"

"It was not."

"Sir?"

"It was not his fault."

"Yes, sir, I understand how you'd feel that way, being his father but the facts...."

"Facts?"

"About the hostages."

"You know them?"

"The hostages?' Kyle was growing confused.

"The facts."

"The facts of the tragedy have been reported in the Daily Chronicle on several occasions."

"They have not. Why?"

"Sir. I beg to differ. We've left no stone unturned on this story. The truth is there for the public to see."

"Ah. Truth."

"Yes, sir. Truth." Kyle tried to control his growing anger as he thought, "Damn the man. What is he trying to pull?"

"The whole truth? All the facts?"

Kyle gulped and tried to regroup, "We've reported enough..."

"Enough to harm."

"We've lied about nothing."

"A partial truth is no better than a lie."

"Some things are not interesting to our readers. We always leave that information out." Kyle was now actively on the defensive.

"But those things change the, how would you say it, slant?" Caine turned and walked into his home, leaving a frustrated, angry and mortified reporter on the sidewalk.

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

Annie Blaisdell reached reluctantly for the ringing phone. Her hand shook as she pulled the receiver to her ear. "Hello?" A sigh of relief escaped her lips. "Oh, hello Mary Margaret... No, I'm fine... No, this reporter from that awful paper keeps calling here... Yes, I keep hanging up but I'm becoming afraid to answer the phone. He keeps coming to the door, too....Thank you, dear, but I don't think Captain Simms would sanction your shooting him.... No, my attorney is getting a court order to keep the paper away from me. He says it will take a few days....Yes, Mary Margaret, I can hold out that long. Is there... Oh, nothing new. I understand. Thank you for calling." Annie replaced the hand-set and sank down into her sofa, sobbing softly for her lost family, and peace of mind.

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

Peter returned from the hardware store carrying three gallons of yellow paint, a quart of white and a pint of hunter green. He was met at the front door of the shelter by several small children, led by Katy Jones.

"Mr. Peter, you're back." Katy wrapped tiny arms around his waist and hugged tightly.

"Whoa, sunshine, I haven't been gone that long."

"I know, but I didn't give you your hug this morning. Can I help?"

"Thank you, Katy. Just a minute." Peter placed the paint on the floor and dug into his pocket. A mysterious bulge was revealed to be a bag of bubble gum from the local candy store. He handed the bag to the tallest boy in the group, "Mark, please hand these out to the other kids, evenly. Don't leave anyone out."

"Yes, sir." Mark's black eyes shone with pleasure. "Here, Katy."

"No, thanks." Mark shrugged and ran off, merrily playing Santa's helper in delivering the gum.

Peter was concerned, "Katy, you don't want any?"

"I got some at home and besides..."

"Besides what?"

"You always get just enough for all the kids. We got a new kid while you were gone. She's over there with her grandmother." The child pointed to an elderly woman and fragile looking little girl. Katy tugged Peter down to eye level and lowered her voice, "Her grandma's blind."

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

Two hours later, Helen found Peter sitting on the floor of the large sleeping area, surrounded by small children. The latest arrival, and Katy, shared his lap as he read a story from a tattered book. Moving closer she was stunned to discover that the book was entirely printed in Braille. He finished the story, and sent the children off to play. Standing, he stretched cramped muscles and smiled as he spotted Helen.

"Just Peter, you are a man of many talents."

The confusion on his face, caused her to laugh. "You can fix just about anything. You speak Chinese like you're from Beijing and now I find you reading Braille. Is there anything you can't do?"

He flushed with embarrassment.

Helen laughed again, "Ooops, I forgot. You don't handle compliments well. Never mind, son. Now the Chinese I can understand. That's a second language. Care to explain the Braille?"

Peter's face went white, "My, my Mom, is blind."

Helen looked grimly at her young friend, "'Is' is a present tense verb, Peter."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Does she know where you are?"

"No, ma'am."

"Peter!"

He cringed but said nothing.

"Peter, she's probably worried sick."

The pain in his eyes cut straight through her heart. "She's better off without me around."

"Peter..."

"NO. After what I've done, she doesn't need me around to ruin her life. Excuse me. I..I've got work to do."

Helen Jones watched in dismay as the young man rushed away from her, and any comfort she might have to offer.

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

part - 16 ↑

"I'm worried about Helen"

Steve looked up in surprise at his wife's comment, "Where did that come from?"

"Oh, you were on the phone. I guess you didn't hear Katy."

"No, what'd she say?"

"Only that three men in suits came and talked to her for a long time today. Katy said Grandma looked upset when they left... What's wrong, Steve?"

"Your husband is an idiot, that's what's wrong. Mom called and I was supposed to stop by on the way home. She's going to skin me alive."

"Then you'd better call her." Mandy handed him the phone. "She'll be at the shelter."

"What?" He glanced at his watch then dialed, "It's after seven." Slamming the hand-set down, he muttered to himself, "Damn, it's busy."

"I know. That's another reason I'm worried. She gets to the shelter by six every morning and doesn't leave until after nine, sometimes ten."

"How do you know?"

"Peter told me. Bless his heart, he was very uncomfortable. I think he felt like he was tattling on her, but he was very, very worried."

"Nine or ten. Dammit. Mom shouldn't even be thinking of riding the bus home by herself that late. Wait until..."

"Hold on Mr. Overprotective. You've met your match. Peter goes with her every night then walks home."

"It's five miles from Mom's apartment to the shelter." His voice grew suspicious, "I bet Mom doesn't know that, she's probably giving him money to ride back with."

"Chill on the cop thing. Your mom did try to give him money but he wouldn't take more than the fare out. He told her he likes to walk, something about it running in the family. He looked so, so sad when he told me that. Oh, and before your cop instinct takes over, I got the same story from both Mom and Peter."

Steve hung up the still busy phone, "I'm sorry, hon, it was a long day. I like Peter and should never have said that. Katy adores him and he's been such a help to Mom."

"You forgot me."

Steve looked confused as he once again dialed the shelter.

"I like Peter, too."

Steve swallowed his laughter as the phone call went through.

"Mom, I'm so sorr... Yes, I... No Ma'am..., Yes Ma'am..., I really am.... Uh, I'll be right there." He winced as he hung up the phone. Turning to his wife, he sighed, "Why do I feel as if I'm going to get spanked?"

"Don't ask me, she's YOUR mother."

Steve laughed and kissed his wife. Turning he swept a wide-eyed Katy into his arms, "How long have you been there pumpkin? Never mind, Daddy's got to go to the shelter." He kissed the child goodbye and raced for his car.

Katy looked in amazement at her mother, "Grandma's gonna spank Daddy?"

"What? Oh, no, baby. Not exactly."

"Then what xactly?"

"Let's get you in the tub and I'll try to explain."

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

Brad Jackson stared at the reports in front of him. "You're sure."

"Yes sir. The new convention center will be located here. The area surrounding it will be prime real estate."

"When will it be announced?"

"The actual selection will be announced in about six weeks."

"Is there a chance they'll choose another site?"

"There's always a chance, sir, but I'd say not. You've contributed too much money for them to go another direction."

"OK. I already own three of the four blocks adjacent to the site. I need the fourth one. What's the hold up?"

"The Chinatown Shelter is located in the middle of the fourth block. Helen Jones actually owns and supervises it. We haven't been able to find her price. We offered her fair market value but she wouldn't take it. Then we went back today as a different buyer and even offered her a new site six blocks over. She just won't sell. Sentimental reasons she says. I don't think we can go over the current market value without someone getting suspicious."

"Nonsense, everyone can be bought. Don't make the mistake of thinking money is the only way to make a purchase. We've still got time. Continue with the intimidation; beat-up more people who use the shelter, vandalize it again, the usual. By the way, did you ever find out who the guy was who walked in on you last time?"

"He's just a vagrant the old lady took a fancy to. We haven't tried to get a background check on him, though. He's just one guy."

Brad narrowed his eyes, "One guy could ruin everything."

"Yeah, well, the incident never got reported to the police, so I'm guessing this dude isn't going to interfere with us."

"It's your call - don't be wrong. Now is it safe to assume that you're ready to escalate the intimidation phase?"

"Yes, sir. We've been 'interviewing' some of the shelter patrons on a regular basis. Nothing serious, just bruises, but the last one, well, we gave him a message to deliver."

"And what was that?"

"Sell. We kept it simple. Didn't want to confuse the dummy."

"Excellent. Back to Mrs. Jones, I assume she has family?"

"Uh, there could be a problem there."

"Why?"

"Her son's a cop in the Chinatown precinct."

"Has he got a family?"

"Yes, sir. His wife is a nurse and he's got a seven year old daughter."

"Then I don't really see the problem."

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

Steve rushed headlong into back entrance of the shelter and collided with a ladder. The wooden legs folded, sending ladder, occupant and paint to the ground.

"Oh, God, Peter, I'm sorry. Are you hurt? Here let me help you." Steve pulled the ladder off of Peter's legs. In his haste to help the fallen man, the young San Francisco cop failed to notice the puddles of paint. His right foot hit a small pool and slid out from under him. The fall was spectacular. Peter awkwardly tried to assist the man but to no avail.

"Steve, are you OK?" Peter's voice was full of concern.

"I have neither dignity nor tailbone left. Ouch." The young man rubbed his seat gingerly. "Amanda's going to kill me. These are, uh were, new pants."

Peter eyed his own paint-covered form, then looked at Steve's ruined clothing, "Well, at least you look good in yellow."

The two young men were still laughing when Helen found them. Noting the condition of the floor, she shook her head and returned to the office. Once there she made a note to get six more gallons of yellow paint.

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

part - 17 ↑

Steve and Peter helped each other to their feet and glanced around, hoping to bring order to the chaos.

"Is there any paint thinner? Maybe we have time to get it up?" Steve asked hopefully.

"I don't think there's enough paint thinner in the world to help this mess." Peter scowled slightly at the floor.

"I am really sorry, Peter."

"It's my fault Steve. I could've sworn I locked the door."

Steve placed his hand on the knob. Looking puzzled, he said, "That's odd, it acts like it's locked."

"Huh?" Peter knelt and checked the door frame. "This is not good. Steve, look, someone's blocked the mechanism. The knob will lock but not the door." He moved aside for the other man.

Steve's face became grim. "I don't like this at all." Peter simply nodded in agreement. Both men turned as Helen returned to the scene of the calamity. They were quick to note that she was carrying clean clothing.

"Thanks, Mom, you're a life saver."

"Thanks, Helen."

"You're welcome, boys. Peter, have you had supper yet?"

"No, ma'am."

"All right, you and Steven go clean-up and change, then you go eat while Steven and I have a little chat. Then Steven will help you get as much of this mess straight as you can tonight."

"Helen, I can manage this."

"Peter, my son cleans up his own mistakes. He's going to help you. Aren't you darling?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Absolutely. No bones about it. We'll do as much as possible tonight and tomorrow's my day off. I'll come back early to help you finish and get the painting out of the way."

"Fine. Now, boys, don't dawdle. Steven, we really must talk." Helen turned and left.

"Steve, I really can manage alone."

"Are you out of your mind? In case you didn't notice, Mom's a tad annoyed with me right now. I'm not risking a full scale eruption."

"I thought there was frost in your direction." Peter smiled at the young cop.

"Yeah, I promised to come here after work and forgot."

"Ooops."

"Yeah. Besides, I owe you big time for making sure Mom gets home OK every night. You don't have to do that. "

"I don't mind. She's a terrific lady. Reminds me of ...." Peter stopped suddenly.

Steve wisely ignored the other man's pause. Looking at Peter thoughtfully for a moment, he asked "Peter, would you do me a favor?"

"If I can."

"Would you check the other doors to see if any others have been rigged like this one?"

"Consider it done."

"Thanks, lets go shower before Mom starts looking for us."

"And after you and Helen talk, you'll tell me what's bothering you about the shelter."

Steve stared at Peter for a moment. Realizing Peter had not asked a question, Steve replied simply, "Consider it done."

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

Kwai Chang Caine sat quietly in Peter's secret place. He'd started going there two weeks after Peter vanished. In this location, he found it possible to find some semblance of peace. Caine had been unable to center himself anywhere else. Peter's apartment carried too many physical reminders of his only child. His own quarters were likewise filled, not with tangible memories, but memories nonetheless. In the months before he disappeared, Peter had gravitated toward Caine's home, like a moth to a flame. His son seemed to have taken a genuine pleasure in every new Kung Fu move that Caine had introduced him to. Likewise, Peter had appeared to welcome Caine's attempts to introduce him to new meditative techniques.

The hostage tragedy had shattered his son's soul as well as his shoulder. "If, No! When," Caine thought firmly, "Peter is found, the wounds may be too deep to ever be healed. Oh, my son, I am so sorry. I should have known how much you were suffering. I should have done more to help you." Sighing in despair, the Shaolin climbed slowly to his feet. His clothing, never tightly fitted, now flowed loosely around his thinning frame as he walked toward Chinatown.

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

The next morning found Steve, Amanda and Katy at the shelter at dawn. It'd been too late the night before to do more than review what was needed. Peter had been unable to catch Steve alone, and so had remained unsatisfied as to the source of Steve's unease. Much to Peter's delight, Helen had been forced home earlier than planned by her son's stubborn insistence on driving her there. Peter had taken the unexpected respite from his nightly walk and had gone to bed early himself.

Katy assumed the role of drill sergeant for the adults, taking an unholy delight in pointing out spots that they'd missed with the paint. Helen came to their rescue, dragging the reluctant child away to help serve breakfast. Amanda, knowing Steve wanted to talk to Peter alone, also volunteered for breakfast duty.

"I owe you an apology, Peter. I should have talked to you last night but, well,..."

"That's OK, Steve, I'm glad you got Helen to leave early."

"She needed the rest, and from what Mandy tells me, you needed the reprieve from that walk. So, thank you again."

"OK, now tell me what's bothering you? What's wrong and how does it affect Helen?"

Ignoring the question, Steve painted a few more strokes, "Did you find any more rigged doors?"

"No, but there was one window that had been jimmied recently. The wood hadn't had time to discolor yet." Peter put his brush down on the paint can. "Steve, please let me help."

"Mom has had two offers to buy this place in the last couple of weeks. That's more than she's had in the last year."

"Buy? But..."

"I know, I know. Mom runs the place but she doesn't let on that she actually owns the building. It came down through the family. Great-grandfather ran it as a mission then added the shelter part after the earthquake. He's actually buried in the old chapel under the alter." He hesitated for a moment, "Peter, what I'm going to tell you is really police business and I'm not even the investigating officer. I'm homicide. The only reason I was told is that the team needed to ask me some questions. Please don't let what I tell you leave this room."

Peter studied the worried young detective's face for a moment before replying, "You have my word, Steve, anything you tell me, stays with me."

"Thanks, my friend. There's been an increase in the number of muggings in this district. The odd thing is that the increase is among the homeless that frequent this shelter. The latest victim told the team that he was supposed to deliver a message to mom. It was the single word, 'sell'. Peter, I'm afraid the violence will escalate until someone gets killed, maybe even Mom."

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part - 18 ↑

"Muggings?" Peter's inner alarm was deafening. "How long has this been happening?"

"The numbers started increasing about a month ago. They've been climbing ever since. Then there's that laundry room incident that happened to you. Combine those with the rigged door and window frame. Mix in two very nice but odd offers to buy and one assault victim with a message to 'sell' and it's damn clear that something bad is going down. To make things even worse, I'm not even allowed to investigate any of this. I'm just a homicide cop." Steve slammed his fist into the wall in frustration, "Peter, I'm terrified that something's going to happen to Mom."

"I'll do my what I can to keep an eye on her." Peter's voice was grim.

"I appreciate that, Peter." Steve replied, "Taking care of Mom's sorta become second nature to me. I've been doing it since I was ten."

Peter's curiosity got the better of him, "Ten, why?"

Steve looked down at the floor, "That's when Dad died."

"I'm sorry, Steve, I..I didn't mean to pry."

"It's OK, Peter, it was a long time ago. Did you know my Dad was a cop and so was my Grandfather? It's a family thing, I guess. At any rate, Dad was killed in the line of duty. The last thing he said to me the morning he died was, 'Steve, take care of your mother.' I never saw him again. I, uh, I've been looking out for her every since."

"She's really something special."

"Tell me about it."

The two men returned to painting in silence. Peter finally decided to ask his friend the question that had been bothering him since hearing of the assaults. "Steve, did your mother tell you about the mugging we witnessed?"

"WHAT!"

Peter winced, "I apologize, Steve, Helen said she'd tell the authorities, and I never thought any more about it. I did think it odd that no one ever asked me for a description but..."

"You thought the local police just didn't care about some homeless woman."

Peter nodded and felt his face burning with embarrassment.

"If Mom said she reported it then she did, she just didn't think it necessary to tell me. As for caring, some of them don't, Peter. Most do but they can't be everywhere."

"I know that. It's like that back home. The ones that don't give a damn...." Peter went white and turned toward the nearest can of paint.

Steve misread his friend's reaction, "I'm sorry if some bad cop has given you a hard time, Peter. It only takes one to give a precinct a bad name."

Peter nodded and struggled to regain control. Thoughts of home had been plaguing him of late. The nightmares that controlled his sleep, now mixed the dying children with images of Annie and Caine. Oddly in his dreams neither Annie nor his father were as he remembered them. His mom had lost her smile, and his father appeared to have become somehow smaller in stature. His parents' faces appeared repeatedly as nightmarish visions pleading with him not to abandon them.

"Peter?" Placing a hand on the young man's shoulder, Steve could feel the tremors running through the slender form. Peter had regained some of his lost weight, but his frame still looked as if the slightest breeze would blow him over. "Look, I just want you to know that if you ever want to talk. I'll be here to listen."

"S..Steve?" Both young men turned toward the shaken voice.

"Mandy, sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Her voice trembled as she spoke, "Steve, Don't worry about Katy, she hasn't seen anything."

"Baby, you're not making sense."

"JUST let me finish, please. I'm sorry, but... Steve, there's a body in the alley, Helen sent me to get you while she made sure no one touched anything."

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

Six hours later, the shelter was getting back to normal. Yellow crime scene tape marked off the alley, bearing silent witness to the tragedy that had occurred there.

Amanda had finally been allowed to take Katy home. She'd been furious at first that Steve would not let her leave with their daughter. Peter had done the only thing he could in the situation, he listened to her rant. As Mandy finally stopped long enough to catch her breath, Peter asked, "Feeling better?"

She stared at him for a moment before replying sheepishly, "Yes, thank you. Uh, all that was pretty dumb, wasn't it?"

"Oh, I think I'd call it motherly, not dumb. You're just concerned about Katy."

Amanda Jones planted a kiss on Peter's cheek. "You are a darling, you know that, don't you?" Not waiting for an answer, she went on, "Well, I've felt sorry for myself long enough, I'm going to see if Helen needs