Faithfulness in the Center

Part 10

His eyes attempted to focus on his surroundings. He was sitting on the couch in his living room. The room was dark. He did not remember turning off the lights. His head was pounding. Memories and nightmares were muddled, and he was unable to make out the details of either. Rage was building within his body, but he did not know the source.

The sound of the doorbell startled him from his thoughts. Instinctively, he reached across the couch to the end table and grabbed the Desert Eagle from its resting place. There was no need to check the clip for ammo, he always kept it loaded.

"Kermit, it's me, Peter. Are you here?" His anger reached a crescendo. Paul's murderer was here. He would recognize that voice forever.

Another voice entered his head, "Shoot him, don't kill him."

Kermit nodded. Shooting the bastard was the least he deserved for what he did to Paul. He sprang quietly from the couch, his movements quick and graceful and took position on the backside of the door so the intruder would not be able to see him.

He watched the tall shadow walk into the living room. "Kermit, it's Peter."

Kermit took a step forward towards his enemy, not caring whether the man detected his movement. Though the room was dark, he could see the face of the torturer turning to confront him, as the man's arm reached across his body for his gun. Kermit had the advantage of surprise and fired first.

The only sound was a gasp of pain intermixed with shock as the enemy's body collapsed onto the carpet.

The man had only been grazed and he clutched at the wound, while his body absorbed the shock. Groans escaped from his lips. He tried to rise, but another shadow entered Kermit's line of vision and forced the injured man roughly back onto the floor. "Well done," the voice in his mind whispered. The shadow bent over the injured man, took the gun from him, raised the weapon into the air and brought it down hard onto the back of the bleeding man's head. The groans of pain were suddenly silenced.

Kermit took a step forward. He reached down and slowly turned his target over onto his back, so he could examine the face of his nightmares.

As the body turned, the face metamorphosed. The darkness of the room hid the details of the change. The shadow next to him stood and turned on the overhead lights. The glare temporarily blinded Kermit, but as soon as his vision cleared he looked down at the still form at his feet. . .Stephanie Porter.

Kermit woke with a startled gasp. He was breathing heavily and sweat glistened on his forehead. His neck was stiff and he realized that he had fallen asleep at his desk, his head resting on top of his arms. His mind flashed back to the nightmare, but the details were sketchy. He remembered being in his apartment. Peter entered. Kermit shot him, but when he checked on the body, the victim had changed to Stephanie Porter.

He closed his eyes tightly, his hands rubbing at them in an effort to wipe out the pain of the vision. He didn't understand the source of the imagery.

There was a light knocking on the door. Kermit's eyes flew open and he straightened himself in the chair. Grabbing his discarded sunglasses, he quickly slipped them on his face. Despite the weakness he felt inside, he was not going to let it show on the outside.

The door opened and Kermit heard Peter's voice, "Kermit?"

"I'm busy," was the curt response.

"I brought you some lunch." A bag of food slipped around the edge of the door, Peter's head following close behind.

Kermit glanced at his watch. It was almost 2:30 in the afternoon. Shaking his head in amazement he realized he had been asleep for a long time. "Not hungry," was the short reply. The smell of hamburgers and French fries drifted from the bag, causing Kermit's stomach to growl loudly, betraying his words.

Peter grinned at the ex-mercenary. "Nice try." He walked into the office and plopped down on the chair across from Kermit. Setting the bag on the desk, he reached in and dug out the contents.

Kermit looked at the food in front of him and realized that he was grateful for Peter's persistence, once again.

"So whatcha been doing in here all day?" Peter questioned.

"Catching up on my paper work," Kermit lied.

"Catching up on your sleep, you mean." Peter grinned.

Kermit glowered at the man, but didn't respond. Peter continued, "I peeked in earlier to see if you wanted to go grab a bite. You were out. . .totally out. I didn't know you snored," he chuckled. When Kermit didn't respond, he stopped the kidding, "I didn't have the heart to wake you."

"Wish you had." Kermit muttered.

"Dreaming, again?" Peter's concern was evident in the response.

Kermit took a bite from his sandwich, thinking back on the visions in his mind, "It wasn't a dream. . .it was a nightmare."

"Do you want to talk about it?" The younger man asked sympathetically.

"No," Kermit said, closing his eyes. His mind drifted back to the dream. . .the rage of hearing Peter's voice, the satisfaction of shooting his friend, the terror of watching Peter's face turn into Stephanie's.

Kermit opened his eyes, confused by the memories and saw that Peter had closed his. The ex-mercenary became suddenly uncomfortable, "Don't!" he shouted, louder than expected.

Peter, startled at his friend's outburst, opened his eyes. Kermit stood and walked to the other side of the room, trying to escape Peter's probe. His voice was quieter this time, "Don't do that."

"Kermit, I just want to help you. I can feel your pain. . .your terror. Let me help you." Peter stood and approached his friend slowly. He reached out a hand and placed it on Kermit's uninjured shoulder.

Kermit pushed the hand roughly away, "Don’t you understand? Can't you get it through your thick Shaolin skull? You can't help me." The words were short, choppy and filled with pain.

Peter stared at the sunglasses covering the man's eyes. "I can. I can help you. And that's what scares you."

"Get out." Kermit muttered.

"Kermit, I. . ." Peter responded.

"GET OUT!" Kermit interrupted.

Peter took a step backwards. "Okay. But I'll be outside if you want to talk."

"Don't hold your breath," was the angry response.

Peter turned and left the office, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Det. Morgan saw Peter leave the mysterious detective's office. She couldn't help but admire his physique as he returned to his chair. "God, he's gorgeous," she muttered under her breath. She had always regretted that they had never been on a case together. Just once she would like to be tucked away in some dark hotel room doing undercover work. . .any type of undercover work. She grinned to herself, imagining the pleasures. She had never thought of Kelly or Tyler as any obstacle. Hell, she didn't want a long term relationship with the man. . .just a one-nighter, that's all.

Always willing to offer her own brand of assistance, she slithered to his desk and sat seductively on the corner. His forehead was creased with worry. "Problems?" she asked simply.

Peter looked up, startled by her presence, "Uh, no. Just thinking about Kermit."

She slid a little closer to the handsome man and crossed her legs, making sure to hike up her already short skirt in the process. "Here he blew it last night," she commented.

Peter ignored the obvious flirtation and stared at the crude detective in disbelief. "He didn't 'blow it', Detective Morgan. It was an accident. . . a horrible accident. That's all." Peter pushed his chair backwards, away from the offending legs.

"Whatever," Morgan sighed. "It probably doesn't make a difference to him anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Peter frowned at the woman.

"Well, I mean, from what I've heard about his history, he's killed plenty of times before. What's one. . .oh, I mean two, more?" she shrugged. Frankly, Morgan thought to herself, if half the stories she had heard about Kermit were true, it was amazing that he had ever been allowed onto the force in the first place. She always suspected that it was Blaisdell who had maneuvered him a job at the 101^st.

Peter shook his head in amazement, "You are unbelievable."

Morgan smiled seductively, "Oh, if you only knew." She leaned over, placing her lips close to his ear, making sure her low cut blouse was revealing what she considered to be her best assets, "Wanna find out?"

There was a flash of anger in Peter's eyes. He closed them, taking a deep breath, centering himself, once again.

"I need to get back to work, Detective," he muttered.

She witnessed the hint of rage in his eyes and it excited her. But then he closed the eyes and the rage. . .the heat. . .went away. She shook her head as she slid off the desk, tugging her skirt down, "You know, Caine, you were a lot more fun to play with before you decided to follow in your daddy's footsteps." She walked away without saying another word to the man.

End Part 10

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