Part 5
Linking together their chis, Lo Si entered Kwai Chang Caine's mind. The mixture of herbs had been effective in clearing Caine's mind, relaxing him. He had awakened after an hour of much needed rest. It was now easier for Caine to sink into the meditative trance needed for what was to come next.
They walked together through Caine's memories. Each memory was hidden behind one of several doors that lined the hallway they walked down. The destruction of the temple. The joy and sorrow of the fifteen years he wandered. The reunion with Peter. Caine smiled both physically and mentally. They finally found the door to the night Caine and Mary Margaret went out to eat, the night Peter was attacked.
Lo Si motioned for Caine to open the door. Gazing into Mary Margaret's eyes as she met him at his apartment, Caine's breath caught. 'Maybe I have found the one with whom I can share my life.' He smiled. Hand in hand, they walked to the restaurant. The outside of the building was painted cream with green trim; an awning hung over the few patio tables and chairs scattered in front of the building. Hidden speakers played music, gentle but romantic.
The two decided to eat on the patio. The waiter laid a clean tablecloth on the metal table top, placed a fresh bouquet of flowers in the center, and set two chairs next to each other. As Caine and Mary Margaret sat down, the waiter handed them a wine list, which Caine promptly took and ordered Jenard Merlot, a red wine that went well with Italian foods.
"I thought you didn't drink alcohol?" she asked flirtatiously.
Caine smiled, feeling like a young man on his first date. "I do not. Wine is merely the aging of fruit juice. We had wine in the temple for special occasions and rituals."
Mary Margaret ordered manicotti with cheese and Caine the four-cheese lasagna; then he refilled their glasses. Their topics of discussion ranged through Taoism, Christianity, and precinct gossip as dinner was served.
Walking back to Caine's apartment, they each felt a bonding. At the apartment, they sat on the roof amid the plants and gazed at the sky, hoping to see the full moon as it rose over the city. The stars were few due to the bright city lights below them.
Mary Margaret left well after midnight. A lingering kiss left both wanting more, but they agreed to take their relationship slowly.
Lo Si let Caine linger at the memory for a little while, then pointed to the next door.
Opening the door: As the two walked home, Caine's head started to ache. Nothing bad, but as the time with her grew, so did the pain. He didn't want to see her go, but was thankful for her leaving so he could prepare something to ease the pain. Caine rubbed his forehead; he had never had a headache before that he couldn't cure. He tried different herbs that had worked in the past, but they didn't work now.
Finally, he sat on the floor, seeking solace in meditation. When the pain did not leave, he went into deeper meditation.
The candles flickered as two dark-clad men approached Caine and injected him with a drug. Being in a deep trance and concentrating intently on the relief of pain, Caine was not able to defend himself before the drug was administered. It was quick acting, flowing rapidly through his veins, enhanced by the other drug that had been in his food. The mixture numbed his body. The intruders picked him up, one arm draped over each man's shoulder, and took him from the apartment.
"What time did you get home the night of the attack?" Kermit questioned.
"I don't know. Around 8, I guess."
"OK, did you have company?"
"No," Peter replied shortly.
"Why not? I thought you had a date with Tammy?" Mary Margaret broke in.
Peter looked from one friend to the other. "She called and said she didn't think she should be seen with a cop."
"She dumped you? Well, came to her senses early, did she?" Mary Margaret gibed.
Peter ignored his partner and friend as Kermit continued. "So, no one came to your place, no one met you there?"
"No," Peter answered more forcefully.
"Where did you eat supper?"
"Nowhere. Had it delivered." He shook his head, "And it wasn't one of their best. I don't think I ever finished."
"Did you put it in the fridge?"
"Hell, Kermit, I don't know. After I ate a few pieces, I went to bed."
"Stay up to watch TV?"
"No, like I said, the pizza wasn't the best. I felt like I was gonna be sick, so I went to bed."
"Then what happened?"
Peter closed his eyes, the scene unfolding before him.
"Peter, we need to know," Mary Margaret encouraged.
Swallowing hard, he answered, "I woke up to someone raising my arms. Something must have been…" He stopped and again looked away.
"Did you struggle before they tied you to the bed?"
Peter was tired of the questions. Kermit was asking the same ones Peter asked himself every hour.
"Come on, Kid. The train set was knocked over, books strewn everywhere. Did you fight with them?"
Peter looked at Paul, pleading with his eyes to make the questions stop. He didn't want to admit that he hadn't struggled, though he could not think of why, which would be the next question.
Paul returned Peter's stare. "You need to answer, Son."
A whispered "no" came out as Peter again saw the crime played out in his mind.
"So you just woke up, in your bed, to someone tying up your hands?" Kermit continued, wishing himself he could stop the questions. He was glad for the ever-present sunglasses that hid his emotions and weaknesses.
"Yes," the monosyllable escaped Peter's lips. "Can we stop now?"
"No, just a few more questions. You said Caine is the one who attacked you. How do you know? You saw his face?" Kermit asked, while Mary Margaret stayed silent.
"I saw…I saw his hat, his jacket. I heard his voice," Peter answered slowly.
"Did you see his face?" Kermit continued. "Peter, it was dark in your room. You didn't have a light on, so how could you have seen his face or clothing?"
"The moon shines in from the window. I saw the hat and coat and long hair. But I also know I heard his voice."
Kermit nodded, then continued, "What did he say?"
Again swallowing hard, pausing as he heard the words in his mind, Peter repeated, "The lamb shall be led to the slaughter as an atonement for my sins."
The words hung in the air. No one moved or said anything. Peter wished everyone would leave. He turned on his side, his back to Kermit and Mary Margaret, closing his eyes, not wanting to look at Paul.
Finally, Kermit turned off the recorder and place a hand on Peter's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kid. But you know we have to ask." Without getting an answer, Kermit reached for the recorder. "We need to know more, what happened and how."
Peter continued to ignore Kermit. He concentrated on his breathing and started counting the holes in the ceiling tiles from the corner of his eye. He heard Kermit huff, then mutter something about coming back in an hour.
Paul watched both men, wondering who was the most stubborn. Mary Margaret left with Kermit, walking quickly to keep up with his rushed pace.
"Why didn't you make him finish?" she asked as she caught up with him.
Stopping his retreat, he turned and looked at her. "Because, because I saw his pain. Yes, I know I'm an officer first, but damn it, Skalaney. He's been through something nightmares are made from. I've seen…" He broke off, not wanting to reveal more of himself to her.
Mary Margaret watched as Kermit hesitated to continue his reasoning. Though he wore sunglasses, she knew Kermit was troubled. "You've had your own nightmares."
"Yeah, well, this isn't about me. Give Paul a few minutes with him, then I'll go back in. Why don't you go to Peter's apartment and see if there is anything we missed." Kermit gave a half-hearted grin.
"OK. I want to talk to that neighbor again, also. Meet you back at the station in a bit," Mary Margaret replied, then left, leaving Kermit to find the waiting room and contemplate his own nightmares.
"You want to talk about it?" Paul questioned, wanting this nightmare to be over soon.
Peter didn't answer for a while, then he spoke. "Paul, why didn't I fight him off? My mind screamed at me -- at him -- to stop. But it was like my body wasn't mine, anymore."
Shaking his head, Paul answered, "I don't know, but we will find out. But the only way we can do that is if you tell us what happened."
"I know. I just…I just didn't want to remember, but every time I close my eyes, I see him holding that knife, hear his voice."
"I understand." Paul answered reassuringly, then looked up as the door opened slowly.
Peter rolled over to see Kermit walk in. "Ready to continue?"
Releasing an exasperating sigh, Peter gave in. "Let's get this over with."
Once more, Kermit placed the recorder on the table and started it recording.
"OK, we left off with you hearing Caine's voice, but you didn't see his face. Tell us what happened. And Peter, remember, this is a police case. You're a cop and know what the case hinges on," Kermit stated, then sat back, letting Peter remember all the details of that night.
"I was sick. Man, I don't think I have ever been that sick before in my life. Well," he turned and smiled at Paul, both sharing a memory of misspent youth, "I guess I have. But this, this was different. I felt like if I could just vomit, I'd feel better, but I couldn't. My head became a little fuzzy, so I went to bed."
"You didn't question your head being fuzzy?" Kermit asked with a grin. The image of Peter's brain being as tousled as his hair was funny.
Peter thought about the question, brows furrowed and mouth set. "No, I guess I just thought it was a bad pizza and I was supposed to feel that way. I remember I was going to call Dom the next day and tell him about it."
"What happened next?"
"I guess I fell asleep pretty quick. I woke up to a noise and pressure around my wrists. I couldn't figure who would be in my room. I tried to move. I really did, but I couldn't." His eyes fell away from Paul as he remembered that is how Paul found him.
Paul smiled to reassure his son, "It's OK, Peter."
Peter didn't want to go back to that night again, back to that horror, to the realization of what his father was about to do -- but if he was to find the truth, he had no choice. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "It was kinda dark. I couldn't see for a minute, then I saw the outline of his coat and hat."
"Whose coat and hat?" Kermit asked, breaking into the grizzly story.
"Pop's. You know, I wasn't scared then, just confused. I even laughed. He always seems to pop up when I'm sick or hurt, so I just thought he was there because I sick, or maybe it was some new lesson he was trying to teach me…" Peter's face fell as he stared into the terror of the night. "But he wasn't."
Kermit and Paul looked sadly at each other, wondering if this nightmare could ever be fully explained. If it was, would Peter and his father ever be the same again? But they didn't speak as they let Peter continue.
"Once I realized it was him, I tried to talk to him, tell him the lesson was over. But he didn't speak. He just moved around me, chanting words I didn't understand. Then he pulled something out of nowhere. I didn't recognize it at first; then I saw the dragon shape…" Peter's eyes widened and tears began to form. He fought for control.
Paul touched his shoulder. "We can wait a minute if you need." He wished he didn't have to put his son through this.
Peter smiled half-heartedly. "No, it's OK, Paul. It has to be done." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "It was the knife from the temple, the one I had given him." Peter, for a moment, smiled at the memory; then it faded as he continued. "I asked what he was doing. Then I begged him to tell me what was going on. But he just kept chanting. Then he lifted the knife into the air and said the lamb would be atonement for his sins and that's when…" Peter swallowed hard, the tears threatening to overflow, tears of pain and sorrow looking for escape from the pool of his hazel eyes. "…When he stabbed me," he whispered.
Paul, who still held his hand on Peter's shoulder, felt his son's body shudder.
"You all right, Peter? I am sorry, but are you sure that is what he said?" Kermit asked, wishing he had gone to the apartment or anywhere else but here.
Peter nodded as he closed his eyes.
Kermit pressed the stop button on the recorder. In a low voice, he said he would get the statement written up, then left father and son alone to face the nightmare together.
Paul sat back in the chair, his mind racing with all that had been said. Sitting up quickly, he asked, "Peter, you said you had pizza. You use Dominic's?"
Peter nodded. Dominic's wasn't but two blocks away from Peter's apartment, and they made at least one delivery to him a week.
"Paul, what are you thinking?"
"If Skalaney is right and Caine was poisoned, it would stand to reason that you would be, also. That would explain why you couldn't move and felt so sick. I need to get hold of that pizza." Paul thumbed through the yellow pages he retrieved from Peter's bedside table. "Dominic's Pizza, 555-1956." Paul punched in the number as he said it out loud.
"Dominic? This is Captain Paul Blaisdell of the 101st. I need to ask a question. Are you busy? Good. Night before last, Peter Caine ordered a pizza, right? OK, yeah, sounds like what he'd get. Who was the delivery boy? That a new kid? Sure, thanks." Hanging up the phone, Paul smiled with satisfaction.
"What is it?" Peter asked as he watched his foster father, curious about what the older man had found out. Peter soon forgot the emotions he had been feeling, the cop instincts that had been drilled into him for many years taking control.
"Did you recognize the delivery boy?"
"No, he was a new one."
"Dominic hired him last week and he quit after he delivered your pizza."