Faithfulness in the Center

Part 17

Peter had decided that clothing which was a day old would not be appropriate for Stephanie Porter's funeral, so he decided to use the hour before to shower, change and run an errand of his own.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he saw more than what he had seen during the past three days. Before, all he felt was tired, defeated. . .a failure. But now he felt energized and in control. He could see the difference in his face, his eyes, his posture. He could feel the difference in his heart.

He had felt similar to this a few times before. . .when he defeated Clarence at the mall, when he successfully walked the rice paper for the first time. He knew, inside, that he could help Kermit. . .that he had the power to show his friend the light of truth. He also had faith that Kermit would embrace the light and discard his feelings of guilt and failure.

He completed dressing and still had plenty of time for the errand. Tossing his keys into the air, behind his back and over his shoulder, he caught them in front, without ever breaking stride to the front door.

John Durham waited for Megan to pick up his office phone. "John Durham's office, this is Megan."

"Meg, it's John," he said in his calmest of voices.

"Hi Hon." Megan sounded suddenly giddy at hearing her beloved's voice.

"Meg, has anyone called for me?" John regretted not having the time to tell Meg what was going on."

"Yeah. Peter Caine. He just said to call him on his cell phone." She gave John the number. "John, what's happening. Is this about Kermit?"

John debated on his answer, and settled on the truth. "Peter and I are trying to help Kermit get through this horrible mess."

"You are a good friend. . .and a good man, my love." Megan purred. John smiled to himself.

"I'll be home soon and I'll prove how good of a man I can be," he chuckled as he hung up the phone.

Peter pulled into the church parking lot at exactly 3:00. Not surprisingly, the church was packed with grief stricken family and friends. Community dignitaries were also in attendance. Peter stood outside the church, looking for Kermit. There was no sign of his friend, nor the Corvair.

Kermit looked up at the sky. A storm had moved in within the past hour. The weatherman was predicting evening showers. Kermit was firmly convinced that the storm was coming for only one reason. . .Stephanie Porter's funeral. The sunny, cheerful weather of the morning had retreated to be replaced by, dark and dreary clouds. . .perfect weather for burying an innocent or punishing the guilty, he thought morbidly.

Kermit parked the Corvair a half mile from the burial site. He had asked the cemetery caretaker were the grave side service would be held, and the man had been more than cooperative.

He glanced at his watch. . .it was 3:30. It wouldn't be long before Mr. and Mrs. Porter would be arriving to say goodbye to their child one last time. It wouldn't be long before Kermit would say goodbye.

Kermit had never run away from a fight in his life. He never thought he would. . .until this morning. The morning's newspaper had left him no choice. He had no place to go. . .no where to turn. He couldn't return to the precinct; not without ruining the reputations of people that he had come to think of as. . .friends. He couldn't allow Karen or Peter to be damaged by the investigation into his mysterious background.

And damaged they would be. Kermit knew Karen. She would fight to protect him, possibly at the cost of her own career. And Peter? Oh God, Peter would continue to suffer at his hands. Suffer as Blaisdell's reputation was soiled; suffer as Peter's own association with Kermit was called into question. Kermit would, once again, be responsible for hurting Peter. . .and the ex-mercenary could not live with that kind of pain. Not after all of the other agonies he had caused his young friend.

He closed his eyes and the memories of the past three days flashed by with shocking speed, like a video set on fast forward. And no matter how hard he tried to stop the nightmares, or at the least slow them down, they kept coming and coming. . .Stephanie's little blood-covered body, Paul's torture, Peter lying unconscious at his feet, the screaming voices in his head. He yanked the glasses off and rubbed at his eyes, trying desperately to wipe away the visions, but they kept coming.

Down deep inside he knew there was only one way to stop the visions.

He chuckled to himself. . ."What do you know, Paul was right. Sometimes you have to run away to exorcise your demons. . .I'll just look at this as running away permanently."

He heard the sound of car engines approaching from the distance. The funeral procession was making its way through the cemetery, slowly winding its way to Stephanie Porter's final resting place. Kermit watched as the teary eyed mother and father exited from the limousine and attendants lifted the small casket from the hearse.

The cars kept coming, a mass of people surrounding the green tent and adjacent hole. The minister began his sermon. Kermit approached silently, coming in from behind the crowd. He could hear the sound of uncontrolled sobbing traveling on the breeze. The sound echoed the pain he felt in his heart and the guilt that consumed his very being.

Peter was one of the last cars to pull into the cemetery. He had no intention of attending the service itself, but instead was going to concentrate on finding his friend. He knew instinctively that Kermit was there. . .somewhere. He just had to find him.

He scanned the crowd, focusing on the perimeter. Kermit would not be amongst the group. . .he would not want to intrude on the family. No, he would be on the outside looking in. Peter's eyes suddenly spotted his friend's dark suit and sun glasses. The man was over 200 yards from the rest of the group. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched over in defeat and shame.

Peter began to make his way to Kermit's position, using the Shaolin's companions, stealth and shadow, to approach his friend. Peter knew that if Kermit spotted him too soon, he would bolt and Peter would have no chance to talk with him. He had to sneak up on the ex-mercenary. . .take him by surprise. Not an easy task when going up against someone like Kermit Griffin.

He had made it within fifty feet of his friend when Kermit suddenly turned away and began walking to his car. Discarding stealth and shadow, and now concentrating on speed, Peter raced to catch up.

Kermit Griffin turned and slowly walked away from the open grave. He

could not bear watching the little girl being lowered into the large hole, not when he was the reason for her death.

 "Kermit, wait," Peter Caine's voice sounded from behind. Kermit ignored his friend and continued walking to his Corvair. He heard footsteps rapidly approaching and knew that Peter had followed. The younger detective's hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him to a stop, "Where are you going?"

Kermit drove to the river. It was the only place he could think of where he could be alone. He sat in his car, hands on the steering wheel, watching a barge slowly move away from the shore. He looked down at the passenger seat and focused on the Desert Eagle. He had removed it from its holster a few minutes earlier under the guise of making himself more comfortable. The gun rested in the seat, taunting him.

End Part 17

Faithfulness in the Center

Conclusion

"Well, at least I had the common decency to send uh. . .how did I put it. . .the ultimate 'Dear John' letter." John Durham's voice said quietly from the passenger seat of the car.

Kermit jumped at the sound of his friend's voice and almost dropped the loaded gun in his lap. Furious at himself for not hearing the man's approach and entry into the car and furious at John for sneaking up on him like that, Kermit growled, "Well, maybe you wanted to be stopped."

John nodded, "Maybe I did. You don't?"

"How'd you find me," Kermit muttered, ignoring the question.

John pointed his thumb over his shoulder. Kermit looked behind the car to see Peter leaning against the Stealth, a hundred feet away. "Damn it to hell. . .it's that goddamn Shaolin voodoo, isn't it." John smiled, but didn't respond. Kermit continued to rant, "I can't believe there isn't some rule against him reading other people's thoughts without permission." John still said nothing. "I have half a mind to point this thing at him." Kermit snarled, holding the Desert Eagle up in the air.

John finally spoke, "He cares about you Kermit. . .so do I. . .so do a lot of other people."

"Well, you all are a bunch of damn fools then." Kermit climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind him, keeping the Desert Eagle in his right hand.

Still angry at Peter he shouted across the road to the Stealth, "God damn it Caine, how dare you invade me like that!"

Peter grinned at his friend, "Invade? What ever do you mean?"

Kermit's look was deadly, "Listening to my thoughts. . .reading my mind, whatever the hell you call it."

Peter shrugged, "Well, personally, I call it bugging."

Kermit's face went white, the rage suddenly gone. "You what?"

"Hey, what can I say? You aren't the only one who knows how to plant a bug." Peter approached his friend cautiously. Kermit's look was still one of shock.

"When? How?" the ex-mercenary stuttered.

"At the cemetery." Peter walked around Kermit and pulled the tracking device out from under Kermit's jacket collar. "You know, I'm starting to get really attached to these things." He tossed the device up in the air and caught it. He then smiled at his shocked friend and dropped the bug into his pocket.

"You son of a bitch," Kermit whispered, now feeling like a total fool.

"What were you doing out here, Kermit," Peter asked innocently.

Kermit said nothing. Instead he turned around and stared at the river. John walked up behind his friend, "Why Kermit?"

"You know why," was Kermit's murmured response.

"No, I don't know why." John responded, much louder. "Tell me why. Tell me why you would throw your life away."

"It's too late for heroics, John." Kermit turned violently, "Don't you remember what you told me a few months ago. So you just shut up and leave me alone."

"Why? So you can wallow in your guilt. . .so you can run away from your friends like a coward?" John's anger was evident. Peter watched the exchange between the two men and realized that the circumstances would be better served by staying out of the battle of wills that was being waged.

"What in the hell do you know about my guilt."

"Kermit, you know as well as anyone, that I've been there before. That I know. . ."

Before John could finish his sentence, Kermit exploded, "Don't you dare tell me that you know how I feel. No one knows how I feel. . .except that Shaolin sneak over there," he pointed angrily at Peter, who suddenly felt the urge to run in the other direction. "Maybe you haven't heard the news, John, but I murdered a child. . .I killed her in cold blood. . .I tortured my friend and enjoyed it!" The words spilled out in one frantic breath. Kermit turned and walked away, the gun suddenly raising in the air.

John took two quick steps and grabbed Kermit roughly by his injured shoulder. He spun him around, knocking the gun from the right hand, "Don’t you dare walk away from me. We've known each other too long for you to treat me like that!" Kermit grimaced with pain and then suddenly was enraged with anger. His face turned red and he raised his right fist to take a swing at his friend. John easily blocked it and then held the fisted hand firm. Kermit came at him with his left. The left arm was weak, though, from the injury and stitches and John grabbed the wrist and similarly held on.

Peter was amazed at how quickly the elder man subdued the younger. Kermit struggled in his friend's grip. Kermit started to kick out, but John pushed Kermit to the side, causing the man to stumble and then fall, face down, on the ground. There was complete silence as John waited for Kermit's next move. But the only move from Kermit was the trembling of his body. Then the silence was broken with the sobs rising from his throat.

John leaned over his friend and touched his back gently. There was no response. Kermit was lost in his grief. John kneeled on the ground, waiting patiently for Kermit to regain his senses.

After a few moments, the gray-haired man finally spoke, "Kermit, you want to blame yourself for what happened, but the facts don't support it. You know that you fired in self-defense. Okay, you didn't see that the girl was there, but that doesn't change the fact that you fired in self-defense. What happened to her was an accident. . .pure and simple. Don't try to make it any more than that. It won't work."

Kermit didn't move. Peter approached the two men, deciding to add his own brand of support. "Kermit, you can't keep taking the blame for what Stiles did. No one else blames you. You're only lying to yourself if you think you were responsible."

John looked up at Peter curiously. He didn't know what Peter was referring to, but it was obvious that Stiles had made another move against Paul. More information would be needed on that little revelation, John thought.

Kermit had still not moved from his face-down, prone position, although he had stopped sobbing. "I can't forget what happened. . .I can't get the images out of my head."

Peter kneeled down on the opposite side of his friend, "You aren't supposed to forget. . .none of us are supposed to forget the horrible things that happen to us. You are supposed to forgive. . .forgive yourself as you forgive others. With forgiveness comes acceptance and from acceptance comes peace of mind."

Kermit turned his head, looking up at the young cop, "I hate it when you go Shaolin on me. . .you know that?"

Peter noticed the hint of a smile on Kermit's face and chuckled, "Hey, guess I've been hanging around Pop too much, huh."

Kermit rolled over onto his back and then sat up slowly, with the assistance of his friends. John kept an arm on his right shoulder, "It won't be easy, Kermit. You know as well as I do that the nightmares can last for a long time, perhaps for a life time. But, Peter's right. If you accept what you have done, recognize what was out of your control and learn to live with both, the nightmares will be easier to deal with."

Kermit turned to the elder man and frowned, "Ah hell, he's got you doing it too."

John laughed. Kermit's face suddenly turned sober. "This isn't over. I can't go back to the precinct. There are too many questions being raised. . .to many holes in my past I can't let my past. . .or lack there of, take my friends down with me."

Peter looked at John, winked and then smiled at his friend, "Oh. . .I guess we forgot to tell you, your file's been found."

John and Peter loaded Kermit back into the passenger side of the Corvair, despite his protests, and John took the wheel. Peter followed the two in the Stealth, as they made their way back to the precinct.

Kermit hadn't wanted to go back, but his curiosity got the best of him. He had no file, he knew that for a fact. He, with Paul's blessing, was the one who had made sure that all records of his past were deleted.

John and Peter escorted the ex-mercenary into the squad room and past Detectives Skalaney and Powell, both of whom grinned at their sunglass-wearing coworker.

"Hey, Kermit." Skalancy smiled at Griffin. "It's great news about the investigation, huh. Guess you'll be back to work soon."

Kermit shook his head, not understanding what had happened. Captain Simms saw Peter, Kermit and John Durham approach and rushed out of her office to greet the men. "Detective Griffin, I'm glad to see you. I've been leaving messages all over town for you. We need to talk about the file."

Kermit looked suspiciously at Peter and John, who both, on cue, shrugged innocently.

"Come in, Detective," the Captain motioned to her office. Kermit obediently followed her in and the door shut behind him. Taking a seat at the chair across from hers, he waited patiently for what was to happen next. Simms picked up a file and handed it to him. "Personnel sends its apology. Your file was located in a box that had been sent to storage at the municipal warehouse.

Kermit was dumbfounded now. If he could see himself in the mirror, he was certain that he would find his jaw resting on the floor. "What? How. . ." he started to ask, but then closed his mouth, choosing to read the file instead.

Karen continued to talk, "Why didn't you tell me you had worked for the CIA. I realize that retired spies don't generally like to advertise their work history, but I would have kept it confidential."

Kermit looked down in the file and found that, sure enough, he had been an agent for the CIA for fifteen years, after serving five years in military intelligence.

Most of his tenure with the Agency had been spent in London, working closely with MI-6. Three MI-6 retired operatives had sent personal letters of recommendation to the former Captain of the 101^st, Paul Blaisdell. Those three agents were, Kermit knew without looking, Steadman, Sterling and Durham.

Kermit sat back in the chair and removed the sunglasses, not caring that Karen Simms was in the room, watching every move. He rubbed his eyes, chuckling. "So, how did personnel find the file?"

"Actually, that's the hilarious part of the story. Personnel didn't find the file, Sandra Mason did. She received an anonymous tip that all your horrid secrets were kept in a file at the warehouse. She, believe it or not, tried to sneak into the warehouse with a cameraman. They set off the silent alarm, but found the file in the exact location where they were told it would be. Police stormed the building. . .scared the shit out of Sandra, I think." Karen started to chuckle, "Booked her for felony B & E."

Kermit couldn't hold back his laughter. For the first time in three days he actually felt like laughing. . .in fact, he felt down right happy. He stood and looked at his boss, "So, am I in the clear on this work history inquiry?"

"Yep. Internal Affairs sent over their findings. You are clear on all of it, your missing file and the shooting of Stephanie Porter."

Kermit shook his head, astounded, "Unbelievable. Uh, can I take this file and read it. . .just to make sure that all the facts are there?"

Karen stood and followed him to the doorway, "No problem. I can understand your concern about the content. So Detective, can I expect to see you back at your desk in the morning?"

Kermit turned to Karen and in a warm grin, gave her his best, "Oh Yeah."

Kermit walked back to his office, looking for Peter and John in the squad room. He definitely had some questions he wanted to ask. They weren't around.

He opened his office door and found the two lounging in the chairs beside his desk. He gave them a crooked grin, "I suppose you two think you're pretty funny, huh."

Peter shrugged, "I don't have a clue of what you're talking about."

John smiled, but didn't deny his involvement.

Kermit grinned at his friend, "How'd you do it? How'd you pull this off?" He held up the file, shaking it slightly.

"I didn't work for MI-6 for 25 years and not learn anything, you know." John shrugged at his friend.

Kermit grinned, but then suddenly became serious, "What if someone checks this out?"

John shrugged, "What if they do? You know how these covert agencies operate, no one ever tells the truth. . .hell, no one ever knows what the truth is."

Kermit pointed a finger at Peter, "Yeah, but Shaolin boy over here says that there is only one truth. . .so what do you have to say to that, hmmm?"

John shrugged, "Guess that's why we don't recruit Shaolin, huh. . .they're just too honest for their own good. They couldn't play the mental games we play. Couldn't sneak around and get away with the stuff that us spies do for a living."

Kermit looked suspiciously at Peter and then grinned, "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

The End