Faithfulness in the Center

Part 4

Mary Margaret Skalaney looked at her hastily written notes. She had promised the Porters that their statements would be ready for review and signatures by mid-morning. She rubbed at her burning eyes and glanced at her watch. It was after 1:00 a.m. Kermit and Peter were still in Simm's office with IA. Skalaney had tried to listen carefully for errant sounds coming from the office, but there were none.

She surveyed the squad room. Blake was logging the tape recording of Roger's meeting with Martin into evidence. His hands appeared to be shaking more than normal. Jody was going through the motions of booking Roger. There was still a chance that he would be able to return to his undercover assignment despite the tragedy. He looked tired. . .hell, they all looked tired.

Mary Margaret's mind tumbled back to the memory of that little girl lying so still, the coldness of death in her eyes, the ultimate victim of circumstance. She could hear the shock and pain in the parents' voices, see the despair in their eyes as their daughter was taken away by the coroner. Skalaney had witnessed death as a cop, seen the atrocities that a bullet could cause, but the pain and anguish of those deaths could not compare to the suffering from the loss of a child. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pushing the memories to the back of her mind. Placing her fingers on the keyboard she began the long process of transcribing her notes.

The Captain's door swung open and Kermit walked out, Peter following closely. Kermit didn't make eye contact with any other officer in the squad room. Instead, he looked straight ahead and walked directly into his office, shutting the door behind him and in front of Peter. Fortunately, Peter's reflexes were quick and he was able to stop before plowing into the closed door. He tapped on the frame and turned the handle. . .the door was locked. Kermit was obviously in need of privacy; Peter could accept that. He turned away from the door and walked back to his desk. Skalaney watched as the young cop leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed.

"How'd it go?" Skalaney asked softly.

Peter shrugged an answer, "Hard to say." He looked at Simm's closed door, "IA isn't talking until the Porters' have given their statements."

Skalaney looked down at her notes, "I'm typing them up right now." She looked at Kermit's closed door, "How's Kermit taking this?"

Peter shook his head, "He's shutting down on me. . .not talking. I think this is really bothering him. . .bad."

"Kermit's never been one to share his emotions. I wouldn't get too worried about him not talking now."

"This is different. Usually he hides his emotions out of privacy. This time, it's like he's burying the pain because he's afraid of it." Peter said quietly.

Kermit's door opened suddenly and the dark-suited man walked out, heading for the precinct exit. Peter jumped up out of his chair and followed his friend. "Kermit wait." He had to walk quickly, taking full advantage of his longer strides to catch up. He reached out and grabbed Kermit on his uninjured shoulder just as Kermit's hand found the handle of the door. "Where are you going?"

"Home," was the simple response.

"Let me drive you," Peter offered.

"There's no need." Kermit pushed the sunglasses up on his nose and turned back to the door.

"Kermit, please. You shouldn't be alone right now." Peter pleaded with the man.

"Why not?" Kermit looked, stone-faced at his friend.

"Because. . .you. . .," Peter stammered, no longer sure what to say.

Kermit's voice was cold, "Look, Peter, I appreciate you sticking by me with IA, but I need to get away from here. . .I need some time to think."

"About what?" Peter pressed, "About how you're to blame for killing that little girl?"

Kermit's sunglasses didn't hide the glare in his eyes, "I've killed before."

Peter reached out again, laying a hand on his friend's right arm, "But this is different. I can tell this is bothering you. . .I can feel your pain. Let me help."

Kermit pushed the hand off with his injured arm, his face not betraying the slightest sign of pain, "I do not need, nor do I want your help." He turned away from the young Shaolin and walked out the door, leaving Peter in his wake.

Peter dropped his head in defeat. How could he help someone who didn't want to admit that he needed help? "By being there for him when he realizes he does need your help." The verbal response to his mental question took him by surprise.

He spun around, "Pop?"

"Hello, Peter," Kwai Chang Caine stood beside his son, hat held in his hands.

"I must be really tired, I didn’t feel your presence." Peter shook his head, reached out and placed his arm around his father's shoulders in a half hug.

"You have had other things on your mind." Caine pulled his son closer into the embrace.

Peter looked at his father and nodded, "You know what's happened."

The elder Caine nodded slowly, "Yes, and I believe that Kermit is in trouble."

Peter nodded in agreement. "He's trying to hide from me. . .he's putting up walls but I can feel how much this is hurting him in here," Peter's hand pointed to his stomach.

"You are Kermit's friend. His pain is yours." Caine led his son back into the squad room. Mary Margaret looked up from typing her report, weary eyes suddenly turning brighter upon seeing the Shaolin priest.

"Caine, I'm so happy you're here." She reached out her hand and allowed him to grasp it in his, the warmth of his touch spreading through her from head to toe.

"Hello Mary Margaret. It is very good to see you." He raised her hand to his lips, allowing them to brush against it quickly, the result causing tingles in her.

"Have you come because of what happened?" she asked, head tilted in curiosity.

"I felt that a tragedy occurred involving my son and his friends." Caine nodded slowly.

"Well, you got that right," the woman turned away and sat back down at her desk. She opened her mouth to speak again, but the rattling of the Captain's door being opened drew her attention. The two men from Internal Affairs exited the office, notes in hand, followed by Karen Simms.

Simms looked at Peter and Skalaney, "When will the Porters' statements be available?"

Mary Margaret looked at the computer screen, "I should have them wrapped up in the next thirty minutes or so. The Porters are going to come in tomorrow morning to sign them."

"As soon as they are official I want you to send copies to Harris," the Captain ordered.

Skalaney nodded and resumed typing. Harris and Peterson exited the squad room without comment. Karen turned back to Peter and Caine. "Where's Kermit?"

"He left," Peter replied simply.

Karen nodded silently, turned back to her office and closed the door. Caine looked at his son "Kermit is going to need your support."

"I know. . .but he pushes me away. I'm not sure how to help." Peter's compassion for his friend was evident in his hazel eyes.

Caine smiled, comfortingly, "You are his friend. You will know what to do when the time comes."

"I hope you're right, Pop." Peter reached out and placed a hand on his father's shoulder, "Because right now I don’t have a clue as to how I can ease his pain."

The hallway was dark. Kermit could feel the heavy weight of the Desert Eagle in his right hand. The apprehension in his body had tightened his stomach, making his breathing shallow. There was evil here, he could feel it in every nerve of his body. He had no choice but to continue, though, his friends. . .his sister, were counting on him.

He extended his right foot and took his first step. An evil growl echoed through the small space, "You killed me, Kermit." Then the growl was joined by a cacophony of terror-filled voices, "Blood is on your hands," "Kill again, Kermit."

Kermit's body bounced off the sides of the hallway as electric tentacles of pain touched his skin. He wanted to drop his gun and cover his ears to block out the voices, but his mercenary instincts took over and he pushed on down the corridor.

The voices were behind him now, taunting him. . .threatening his existence. He turned quickly, gun extended, waiting for the evil to follow. Nothing. His back pressed against the wall and he took a deep breath of relief, as silence now returned.

Suddenly, two hands extended from the wall and grabbed his throat from behind. He struggled frantically, his free hand attempting to break the death grip. With all the force he could muster he turned and gasped in horror. The hands around his throat belonged to Stephanie Porter. The girl was covered in blood, her eyes, void of life. Kermit pulled away from her frantically, dropping the Desert Eagle to the ground. Her mouth slowly opened, "You killed me Kermit. My blood is on your hands." Kermit screamed as a piercing pain sliced through his chest, "NO!"

Bolting upright, Kermit's gasped to regain his breath. He was drenched in cold sweat and his body was shaking in terror. The white sheets of the bed were damp and tangled around his legs. He closed his eyes tightly and concentrated on slowing his inhalations. "It was just a dream," he muttered. He pulled his legs up to his chest and dropped his forehead on his knees. But it wasn't 'just a dream' his mind screamed. . .she's dead because of you.

End Part 4