To Part 23
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He wanted it to be dark. As dark as his soul felt, as dark as the guilt that was eating away at his insides.
He was haunted by his last conversation with Brian, the hate in his son's eyes that blazed out as the son wished his father dead. What an ironic twist of fate. He had been the one to see his son's obituary, not the other way around. This wasn't natural; a son wasn't supposed to die before the father.
He wondered when the funeral had been. Had his ex- wife come? Trent? John? Had they comforted one another? Who had claimed the body? Where was his youngest buried?
Eppy rolled over onto his stomach and pressed his hands over his ears as the accusing voices went on. {You tried to kill Peter's wife. First you scarred that beautiful face, and then you almost killed her. You could see how crazy in love with the woman the kid was, and you tried to kill her anyway. He hates you now, you know. He hates you. Just like Brian. And Trent. And John.}
"I didn't mean to," he whispered to the wall. "I didn't know what I was doing. I would never, never hurt Petey that way. He's one of the good ones. He's the best partner I ever had. I messed up my own sons' lives, but I finally did somethin' right with the kid. He's the kind of son I wish my own boys had been." {But it's too late for them, and for me.}
He got to his feet restlessly and paced in the short area between bars and back wall. Tomorrow. It would end tomorrow. Or the next day. It wouldn't take long. What did it matter, anyway? Nothing had really mattered for a long time now.
He sat down on the side of his bunk and buried his head in his hands. He almost wished the delirium tremens were back. Seeing bugs crawling over his body or rats running out of the walls was better than hearing these unending voices in his head.
"God, I need a drink," he muttered, and held out his trembling hands before him. He stared at them, and thought sickly that these were the same hands that had held his babies and caressed his wife. His thoughts turned blacker. Hands that had inflicted pain upon first his wife, and then his sons. And now, most recently, Peter's wife.
"Why did I DO those things?" he moaned. "God, Petey, I would rather die than look in your face and see what you think of me now." He could see it, in his mind. The hazel eyes, the expressive features that spoke volumes even when the kid thought he was wearing a poker face. Saw those features twisted with rage and disgust at the sight of the man who had nearly destroyed the most precious thing in his life.
Epstein shuddered. Death was better than seeing the light of accusation, the disillusionment, in the eyes of the one human on Earth who had made him feel important, worthy, necessary.
Crawling back onto his bunk, he curled into a ball and shivered. {Ah, Petey, you can't possibly hate me more than I hate myself.}
"My son does NOT hate you."
Epstein started violently and sat bolt upright on his cot.
Caine stood just inside the cell, regarding the prisoner soberly.
"Are you for real?" Eppy asked through chattering teeth. "Or are you part of a left over case of the DTs?"
"I am real."
Eppy jumped to his feet and paced in agitation. "How- how the hell did you get in here?"
"I am Shaolin."
"Oh, like that should explain everything."
Caine remained silent and simply studied Eppy with an inscrutable stare.
"Go away, you mystic whatever you are. Leave me alone. I just wanna be left alone."
"That is not true. You FEEL alone, but you do not wish to BE alone. I can feel your pain."
"Oh, and what would YOU know about my pain?"
Caine shrugged one shoulder. "Because I, too, once lost a son. My only son."
"But you got him back. My son is dead, and he won't never be back. My other two sons are as good as dead -- why am I telling you all this? Get out."
"Peter is very...distraught...about your...difficulties."
"Distraught, hell. I know Petey better 'n that. He'd like to kill me, wouldn't he?" Epstein glared at Caine, daring him to deny the accusation.
"He was very angry with you...at first."
Eppy laughed bitterly. "I'll just bet. How'd you manage to keep him away from me? Lock him up? Put him in handcuffs?"
"I...told my son that I would not allow him to harm you."
"You? You did that for me? Why?"
Caine shrugged again. "Why not?"
"Because I ain't worth it, that's why!" Eppy exploded. "I can't name one thing I even done right in my life. My marriage was a disaster from the get-go, my kids are scum, I let my last partner get killed --"
"What about Peter? Isn't he...one thing...you did right?"
Eppy's head dropped and he sat down on the edge of his cot despondently. "Yeah, he was - is...and look it what I gone and done to him."
"To him?"
"OK, then. To his wife. She saw right through me the first time she laid eyes on me, did you know that?" He took a shaky breath. "Her face -- how bad is it?"
"The cut...is healing. The scar will not be noticeable."
"Well, thank God for that. She was so beautiful."
"Kay Cee has a beautiful soul, as well. It is that part of her being that attracted Peter to her."
"I nearly killed her, Caine! How can you stand there and tell me Petey doesn't hate me for that?"
"Because...he does not," Caine answered simply. "My son feels...very divided...by his loyalties. He worries about you and he worries about his wife."
"I wish I could believe that."
Caine looked at him sharply. "I...do not lie."
"All right, Caine. You done your priestly duty, or whatever it is you do. Now why don't you get the hell out of here and leave me alone."
"I wish to help you."
"Get the hell out of here!" Eppy roared. He went to the bars of his cell and started to rattle them, shouting, "Guard? Guard! Hey, I need some help here!"
He kept making a racket until he saw the uniformed guard approach. "Get this bozo outta here. I never asked for him, and I don't want him."
The guard looked at him scornfully. "Who snuck you a bottle of booze tonight, Epstein? You're seein' things. There ain't nobody in there with you."
Eppy whirled around to look, and his face blanched. "Where'd he go? He was just here. You hadda seen 'im when you got here. You'd a passed him in the hallway!"
"Sleep it off, Epstein. We got a camera on your cell alla time. Ain't been nobody in it but you, all night long."
"Peter, what are you doing here?" Broderick looked at
the young detective in surprise.
Peter pretended to be shocked, and pulled out his badge to check the information on it. "This IS the 101st precinct, isn't it? Wouldja like to see my ID? Last time I checked, I worked here."
"Go on with ya." Broderick was too busy grinning to scowl very effectively.
Peter headed for his desk, which, unfortunately, was just as full of case files as it had been the last time he'd seen it. He eyed the mess ruefully, and with a sigh of resignation, sat down to wade through the mess.
"Hey, Peter! Good to see ya back." Skalany walked up to him and patted him on the back happily. "How's everything on the home front?"
"Getting back to normal, whatever that is."
At Skalany's quizzical look, he grinned. "Kacie told me it was time I started earning my keep again." The grin faded and he admitted, "She thought it would be a good idea for me to keep myself busy...today."
Skalany nodded compassionately. "The sentencing is at three, isn't it?"
Peter nodded and eyed the clock, sitting back in his chair glumly.
Kermit wandered up and perched a hip on the edge of Peter's desk. "What'd you do with your better half today, Peter?"
Peter grinned and commented, "She was going to spend the day with my father. Said she thought she'd been neglecting her 'other' Dad."
"If it's not too much to ask," an icy voice broke into their conversation. "Could I possibly impose upon the three of you to WORK, as long as you are all here?" Captain Simms leaned against the doorway of her office, staring at them pointedly.
Kermit and Skalany faded away in opposite directions, and Peter quickly flipped open a file folder.
"Detective Caine?"
He turned to look at Simms. "Yes, Captain?"
There was the barest hint of a smile about Simms's lips. "Good to have you back, Detective." With that, she turned and entered her office.
Peter smiled and focused his attention back to the files on his desk.
Peter sat staring unseeingly at the same page of the report that he had started to work on two hours ago. In spite of himself, he looked again at the clock on the squad room wall for what seemed the hundredth time that day. Two o'clock. He leaned his elbows on his desk and rested his chin in his hands. An hour. An hour more and his friend would be sentenced to death. It didn't matter what else the court called it, jail time for a cop meant death -- one way or another, sooner or later.
Even though talking things over with Kacie the night before had helped, there was still a pain deep in his heart, a regret that something more hadn't been done. It just didn't seem right to have Eppy face this all alone.
As though in answer to his thoughts, Strenlich walked over to Peter's desk and eyed him silently a moment. "It's two-fifteen, Detective. I noticed you hadn't looked at the clock in at least five minutes."
Peter looked at him grimly, without comment.
"I, um, have an appointment at the courthouse at three, Detective, if you'd care to join me."
Peter dropped his hands from his face and stared at Strenlich.
Sounding slightly defensive, Frank declared stoutly, "He was a good cop when he was here. He deserves better than this."
Peter hesitated briefly and then stood up, grabbing his jacket at the same time. "You drivin', or me?"
There was little exchanged between the two on the trip to the courthouse. They found a parking space and hustled over to the steps in the front of the building. They were taken by surprise when they ran into Paul at the front foyer.
A brief smile flitted across Peter's face as his foster father commented, "You don't turn your back on your friends when they make a mistake. Even when it's a huge one."
Throwing an arm over his foster father's shoulder, Peter said, "Lead the way, Paul."