Warning: This a particularly violent story, and it can get pretty scary at times. Please do not read if either aspect upsets you. RL turned my life upside down recently and twisted it inside out. This story was the release from that emotional upset. Funny how extreme stress can be worked out by putting fictional characters through even more stress, but it works for me and my twisted psyche. VEG
"Hitchhiker"
(A Halloween Tale)
by ValleyA
(Set immediately after Demons)
Chapter One
There was a nagging itch at the back of Peter's neck and he scratched at it without relief. The rough sound of the Stealth's engine only added to his growing irritation. The car had been running just fine going up to Braselton, but on the return trip, it was misfiring and running hard.
*Probably the timing belt. Or maybe fouled spark plugs. Something that can turn bad fast,* he thought grimly. Though he'd stopped several times on the way home to determine the cause of the problem, its mysterious malfunction continued to elude him.
His father's soft voice pulled him away from running through the car's systems. "Peter, you seem distracted. Are you well?"
Peter scratched at his neck one last time, then concentrated on placing both hands on the steering wheel as he pulled up in front of his father's building. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's my car that's not."
Unable to resist the urge, Peter's hand went back to his neck and rubbed the skin, battling his desire to rake his nails across the bothersome area. Caine grabbed his wrist and gently pulled the hand away as he turned to examine the back of Peter's neck more closely.
Peter saw his father's expression change as he brushed his fingers across the abraded skin.
"What? It's a bug bite or something. Probably when we were in Marilyn's attic. It's no biggie. Really."
When Caine didn't agree with him, but instead continued to examine the irritated area, Peter pulled away from him. The itching and the rough idle of the Stealth were driving him crazy, but his father's persistence could prove far worse, especially if Caine thought the situation warranted stubbornness.
He glanced toward Caine and found his father's hazel eyes dark with worry. He recognized that look in his father's expression. He swallowed, trying to think of some way to appease him when Caine spoke up.
"Peter, your aura is clouded with agitation and your chi is very hard to read. In fact, I can read very little from you, except what I can see with my own eyes,"' his father said softly, but Peter heard the sobering echo of deep concern.
"Come on, Pop, I'm just a little jumpy. It's probably a delayed reaction from this crazy weekend. I mean, we were talking to people who have been dead for twelve years. Ghosts, for crying out loud! We were pretty damned lucky to bust the bad guys before they killed us. I think that's more than enough to get anyone jumpy."
With a nervous chuckle, Peter quipped, "And that's the last time I attend a Griffin family dinner party," he paused as he scratched his neck again, and then stopped, glaring at his hand in irritation.
"I have a salve that will help with the itching," Caine said, reaching into his satchel.
"That's okay, Pop, it's not that bad," Peter started, but when his father placed the small jar into his hand, he didn't give it back.
"Uh, thanks," he murmured, then noticed his father's silent stare.
After an uncomfortable moment, Peter pointed to the front door of the building beside them. "Sorry to rush you, Pop, but I'm blocking this lane of traffic and my car isn't running that great anyway. I wouldn't want it to break down right here. I wish the shop was still open, but I'll take it in tomorrow morning. Right now, I need to get home."
Caine shifted in his seat and placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Peter, please park and come inside with me."
Peter felt his agitation grow. "What? So you can offer me some noxious tea or gnarly tasting herb for this bug bite? Thanks, but no thanks. Unless you've got something that will help engine trouble, I've got to run."
"Please, Peter."
"Sorry, Pop, but it's been a long weekend and I've still have a ton of other things to do before work tomorrow. And with the car not running right, I'm going to have to get up early to take it into the shop." Upon seeing his father's discomfort, he added, "But... maybe I can stop by after that."
Sadly, Caine shook his head. "Master Khan has asked the Ancient and myself to join him on a personal pilgrimage of vital importance. We leave before dawn tomorrow and will be gone for a few days."
Peter felt a sudden flash of abandonment at hearing of his father's impending absence before he nodded his head, silently accepting the constant presence of his father's duties and obligations, although a little more advance notice would have been nice.
"Well, have a good trip. When will you be back?" he asked pensively.
Caine merely shrugged in reply.
Peter sighed, prompting Caine to add, "Perhaps, a few days. Perhaps more."
"Okay, well, I'll see you when I see you," Peter said, listening to the distant tone in his voice as he spoke.
Apparently, his father heard it, too. Caine rubbed his hand still resting on Peter's shoulder, and then his troubled gaze met Peter's in a silent plea to join him. Peter smiled wanly and patted his father's hand as his resolve began to waver. "Well, uh, maybe," Peter started.
An obnoxious horn blared several times and Peter's gaze darted up to the rearview mirror. His hand left Caine's and went out the open window to wave the car around them. Peter's agitation was back in full force with the startling interruption and the momentary hesitation he had felt before was now gone.
In a rush of movement, he pulled his father close to him, kissing him on the forehead. "I better go before I get a ticket. I'll see you when you get back."
Kwai Chang wasn't making any signs of leaving. Instead, he dug in deeper. "Peter, I sense something is not right with you."
Peter grunted with sarcasm and rolled his eyes. "And that's something new?"
"No, my son, there is something blocking – "
Another blast of a horn ended their conversation. Peter scratched at the back of his neck again as he turned and looked over his shoulder. "The only thing being blocked at the moment is traffic. I better go."
With great reluctance, Caine opened his door and got out.
"Peter, if you need me – "
Peter nodded, only half-listening as he glanced into his side mirror, checking for oncoming traffic as he revved the Stealth's sick engine before shifting into gear. "Yeah, yeah, if I need you, I'll give you a ring."
Upon hearing the door latch catch as it was closed, Peter pulled forward, only then hearing his father's soft voice saying, "Be careful, my son."
"I'll try," he whispered to himself, then he shivered and glanced around the interior of the Stealth, knowing he was alone, but unable to stop himself from looking anyway.
The car lurched forward, the engine misfiring twice before picking up speed again. "I'll try, but it doesn't seem like life is gonna cooperate with me," he grumbled, flipping on his turn signal before making a right turn towards home.
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Peter leaned forward to pay the taxi driver and got out of the cab. "What a way to get to work," he muttered with disgust as he adjusted his overcoat.
Even though he had started early, he was already running late. He thought he'd allowed enough time to have the Stealth towed into the garage. Once he'd arrived there and saw the time, he opted to catch a cab rather than to wait for the dealership's shuttle for a ride into work.
Peter straightened his shirt collar and gritted his teeth as the collar rubbed on the back of his neck. His father's miracle salve had eased the itching, but it had done little to alleviate the burning sensation that had begun in the middle of the night.
A couple of aspirin helped to ease the pain, but he had already decided that if it wasn't better by the time his father returned, he planned on having his father check it. Quite a change from the day before, he thought with a sigh. Now, he was wishing he had taken the time yesterday to go up to his father's apartment.
"I can deal with this myself," he whispered, suddenly inspired with newfound Shaolin confidence.
He stopped walking and took a long deep breath. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to relax, and began using his Shaolin training to ease his pain. The nip in the early morning October air eventually brought him back to his surroundings and he realized he'd been standing in place for several minutes.
The fact that he had been successful at reducing the burning sensation at the back of his neck was nearly forgotten when he glanced at his wristwatch.
"Great, now I'll really be late for work," he muttered, shivering as he continued into the precinct.
Peter nodded greetings to Broderick and the others at the front desk before proceeding to his desk. He breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't see Strenlich lurking around, ready to pounce on him for his tardiness. Maybe his luck was changing for the better. It was about time; the day had sucked swamp water so far.
Still chilled, Peter didn't bother to remove his coat, heading directly for the coffee machine. He poured a cup, and then held it tightly in his hands, using the cup's heat for warmth. It quickly warmed his hands, but did nothing for the chill in his soul.
"Get a grip, Caine. You've got a pile of work to tackle," he whispered under his breath, and then squared his shoulders and headed for his desk. Setting his coffee at the corner, he shed his heavy coat. As he hung it on the coat rack, he looked around him.
Everyone seemed very involved in their own work. Peter sat down at his desk and pulled the remaining unused silver bullets from his shirt pocket. He played with them while waiting for TJ Kincaid to get off the phone.
Skalany drifted by, her coat draped across one arm. "So, did you have a nice weekend?" she teased.
With a smile, Peter cryptically replied, "The best."
His response seemed to surprise her because she made a questioning sound as she walked away from him. He continued to toy with the bullets for another moment until TJ was finished.
Sliding his chair over to Kincaid's desk, he made a show of returning the bullets to the redheaded detective. "Come in handy?" TJ asked.
Peter smiled. "As Kermit would say, 'Oh yeah'."
He patted TJ on the shoulder and rolled back to his desk, thinking about which case had the highest priority on this dreary Monday morning. He sighed, deciding none of them did, but he had to start somewhere.
He was reaching for his mug when it inexplicably moved, tumbling off the edge of his desk. Peter stared at his hand and the floor wet with spilled coffee and broken cup shards as others reacted to the fallen cup.
"Way to go, partner," Skalany chided, pulling a handful of napkins from the counter.
Peter's lips moved without sound and when he glanced up at Skalany, he couldn't keep the shock from radiating in his voice. "I – I never touched it."
Mary Margaret flashed him a wicked smile as she knelt and began swabbing up the excess liquid. "Yeah, right, Peter. Is this your attempt at mystery and intrigue so early on a Monday morning?"
She glanced up and paused when she caught his troubled gaze. Leaning closer, she whispered, "It's just a coffee cup, Peter. Don't worry about it."
Peter caught her arm. "No, Skalany, you don't get it. I... didn't... touch it."
"Chill, partner, chill. It doesn't matter if you touched it or not; it's on the floor in pieces. Come on, help me clean it up before someone slips on it."
Peter swiped a hand through his hair, then grabbed some more napkins and finished mopping up the mess. He tossed the final remnants into a nearby trash can, then turned back to stare at his desk, frowning.
Blake cruised by with another cup of coffee for him, though it was in a styrofoam cup this time. "Thanks, Blake," Peter said.
"No problem. I gave you decaf though... Looks like you're jittery enough already."
It took a moment before Blake's comment sunk in. He turned in Blake's direction but the man was almost out of the bullpen by then.
"I am not!" he shouted, and then swallowed as he realized he had shouted loud enough to cause several of the others to stop working.
"Well, I'm not," he said more quietly as he gestured with the styrofoam cup in hand, causing the dark liquid to lap the edges of the cup. "Ah, hell," he muttered finally when he felt his coworker's scrutiny.
He went back to his desk, hoping to block out his frustration with hard work. Captain Simms and Police Commissioner Kincaid cruised into the bullpen at a rapid pace, involved in a serious conversation.
Just as they passed Peter's desk, the container he kept for pens suddenly tipped over, spilling its contents on the floor before the two. Peter caught the motion of pens tumbling away from his desk, then saw Simms and Kincaid move in slow motion, unable to help them or stop the accident from happening.
Fortunately, Kincaid had seen the falling writing utensils but Simms did not and promptly turned her ankle on an errant pen caught underfoot. The Commissioner tried to catch her, but wound up falling to the ground with her.
Abruptly, the bullpen was a whirlwind of people rushing about to help the fallen. All Peter could do was push away from his desk and look about in bewilderment.
He had seen what had happened, but he was at a loss to explain it. As he caught Kincaid's angry expression, Peter knew he would have to come up with an explanation and it had better be good.
Peter moved around the desk and knelt beside Simms, who was obviously in pain with an already-swelling ankle. Peter swallowed, and offered a hand, but the motion was stopped in midair by a terse command from Kincaid. "Stop right there, Detective!"
Peter did as ordered. As he backed away, Simms turned to Kincaid in obvious confusion. She glanced at him and then back at Peter, waiting for an explanation. All Peter could do was whisper, "I'm so sorry, Captain. I don't know what happened, but – "
"You threw those pens in front of us – that's what happened!" Kincaid's face was red with anger.
TJ put a hand on his father's shoulder, one obviously placed to steady and also to calm. "Come on, Peter wouldn't do a thing like that."
"Like hell, he wouldn't! I saw it with my own eyes!" Kincaid shouted. Evidently, TJ's assistance was ineffective.
"No, no, I didn't. I never touched those pens," Peter stammered.
"Then how did they fall?"
By Kincaid's tone, Peter could tell the man was building into a tirade rather than slowly down.
"Please, Commissioner, that makes no sense at all," Simms said as she carefully rubbed her ankle.
Before Kincaid could respond, Strenlich's voice filled the air. "Everybody back. Now. Broderick, get someone over here to look at the Captain's ankle." He paused, but not long enough for anyone to jump in. "I believe the rest of you have work to do."
The glare Strenlich gave was enough to convince the others to do as ordered, leaving Peter, TJ, and himself to assist the Captain and the Commissioner. "Do you think you can stand up, Captain?" Frank inquired, bending down to slide a strong arm around her waist.
Simms nodded. Peter and Frank helped lift her up as TJ helped Kincaid to his feet. "Take your hands away from her, Caine," Kincaid said tersely. He appeared ready to strike Peter if he didn't comply.
Simms decided Peter's actions for him as she said, "Please, Commissioner, let's take this into my office. And, Peter, you stay at my side. I may have broken this ankle and I'm going to need both you and the Chief's help to get there."
Peter sighed with frustration, but did as requested. The bullpen was quiet as Kincaid slammed the door to Simms' office. Before Kincaid could start in again, Simms made herself as comfortable as possible on the sofa and gave the Commissioner a stern glare. "This is my precinct, Commissioner, and I will deal with my people in my own way."
"But that – that was assault!" Kincaid sputtered.
Simms responded in a calm, steady tone. "No, it wasn't. It was my own fault for wearing high-heeled shoes on a very busy day. It simply was an accident, nothing more. Isn't that correct, Detective Caine?"
Once Simms was sitting, Peter had backed against a wall, folding one arm around his middle while the other went over the burning at the back of his neck. He swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, it was an accident, but I'll be damned if I know for sure what happened. I had those pens in a thick mug. Not something easily toppled. I was working on a report when I suddenly caught sight of something falling. It was the pens, and then you went down. I feel really badly about this, Captain."
"Of course, you do, Peter, and I appreciate that. Accidents happen." She grimaced. Peter followed her gaze downward and cringed as he saw her ankle was already turning dark with bruising.
Taking a deep breath, Simms looked in Kincaid's direction. "And, Commissioner Kincaid, while I appreciate your concern as well, accidents cannot be changed by yelling at the people around them. Please, let this be the last I want to hear of this incident."
She smiled weakly, closing her eyes in pain, and then looked to Kincaid again. "Unfortunately, our meeting today will have to be postponed, Commissioner."
Kincaid looked like he wasn't ready to back down, but TJ placed a hand on his arm and the older man took a deep breath and nodded. Just then, the door to the office opened and Broderick was leading the way for an EMT.
"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I believe it's time for other matters," she said sternly.
Peter started to apologize again when Simms shook her head. She pointed to the door and he followed the others as they filed from the room, though Peter could feel Kincaid's gaze on him all the way to his desk as he sat down.
Jody cruised by and leaned close to him. "Everything okay?"
Peter managed a quick nod in reply.
"Good, because I just got a call from Assistant D.A. Jenkins and they are moving up the Bristol case. They want both of our reports by the end of the day."
Again, Peter nodded and turned to his desk. He felt a soft hand on his cheek, turning his face toward her. "Peter, you're white as a ghost. Are you okay?"
There was no mistaking the concern in her voice, but he felt anything like okay. Lying through his teeth, Peter reassured her. "Yeah, sure, just fine."
He pulled away from her and pretended to be working on a file so that she would leave him alone. The moment she walked away from his desk, he placed a hand over the burning at the back of his neck. It seemed to be getting hotter, if that was possible.
"Yeah, Jody, I'm just fine," he whispered to himself as he closed his eyes.
*Can this day get any worse?* he thought glumly.
With a sigh, Peter forced his eyes open, only to see Commissioner Kincaid glaring at him. Needing some activity to distract himself from the set of eyes still staring daggers at him, Peter picked up his pen and pretended to be making notes.
He tried to focus on the open report before him, but couldn't resist the urge to mutter, "Ask a silly question... Geez, Peter, of course, it can get worse. In fact, it just did."
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