He should never have walked in the door. It was that simple. From the moment he had, every eye in the place had been on him. Some held concern, others curiosity. Then there were those few that held mockery, suspicion, even fear. And for once in his life, Peter didn't have the faintest clue as to why he'd receive such a broad range of looks from other cops.
He'd been good lately. Behaved himself. Well, if you discounted running out on their captain a few hours ago. But certainly that hadn't created this reaction. He was confused, even if the bland expression didn't convey it. As the tension in the room caused a tightening response from every voluntary muscle, he tried to disregard the impulse urging him to tuck tail and run.
Something was wrong.
Pure genius there, Ace. No wonder you became a detective.
What's going on?
How am I supposed to know?
You're telling me you honestly have no idea?
Well, just maybe you should be more careful about what you say where others can hear you.
Huh?
Now what in the hell was that supposed to mean?
An outside sound broke through his thoughts as Simms exited her office, gaze far more serious than the morning's indiscretion warranted. Catching sight of her two wayward detectives, she crooked a finger at them before heading back into the seclusion of her office.
Obediently, the pair moved to follow. Peter paused when a comment chased after him from an unknown source.
"Crying wolf, Peter?" Snickers touched the air.
Huh?
We really have to work on improving your vocabulary. Get going, Ace.
Peter complied, moving past Simms who'd remained by the entrance. Both Griffin and Caine watched as their captain prudently closed the door before crossing over to her desk and taking the seat behind it. Cool blue orbs shifted between the detectives, searching for something.
She didn't say a word.
Peter's mind raced; fingers unconsciously toyed with a loose thread in the lining of his jacket pocket as an answer for this odd behavior continued to sidestep his comprehension.
"Look, Captain, about our leaving…" he began his attempt to soothe ruffled feathers, trailing off as Simms raised a hand minutely for quiet.
"Gentlemen, it appears our victim has been identified," her eyes didn't leave those of the younger cop.
"Reynolds."
A brow arched in surprise. "I didn't think we had that information until after the two of you had left."
"Jody showed me the report just before Kermit and I came in here earlier. Knew it was a cop before that, just didn't know who."
"How did you come by that knowledge, Detective?"
"Donny," his answer was concise, level. Emotionless. He noticed the relief exhibited by Simms. "Is something wrong, Captain?"
She looked at him. Really looked. The relief melted, replaced by an irritation that rose as a result of Caine's indifference. "Of course something is wrong, Detective. One of our fellow officers has been brutally killed."
He wondered why he was suddenly starting to feel like a leper. He tried to rectify his phrasing, "That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean?" The sting of her tone hadn't diminished; the words were still sharp.
He sighed wearily, shaking his head. "Never mind."
"Very well. The motivation behind my asking you both in here now is the result of a rumor that has been making its way around the precinct."
Peter blinked. A rumor?
Oh, this should be good. The intonation held a trace of a smile within it.
"Everyone seems convinced that it was a wolf that attacked Officer Reynolds," she continued to watch Peter. "The reason they believe this is because apparently, Detective, you were overheard saying as much at the scene. Nickie's report arrived a few minutes ago," she indicated a document still on her fax machine, "confirming the attack to be that of a wolf. That has me intrigued as to just how you knew that at the scene already?"
Oh, shit.
You can say that again, tiger.
"Nobody else has seen that report?" Kermit inquired casually.
"Outside of this office, only Nickie Elder knows the results for the moment; although I'm sure they will soon be common knowledge. The family hasn't even been notified of the death yet, at the mayor's request. It would seem that Judge Reynolds is in court right now, and it wasn't deemed a good idea to interrupt." Though she answered the question, Simms hadn't been sidetracked. She looked at Peter expectantly.
What was he supposed to say? 'Oh, it just reminded me of the wolves I saw over in Myanmar during my vacation. By the way, we're part of the 'terrorist group' that the country is claiming attacked them.' Yeah right. How in the world did Kermit and Paul do this?
Trying to explain that trip was almost as bad as the idea of trying to explain the voice he kept hearing. Or the cold that felt as if it were draining parts of him away. The way his senses seemed to occasionally go way beyond what a human being was capable of, including a Shaolin.
How could he expect any of them to get it, to not think he was insane, when he couldn't even be certain that he wasn't losing it? He couldn't count on them not to be afraid either; he'd sensed Kermit's apprehension a few times. Smelled the taint of fear.
Kermit was frightened. Didn't that really say it all?
When it had first happened, this foreign invasion of his senses, he'd accepted it because he'd had no choice. Paul's life was on the line. Maybe Peter had even been a little appreciative of the help they'd provided. But that gratitude was gone now; had left as he'd slowly realized that they weren't going away. They were getting stronger, taking over more often, and he couldn't control them.
No, he couldn't imagine the others being anything but afraid. Not when it was scaring the shit out of him.
"Peter is Shaolin," Kermit said in his low tones, challengingly. "He's had many insights into cases in the past. Why would anyone start second guessing him now?"
Score one for the frog!
Simms sighed softly, and for a moment the strain of the day rested clearly on her shoulders. But, she was a captain for a reason and straightening, the burden seemed to vanish. "While we know that, Detective Griffin, not everyone is so accepting or as open-minded about these things."
Isn't that the truth.
Ignoring the remark, the voice deliberated,I bet it's the commissioner. Perhaps the mayor as well. Worthless politicians. And don't turn your back on that Detective Baker. He's the one who overheard you in the first place.
Overheard what? Peter's patience had worn thin, hanging on precariously by a single strand.
Your stupidity.
The snap was almost audible, the strand broken. Peter curled his fingers, nails digging into the flesh of his palms to keep from lashing out. Very calmly, he answered the remaining few questions that Simms tossed at him. Allowing Kermit to speak when the man felt so inclined. If nothing else, at least Simms seemed satisfied. To believe in his abilities. He ought to feel grateful for that.
Ought to, but somehow he didn't.
"For the moment, the two of you will remain on the case. Please bear in mind, gentlemen, that it is bound to become very public, very soon. The death of a cop is news enough. In addition to that he was the son of a very prominent judge; we're looking at a media frenzy. Be careful of what you say from here on out."
Pay attention, Ace. She means you.
Simms' tone took on a more critical, yet almost caring, note. "Detective Caine, your shift ends shortly anyway, I suggest you call it a day." She glanced at Kermit, and some unspoken communication must have passed between them. "Detective Griffin, you should as well. Both of you have had a very long day, and the pressure is on to cut down on overtime hours." Karen didn't really care about the overtime. What she did care about was the young man in front of her, sitting motionless. Blankly.
As an after thought, "Officers from the 96th will be informing the family shortly. Undoubtedly the press will learn soon thereafter. Be prepared."
Vacant eyes met hers, and Simms repressed the urge to shudder. Instead she indicated that the meeting was over, and they could depart.
Yeah, right. Peter was already gone. She could only hope it was something sleep could cure.
She wondered when life had decided to become so complicated. It came with caring, she supposed. For all that she could seem cool and detached, there was little doubt that Karen Simms cared a great deal about those with whom she so closely worked.
Some, a little too much.
Of course, complication just seemed to follow Peter Caine around. It had since she'd met him, oh so colorfully, those few years ago. She honestly hadn't thought the sarcastic, incorrigible, young man would survive long under her command. Karen had assumed that, because Peter was the foster son of Blaisdell, the previous captain had cut the detective a great deal of slack. Maybe he had. But what she hadn't counted on, and had soon come to realize, was that Caine was a damn good cop.
He had a subtle appeal, some boyish charm that drew most people to him. Something that had made a lot of people who'd lost the ability to trust, trust him. Probably without ever understanding why themselves. Perhaps it had something to do with his being Shaolin. Kwai Chang Caine and the Ancient both possessed the ability, although in them it was different. Karen wasn't certain just how, she only knew that it was.
That was another quirk she'd had to get used to, obviously. The strange concepts and situations that came along as a result of having a Shaolin Cop in her precinct. Cases that had to be adjusted slightly in the details because of supernatural involvement in the way the events had truly transpired. In the beginning, she had resisted. Unable to wholly accept the things that occurred around her. It had been a simple, all to common, natural human reaction.
Fear of the unknown.
Once she'd been kidnapped and sent back to 1987, meeting the boy who would grow up to be her best homicide detective, there was no denying the truth of any of it anymore. Possibly she would have continued to harbor silent doubts if not for that one incident. Knowing didn't make dealing with it any easier. She courted a dangerous line, acting as something of a liaison between the truth and the truth that the higher ups got to know.
Having had experience in the area of the mystical, her instincts were telling her that she was about to acquire more. It had been too quiet on that front lately, it figured. Just as did the fact that Peter was involved. His actions reminded her of the time he'd been under outside influence, in a way.
Trying to remain an objective observer in this was hard, and concern was overshadowing reason.
She wondered, not for the first time, just when Kwai Chang was supposed to return. Maybe she should talk to the Ancient. Or maybe the stress of the day was simply getting to her; she did have to call the mayor again.
** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb **
Having left the department without bothering to pick up anything from his desk, unwilling to deal with any more snide remarks, Peter drove home in complete silence. Part of his mind unerringly tracked the movement of the traffic and people around him, for all that he wasn't really paying attention to any of it. The other part was gnawing relentlessly on a new bone.
He knew he should probably feel bad for his relief at not being the one to break the news to the family, but there were other officers - those from Reynolds own precinct, who had been closer to the man. Even if Peter and Jasper had gotten to be pretty good friends while working on the joint assignment; had even hung out a few times after the case was over.
But what did that amount to, really, in the grand scheme of things?
Besides, something in him said that it wouldn't have been fair to the family. They shouldn't have to deal with an officer, a friend, who couldn't even seem to work up the effort to care.
Wrapped up in that thought, he barely noticed when he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex, or when he arrived at his front door. When he'd opened it, however, he'd distantly taken notice of its slick surface. That abstract thought prompted more attention from his brain than it originally seemed to merit.
So what? So I have to clean it off.
Never mind that. What do you suppose is on it that needs to be cleaned? The cultured tone managed to sound pleasant despite the clear derision present.
Peter was exhausted and past the ability to deal with the games that the world, and his own mind, appeared to wish to engage him in.
I. Don't. Care. Whatever it is will wash off.
Will it? Scornful amusement sounded in his mind; gratingly melodious.
Now what in the hell does that mean? I'm getting sick of your stupid mind games. If you have something to say, say it.
Almost repentantly, the voice purred innocently, Does blood wash off so easily, Peter?
Looking down immediately, Peter blanched. Staining the flesh of his palms and smeared generously across most of his hands, was a thick crimson liquid. Darker points stood out vividly; four crescent marks scored each palm in glaring symbolism.
Do you think their blood is on your hands, Peter?
Sliding down the wall at his back, hands held out in front of him with the palms up, lost hazel eyes never strayed from the red; it filled his vision.
They wouldn't be the first, the voice was musing again. They don't even have that distinction. Does that make them nothing?
Who? Even in his own head, his voice sounded pathetic. Weak.
The sweet laughter floated soundlessly through his chaotic mind. Who? I guess they really do rank as nothing. At least you see that.
Was that pride in the tone?
Stop it! Who are you talking about?
Why, the victims of course.
What victims? Whose victims?
Tiger, you really have to keep up. Softly chiding, like an older sibling. Reynolds. The others. There was a pause, considering. As to whose victims they are, that could be hard to say. But you brought it here, I suppose that makes them yours after a fashion.
They? Reynolds is the only one dead…
So far, the voice finished for him. You know he isn't the last. You've known that from the beginning. Tell me I'm wrong.
Silence.
See, you know it's true, thoughtfully calculating now. I would even wager that the next has been chosen, maybe already taken by now. I wouldn't wait, if it were me.
Peter sensed a giddy excitement in that statement and his stomach recoiled. It was sickening.
Don't approve of it? That's rich, coming from you. Hypocrisy, Peter, is a very unattractive quality in a person.
And being psychotic isn't?
No reply, but Peter could feel the affronted air it exuded.
He sighed. What is it?
A wolf, succinctly the response came. Annoyed.
Well, aren't you just a font of information.
I don't know, the admission was spoken softly. But like so many things in life, tiger, it's more than it seems. Be careful, though, we know it bites.
Funny. Let me know when you plan on being useful, with that he pushed up off the wall with his back, rising on shaky legs.
You should wash your hands, it offered helpfully. Maybe use some antiseptic on them; the cuts look pretty deep. That was an unwise thing to do.
Yeah, no kidding.
Rinsing off his hands, he inspected the wounds closely under the bathroom light. How could he not remember doing that? How could he not remember feeling that, when he was having to clean out bits of his own skin from under his nails?
Exhaling softly, he tried to clear his mind of questions. Attempted to focus on the mundane task of cleaning and wrapping the still bleeding gashes. That done, he exited the bathroom, almost forgetting to turn off the light as the haze descended on him in a sudden rush. Movements unsteady, eyes practically closed as he shuffled forward, he dropped down onto his bed; asleep before his head ever hit the pillow.
Goodnight, tiger.
** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb **
Trembling. It couldn't be helped. A single, archaic reaction to a variety of things. Cold. Pain. Pleasure. But the reason was linked to none of these, instead it was a primitive response to fear.
Of the darkness. The silence. The unknown.
Whatever it was that had abducted her. Of the monsters that lurked beyond the confines of her prison, somewhere.
A cry broke through the stillness, echoing cruelly, yet it wasn't long before the distinctly feminine screams wore down to muffled sobs. Balled tightly into a corner, furthest from the perceived location of the door, the freezing cement bit through the thin material of her windbreaker and the t-shirt beneath, sinking deeply into flesh.
Terror and tension had worn away at energy reserves until finally her body surrendered to the need for sleep. And though she hadn't wanted to fall asleep, she wanted to wake up even less. To stay, instead, within the dreams that comforted her and kept the pitiless reality at bay.
Her brain noted sound, sought to bring her back to awareness. She struggled blindly against it; hearing a door opening, she fought all the harder.
All the fight drained out of her with the first snarl.
** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb **
Waking to an icy sheen of sweat encasing his form, body mimicking the shivering of the one in his dream, Peter pulled himself into a sitting position against the headboard of his bed. A hand ran absently through tangled dark locks of hair, hazel eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of a predator. Any indication of something hunting him.
There was nothing; of course there wouldn't be. He wasn't the target. Someone else held that status, and whoever she was… The thought broke off, but another voice carried clearly in the silence, seeming to resound in the shadows of the room.
I believe that's number two, tiger.