Return to Denise's Stories Brother's Keeper 5
Part 4
The Blaisdell cabin was an hour outside town, nestled in the mountains, far away from other human inhabitants. As he listened to Peter's moans and pleas, then to the sound of vomiting and retching, Kermit was thankful he had Peter lying on his side in the back seat of the vehicle.
Peter stared at the boxing gloves that covered his hands. The movement of the vehicle had his stomach churning; the smell of diarrhea and vomit filled his nostrils. The whirring noise of the electric windows being lowered filled his ears, causing him to squeeze his eyes and grind his jaw to stop the assault on his eardrums. "Stop, please. Stop."
The request tugged at Kermit's heartstrings, as did the new round of vomiting that followed. "Just a few more minutes, kid."
Watching for headlights behind them, Kermit was ever vigilant for a surprise appearance from Larsen. He wouldn't put it past the former drug lord to come after them both, now that Peter had not followed through with the staged suicide. 'Good thing you're afraid of heights.' Kermit smiled grimly at the thought.
Pulling off the main road, Kermit drove the last mile up the dirt road to the cabin.
The cabin was dark on the inside, the outside illuminated by motion detectors turned on by the car's arrival, lighting the path to the front door. Dawn was slow in coming to the mountains, the sky only changed from the black hue of midnight to a shade lighter.
Before getting out, he looked back at Peter. Kermit was glad he had put the boxing gloves on the kid. It meant Peter couldn't open doors to wander about, and maybe get lost.
Peter glanced up, seeing the silent motion of his friend, thankful for the stop.
The tired eyes and pale skin reminded Kermit of David. His brother had looked the same way when he went through withdrawal. Kermit again cursed Larsen and himself for causing this to happen to Peter, then looked quickly away. Peter didn't know people could read him like an open book through his eyes, and Kermit had read enough.
"C-can I get up?" Peter asked as Kermit started to walk around to the back door of the Jeep.
"Let me get everything in, then I'll let you get up, OK?" Kermit had only taken in the groceries to put them away. The luggage, he figured, could wait.
Peter breathed in the runny mucus from his nose and felt the tears leaving his eyes to run down his face. "I-I just want t-to sit up."
Kermit closed his eyes, trying to control his ever-increasing anger.
"Kermit? Please?"
Striking out at the nearest grocery bag, Kermit didn't hear the crunch as his fist impacted with a bag of potato chips. All he heard were David's pleas to never leave him alone.
Trying to get Peter out of the Jeep and into the cabin proved to be a challenge. Having no food and very little water for the past sixty hours, not to mention little restful sleep, had left Peter in a weakened state and at least ten pounds lighter.
Kermit had first noticed the weight loss back at his apartment when he and Karen were able to pick Peter up with more ease than should be. When as they had undressed the young detective, Kermit had seen that Peter's ribs were pronounced under the taut skin.
"Come on, kid. Pick up your feet. I need you to help me. OK?"
Peter didn't answer. His mind was confused about what was happening to him. He remembered the constant injections and the leering looks from his captors. Turning his head, he saw George's face instead of Kermit's.
Peter grinned. 'I'll get you.'
Kermit felt Peter stumble up the first step and reached to grab his friend. Instead, he felt Peter pull back his left arm and strike out, hitting Kermit on the side of the head. It stunned the ex-mercenary and knocked his sunglasses to the ground. He had not expected the up-to-then docile detective to become aggressive. Involuntarily, he let go of Peter and reached for his jaw, hoping the dizziness would stop soon. When he reoriented himself, Peter was gone.
"Shit! Peter! Where are you?" Kermit yelled. He slowly walked around the cabin, knowing that, while Peter couldn't have gotten far, the drugs would give the runaway extra energy. "Peter, I'm not going to hurt you. It's me, Kermit."
Peter ran twenty-five yards into the woods before staggering into a tree. In his mind, his captor was after him to kill him. He could see the needle full of drugs glinting in the moonlight; he could hear the loud breathing of the man chasing him. It echoed in Peter's ears, causing pain to shoot through his head.
Kermit saw slight movement - a red flash - and knew where Peter was. He hoped the young man was down from the excess energy. 'These late nights are getting old.' He crept toward Peter, keeping his voice non-threatening. "Peter, come on and we'll go inside where it's warmer."
The world around Peter spun slowly and started getting dark. He recognized the voice as it came closer. "Ker-mit. Help me, please."
Kermit bundled Peter into his arms, gently rocking the shaking figure next to him. "Shhh. I'm right here."
"G-George is o-o-out there. H-he wants t-to get me." Peter stammered, cold chills running through his body.
"Who's George?" Kermit asked softly, in a tone of voice he didn't use regularly. When Peter didn't answer, he asked, "Is George the one who did this?"
Peter nodded. Fear gripped him, refusing to let go. He felt Kermit's hands help him to stand and lead him toward the cabin. Looking up, he whispered, "Dad's cabin."
Kermit smiled. They hadn't taken the real Peter away with the drugs. They'd only sent his mind on vacation to Horrorland.
The front door opened into a large room that was sectioned off only by furniture. A rock fireplace stood in the center with a couch facing it.
Kermit deposited Peter on the leather sofa. "Why don't you rest here for a bit? I've got to get some more things from the car." He talked to Peter as he unlocked the handcuffs from one wrist. Looking up, he followed Peter's line of sight.
The young man was staring at the pictures on the mantel just above the rock fireplace.
"You know who they are?" Kermit asked standing and touching the frames.
"M-my dad. C-can I s-see it?" Shivers continued throughout Peter's body.
Smiling at Peter's recognition of his family, Kermit let the open handcuff dangle and retrieved the picture of Paul and Peter.
The gloves prevented Peter from grasping the photo well. Instead, he held the picture to his chest. "I m-miss him."
"I know you do, kid." Kermit looked at the now docile cop. He was still angry with himself for letting Peter get the upper hand. 'He could have fallen into the lake and drowned.' Shaking his head clear of the vision of Peter floating on top of the water, Kermit had Peter to lay down on the couch and clamped the open handcuff onto the leg of the couch then went outside to finish unpacking the Jeep.
Peter watched his friend bring in several bags, always closing the door to the outside. "Paul's out there," he mumbled as Kermit passed, going to the bedroom.
"No, he's not. Come on, it's time for bed. Let's put the picture up."
Not moving, Peter clutched the photo even tighter. Tears flooded and mixed with the sweat beading up on Peter's face. "Paul said…he wouldn't leave me. Sa-said I h-had to stay with y-you."
Kermit closed his eyes, wishing he had put his sunglasses back over his eyes earlier. He bit the inside of his lower lip in an attempt to stay focused on what was to come, and not on the words Peter had said. Looking at his watch, Kermit noticed it was 3 a.m.; he'd been up for over twenty-four hours. He knew that soon the withdrawal symptoms would hit his friend's body, keeping them both awake. "Well, do as he says and come on. You can take it with you. Come on." Kermit pulled Peter up, bringing Peter's arm around his shoulders and supporting most of the other man's weight. "Let's get ready for bed."
The movement of tree limbs outside the window caused Kermit to look. Shaking his head, he murmured, "It's only the wind." Kermit took the picture away from Peter, assuring the young man that the picture would be on the nightstand when they came to bed.
Helping Peter to the bathroom, Kermit removed the gloves, then changed the young man's soiled clothing as Peter grinned and said, "I'm not a baby."
The comment and the sheepish smile caught Kermit. He laughed, startling Peter, causing him to jump and try to bolt out of the small room.
"Wait." Kermit reached for Peter. "It's all right. Here, let me put this on you." Kermit held out a clean shirt.
It was a strange job, trying to get Peter changed into clean clothes. Peter wouldn't stand still. He took Kermit's sunglasses from his pocket and played with those as the ex-mercenary and current tough guy did his best to hold back all the emotions he had pushed aside after David's death. Never had Kermit thought he'd have to go through this again. Never had he thought he'd grow to care for someone as much as he cared for Peter.
All was going well until Peter stiffened and seized. Kermit caught him, preventing Peter from hitting the sink with his head. It lasted only a few seconds, but to Kermit it was hours as he watched Peter's body twitch and tremble with the stiffening of his muscles.
While Peter was in a phase of lethargy after the seizure, Kermit sat on the floor with Peter's head in his lap. He helped the overgrown child to bed when Peter was able to help move.
After putting away everything that he had thought to bring, Kermit lay down to rest. The bedroom in which Peter restlessly slept was only a few feet away. He'd be able to get to Peter quickly, he thought as his own eyes closed in weariness.
The dream started with the familiar face of Paul Blaisdell. Kermit even recognized the scenery behind the gray-haired man. The desert lands of Beirut were hard to forget, especially as they appeared on that day.
"What is it, Paul?" Kermit heard himself ask as he stared into Paul's steel blue eyes. His stomach churned both in his dream and in reality.
Anyone looking at the sleeping form would have seen him tossing his head back and forth as the dream continued, quietly murmuring "No, no. Stop this."
"Got a priority message from the States." Paul hesitated. "David is dead."
"NO!" Kermit woke up from the nightmare, wiping the moisture from his eyes. Instead of trying to go back to sleep, he looked in on Peter, then turned on the TV, afraid to be revisited by the dream.