Safety
By Liz Gregg
Peter
Peter's legs feel heavy and stiff, cramped beneath the steering wheel. The interior of his car looks unfamiliar; huge flashes of lightning cause rivulets of rain on the windshield to reflect watery trails on the dashboard. How can he move, how can he face his father when he has no plan? To make a plan he needs to think, but he can't form a rational thought when all he hears, over and over, are the Ancient's words: Peter, you must warn your father...I cannot let him die...The Chi'Ru Master, your father engages with him in mortal combat tonight.
He groans in frustration, his head thunders with pain and his eyes burn. He feels disconnected from the world; it's the way he gets when he's brushed against death...It should have been me oh dear God, Kira! The warmth of their last kiss, and then... Kira, no! Lying so still on the ground in the alley, her eyes closed, her cool lips dark against deathly pale skin...it should have been me.
And now his father is headed directly to the same kind of death. Armed only with the teachings of Lao Tzu and a couple of Kung Fu kicks, his dad is going blind into battle with an experienced serial killer who has poison and who knows what else in his arsenal.
I can't let that happen. I can't and I won't! Adrenalin surges through him, propelling him out of the car. I'll explain things to him. Tell him about the poison. Make him understand.
Peter enters the kwoon and stares at his father, tall and imposing dressed in elegant black and white silks, pounding the iron palms. Caine's body radiates fierce power, and there's a grace in his form that Peter's never seen before.
'Where's Everett?'
'Waiting for me.'
'No. He's waiting for us,' His father turns, and Peter's never seen him so serious; his face is drawn in stern lines, his expression is grim. 'The Ancient told me what's going on. You're not going after a serial killer by yourself.'
'He is', Caine smacks the bag, 'Chi'Ru.'
He's not listening to a word I say. Peter feels the air grow thick and cold, and his next breath forms an icy lump in his chest.
'He uses poison. That's how he killed his victims. Or is that,' he tries to swallow and nearly chokes, 'is that how all Chi'Ru kill their victims?'
'The method of death is not important,' Caine talks to Peter with measured patience, like Peter is ten years old, 'the Chi'Ru uses deception,' his father pounds the sack again, 'to confuse, and disorient.'
The utter hopelessness of his attempt sinks in. Peter says, weakly, 'Well maybe a, maybe a bullet will stop him.'
'No. I must go alone.'
Peter watches time flooding toward him, first rendering Peter helpless and then drowning his father. He won't let Caine die. He needs to shock the unflappable Shaolin priest and force Caine to listen to him.
'Can't let that happen.' Peter cocks the Beretta. 'Tell me where and when.'
Caine
I watch my son as, with eyes guarded, he extends his arm and points his firearm in my direction. I touch his hand to gently push it down, for his peace of mind rather than my own safety. His skin is cold and brittle, and I fear it reflects his spirit, so thoroughly shattered its fragments threaten to pierce my heart. I caress his face, full of pain, hoping he will meet my gaze, but still he will not look at me. I feel his fear and hopelessness; so I approach him, slowly, and kiss my child, whose very essence I had lost hope of ever finding, yet who now stands before me, a desperate man.
'You have to take the safety off for it to be effective,' I say with little thought, and although my voice is steady, my spirit is anything but calm.
The first steps I take nearly falter. I focus and walk toward a small table holding a candle. I study the flame and center my chi, and feel Peter move behind me. His hands grip my arms and his damp cheek presses against my shoulder. His body trembles; I do not allow myself to react. I hold myself straight and still, channeling my strength to him, healing us both. Moments pass, and Peter calms.
"I saw him before, Pop," he finally whispers.
Surprised, I twist my head and look back at my son. His eyes are full and wide. He squeezes my arms. "I saw him at the temple. In my room."
I turn enough to fully face him, and take his hands between mine, rubbing briskly to warm their icy chill. "Saw whom, my son?"
"The Shadow Assassin. You told me I was imagining things, that-that I had a bad dream, but you were wrong. I knew it then and I know it now. It was him. Chi'Ru."
Could he be right? I stare into his eyes, searching, trying to see his demons, and slowly his dream becomes my memory. "Yes," I begin slowly, "I do remember that night."
"So I'm right? The Chi'Ru was in my bedroom?"
I frown, remembering ghosts buried long ago. "I...cannot be sure, Peter." He looks at me doubtfully. I shrug. "It might have been a dream. Or even...a revelation. Or perhaps, perhaps, it was the presence of a true Chi'Ru master. But we will never know for certain."
"But it's enough!" He flips his hands to grasp mine. His eyes are bright, full of hope. "It's enough to let me come with you!"
Too late, I understand where this is leading. I shake my head.
"Come on, Dad! I'll stay out of the way."
"No."
"Let me help you, Father. Please!" He drops my hands and grabs my arms. "You don't understand. This guy's a maniac!"
"Peter..."
"All right, then. You leave me no choice. I'll-I'll just follow you."
Frustrated, I shake free from his grasp, and am about to remind him of the duty of an obedient son. But in that unshielded moment, his eyes reveal great sorrow, pain buried so deep he could not possibly speak to me of it even if he would be willing. I cradle his face with both my palms and infuse my words with all the reassurance I can muster.
"Trust me, Peter. Please."
Peter's eyes close, and one tear spills over my hand. I caress his cheek with my thumb, as I would when he was a little boy. If only his anguish could be soothed as easily as I wipe away the sting of salt on his skin. He pulls me into an embrace.
"I'll try, Pop," Peter mutters, his voice hoarse, "I'm not making any promises, but I'll try."
I sigh, and accept this small concession from Peter, hoping it will give me the time I need to finish preparations for the upcoming conflict. If I return from this battle alive, I will need time to consider the impact of my presence in my son's life - a son who does not fully trust me, and whose true essence I must search for once again.
The End
By Liz Gregg
Peter
Peter's legs feel heavy and stiff, cramped beneath the steering wheel. The interior of his car looks unfamiliar; huge flashes of lightning cause rivulets of rain on the windshield to reflect watery trails on the dashboard. How can he move, how can he face his father when he has no plan? To make a plan he needs to think, but he can't form a rational thought when all he hears, over and over, are the Ancient's words: Peter, you must warn your father...I cannot let him die...The Chi'Ru Master, your father engages with him in mortal combat tonight.
He groans in frustration, his head thunders with pain and his eyes burn. He feels disconnected from the world; it's the way he gets when he's brushed against death...It should have been me oh dear God, Kira! The warmth of their last kiss, and then... Kira, no! Lying so still on the ground in the alley, her eyes closed, her cool lips dark against deathly pale skin...it should have been me.
And now his father is headed directly to the same kind of death. Armed only with the teachings of Lao Tzu and a couple of Kung Fu kicks, his dad is going blind into battle with an experienced serial killer who has poison and who knows what else in his arsenal.
I can't let that happen. I can't and I won't! Adrenalin surges through him, propelling him out of the car. I'll explain things to him. Tell him about the poison. Make him understand.
Peter enters the kwoon and stares at his father, tall and imposing dressed in elegant black and white silks, pounding the iron palms. Caine's body radiates fierce power, and there's a grace in his form that Peter's never seen before.
'Where's Everett?'
'Waiting for me.'
'No. He's waiting for us,' His father turns, and Peter's never seen him so serious; his face is drawn in stern lines, his expression is grim. 'The Ancient told me what's going on. You're not going after a serial killer by yourself.'
'He is', Caine smacks the bag, 'Chi'Ru.'
He's not listening to a word I say. Peter feels the air grow thick and cold, and his next breath forms an icy lump in his chest.
'He uses poison. That's how he killed his victims. Or is that,' he tries to swallow and nearly chokes, 'is that how all Chi'Ru kill their victims?'
'The method of death is not important,' Caine talks to Peter with measured patience, like Peter is ten years old, 'the Chi'Ru uses deception,' his father pounds the sack again, 'to confuse, and disorient.'
The utter hopelessness of his attempt sinks in. Peter says, weakly, 'Well maybe a, maybe a bullet will stop him.'
'No. I must go alone.'
Peter watches time flooding toward him, first rendering Peter helpless and then drowning his father. He won't let Caine die. He needs to shock the unflappable Shaolin priest and force Caine to listen to him.
'Can't let that happen.' Peter cocks the Beretta. 'Tell me where and when.'
Caine
I watch my son as, with eyes guarded, he extends his arm and points his firearm in my direction. I touch his hand to gently push it down, for his peace of mind rather than my own safety. His skin is cold and brittle, and I fear it reflects his spirit, so thoroughly shattered its fragments threaten to pierce my heart. I caress his face, full of pain, hoping he will meet my gaze, but still he will not look at me. I feel his fear and hopelessness; so I approach him, slowly, and kiss my child, whose very essence I had lost hope of ever finding, yet who now stands before me, a desperate man.
'You have to take the safety off for it to be effective,' I say with little thought, and although my voice is steady, my spirit is anything but calm.
The first steps I take nearly falter. I focus and walk toward a small table holding a candle. I study the flame and center my chi, and feel Peter move behind me. His hands grip my arms and his damp cheek presses against my shoulder. His body trembles; I do not allow myself to react. I hold myself straight and still, channeling my strength to him, healing us both. Moments pass, and Peter calms.
"I saw him before, Pop," he finally whispers.
Surprised, I twist my head and look back at my son. His eyes are full and wide. He squeezes my arms. "I saw him at the temple. In my room."
I turn enough to fully face him, and take his hands between mine, rubbing briskly to warm their icy chill. "Saw whom, my son?"
"The Shadow Assassin. You told me I was imagining things, that-that I had a bad dream, but you were wrong. I knew it then and I know it now. It was him. Chi'Ru."
Could he be right? I stare into his eyes, searching, trying to see his demons, and slowly his dream becomes my memory. "Yes," I begin slowly, "I do remember that night."
"So I'm right? The Chi'Ru was in my bedroom?"
I frown, remembering ghosts buried long ago. "I...cannot be sure, Peter." He looks at me doubtfully. I shrug. "It might have been a dream. Or even...a revelation. Or perhaps, perhaps, it was the presence of a true Chi'Ru master. But we will never know for certain."
"But it's enough!" He flips his hands to grasp mine. His eyes are bright, full of hope. "It's enough to let me come with you!"
Too late, I understand where this is leading. I shake my head.
"Come on, Dad! I'll stay out of the way."
"No."
"Let me help you, Father. Please!" He drops my hands and grabs my arms. "You don't understand. This guy's a maniac!"
"Peter..."
"All right, then. You leave me no choice. I'll-I'll just follow you."
Frustrated, I shake free from his grasp, and am about to remind him of the duty of an obedient son. But in that unshielded moment, his eyes reveal great sorrow, pain buried so deep he could not possibly speak to me of it even if he would be willing. I cradle his face with both my palms and infuse my words with all the reassurance I can muster.
"Trust me, Peter. Please."
Peter's eyes close, and one tear spills over my hand. I caress his cheek with my thumb, as I would when he was a little boy. If only his anguish could be soothed as easily as I wipe away the sting of salt on his skin. He pulls me into an embrace.
"I'll try, Pop," Peter mutters, his voice hoarse, "I'm not making any promises, but I'll try."
I sigh, and accept this small concession from Peter, hoping it will give me the time I need to finish preparations for the upcoming conflict. If I return from this battle alive, I will need time to consider the impact of my presence in my son's life - a son who does not fully trust me, and whose true essence I must search for once again.
The End