February 28
The detectives of the 101st precinct had been walking on eggshells for a month now. They were tired of it, but they understood it. Grief was different for everyone, cops were no different. Kelly Blaine had broken down in tears when she'd cleared Peter's desk of personal effects. Jodi Powell had treated every new partner Blaisdell had assigned her like something she wanted to scrape off of her shoe until he paired her with Mary Margaret Skalany. The two bonded over the absence of all things Caine. Paul Blaisdell had never been one to hold back when it came to his detectives. He had become almost insufferable as time passed.
The only person who seemed to be able to cut their way through the barbs and porcupine quills was Kermit Griffin. There was a past between the two men that no one really wanted to ask about just in case one of them just might answer. The Captain was known to disappear for a couple of weeks at a time and return in a better mood with a new injury that he refused to explain. They all wished it would happen soon. But they knew it wouldn't. Not until they found Peter's body.
No one held out hope any longer that he might be alive. None of them wanted his murderers to get a fair trial, or a lengthy prison sentence. They wanted them dead. Messy, Ugly, unrecognizable dead. They all wanted it, but they were wise enough not to say it out loud.
Kermit walked into Paul's office and closed the door. He went to sit down in the chair in front of the Captain's desk without preamble or permission.
"What can I do for you Kermit?" Paul asked, leaning back in his chair.
"I have a line on a dictator that needs to be eliminated." He said.
"I'm not that bad… yet." Paul said, trying to lighten the mood.
"Nah, not you. Yet." Kermit said, "There is one in Central America, Another in Brazil. Take your pick. I can have us on the pay roll and out of here by night fall."
Paul sighed. "Thank you, Kermit, but I'm going to pass this time. Annie would never forgive me if I left her to face this alone. If you want to go, I'll clear the time off. Two weeks be enough time?"
"I'll let you know." He said. He figured things were going to get worse before they got better and his old friend was going to need someone who could get in the way when he needed it.
Peter curled up around himself, shivering. He shut his eyes tightly, although he didn't know why he bothered he couldn't see anyway. He felt like a small boy again, lost in the caves near the lake by the temple, with a sprained ankle. Every sound had been a monster come to devour him, every silence had been an agonizing solitude and even if he'd known the way out there was no way he could get there.
His father had eventually found him. To Peter, it had felt like days, to his father merely agonizing hours. He had carried him from the caves and into the daylight and fresh air. He'd known his father would come, and no matter how frightened the small boy he had once been had become he never once doubted his father would come.
He no longer had such blind faith in anyone. Not his fathers, not the officers at the precinct, and certainly not himself. His world was darkness, solitude, and fear. Hunger was the only way he even knew that he was still alive and he knew that soon would fade as his body figured out there was no point in craving what it would never have. Then Peter would have no choice but to accept his fate. Slow death, alone and in the dark. He was a hair's breadth from praying for it.
He lifted his head when he heard a key turn in the lock on his door. Peter eased off the mattress and stood upright. He was weak, and it felt as though he was going to shake apart inside his skin, but he was not going to meet this lying down.
He was blinded by the sudden flood of light that shone into his prison. He couldn't see anyone only felt their hands roughly grab him and pull him from the room. A hood was shoved over his head and he was drug to a flight of stairs going up.
"What do you want from me?" He asked. No one answered.
Another door opened and a light switch was turned on, he could feel the warmth of the light and hear the faint hum of electricity. The hood was pulled from his head and he cried out in pain as the light seared his eyes.
"Clean yourself up, don't be slow about it." It was the voice of the man who had kidnapped him.
"What do you want from me?" he asked again.
The door slammed closed and Peter heard another lock engage.
His eyes didn't really adjust to the light, it was hard to focus on anything. Everything had fuzzy edges. It was as if the world had turned into an overexposed photograph. He decided to do as they said. He'd wanted to be clean for some time now anyway. Some time... was that a long Some time or a short Some time. He didn't know anymore.
He blinked against the light and felt his way to the bathtub. He turned on the shower and adjusted the water before stripping out of his clothing. It made him feel more vulnerable to be naked but he needed to be clean. He craved it as much as he craved a steak dinner and a glass of bourbon.
He scrubbed until the hot water was gone and his skin stung. He stepped out of the shower and the first thing that he noticed was that his pants were gone. No small loss really, they were practically standing up on their own, anyway. In their place, he found a clean pair of boxers and institutional green scrub pants. He wasn't going to complain. They were clean. He toweled off and dressed. There was an electric razer on the counter and he used it.
"Well, at least I'll die clean." He was certain they were going to kill him. Either that or whoever they were using him to get to had demanded proof of life.
He rapped on the locked door. "I'm done." Might as well get whatever was coming next out of the way. He had never been afraid of death. He wasn't looking forward to it and generally liked to avoid it as much as possible but he wasn't afraid of it. It was one of the few things he'd hung onto from his days at the temple. Death was merely a doorway and everything that lived eventually died.
The door opened and he was grabbed by the arm and pulled out of the bathroom. His hands were forced behind his back and cuffed "Are those mine? You're using my handcuffs? Lame... seriously lame"
"I see your time in hell has done nothing for your personality," Kline said. He forced Peter ahead of him, another man walked in front of Peter. "When you meet The Lady, keep a civil tongue in your head or I will remove it."
"For the record, threats don't work on me." He said. His voice was hoarse and his throat hurt from screaming, but he wasn't going to go meekly. "As the scorpion said to the frog, I can't help it, its my nature."
"I seem to recall that the scorpion died."
"So did the frog."
He was taken down a long corridor. The walls have painted the color of sandstone but they looked to be made of cinder blocks. So it wasn't as ancient a place as it looked at at first glance. The doors ahead were ornate. Asian in design although it was a hodgepodge of symbols. Indian, Chinese, and Tibetan if he wasn't mistaken. Was he remembering his classes or was it just that it didn't look right and his mind was trying to fill in those gaps?
The double doors opened and he was shoved inside. The men each grabbed an arm and drug him forward forcing him to his knees in front of a small dais. He looked up at what he assumed was 'the Lady'. She didn't look Chinese, but then again neither did he. Her hair was long and sleek, but it was auburn not black. Her features were as occidental as his. His surroundings were opulent, ornate, like something out of myth... or a bad chambara flick.
"So you're the one behind all this. Look if this is a green eyes thing, mine might look green but they're really more of a hazel." He said referencing Big Trouble In Little China.
He was backhanded by Kline hard enough to send him forward and flat on his face.
"It wasn't that bad a movie. I kinda liked it myself."
"Have I removed you from your hell too soon?" She asked as she stepped down from her dais to kneel before Peter. She grasped his hair and lifted his head to look at him. "Your eyes are the color of dark green Jade. Fortunately for you, my name is not Lo-Pan."
"What is your name then?" He asked, swallowing hard.
"You may call me Miranda." She looked to the others and they pulled him back up onto his knees.
"Alright, Miranda. Why am I here?"
"Because you are the last." She said simply, " And in order to achieve my goal, you may never leave here."
"You're going to kill me. After that... hell... you're just going to kill me because I'm the last whatever."
"Never." She said "Because then another becomes the last. No, you are my guest for the rest of your days." She rose to her feet and indicated that Peter should too.
Kline pulled him up by his bound hands, which caused pain if Peter resisted. He didn't.
"I'm the last of what?" He asked.
"The line of Kwai Chang."
"I can't be the last descendant of Kwai Chang Caine." He said as the was nudged to follow her as she walked. His eyes ached from the brightness of the light, but he followed. "Please tell me I'm not going to join your collection of Shaolin artifacts." He recognized some of them from the books he had read at the Temple.
She laughed. "Do you think you belong amid Shaolin artifacts? Is that what your father has taught you, that you are worthy of such an honor? You aren't even truly Shaolin."
Peter looked away "No." His father had tried to teach him humility, kindness, and kung fu. "But I'm already part of your collection even if I'm not cast in bronze because I am the last of the bloodline … so you say."
"You were cast out of the faith, weren't you? Old Ping Hai could have sent you to another temple to train. The son of Kwai Chang Caine would have been welcome at any temple, yet you were sent to an orphanage instead."
Peter looked at the floor and said nothing. His jaws were clenched tight.
"Has your father sought to continue your training? Or has he abandoned you to old Ping Hai again?"
Peter looked up sharply "Ping Hai is dead. That is why I was placed in the orphanage. Because he was dying."
She locked gazes with him "He lives still. They call him The Ancient now."
"You're wrong," He said forcefully.
"Think about it, Peter. Think of his eyes, his voice, the way he moved, a venerable old man even when you were a child." She purred "You know I'm right. Your father's mentor and dear friend knew you were alive all this time. Is it possible that your father did as well?"
He shook his head and tried to pull away from Kline, but he was so weak, and the light hurt his eyes giving him a headache to rival his worst hangover. "My father would have come for me if he'd known. He would never have left me in that place."
"He has left you in this place." She said.
"Liar." He said, with out the same strength of conviction in his voice.
She moved a damp lock of hair from his face. "it is a lot to take in for one day. Perhaps you should go back to your room to rest."
Panic filled his chest, and his mind whirled "No, please no... not back there." He would do almost anything not to have to go back to that place, back to the darkness and the things that lurked within.
"Well, perhaps we can wait until after lunch," she said. "Come, this way." Miranda knew she was close to her goal, but she had to be careful. The doubts were planted. It would take time for them to grow.
She led the way through the grand hall and its monuments and through a door at the other side. Within was a round dining table with comfortable chairs. "Let him have his hands. He won't try anything, Will you Peter."
"no." He said quietly. He was exhausted and his limbs felt weak. So when Kline uncuffed his hands he simply let them fall to his side.
"Sit." She said indicating the table and he did as instructed.
"What Jelly are you serving with the peanut butter this afternoon?" He asked "It's been lacking in my lunches lately. You might want to have a talk with the cook.
She laughed again. "Which do you prefer?" She asked.
He shrugged "Grape." He said.
"I will take it under advisement."
When lunch was brought in the smell struck him first. Rice, freshly steamed rice. Vegetables. The sort of food he would have eaten at the temple. Well, it was a step up from Orphanage lunch. Even if he did hate rice
The plate was set in front of him along with a cup of tea. The same was given to Miranda.
He was so hungry that he wanted to swallow the plate whole but he knew it would just come back up if he did. So he forced himself to take one small bite at a time. "It's good." He said, "Thank you." It galled him to say it. But he had the distinct feeling it would be ripped away from him if he didn't.
"You are welcome. Did you like life at the temple? With all its restrictions and limitations."
" I didn't know anything else," he said quietly. He had often wondered if he had really missed the temple or just missed the affection he received from his father and the other masters. "I know you want something or I wouldn't be here. If you want something from my father I don't know where he went."
"I know." She said. "He completed his mission in Bayview and walked away, without so much as a backward glance."
"He had to... find his path," Peter said, his appetite suddenly gone. He ate anyway. He didn't know when he'd eat again. Besides, there had been a backward glance. An afterthought was still a thought, right?
"That path was not you I take it." She said, "I wonder why."
Peter said nothing, and simply ate his food.
"He has not come looking. That infamous bond between father and son is perhaps not as strong as we once assumed."
"So I am here because of my father."
"You're here because you're the last," she said.
"And you want to make sure I don't make any little Caines that would then become the last, right?"
"Not precisely although that would skew the prophesy."
He frowned "What prophesy?" His stomach began to churn. Too much food too fast. He cleared his throat and began a silent mantra in his head 'not gonna throw up, I am not gonna throw up, please god let me not throw up.
"That the last will help the first." She said, "You see I cannot allow that to happen."
"The first and last what?"
"Kwai Chang... at the first Shaolin temple"
"Yeah well, I'm not Shaolin. So I can't be the guy who helps the first Shaolin... or the first Kwai Chang... the first Caine... or anything else you can think of to attach me to. Do you really hate the Shaolin so much that you're willing to torture me for the rest of my life to hurt them?"
"That much... and more. You will too. You'll come to understand why they are an evil that must be wiped out, and with your help, we can eliminate them from history."
Peter shook his head "I will never be part of that."
"All you have to do to destroy them is exist and do nothing. I intend to make sure you do just that. What condition you are in will ultimately be up to you, but you will exist."
"You're insane," Peter said.
She rose from her seat and walked over to Peter. She stroked his hair gently He didn't feel that she was trying to seduce him. Rather that she was petting an animal. "I think you're overstimulated." She said. "Perhaps it's time you went back to your room."
Kline smiled and stepped forward handcuffs in hand.
"No," Peter said getting to his feet, the chair he had been sitting in fell backward. He knew he'd fail in resisting, but he wasn't going back to the darkness without a fight.
As weak as he was it still took both men to subdue him and even then he struggled as they forced his hands behind his back and locked them into handcuffs. They pulled him to his feet.
"I'm not going back there," Peter said still struggling.
Miranda sighed "I thought you were ready for the truth but it seems I … brought you out too soon. I do apologize for that " She touched his face lightly "Perhaps another month will open your eyes."
"What? No." Peter said "No!" He yelled the last word and it echoed through the building, his qi shattering the spell blocking the bond between him and his father for just that moment.