Part 17

Peter regained consciousness in the ambulance as it pulled into the Emergency entrance of the trauma center. The paramedics had removed the vest, which Kermit promptly appropriated as evidence. They had cut off the bulky hand knit sweater and used moistened 4X4 gauze pads to clean off the "blood". There was a deep, black bruise directly over Peter’s heart where the bullet had struck, but no real blood or bleeding. The vest had stopped the slug from penetrating his chest. The lung was probably traumatized from the compression shock as the bullet struck the vest, but Peter seemed to be breathing well on his own. His worst injuries were a broken right arm, where the chair had slammed into it during the fall, and yet another concussion, probably also from the fall to the floor.

Every movement sent more sharp pains lancing through his skull, so for once, Peter remained still as he entered Dr. Dale Meeksa’s care.

"Jesus, Caine, can’t you stay healthy for three lousy months. I swear to God your insurance carrier and I are on a first screaming name basis. They’re accusing me of sending in any trauma case that comes in the door under your policy," Dr. Meeksa teased gently as he examined one eye, then the other with his pen light. The injured man’s pupil reactions were slower than he would have liked, but the paramedic had said something about unknown drug or drugs being involved. Peter smiled weakly at Dale’s attempt at humor. The doctor remembered the last time he’d treated the man in front of him, and was relieved to see the smile, no matter how weak.

"You probably do." Peter’s voice was a bare wheeze. His chest still hurt like Hell, and his head hurt worse than his chest. Confusion amplified the whole situation. He had no idea what had happened to him. The last clear thought he remembered having was that he was going to fall asleep in the shower. All the rest was a blurred combination of dreams, nightmares, hazy drug-filled memories, and echoed sounds. Peter’s smile faded.

"Doc, ‘m confused as Hell," he managed to get out. "Can’t get straight what happened."

"Don’t worry about that Peter. It’ll probably clear up after we get you put back together." Dale assured his patient.

"May I see my son, Dr. Meeksa?" another voice entered the conversation. Dale whirled to find Kwai Chang Caine standing at his left shoulder. His concern for Peter was quite obvious. Dale stepped back, his work finished, and let Caine examine his son. The priest gently rested his hand over Peter’s heart, his palm barely making contact with his son’s bruised skin.

"How?" was all a dazed Peter could get out, but Caine knew what he was asking.

"A man I was treating for arthritis has a son who owns a small charter plane. He. . . pulled some strings?. . . and I am here." Caine answered, never letting his gaze leave his son’s tired eyes. "I could feel your pain and confusion. I did not know if you wanted me here, but I knew I had to come.

The priest’s voice broke as he uttered the last sentence. He knew that his son had been angry with him, had wished him to leave. He wasn’t sure of the welcome he would receive. Tears welled in Peter’s eyes, and his lips whispered the only thing Caine wanted to hear.

"Father, I want you here. I’m sorry for those things I said. I love you." Tears filled Caine’s eyes as well.

***

Peter was released from the hospital two days later, after Dr. Meeksa was sure that there would be no long term aftereffects of a concussion so soon on the heels of the last one. Caine insisted that Peter stay with him in his rooftop apartment, but the doctor protested having Peter climb up or carried up stairs, so the two settled for staying at Peter’s apartment.

Peter steadfastly refused to stay in the bedroom, choosing rather to sleep on the couch. Caine rested little, remaining at his son’s side almost day and night. At the end of a week, Peter insisted his father return to his own apartment to rest.

"The plants need watering and I need some space," the younger Caine teased, feeling a little closed in. He loved his father, but he hadn’t lived with him for 15 years. Having a Shaolin priest underfoot was beginning to get a little suffocating. Caine reluctantly agreed, insisting that he would be back in the morning to check on his son.

"Fine. Just make sure it’s after 9:00. I like sunrises just as much as the next guy, but I would like to miss the one tomorrow morning." Caine had gotten into the habit of waking his son to share the new day with him. It was a peaceful time for the both of them, but Peter was looking forward to sleeping in. "Don’t worry. I’ll be all right. Kermit is coming over tonight to ask some questions about a case. He’ll make sure I go to bed early."

***

Kermit stared at the patterned background of his computer screen and inwardly grimaced. *How am I going to tell Peter about what I found on Mandy?* he asked himself. *How much should I tell him?* The file lay beside his keyboard where it had remained since he’d made a hardcopy. It spoke of a past filled with deception and death.

The Feds gave the woman’s official name as Marybeth Jolynn Dayleson, but a little more digging had uncovered seven more aliases, including the name Amanda Clearmont. The woman had left home at 17 hoping to find fame and fortune on the stage. What she found was a gangster with a taste for young unjaded women. She’d developed a taste for the high life that legal employment was rarely able to support. He appreciated her quick wit and paid for her continuing education. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, she hadn’t been turned out on the street when he’d met his fate five years later. She’d been introduced to Chan as an addition to his *escort service.* After two years in his employ, he installed her in his bedroom. One year later, Chan was the reason she was in the Federal Witness Protection Program. She had agreed to testify against him in exchange for a new life.

*If Peter didn’t know about the Witness program, it’s a damn safe bet she didn’t tell him about Chan, or the gangster before him.* Kermit continued his mental conversation. Caine had been more right than Griffin wanted to admit, in his assessment of the young woman. She had seemed so damned in love with Peter. Maybe she was, and she really wasn’t a part of all that had happened to him or her. Maybe the killers really were after Peter instead. *Yeah, and frogs can fly.*

Kermit removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was still no closer to how he was going to handle this. His gut instinct was to say that the file had been deleted with Mandy’s death, that he hadn’t hacked into it in time. Peter probably wouldn’t believe him, but he wouldn’t push it. The pain was too new, the injury to his soul too raw, for him to push.

****

Caroline Amanda Caine walked into the tiny island resort hotel, smiling as she did so. The porter wheeled a cart with her belongings to her new home. It is amazing what a few hundred thousand dollars could buy. She had barely dipped into the money she had *liberated* from Chan to buy the hotel.

Looking around her, she felt at peace for the first time in what seemed an eternity. The first weeks after buying her freedom with a bullet, she’d hardly slept at all, each night seeing Peter’s confused expression as she drugged him, then shot him. Trying to shake it off, she began to think about her betrayal even during the daylight hours, while she was arranging her new life. Finally, able to stand it no longer, she’d hired a private detective to discreetly inquire into Peter Caine’s health, both mental and physical. His report set her at peace at last.

Apparently, Kermit had told him nothing about Mandy’s checkered past, and he couldn’t remember--or perhaps chose not to remember-- her part in his kidnapping. He did finally recall where he’d heard the voice that repeated the phrase about a thousand deaths--Xia’s altered voice. He’d heard her use it when he confronted her about the Ambrosia Club killings more than a year ago. With only his vague recollection of her voice as evidence, however, Mandy’s murder was treated officially as unsolved. Peter never mentioned seeing his fiance alive at the warehouse. Maybe he didn’t believe that he did. His official statement mentioned a dream that he’d had, then waking up briefly to hear Xia’s real voice talking to someone, telling them to shoot him. He didn’t recognize the other party. After that, he remembered nothing until he awoke in the hospital with cracked ribs, a concussion and a broken arm. He was recovering, and his spirit was healing with the help of his father and his friends.

Amanda remembered, though. The moment she pulled the trigger she started living her own thousand deaths. She had taken his name when she started her new life, as a reminder to herself that some things are worth more than money. *If only I could have him back, I would gladly give up all of Chan’s money,* she thought to herself as she strolled the beach of her island resort, alone. It couldn’t be, though. If she were to admit to being alive, she would have to admit her betrayal of her first and only real love. He would forgive her almost anything except that betrayal.

Smiling wistfully, she wondered how the rosebud tattoo, the symbol of her love for Peter, would look stretched along with her belly. She would have one more reminder of Peter Caine, in addition to his name, a ring, and a tattoo. Deep within her a child grew, conceived in a dream world where dead lovers were resurrected, and the good within them still lived.