The Third Eye (Sequel to Purification)

by Monica Stybz

Wounds are mending, old ones are reopening and new ones are forming. To Peter Caine, a bullet does more than scar the flesh, it rips through the soul. Peter must delve deep into his soul to search for his sense of self. Hurt deeply by recent events, he must struggle to rebuild his life. But outside forces interfere, threatening the only thing Peter has left to cling to: his father.

Part 1: Reflection

I was only looking for that beat again.

I was only looking for that drive.

I was only trying to find my feet again.

That's the only way that I'll survive.

Cause I know that I'm lost without it.

I was only looking for that beat again.

I was only trying to bring some rhythm in my life.

The tempo was gone,

And I had to go on without it.

Trying to find it again...

Put it back.

- Lawrence Gowan

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

Peter Caine drove away from the city he had called home for so many years. He felt the need to escape, to flee what had hurt him so much. Uncertain about his future, unable to ease the conflict within him, Peter felt his ideals slipping from his grasp. He headed for an unknown destination, hopeful that the answers to his problems would be waiting for him when he got there.

He drove for thirty minutes, while the landscape changed from skyscrapers to tall trees. Then he turned off the highway that led him out of the city, steering the car onto a winding back route, passing large homes set back from the road.

He switched on the radio, but all the songs he found told of loneliness, betrayal, revenge, and cop killers. He shut it off and sighed, unable to rid his mind of the memories that plagued him.

He steered the car around a bend in the road and tried once more to forget, but he couldn't. The memories hung too deeply over him. He blamed himself for trusting those who had hurt him, and he feared that he would never trust again.

He pulled up to a stoplight and glanced around his surroundings. He saw a

woman and two little girls cross the street, holding hands and skipping. He envied them and their sense of trust. A policeman crossing in the opposite direction tipped his hat to them as he passed. Peter looked away in shame.

Guilty, he reminded himself that he too was once a cop. But the badge didn't shine for him anymore.

He thought about what would happen to him if he left the force for good. The

answer didn't come. He sighed in frustration, angry at himself for not knowing. He recalled his father's insistence that he be patient, but Peter felt his patience wearing

thin.

He passed a sign indicating a direction he could take to go back to the city. He glanced at his odometer. He figured that he had traveled thirty-five miles since he had left home. He thought about turning around, but he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to quit. He had to go on.

He passed another sign. This one indicated a town called Clarkton thirty miles away. Heeding his father's wishes to take things slow, Peter decided to stop there for the night.

Be patient. Things will come together. That's what my father would say.

Be patient, my son.

"You are troubled, Kwai Chang Caine?"

The priest shrugged. He stared sadly at the view from his balcony.

"You are worried about Peter," the Ancient continued. "You feel guilty - responsible for his leaving?"

Caine finally responded, "No. I know he has been wrestling his demons for some time. I only wish I could have gone with him - to help him with his questions."

"It is because of you that he left town. Forgive me for this, my friend, but you have not been honest with your son."

Caine wheeled around to face Lo Si, visibly hurt by the comment.

The old man bowed. "When you reunited with your son, he wanted to be a part of your world. He wanted to learn about his father. But you shut him out. You kept secrets from him."

Caine looked away.

Lo Si continued, "He looks to you as one who is incapable of indecision - of failure. He strives for that in himself. When he believes he has failed, he fears your disapproval. He does not see that you are a man like any other. He does not see that you are fallible."

Caine turned to his friend. "That is not true," he insisted. "I have seen his concern for me. His fear of loss is great."

"Yes. He worries about the harm others might bring you. But he sees you as one who is incapable of error."

"I have made many in my life."

"Ah, but you do not show him. It is important for your son to know this. It is the Shaolin way to learn from the experiences that occur in our daily lives. Is it not also true that we can learn from others?"

Caine shrugged.

"You are a teacher Kwai Chang Caine. You have always been. There is one student who is eager to learn from you - your son."

"But I have been teaching him."

"Only the principles of the Tao, not the lessons he needs to know about you."

Caine turned back to the view and said nothing.

The Ancient added, "It is written, 'What appears perfect on the surface, is greatly flawed beneath.' That flaw is what makes us human."

Caine sighed.

"He will return," Lo Si said.

"He will."

"You can go to him."

Caine shook his head, sadly, "He needs to be alone. He must find the answers within himself."

"To please you?"

"To learn as I have learned."

"Then you must accept this."

Caine sighed, "Yes."

"As he will soon accept his destiny...when he learns of his true path." The Ancient turned to leave his friend to his solitude.

"When he is ready," Caine said.

When will I know if I'm ready, Father?

Peter pulled into Clarkton and scanned the area as he approached. Several two-story brick buildings surrounded a small park in the center of town.

"Nice and homey," he quipped when he saw a General Store, a Sheriff's office, and a luncheonette side-by-side along the main street. For a moment the town reminded him of Braniff.

His mind wandered back to those years he had spent in that small town, where he had been sheltered from the harsh world. The thought saddened him.

He drove a few blocks before spotting a motel. He turned into the parking lot, pulled into a space and turned off the engine.

Fifteen minutes later, he entered the room and threw his bags on the bed. "Now what?" he wondered aloud, uneasily. Tired of being alone with his thoughts and not getting any answers he picked up the TV remote and sat down on the edge of the bed.

He turned on the set and flipped through the channels. He zapped past four talk-shows, an infomercial, a soap opera, and a rerun of Top Cops. Frustrated, he turned off the TV and threw the remote on the bed.

Sitting in silence, he pondered his next move. He could feel the cabin fever setting in. He contemplated going for a walk, but he didn't feel like it.

Suddenly an idea hit him. He got up and unzipped his suitcase, then stopped. He sat back down on the bed, recalling something else he thought he should do first. Something he knew would help calm his nerves.

He drew in a deep breath. "I guess this is a good time to meditate, Pop. I know you'd tell me so."

He suddenly felt an air of peace overcome him. At that moment he could have sworn his father was comforting him from afar.

Thanks, Pop.

You must be open to new and different things, and find the answers on your own. It is the wealth of the earth that feeds our lives. Partake in it, my son.

Caine sat on the floor of his studio, staring out the windows, gazing at the clear, blue sky outside. He took in a deep, cleansing breath and prepared for meditation.

A movement on the staircase several floors below signaled an interruption of his plans. Soon, he could hear the familiar steps of Paul Blaisdell in the hallway. Caine smiled and rose to greet his friend.

Paul entered the room, cautiously. "Hello, Caine. I'm sorry to bother you..."

"You are not disturbing anything. Your presence is always welcome."

Paul smiled. "I appreciate that. I just wanted to...It's too soon, I know..."

"You are concerned about Peter. I am too."

"Have you heard from him?"

"No."

Paul laughed nervously. "Look at me. He hasn't been gone a day and I'm worried. I guess I'm just concerned about what's going on inside his head. I wish I could be there for him."

"I also feel this way. But he is strong. He will find his path. You must believe that whatever he chooses will be for the best."

"Do you think he'll come back-Never mind. I know the answer is to be patient. Just wait and see, right?" Paul waved his hand in front of his face to push away the statement. He changed the subject. "I have to leave town for a couple of days. Peter's ordeal these past few weeks has inspired the governor to start a crackdown on police corruption. He feels the mayor isn't doing enough, and he wants to hear the story - first hand. That means I have to go. He wanted to see Peter too, but I already notified him that the kid's out of town recuperating. It seems our son has caused quite a shakeup."

Caine canted his head and smiled. "That is...Peter."

Paul laughed. "That's true." His smile faded. "I wish I could stick around, but duty calls. Could you...?" His voice trailed off.

Caine sensed it and responded before Paul could finish. "I will let Annie know if I hear anything."

Paul nodded. "Thank you."

Caine placed his hand on Paul's shoulder. "Peter will return," he said reassuringly. "He needs time."

"I know." He sighed. "You should have seen him while you were gone those six months. He was lost without you."

"We three share a bond. The union between parent and child that cannot be broken. Peter feels a strong attachment to you."

"Not as strong as the one your share with him."

"You should not underestimate yourself. You have given him many things that I could not, at a time when he needed them most: love, companionship, hope..." Caine smiled. "...and discipline. Peter feels very fortunate to have someone like you in his life."

Paul smiled. "Thank you." He patted Caine on the back and departed.

Caine resumed his position on the floor.

For a man to have two families is richness beyond measure. It is from their love that you find your strength. Use that inner power to guide you to your goal. Then whatever choice you make will be correct. When you realize this, you will find your peace.

All I want is some peace to understand what's going on in my head.

Peter sat by the window of his motel room, watching the sunset, twirling a pen in his hand. He turned his gaze to a small book that lay on the table across from him and swallowed hard. He didn't want to open it, afraid of what he must face.

A few months ago, Peter had bought the book with the intention of using it at that time, but life, his job and procrastination kept him from his goal.

Now, he stared at it, unsure of how to begin. He sighed. Finally, he turned the cover. He stared at the blank page and uncapped the pen. He didn't know what to say or where to begin. He knew he should write something, but what?

He tried to think of how his father approached his journal, but he drew a blank. Too lazy to get up and search his luggage for it, Peter glanced out the window once more.

He thought about how rarely he'd seen a sunset. He had always been too busy,

working the graveyard shift, spending hours on stakeouts.

He thought about the cops who betrayed him. He sensed the anger rise inside, and he pushed it in.

Turning to the book once more, he started to write. There was a time when being a cop was the only thing I wanted. I remember when I met Paul in the orphanage, and he asked me if I wanted to be a cop. God knows where I'd be today if he hadn't come along. He gave me the courage to stand up for what I believed in.

Now that old feeling of uncertainty has returned. I didn't like it in the orphanage, and I don't like it now.

He stopped and sighed. He reread the page, unsure if he wanted to keep what

he had written. He decided to continue, hoping that the effort would prove

therapeutic.

My destiny is changing. Maybe I'll become like my father. Is that possible? I doubt it. I don't think I have what it takes. Besides, how can I expect to be one with myself if I don't know what that is?

"Is this what I want to say?" he asked. He shook his head and ripped out the page.

He tried once more. I need to know what's going on in my head. I need to start fresh and figure out my next move. He sighed again. How will I know if the answer I choose is the right one?

Maybe my father should have come with me. He'd be able to answer these questions. Or would he tell me some riddles? I guess I need this time to figure out what I can. When I'm ready, I'll come home. Or will he find me? He always knows when I need him.

He paused in his writing once more, thinking about his father. The sun was long gone, leaving the darkness behind. He wondered what his father was doing at that moment.

He wrote more. He's such an enigma. The more I understand him, the more I don't. There's so much about him that I don't know. Those fifteen years apart are still a mystery to me. Why won't he share those stories?

Could I travel the countryside like he did, thinking, meditating, understanding? I guess that's what I'm doing. Wandering on my own, searching for my path, trying to understand myself and my place in the world.

He stopped once more and reread the page. "So now what?" he asked,

impatiently. "I can't stop there. What am I searching for? What is the answer?"

He slammed the book closed and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He threw the pen down and got up and left the room.

Who am I?

The answer will be revealed to those who are patient.

Caine's form moved in fluid motion, concentrating carefully on the smooth flow of each Tai Chi movement, blending them together into one continuous action. He took in a deep breath and exhaled, slowly lowering his arms to his sides.

He walked softly from his studio to the herbarium. Cheryl Hines paced back and forth between the worktable and the herb shelf, busily collecting the herbs for an ointment Caine needed to prepare. She glanced over to him as he entered the room.

"Thank you for letting me help you with this," she said awkwardly, placing a jar on the worktable.

Caine smiled and walked to the table. He had gotten used to Cheryl's frequent visits. It warmed his heart knowing that he could help her improve her sense of self. He knew that lack of confidence put her out on the streets in the first place, exposing her to the violence it contained.

"Your assistance is always welcome," he said.

"Even after I tried to kill the emperor?"

He sensed her insecurity grow. "That is in the past," he said as he picked up a pestle. He placed some leaves in the mortar and commenced working on a remedy for Sho Fong's arthritis.

She watched him for a few minutes and said, "Why didn't you tell the police the truth?"

"The emperor's existence must be kept a secret."

"But you told them that I tried to kill you?"

"Peter said that." He shrugged. "It was the thing to do at the time."

"Still. It looks kind of weird for you to be...helping someone who tried to kill you."

"It is not important, Cheryl. You have a chance to start fresh. Why not take it?"

She nodded. "You're right. Thank you for that chance."

"It was always there."

"May I come in?" A voice spoke from the doorway.

Cheryl dropped a jar in alarm. It smashed onto the floor, shattering to pieces.

Caine glanced down at the damage then up at Kermit, who looked down at the mess, then up at him.

"Very little startles you, Caine," Kermit said.

Caine shrugged.

"You sensed my arrival, didn't you?"

"Perhaps," Caine responded with a smile.

Kermit walked over to help Cheryl, who had knelt down to pick up the bits of glass.

"Sorry to scare you, sweet thing," he said in his trademark bravado.

"That's all right," Cheryl replied nervously, quickly gathering up the herbs and piling them on the table.

"There is no damage," Caine said calmly. "A jar can be replaced."

Cheryl nodded and left the room.

Kermit tossed the large pieces of glass into an empty paper bag in the corner of the herbarium. He stood up and scanned his surroundings, nodding his head slowly.

"I hope you don't mind me looking around," he said, circling the place. "I've never been here before. But I'm sure you already know that.

"You actually use all these herbs?" he asked, motioning to the shelves stocked with jars.

"From time to time," Caine replied, turning his gaze back to his work. He heard Kermit walk over to the table. "You are worried about Peter?" Caine asked. He stopped his task and looked at his guest.

Kermit smiled his Cheshire Cat grin. "Think you can teach me how you do that one day?" he joked. "Be great at parties. 'Kermit the Magnificent. Watch as he reads your mind.'"

"You hide the truth behind humor," Caine observed.

"Oh yeah," Kermit said slowly. "It's the only way to survive this crazy world."

Caine shook his head and smiled.

"So have you heard from the kid?"

Caine felt a pang in his chest, and he ignored it. "No."

"I guess it's too soon." He walked from the table to the balcony. "I always wanted to get away for a while. Leave the world behind. But something always called me back.

"I've always wondered what I could make if I ground some leaves and seeds together. I used to serve mud sandwiches to my sister, Marilyn, when we were kids. She didn't like it very much."

Caine frowned at the way Kermit could switch gears so quickly from seriousness to nonsense. "Your concern for Peter is honorable."

Kermit shrugged. "Yeah, well. He's a good kid. Paul told me a lot about him when we were mercenaries, years ago. When I finally met Peter, I had felt like I've known him for years"

Confused, Caine said, "But Blaisdell was a policeman when he met Peter."

"Sure." Kermit nodded. "But that didn't stop him from slipping away once in a while to raid an embassy or sabotage an assassination attempt."

"Ah," Caine said, understanding.

Kermit walked out on the balcony, then turned around and came back in.

"Peter feels much respect for you," Caine said.

"He just wants the dirt on Blaisdell. You know, the secrets Paul won't even tell Annie. If Peter thinks he can get it out of me, he's mistaken."

"We all have secrets. Even Peter."

"Oh yeah," Kermit said slyly. "Even you."

The statement didn't surprise Caine. "You are very insightful."

"That's what happens when you spend your life watching your own back. Speaking of which, what are the odds of Peter returning to police work?"

"It is not for us to decide."

"I thought you'd say that." Kermit grinned, then turned to leave. "Keep in touch. Let me know if you hear anything. I'll do the same."

Caine nodded his head once in affirmation, then watched Kermit leave. "Oh yeah," he said, smiling.

Cheryl returned with a broom and a dustpan to sweep away the remnants of the broken jar.

Caine eyed her curiously. "You were...hiding?"

Cheryl shrugged. "He's a cop. I'm a convict."

"But you are on probation."

"Still. He makes me nervous. It's like you said: he hides the truth."

Caine resumed his work as he spoke, "He hides his pain. He has seen much suffering."

"Yeah well...," her voice trailed off as she swept up the small pieces of glass into the dustpan and threw the shards into the paper bag. She grabbed an empty jar, and put the dried leaves into it, then placed it on the shelf where the old one had been.

Caine quietly concentrated on crushing the herbs.

Cheryl broke the silence. "Peter has a lot of friends," she said with a touch of envy.

"Yes, he does," Caine replied, comforted by the thought. "Friends are the most valuable treasure anyone could have."

Cheryl shrugged. "Yeah, well. The trick is finding who the true ones are."

Caine stopped grinding and glanced up at her. "Your true friends will find you."

Cheryl smiled, comforted by the words. Caine returned the grin and continued to formulate the remedy.

When we are one with ourselves and those around us, then we will truly find peace.

How can I be one with myself, if I don't know who myself is?

Peter squinted his eyes at the morning sun as he wandered out to the backyard of the motel. He walked alongside the fence that lined the perimeter. A sign hanging from the links said, "No Trespassing."

Peter sighed, wishing he could wander into the woods on the other side and become one with its peacefulness, but the fence kept him out, reminding him of the world that he struggled with.

"Here I am," he muttered, sadly. "Alone again. "

His thoughts drifted back to another time.

"You do not trust," Caine said, walking down the busy street with Peter. He watched as his son took a bite of a hot dog.

"I'm a cop," Peter replied as he chewed. "How can I? Y'know, it's not what I do, it's what I am...

"...Violence cuts holes. Tears...holes. Holes so big you can drive trucks through them. Nah, I don't think there's any way that any of us can heal wounds that big."

"Hope."

"Hope," Peter said aloud. "Hope is all I have left, Pop."

The first step in one's journey is hope, my son.

Caine sat on the floor of the herbarium, playing his wooden flute. He closed his eyes and absorbed the morning sunlight that blanketed him in warmth. He channeled the beams through his psyche, allowing the sensation to guide the notes that flow from his flute.

He welcomed mornings with a feeling of renewed contentment, regarding each as another chapter in the book of life.

Suddenly, he sensed a discord in the melody. An evil force headed his way. Footsteps ascended the stairs.

He stood and faced the doorway, awaiting his adversary.

Within minutes one man entered the room. Caine recognized him as Burt. One of the ex-cops involved in Peter's kidnapping a few weeks before.

"Hello, Caine," Burt spat, raising his gun at him. "I'll bet you never thought you'd see me again."

"What is it you wish from me?" Caine asked stoically.

Burt laughed. "Wish?" he mocked. "Let's see...What would I wish for? Peace on Earth?"

Caine felt the resentment within him grow. He accepted it and said nothing.

"You ruined my career, you freak," Burt said bitterly. "Because of you, I'll never be a cop again."

"You have failed yourself. Your own anger has ruined your life."

"Yeah, well," Burt said, checking his aim. "My anger is now going to repair that damage with your death."

"What will that bring?" Caine shrugged. "Only more pain and anger."

Burt sneered at him. "One less scum like you will make my life easier."

"Is that what you believed when you tried to do harm to my son?"

"I believe in cleaning streets of scum like you. As for Peter, I ain't finished with him yet."

Caine pointed his flute at him. "You associate fear with hatred."

"Put that thing down!" Burt ordered.

Caine dropped it to the floor. "You fear what you do not know."

"You self-righteous bastard," Burt spat. "You've done nothing but interfere with my job and the jobs of other cops in this city. You think you're some hero."

"I am merely a man," Caine said mildly.

"You're a freak. I can't stand freaks."

"Your hatred has clouded your reason. I can show you..."

Burt gripped the gun tighter. "I don't need to be taught, Caine! Especially from you. You can't brainwash me, and I won't let you do it to anyone else. I'm gonna put an end to it before you try to take over the whole city."

"I have no intention of doing so." Caine pointed at him. "You have talked yourself into believing this.

"Shut-up!" Burt snapped.

"You are confusing your personal gain with what others have told you. Step back and see the truth behind the confusion."

"Get off it, Caine! You're trying to confuse me with your riddles. I won't be swayed." He cocked the gun and aimed it for Caine's face.

Caine heard a noise in the hallway. Burt turned towards it. Caine leaped at Burt. The gun went off.

Peter sat on the grass in the backyard of the motel, lost in thought, trying to sort out his problems.

Suddenly, a dull pain thudded in his heart. His breath caught in his chest and his head reeled. Breathing heavily, he clutched at his chest and head, trying to ease the panic that rose within him.

The pain subsided, but not the fear. He got to his feet and ran inside the hotel to the front entrance, then out to the parking lot.

He climbed into the car, started the engine, and peeled of the lot.

"Hang on, Pop! I'm coming!"

Part 2: Desperation

What another has taught me, let me repeat:

"A man of violence will come to a violent end."

Whoever said this can be my teacher and my father.

-Lao Tzu

Forty-five minutes later, Peter pulled up outside his father's building and ran inside, fear tugging at his heart. He burst into the apartment and rushed into the studio, finding it empty.

"Pop!" he called. "You here? Pop?"

He got no response.

Peter entered the herbarium and saw the wooden flute laying by the entrance to the balcony. He had started toward the instrument when he caught sight of something that chilled his veins. "Oh God! Blood."

He kneeled down and dipped his fingers in the red pool on the floor. His heart thudded rapidly as he scanned the room for other clues.

He drew in a ragged breath. "Pop! Where are you?"

Peter sensed someone approaching. Rising to his feet, he instinctively reached for his gun, but soon realized that he didn't have it with him. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he listened nervously as the footsteps grew louder.

Kermit entered the room and jumped when he saw Peter.

Peter sighed and clutched his chest with relief.

"You're the last person I expected to be here," Kermit said.

"I could say the same thing."

Kermit went right to business. "Burt's out on bail," he said. "Word is,

he's going after your father."

"Burt? Where is he now?" Peter asked desperately.

"No one knows."

Peter sighed. "I was hoping for something, Kermit," he said with disappointment.

"I wish there was more, kid, but that's all I have. How come you're back so soon? Did you sense something?" Kermit's eyes fell on the stain on the floor, and he pointed at it. "Blood?"

Peter followed his gaze. "Yes."

"Caine's?"

"I don't know." He ran his clean hand through his hair and walked searchingly around the room, eager to find something that would lead him to his father. Frightening thoughts entered his mind. "I've got to find him, Kermit. Are Stiles and Broderick out too?"

"No. They're facing murder charges, remember? Judge denied bail."

"Where's Blaisdell? Is he all right?"

"He's at the state capital having a big pow-wow with the governor. He's safe, Peter. Don't worry. Mind telling me what's going on in that hot little head of yours?"

Peter didn't hear the question. "How did you hear about my father?"

"Word on the street. Detective Chin got a line from Donny Double D. I came as soon as I heard."

Kermit approached Peter and put his hand on the young man's shoulder, stopping him, momentarily, from his pacing. "I better call forensics. They should check this out. Find out if it is your father's."

"What difference does it make?" he asked angrily. "It won't tell me where he is!"

"Easy, Peter. I'm on your side."

Peter sighed. He nodded his head sadly. "Sorry."

Kermit smiled. "Don't sweat it, kid." He removed his cellular phone from his jacket and switched it on. His smile faded as he cursed, "Damn it! Battery's dead. I'll have to go down to the car." He headed for the hallway. "I'll be right back."

Peter watched Kermit leave. He dreaded the thought of getting the police involved, but he knew he had no choice.

He walked out on the balcony, searching for a lead, when he saw a trail of blood on the floor. He followed it around the corner.

He stopped abruptly. His father lay motionless on the floor.

"Dad!" Peter shouted, anxiously. He moved to his father's side in a panic, seeing the blood-soaked shirt and pallid face.

He lifted his father into his arms. "Please, Father," Peter said as tears formed in his eyes. "Please be all right, Father."

A sob escaped him as he felt the cold skin beneath his fingers. "Please," he begged once more.

He dried his eyes and fought for self-control. He lifted Caine up and carried him to the fire escape.

Minutes later, he pulled his car up to the hospital and scrambled to get his father inside the emergency entrance. He gripped Caine tightly as he entered through the double doors, shouting for assistance. Within minutes, orderlies whisked Caine away on a gurney. Peter ran alongside it until they reached the emergency room. He tried to enter, but a nurse told him to clean up and go wait in the waiting room. He stood by the doors for several minutes before he finally walked over to the waiting area.

He paced the crowded room, oblivious to the people sitting there, oblivious to the blood that stained his clothes and hands. Nothing mattered but his father's survival. Nothing else mattered at all.

He checked his watch every few seconds as he waited for the doctor to come out and tell him of his father's condition.

Minutes later, the doctor finally did come.

"Mr. Caine?" he asked.

Peter nodded, anxiously.

"My name is Dr. Harris."

"How is he?"

"Your father has lost a lot of blood. The bullet is lodged two inches from his heart. He needs surgery."

Peter wrung his trembling hands. "What are his chances?" he asked breathlessly.

"It's too soon to tell."

He sighed.

"Can I get you some coffee?" Dr. Harris offered.

"I don't need coffee!" Peter snapped.

"I understand," the doctor said calmly, "but surgery could take several hours, and I need you to fill out a consent form. You should get yourself cleaned up. Your father needs you to be strong for him."

Peter glanced at his blood-stained hands, suddenly realizing his own pitiful state. He nodded his head slowly in agreement.

In the men's room he burst into tears.

Two hours passed. Peter ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his stiff neck. Quiet tears still streamed. He wiped them away with his hand, while shifting nervously in his chair, fighting off helpless guilt. He couldn't bring himself to call anyone. He didn't want their comforting words. He only wanted his father to be all right.

He sat in a different waiting room, closer to the surgi-care unit. Though less populated than the one in emergency, it did nothing to ease Peter's nerves.

I should never have left...You're right, Pop. I'm not you...I need you so much...Don't leave me.

I wish I knew more about your work, father. I wish I could help you.

"Hello, Peter," a solemn voice said.

He looked up to see Jody standing in front of him. Glancing away, he wiped his eyes and tried to compose himself. "How did you find me?"

Jody sat down next to him and spoke softly with sympathy, "Gunshot wounds are always reported. Word traveled fast about your dad. How is he?"

"Still in surgery," he replied sadly, staring at the floor.

"Do you have any idea who did this?"

Anger replaced the fear and the sadness. Peter started to rock back and forth as the tension built. "Burt."

"Did you see it happen?"

He shook his head.

"Did your father tell you?"

Another shake, followed by a heavy sigh.

"Then you don't know, Peter. It could have been anyone. You know that."

"I know it was Burt."

"How?"

"I know," he insisted.

Jody sighed. "Kermit told me about finding you at your father's. He's not too thrilled that you ran out on him."

"He'll get over it."

She kissed him on the cheek. "I've got to get going. We'll find Burt, Peter. I promise."

"No," he said abruptly. "He's mine."

Peter paced the room. He glanced at the clock. "Two o'clock. Jeeze," he said aloud. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "I can't wait anymore."

"Peter," he heard his foster mother's concerned voice.

He turned to face her and Kelly Blaisdell standing in the doorway. "I'm all right, Mom. You didn't have to come."

They walked into the room and stepped beside him, stopping his pacing.

"I want to be here, honey," Annie said.

"Mr. Caine." Peter heard Dr. Harris say.

He turned and approached the man, swallowed hard and waited.

"He pulled through surgery," the doctor said. "But he's still in critical condition."

"Will he make it?" Peter asked with effort.

"I can't say. He's got a fifty percent chance. I'm sorry I can't be more accurate."

"I want to see my father," Peter said with determination.

"He's in recovery. You won't be able to see him for another hour."

"He needs my protection," he insisted."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Caine. Hospital rules forbid non-medical staff in the recovery room."

"You don't understand. Burt...When he finds out my father's alive, he'll kill him. I've gotta be there."

"It's okay, honey," Annie said, clasping his arm. "Kermit told me that Frank would assign a guard for your father. He will be safe."

"No, Mom. I've got to be with him. I can't trust anyone else."

"You're going to have to," Dr. Harris said. "You have no other choice."

"No. You're wrong," Peter said firmly. "I do have a choice."

"Not when a critically injured patient is involved."

"It is when that patient is my father!" Peter snapped.

"Peter, please." Annie said softly.

"We have the same goals, Mr. Caine," the doctor insisted. "We both want your father to be safe and healthy. Give me a chance to keep him healthy. Just one hour. Then you can keep him safe."

"It takes less than one minute to end a life," Peter said mournfully.

"I'll make sure that no one gets a chance to use that minute. Do we have a deal?" Dr. Harris extended his hand.

Peter stared at it. He sighed, taking it in his. "Okay."

Peter stood by the door to the private room, surveying the scene with dread. A light over the hospital bed cast a soft yellow glow on Caine's form, which lay motionless, save for the slow movement of his chest as he breathed. A tube hung out of the corner of Caine's mouth, extending from his throat to the respirator. Medical tape held it in place. Two IV bags dripped solution into a tube in his right arm, also held in place with medical tape.

Peter's gaze fell on the stark white bandage on his father's chest. Cables, taped to Caine's skin led to the electrocardiogram, which monitored his heart rate.

He tried to ignore the sounds of the electrocardiogram and the respirator beside his father's bed, but the rhythmic beeping and pumping noises haunted him, giving him a headache.

He walked to his father's left side and grasped the cold, limp hand. "I hope you can hear me, Pop," he whispered. "I know, you hate me calling you that. I guess I'll never change, huh?"

No response came.

"I wish I could do something for you, Father. If only the touch of my hand could send a signal to you, telling you that I'm home, and that everything will be okay.

"I love you, Dad," his voice cracked as tears began to fall. "Please be all right. Please. Don't leave yet, Father. There's so much I need to learn."

Bright light flooded the room and Peter jumped. His fears got the best of him, and he darted to the door, making certain that no one entered without his approval.

He glared at the two people standing outside.

"Sorry, Pete. Didn't mean to startle you."

Peter recognized Officer Wilson, the police guard who had been assigned to watch Caine.

"Mr. Caine?" the second person said tentatively. "I am nurse Stone."

Peter stood his ground and watched her suspiciously, suppressing his tears.

"I'm sorry but visiting hours aren't until eight. Your father needs his rest."

"I can't leave him," Peter insisted, backing away, returning to his father's side.

"Hospital rules, sir."

"He needs protection," he said, still eyeing her. "I'll watch him." He grasped his father's hand in his.

"I can't let you do that without permission of the doctor."

Peter decided that she was harmless, but the thought did nothing to ease his fears. He turned his gaze back to his father and said nothing.

"Mr. Caine?"

He didn't respond. He stared at his father until the bright light vanished. Then sighed.

Peter allowed his tears to fall freely once again. "I should have taken that bullet. Not you. I should be lying in that hospital bed. Not you. This has got to stop, Father.

"I don't want you to go. Please don't die, Father." He lowered his head to Caine's hand and cried.

By morning a had crowd formed outside Caine's room. Several people - from cops to Caine's acquaintances - stood vigil in the hallway.

Officer Wilson stood alertly outside the door, scanning the faces in the crowd.

Detective Drake stood apart from the other cops, talking on a cellular phone.

"C'mon," he said into the receiver. "It's the perfect plan. No one will ever know... Trust me. It's fool-proof. It's the only chance we have to take care of it once and for all...It will work...Just meet me where we planned...Yes!...Everything is under control. Trust me!"

Sunlight shone through the gaps between the curtains in the hospital room where Kwai Chang Caine clung to life.

On his left, Peter Caine slept, his head still resting against his father's hand.

The door to the room opened. Lo Si and Drake stepped in. Drake stayed by the door, while the Ancient approached the bed with caution.

Lo Si placed his hand on Peter's shoulder.

The young man leaped up in alarm.

"It is all right, Peter," whispered the Ancient.

"Lo Si!" he said hoarsely, breathing heavily. He spotted Drake standing at the door. Then turned to his father.

"Dad?" Peter said urgently.

"He is safe." The Ancient said, moving to the bedside. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. He slowly glided them over his friend's body in a continuous sweeping motion.

"What does that do?" Peter asked intrigued.

Lo Si shook his hands vigorously then lowered his arms and looked up at Peter. "It clears the chi of bad energy," he said backing away from the bed.

Peter grasped his shoulder. "Has it changed anything?"

Lo Si placed his hand over Peter's and said, reassuringly. "It will help him to rest."

"Is there anything else you can do?"

"I have done all that I can. He must meet his destiny."

Peter swallowed. "W-what is his destiny?"

Lo Si shrugged. "That is not for us to know."

"You always say that."

Lo Si squeezed Peter's hand. "I am sorry Peter."

"What can I do to help him?" Peter asked desperately.

"The only thing left; wait."

"What would my father do?"

"There is nothing more, Peter. Allow your father the rest he needs. Only he will know what must be.

"There has to be more." Peter approached the bed and brushed Caine's fine hair with his hand. "I remember my father doing something like what you just did. Someone was sick. I can't remember whom. Everyone said he wasn't going to make it, but my father just waved his hands over him. Within hours he was cured."

"But this is not an illness," Lo Si insisted. "He has been badly hurt. He must heal himself. There is nothing more to be done. I am sorry, Peter."

"I'm so sick of hearing that," he said sadly. He leaned down and kissed his father's forehead.

Lo Si placed his arm around Peter. "I must ask you to leave."

Peter turned to glare at him. "Why?"

"There are people outside who wish to speak with you."

Peter shrugged and turned his gaze back on his father. "They can wait."

"They wish to help you," Lo Si insisted. "They may know who did this to your father."

"I know," Peter asserted.

"But they are your friends. They have also been hurt by these racists. You must show your colleagues that you have faith in them. You have blinded yourself to what is right in front of you, young Caine. There are people you can trust. Reach out to them as you have before."

"No. I...I can't," Peter stammered. "Someone is coming. My father needs protection. We shouldn't be talking so much. He needs to rest."

"Get some fresh air, Pete," Drake said. "I'll watch him."

"No," Peter said firmly. "He needs me."

"I'll make sure no harm comes to him, Pete," Drake insisted. "I'll stake my life on it."

Peter shook his head. "I can't leave him."

"Please, Peter," Lo Si said. "Let your father have some peace. He needs to be left alone to heal."

"Kermit's outside," Drake said. "At least find out if he's got some news for you."

Peter glanced back and forth between Lo Si and Drake, then back down at his father. "I can't leave him."

"He will be safe," Lo Si said. "You must go."

"Why are you so eager to kick me out?"

"Your father needs time to heal himself. Negative energy will slow the process. He can sense your pain, Peter. It will not help him to feel such agony. Give him the peace he needs."

Peter looked up at the Ancient wide-eyed. "I didn't realize..." He looked at his father once more, then walked out of the room.

Lo Si followed.

Peter stepped outside and stopped, staring in awe at the crowd. He glanced at the concerned faces; Jody, Skalany, Chin, Kermit, Nicky, and Blake among them; then looked away.

"How is he?" Skalany asked him with concern.

Peter shrugged, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

"We want to help, Pete," Blake said.

"Thanks for the offer," he responded coldly. "But I don't need it. Go home."

The Ancient looked at him in shock. "These are your friends."

Peter glared at the old man, then walked away.

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Kermit called.

Peter stopped and spun around to face him. "I don't want to talk, Kermit. I'll take care of this myself."

"I get the weird feeling that you don't want us around," Kermit said sarcastically. "Maybe I have a sixth sense like your dad. Am I right?"

"About the sixth sense," Peter said bitterly, "I don't know. It's possible."

Kermit grabbed him by the shoulders. "Look. I know you've been through a lot lately, but this isn't like you. You're acting like a jerk."

Peter raised his arms, "Then I'm a jerk." He squirmed under Kermit's grip.

"You're not getting off that easy."

"Leave me alone."

"Do you think you're the only one that wants Burt to hang by his balls? When he hurt you, he hurt us too - the whole precinct - the whole city. I have half a mind to blow his brains out."

Peter stopped struggling. "Me too," he insisted. "I'll handle it."

"Not this time. I have a feeling that you're the next target. That gives me the right to be in your face."

"Last I checked, I have the right to refuse."

"It's over my head, kiddo. You're not doing anything without back-up." Kermit motioned to the crowd. "Don't forget who backed you up when you needed it most."

Peter glanced over at them, then at the floor.

"You're having a hard time trusting anyone," Kermit continued, "and I don't blame you. We're having it tough, too. You blew apart the whole law enforcement establishment. No one wants to trust the cops anymore. Violence is rampant and 911 is quiet. The city is calling you a hero, Pete. It's up to you to show them who to trust again."

Peter fixed his gaze on Kermit. "You're right," he said regretfully. "I never thanked you for exposing the conspiracy. I never showed my appreciation to everyone for their support. I'm grateful."

"Prove it."

Peter smiled. "Okay. What's the latest?"

Kermit released his grasp and patted Peter on the shoulder. "Nothing much. No one knew about the shooting until the hospital called it in. Bye the way, where did you go after I left?"

"I found my father out on the balcony. He was in bad shape, Kermit. I couldn't wait for an ambulance."

Kermit nodded. "I'll let forensics know. You think he crawled there after he was shot?"

Peter sighed. "I don't know. Maybe." He rubbed his neck. "Do you have any idea where Burt is?"

"None. He moved out of his apartment without leaving a forwarding address. It's no secret that he mingles with a slimy crowd. We're looking into it."

Peter sighed. "Why murder my father? This can't still be tied to The Group, can it?"

"What else could it be?"

He shook his head.

"We'll find him," Kermit reassured. "In the meantime, we can't rule out the possibility that you're his next target. Just in case, Strenlich wants you to sit tight and take care of yourself."

"Can't do that. And I don't want some armed guard following me either. I can take care of myself."

Kermit smiled, "I knew you'd say that." He pulled out a black wallet from his pocket and held it up to his friend. "I think you may want to have this." He opened it to reveal Peter's badge and ID.

Peter's smile faded. "I...I...I can't," he said uneasily. "Not yet."

Kermit shrugged and pocketed the wallet. "Okay. I'll hold on to it for you."

Peter shifted his weight from side to side. "Have you heard from the captain?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm right here," Paul said, approaching from the opposite end of the hallway. "I came as soon as I heard."

Kermit nodded to Paul. "Captain."

"Kermit," Paul greeted his friend in return. He glanced over at the crowd. "Do me a favor and clear the hallway. I don't want anyone near Caine's room except for the guards and family."

"No problem." He patted Peter on the shoulder and walked to the group.

Paul turned to his foster son and pulled him into his arms and held him tightly.

Peter blinked back a few tears and rested his head on his foster father's shoulder.

"It's good to see you, Son." Paul said, releasing the embrace.

"I'm glad you're here," Peter said sincerely, his voice filled with emotion. "I was told you were out of town."

"I heard the same thing about you."

Peter shrugged.

"How's your father?" Paul asked with concern.

He sighed. "Too early to tell."

"He'll pull through."

Peter blinked back his tears and sniffed. "I feel so helpless. Part of me wants to stay with him and take care of him. Another part of me wants to find Burt and..."

"I know, Son," Paul squeezed his shoulder. "Perhaps it's best if you stay with your father. Show him your support."

Peter sighed. "I wish I could do the things he can. I wish I could give him something to heal him."

"All you can do is be strong, kid," Paul urged. "The fact that you're here means a lot. Let him know that. It's the best medicine."

Peter nodded.

"In the meantime," Paul continued, "I'll try to fend off Sandra Mason and the rest of the press. You've become a big hero, kid."

Peter shrugged indifferently.

Paul noticed. He patted his foster son's cheek. "It'll be okay."

The young man looked away.

Paul turned his gaze to the crowd and changed the subject. "Where's your mother?"

"I don't know," he said mildly. "Kelly had an early class. Mom may have left with her."

"I don't think so. I called the house on the way over and got the answering machine."

"Maybe she's sleeping."

"Not when she's worried about one of her kids." He smiled. "Knowing your mother, she's rounding up the hospital staff and ordering them to use kid gloves on your father."

Peter laughed.

"What's this about kid gloves?" Annie's voice called from down the hall.

Paul laughed. "Nothing. Just wondering what kind of trouble you're getting yourself into," he teased.

She walked up to her husband and wrapped her arm around him. "I was thinking the same thing about you when I heard your voice." She smiled.

"Where were you?"

"On the phone with Carolyn." She grabbed Peter's hand. "I'm glad someone was able to drag you out of the room. How's Caine?"

Peter's smile faded. "No change."

"He'll pull through. He needs his rest. So do you." She squeezed his hand. "Coming home with us?"

"I can't. I need to be near my father." He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "You should go on."

She sighed, defeatedly. "Well, I tried."

Paul pulled her to him and said, "I'll take you home, hon. I'll be back."

Peter nodded.

"No," Annie protested. "Stay. Mary-Margaret offered to take me." She released her hold on Paul and reached over to hug Peter. "Everything will be okay, honey."

Peter held her tightly. "I know, Mom," his voice cracked.

They parted. She turned back to Paul and gave him a hug and a kiss. "Bye, darling."

"Bye," Paul said, squeezing her affectionately before letting go.

She walked down to join Skalany, who took her arm and led her out.

Paul watched her leave, then turned back to Peter. "Want a cup of coffee? It looks like you're headed that way."

Peter shrugged. "I should go back inside. Lo Si seems to think my dad will heal faster if I left him alone for a while, but I don't know."

"I'd listen to him if I were you. He knows what's best for your father. Paul grabbed his arm. "Let's go for a walk and get you some breakfast."

"I can't."

"That's an order," he insisted calmly. "Trust me. Your father is in good hands. Drake's one of the best."

"But..."

"Sorry to interrupt," Jody said, patting Peter on the arm. She glanced at Paul. "Kermit and Blake are going back to the precinct to find what they can on Burt. Chin and I are hitting the streets to see what we can dig up."

Paul nodded. "Keep me posted."

"Will do, Captain. She squeezed Peter's arm and gazed up at him. "We'll find Burt, Peter," she asserted softly. "We'll bring him down."

Peter stared at the floor and didn't respond.

Jody kissed him on the cheek, then walked off, joining the crowed that started to disperse. Soon everyone had left, except Lo Si, who remained outside the door, talking with Officer Wilson.

Paul glanced at the old man, then back at Peter. "I want to speak with the Ancient for a minute," he said. "He might have been the last person to see your father before the shooting."

"He doesn't know anything," Peter said skeptically.

"I would still like to talk to him. I'll be a couple of minutes. Wait here," Paul ordered.

Peter sighed. He leaned against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I won't be long." Paul squeezed Peter's shoulder once more, then walked over to the Ancient.

Lo Si bowed. Paul pulled him aside.

"How is Caine?" he asked with concern.

"He is badly hurt. I do not think he will make it," Lo Si said mournfully.

"Do you have any idea how it happened?"

"No."

Paul sighed and rubbed his neck. "Months ago," he said slowly, "when Peter was seriously wounded from that high fall, Caine performed some type of Shaolin ritual...I forget what he called it..."

"He entered Peter's bardo."

"Yes. Caine told me that he had healed Peter's spirit. That saved his life, didn't it?"

"That is true."

"Can't you do that for Caine?"

"There is no need to enter Kwai Chang Caine's bardo. He is one with his discordant emotions. A Shaolin priest is always prepared for death."

Paul sighed. "Well, Peter isn't prepared for his father's death."

"I know this."

"So, there is no way to heal Caine?"

"He must heal himself."

"Then is there something that can be done to help Peter? I can't bear to see him like this. If there's nothing we can do for Caine, then I need to know what I can do to help Peter."

"Stay with him. He needs you very much." Lo Si bowed once more and walked away.

Paul nodded and returned to Peter's side.

"What did he say?" Peter asked.

"Hope. C'mon. Let's get some breakfast."

Roger Chin walked the streets of Chinatown, desperate for a line on Burt, hoping for someone to step forward as a witness. But no one came.

Chin had arranged to meet Donny Double D at a local bar. He arrived a few minutes early and found a secluded booth. He sat down and kept his eyes on the door, ready to flag down his informant as soon as the man entered the establishment. He knew he stood out from the crowd, but he didn't care.

He ignored the cigarette smoke that fogged up the room. Nor did he bother with the stares of the seedy clientele that seemed to blend in with the dilapidated furniture. Instead, he thought about the cop that had tarnished the reputation of an entire precinct. He could not help but worry about his own life. He understood Peter's pain. He had suffered with prejudice himself, and that was something he fought against.

He waved to Donny as the shifty little man entered the bar.

Sliding in opposite Chin, the informant sneered and said, "A favorite hot spot, perhaps?"

Chin ignored the joke, remaining all business. "What have you got for me, Donny?"

"Nuttin'."

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"All I know is there's this girl Peter's father helps from time to time. It seems she's missing. Perhaps, she was a witness? Of this I am uncertain."

"Who's the girl?"

"I believe her name is Cheryl Hines. Strange broad if you ask me. But hey, you're not asking me, right? I mean, I'm a taken man. I shouldn't be - as it is so aptly worded - straying from the pack. If Lula even hears me say another woman's name, she hits the roof. Not to mention, grabs me by the lapels and threaten bloody murder. She's a strong woman. She could kill me if she wanted to."

Chin ignored the comment, "Where can I find Cheryl?"

"Don't know. No one's talking. She's not the most popular person on the street anymore. Too unreliable."

Chin rose to leave, "If you hear anything, let me know. We have a mutual cause here - Peter Caine. Do what you can."

"Sure," Donny said earnestly. "Anything for Pete."

Chin started to walk away but stopped when he felt a tug on his arm.

He glanced down at Donny.

"Wait," he said. "How's his old man doin'?"

"Not too good," Chin said hurriedly. I gotta go Donny."

"Sure thing. Tell Pete to hang in there."

Chin nodded and walked off.

Paul and Peter slipped out a back door of the hospital and walked to a coffee shop across the street, avoiding the probing eyes of the press.

To their advantage, the breakfast rush had passed less than an hour before, allowing them some privacy away from crowds and distractions.

The two men sat at a small booth and ordered their food. It came quickly. Paul raised his fork to dig in when he looked up at his foster son.

Peter shifted nervously in his chair. He stared at his plate, stabbing his pancakes with a knife.

"Talk to me, Son." Paul said softly, lowering his fork.

Peter shook his head. "I'm okay."

"Just okay?" he asked sympathetically.

Peter grimaced, "You know how I hate that question."

"That's why I ask it," Paul replied, smiling.

Peter stared sadly at his plate. He put his knife down and picked up a slice of bacon. He broke off a piece. Then another and another, till he had several small bits scattered on his pancakes.

Paul watched intently, staring at his foster son's face.

There were dark circles under Peter's eyes and his skin was pale and drawn.

"When was the last time you slept?" Paul asked.

"I'm fine." Peter said quickly.

He rolled his eyes, "I've heard that one before. What's going on inside that stubborn head of yours?"

Peter sighed.

"After breakfast you should go home, Peter. Get some rest. I'll assign someone to stand guard."

Peter looked up. "No. I can't risk it. I've got to stay with my father. I can handle it myself."

"I'm assigning people we both trust to watch him. I can do the same for you."

Peter shook his head. "I've been down that road before, Paul. I trusted people and look what happened. I shouldn't even be here."

"I know this whole situation has gotten you rattled. Let me help." He prodded Peter's chest with his finger. "What's happening in there?

"You wouldn't survive inside there, Paul. It's a mass of confusion."

"Tell me. I've survived worse."

"I don't know where to begin. It's all screwed up. I need to work it out myself. I'll tell you when I'm ready."

"I've heard that one before, too. Listen, Son. Maybe talking about it will help clear up the confusion."

Peter shook his head. "Not now. Not yet."

"Why?"

"Paul...," Peter pleaded.

"Don't shut me out, kid. Sound familiar?"

Peter looked away and nodded his head. "Yes. I've said that to you and my father on a few occasions."

"So how does it feel to have the tables turned?"

"Rotten."

"Good...Tell me," Paul insisted.

Peter met his foster father's gaze. "It's just...I don't want to lose him...I'm not ready."

"I know," Paul said sympathetically.

"I feel so alone."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Don't get me wrong, Paul. It's just...I don't...Something's not right with me...I feel uncertain...about who I am."

"Don't be ashamed of that, Peter. We all get this way at one time or another."

"But everyone else sees it. No one thinks I can handle myself. Not even...," He sighed.

"You?" Paul finished.

"Yeah." He glanced away. "Not even me. I've lost my momentum, Paul. I'm not the same. I thought I knew what I wanted to be. I thought I had all the answers. Now all I have is a bunch of new questions." He looked down at his plate and rested his head on his hand.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You've got to stop taking the blame for everything that happens. So, you have a lot of questions. We all do. That's life. I think your father has a saying that goes something like, 'When the time comes to stop asking questions, then it is time for the soul to move on.'"

"It's, 'When there are no more questions to ask, then it is time to start a new journey.'"

"That's it." Paul nodded. "I remember when he said that. It was at the family picnic."

"My father always manages to figure out where his path will lead, no matter how many times it changes. He's always certain of his goals. Why can't I be?"

"You will. You just have to be patient."

"I don't think I have any left."

"I don't think you had any at all," Paul said with a laugh. "Besides, you're wrong about your father having all the answers. I've lost count of how many times I've heard him say, 'I do not know.'"

Peter smiled slightly.

Paul continued, "You've taught him a few things, kid. You've given me a few lessons as well. You just have to have more faith in yourself. That's all."

Peter's smile faded. He picked up a fork and played with the bits of bacon.

Paul watched him, then said, "There's more. Tell me."

Peter sighed. "There's a battle going on in my head, Paul. I have no idea who's winning."

"What kind of a battle."

"It's hard to explain. I feel like I'm being pulled in three directions. One is the idealistic side of me. Another is the realistic cop sees the world as nothing but a cold, dark place. Then there's the third side - the Shaolin side. Three different worlds fighting for dominance."

"Can't they meet? Isn't there a compromise?"

"I've been trying, but I don't know if that's possible. They're so opposite."

"Are they?" Paul asked in disbelief. "Your father seems to be doing just fine handling the realist/cop side of you."

"I know. It's just...I'm sure he'd prefer me to take up a safer kind of work."

"Well, that's normal of any parent. And besides, his line of work doesn't seem to be any safer than yours."

Peter laughed. "Yeah. You're right."

"Betrayal is painful. I know what it feels like. It hurts a lot, Peter. But you must see past it and grow from it. I'm sure you realize that the world isn't so cold, so dark. You just have to work through your pain to see it again. Then the answer will come to you. I guarantee it."

Peter looked up and smiled. "Do you remember the time you said to me that, although you don't practice Kung Fu, you understand it?"

"Yes." Paul said with amusement.

"Well, it's true. You are a very wise man."

Paul bowed slightly. "I am honored by your words."

Peter laughed. "Hey, how come you never stopped me from going into the police academy? You didn't seem to mind your son being a cop."

"How does a cop tell his son not to be one? Anyway, have you forgotten our first meeting? The first thing I asked you was whether you wanted to be a cop. Now how could I get out of that?"

"By simply saying, 'Peter, I've changed my mind.'"

Paul laughed. "Oh yeah? And you would have said, 'Don't stop me, Paul. The decision is made.' And I know that once that mind is made up, there's no changing it."

Peter's smile faded. "Do you regret my being a cop?"

Paul returned the look. "Not one minute."

"Do...Do you regret having me as your son?" he asked with difficulty.

Paul smiled. "Never." He looked down at Peter's plate. "Now, are you going to eat that bacon or feed it to the birds outside?"

Peter laughed. "I'll try to eat it."

"That's a good boy." Paul winked.

Burt sucked on his cigarette and smiled, blowing the smoke between his teeth, while staring out the window at the street below. He flicked the unfinished cigarette out the window, and glanced down at the card table, the only piece of furniture in the one room apartment. On it lay a nine-millimeter automatic weapon. Next to the gun was a switchblade. He grabbed the knife and opened it.

"You're next, Peter," he said bitterly, scraping the top of the table with the knife. "I've been waiting a long time for this. Now I've got you where I want you."

He flicked the knife closed and examined his workmanship. He laughed again.

Etched on the tabletop were the letters K.B.

Kermit stared at the computer screen and shook his head.

"Anything, Kermit?" Frank questioned from the doorway.

"Ask me anything on what our old buddy Burt used to pay for his old apartment, and I'll rattle off the rent, electricity, water and phone bills. As far as his whereabouts, try Information."

He spun his chair around to face Frank. "Anything from the field?"

"Well, Skalany is questioning the tenants in Caine's building for witnesses. Let's hope someone saw something."

"I'll keep my toes crossed. Anything else?"

"Chin called in. Said something about Cheryl Hines. It seems she may know what happened. The problem is that she's disappeared."

"Cheryl Hines?" Kermit stared off for a moment. "I saw her at Caine's the other night. She's vanished? Any leads?"

"Yes and no.

"I hope for her sake she's still alive. She's a good kid."

Frank glared at Kermit. "She nearly killed Caine, remember?"

Kermit shook his head. "Before my time, perhaps?"

"Oh, that's right." Frank nodded. "She went after Caine with a knife. He pressed charges, but only if she'd be given a lighter sentence. She was released on probation. Then Caine took her in." He shook his head. "The guy's crazier than Peter."

"Runs in the family, Chief." Kermit smile briefly, then asked, "Speaking of waif's. What happened to that girl who helped Caine when Peter was missing?"

"Ariel?"

"Yeah."

"Chin told me he's trying to locate her. But she's like a shadow. She's pretty hard to find."

"She'll turn up. Any word from the hospital?"

"I checked a while ago," Frank said gravely. "No change."

"Any word from the captain?"

"Not recently. He's probably trying to convince Peter to go home and rest."

"I think the kid's gonna stay with his dad."

"I have no problem with that. It's the idea of him going after Burt on his own that's got me worried."

"He might just do that - if he can find him."

Frank scratched his head. "Got anything from Burt's phone bills?"

"Oh sure," Kermit quipped, rocking his chair back and forth. "What do you want to try first? The Potter's Mill Pub or Jay's Jewels strip joint?"

Frank's mouth dropped open. "You're kidding."

"I wish. My guess is he's either very cautious or his friends don't own phones."

"I'll bank on both."

Kermit nodded. "Oh yeah."

Frank rubbed his neck. "What do you think the motive is here, Kermit?"

"Peter and/or Caine, as far as I can see."

"Which one is it? Or is it both?"

"I haven't checked Burt's personal file yet, but I have a hunch. When I come up with anything, I'll let you know."

"Should we call in the Captain's FBI buddies on this one?"

"No. We don't need them. We can handle this one just fine without them."

Frank nodded. "Peter refused police protection, didn't he?" he asked.

"Vehemently."

"The kid's gonna get himself killed one day." Frank shook his head. He walked into the office and pulled up a chair. Sitting down in front of Kermit, he asked. "Do you think someone else is behind this?"

Kermit's chair stopped rocking. "Who? Like Broderick or Stiles? I thought of that."

"You think they're threatening him?"

"All three men have strong street connections. Right?"

"Stiles and Burt do. I don't know about Broderick."

"Okay. Let's say for the sake of argument that Stiles contacts Burt and tells him to finish off Caine once and for all, or he's a dead man."

"I'll buy that, except for one thing: Why bother? They're in jail. Caine isn't. He poses no real threat to them."

"Yes, he does. He's the only person standing in the way of their goals."

"I've heard this scenario before, Kermit. That was the time Clarence Choi thought he could be a Tong leader from his cell. Now you're telling me that Broderick and Stiles are planning to clean up the city from prison? No matter how you slice it, I still can't believe it."

"It could be that they just want to get rid of Caine. I think you'd agree that he does pull his weight in this city."

Frank scratched his head. "You've got a point. I'll send someone to talk to Stiles and Broderick. I'll discuss it with Taylor Robertson."

Kermit raised his hand like a student asking a question. "I'd like to volunteer."

"Job's yours. I'll make the arrangements."

"Thank you, kind sir." Kermit bowed in his seat.

Frank made a face. "You should get out more, Kermit."

Kermit rose. "Your wish is my command." He headed for the exit.

Frank shook his head. "Hell, I've got to get out more. This place is nuts."

Paul walked his foster son back to the hospital, sneaking around the press corps.

"I can't believe those reporters don't know about that back entrance," Peter remarked.

"Oh, they do," Paul said mischievously. "I just have it well guarded."

Peter smiled.

They headed down the hall to Caine's room. "You should get some rest," Paul said.

"I'll be all right," Peter said, though his smile grew less sincere.

"You don't look all right." Paul smiled. "Did anyone ever tell you that you have a lousy poker face?"

"Yes, you - many times."

"Look, I can ask the nurse to wheel in a cot and you can sleep in the room with your father. At least I'll know that you'll be guarded."

"Forget it, Paul. I'm fine. Really."

He sighed. "All right. Just take care of yourself. Will you?"

"I will."

"Good." He checked his watch and came to sudden stop. "Damn. It's one-thirty. I promised the governor that I'd set up a conference call at two o'clock to discuss the situation so far. I hate to leave you, Peter."

Peter stopped beside him. "It's okay. I'll be fine," he insisted.

"Take my advice. Stay with your father. I don't want you to wander off alone. If you need me, I'll be at the mayor's office."

Peter nodded.

"The offer of a comfortable bed still stands."

"Thanks, but I think I'll stick around."

Paul patted Peter on the shoulder. "Things will work out, Peter. They always do."

"I know. Be patient. That's what both you and my father say."

Paul joked, "What are father's for."

Peter pulled Paul into an embrace and held fast for a few minutes. "I love you, Dad."

Paul patted him on the back, then released his hold. "I love you too, Son. Take care. If anything happens, indulge me - call for backup. Please."

Peter smiled. "I will, Captain. I promise."

Paul headed down the hallway. Peter watched him go, then continued to walk to his father's room.

He stopped dead a few feet from the door.

Where the hell is the guard!

He ran to the door and opened it wide. He gasped, staring in shock at what he saw inside - an empty bed.

Jody Powell spent her lunch hour down in the basement of her parent's house, sifting through the boxes of her late sister's personal effects. Luckily, no one was home to ask why.

She sat on the floor, digging through a mess of papers and other odds and ends. She found appointment books and notepads listing various meetings with informants, suspects, fellow cops, and other people involved in the many cases Kira had worked on. She paged through Kira's old notations, setting selected notes aside in a small stack beside her.

When she finished, she collected the stack and shoved it into a plastic bag. Then stuffed the rest of the notes back into the box and went out to her car.

"Where is my father?!" Peter shouted frantically to the nurse behind the large counter.

The usually bustling hospital corridor stopped dead.

"Keep your voice down, Mr. Caine," she said. "Or I will be forced to call security."

"Do it! For God's sakes! Doesn't anyone realize what's happened here!"

"Peter Caine?" a voice called from down the hallway.

He spun around to see a young man in a white lab coat walking towards him. "Yes," he said anxiously.

"Please come with me," the man said as he approached.

"No. I'm not going anywhere till someone tells me what happened to my father."

"That's why we need to talk privately." The man gestured to follow. "Please."

Peter hesitated, shifting his weight. "Okay," he said finally. He followed as the doctor led him down the corridor.

"My name is Doctor Ryder," the man said as he closed the office door. He gestured Peter to a vacant chair, while he took a seat behind the desk.

Peter paced the small room. "What happened to my father?" he asked angrily.

"Please sit down, Mr. Caine."

Peter slammed his hand on the desk. "Tell me!" he shouted.

At that moment the door to the office opened, and Detective Janice Morgan stepped in. Relief colored her features when she saw Peter standing before her. "Thank God. We've been looking all over for you."

"Will someone tell me what's going on!"

"Calm down, Peter," she pleaded.

"Damn it! Give me a straight answer! NOW!"

Dr. Ryder spoke flatly, "Mr. Caine, your father is dead."

Color drained from Peter's features. His knees buckled and he caught himself on the chair. Morgan ran over to him and helped him into the seat.

"Peter?" she asked with concern.

Peter gaped at Dr. Ryder in shock, not saying a word.

"Peter...I'll take you home."

"No," he said finally, his voice distant, barely a whisper. "I need to see him."

"Peter, he's not..."

"I have to see him."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Caine," Dr. Ryder said. "That's not possible."

"I must see him."

"Peter," Morgan repeated. "I'll take you home."

Peter shook his head.

"I should call Blaisdell."

Peter stood up and headed for the door.

"Peter?" Morgan called. "Where are you going?"

"I need to be alone," he said softly, then left the office.

As he walked on he heard Morgan say, angrily, "This was a mistake."

He didn't turn around. He kept on walking.

"Hello, Broderick." Kermit flashed an arrogant smile at the former police sergeant. He pulled up a chair in the dimly lit interrogation room and sat at the table near the tall man. "I heard you finally caved in."

Broderick didn't share his guest's enthusiasm. "What do you want, Kermit? I've confessed to the crime this morning. Isn't that enough?"

The former mercenary pretended to ignore the question. He wanted the ex-cop to know who controlled the situation. He noted the prison uniform and joked, "Blue was always your color. Wasn't it? Aren't you lucky it's the latest prison fashion these days?"

Broderick frowned and waited.

Kermit's smile faded. "Talk to Burt lately?"

"No."

"Tell me what's happening with him."

"I told you. I haven't talked to him."

Kermit stood and leaned over the ex-sergeant, close enough to breathe in his face, and said coldly, "I think you have. Do you know what else I think? I think you are in more trouble than you'd like to believe. If I'm here grilling you, then Burt screwed up your plans. Isn't that right?"

"What plans?" Broderick asked defensively.

"That's what I'd like to know."

"Look. I haven't talked to that piece of scum since I've been holed up in here."

Kermit straightened and paced the room. "What about Stiles?"

"I haven't talked to him either."

"Why not? What are you hiding?"

"What do you want from me?" he asked in agitation.

Kermit leaned in on Broderick. "A man is in the hospital because of Burt! If you don't speak up now, I'll make sure the DA comes down real hard on you when your case goes to trial."

"That's a wasted threat and you know it. I can't tell you what I don't know."

"Then tell me what you do know."

"I told you. I haven't talked to Burt or Stiles since I've been here."

"That's not what Stiles said. You see, I decided to hear his side before I spoke to you."

Broderick sat upright in his chair. "What did he tell you?"

"He told me that you've been calling Burt, frequently."

"You're lying," Broderick countered. "You're trying to bait me."

Kermit paced again. "On the contrary. Stiles has been doing all he can to get off this murder charge. He's going to let you take the fall for everything. Including the mess that Burt's got himself into."

"Stiles was just as involved as me!" Broderick shouted. "You can't let him get away with this!"

"What about Burt's involvement in it?"

"He cleaned up the loose ends."

"He helped you take Katz from the morgue. Didn't he? He knocked out Nick Elder, while you removed the body."

"You should know this already."

"Well, it seems that Burt never mentioned his role in this scheme when he gave his statement to us. He confessed that he was a member of your organization, but he only admitted his guilt for the confrontation with Peter in the holding cell. Stiles filled in the rest this afternoon."

"That's it?" Broderick asked, visibly disturbed by the news.

Kermit didn't buy Broderick's dismay. "You expect me to believe that you had no idea Burt held back information?"

"I didn't know. I swear."

Kermit took in a breath. "Okay. Tell me more, Broderick. Tell me what he didn't admit to."

Broderick sighed. "You're right. He helped me remove Katz's body from the morgue. He also helped me get it cremated. But he came up with the idea to take the body to the Lake Forest Funeral Home. The owner is a friend of Burt's. Didn't ask questions. Kept it quiet."

"What else?" Kermit pressed.

"Burt wanted Peter and his father dead. He's the one who suggested going after them in the first place. Stiles and I took it from there."

"I'm not buying it!"

"What more do you want from me? I've told you all I know," he insisted.

"Do you have any idea if Burt's been in touch with Stiles?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Because I'm asking you!"

"I don't want anything else to do with Stiles. I haven't said one thing to him since we've been inside."

"Why?"

"You know why. He's a self-centered liar."

"You've named all his good qualities," Kermit quipped. "Now, tell me the real reason."

"Give it a rest, Kermit!"

"What does Burt have planned now?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

Kermit slammed his hand on the table. "If we could find him, I wouldn't be here. Tell me why he's still after Caine. Who ordered him to do it?"

"Caine?" Broderick said in dismay. "Are you saying Burt was the one who shot him? He's crazy if he thinks he can kill Caine. That's why we went after Peter. We figured that if we weakened Peter enough, his old man would leave us alone. We thought Caine would be more interested in his son's welfare than in messing around in the affairs of the city. We wanted to drive Peter and Caine out of town."

Kermit sat down opposite Broderick. His curiosity piqued. "But you wanted to frame Peter for murder. I may not understand Caine that well, but you can't just make him go away. If Peter had been charged with Katz's murder, Caine would have done all he could to prove him innocent."

"That's why we took Peter as a prisoner. We thought that if we convince Peter that the murder was his fault, Caine will believe it too. Then Peter would be in prison and Caine would go away somewhere. Y'know, wander like he always does."

Kermit steered the conversation back to the present. "Okay, so the plan backfired. Is that why Burt is after Caine? Because you screwed up?"

Broderick shook his head. "I don't think so. Burt has always wanted Peter's hide, since before he arrested Peter's father for the murder of the old guy's - the Ancient's - nephew. It burned him when Peter got his father off. He never forgave Peter for that sucker punch neither.

Kermit raised his hand in front of Broderick. "Slow down. Caine was arrested for murder?"

"Yeah. But it turned out to be some punk from the street. Peter collared the guy."

"Okay. So, Burt was jealous, because Peter solved his case?"

"That was one reason. Burt also hated Peter for stealing something he wanted: Kira Blakemore."

"Who's Kira Blakemore?"

"Jody Powell's sister. She used to be partners with Peter a few years back. The three of them - Burt, Peter, and Kira - used to work out of the Sixty-Sixth. Burt had been crazy about her since the first day he saw her. He started making moves on her, but she seemed to be interested in Peter. He hated Peter so much that he had him transferred to the 101. Burt figured that Blaisdell would give Peter a hard time, since he's the captain's foster son, although that didn't turn out as he had hoped."

Kermit held up his hands. "Hold it. Burt had Peter transferred? What reason did he give?"

"He made up some story about Metro needing a cop to handle Chinatown, and that Peter was the best man for the job. He didn't believe a word of it." Broderick shrugged. "I guess he didn't realize that he did Peter a favor."

"How do you mean?"

"Nothing. Just that Peter is part Chinese and he's with his own kind. That's all. None of us knew of Peter's background till his old man hit town."

Kermit glared at Broderick, then shook his head in disgust. "How do you know Burt has this jealousy kick?" he asked.

"Because he told me one night when he was really blitzed," he replied. "We were at Chandlers. He couldn't take his eyes of Jody. Kept calling her Kira."

"How long ago was this?"

"Sometime before we started planning our move on Peter and Katz."

"What else did Burt say."

"He kept cursing Peter. Said he wanted to kill him for letting Kira die."

Kermit whipped his sunglasses off. "Wait a minute. Kira's dead?" he asked in confusion.

"Yes. She was killed by the Shadow Assassins the first time they were in town, which was hours after she had transferred to our precinct."

"Okay. Let's backtrack a little. So, Kira transferred to the hundred-and-first soon after Peter did?"

"No. Burt transferred before Kira and shortly after Peter. Burt was tracking some serial killer from the West Side who was making his way to Chinatown. He wanted to follow the lead to the end. Kira transferred a few months later."

"Why did she switch?"

"She claimed she wanted the transfer because she was tired of the lack of productivity at her precinct. I knew that she and Peter worked together once before, so I paired them up. She was a good cop. I also knew that Peter liked her."

Kermit started to put the pieces together. "So, Burt is still in love with Kira Blakemore, who used to work with him and Peter at the Sixty-Sixth. Burt has Peter transferred out of jealousy, only to end up transferring himself. Why?"

"To solve that case."

"He could have done it with help from someone at the 101. Why switch?"

"Maybe he had Peter on his hit list back then."

"Why didn't he do something then?"

"I don't know. He never said."

"Okay." He pulled out a pad and pen and scribbled some notes. "Let's jump ahead a little. Which came first, Caine's arrest or Kira's transfer?"

"Kira."

"So, Kira died before Caine was arrested."

"Right."

"And she was killed by the Shadow Assassin."

"Yes."

"Was anyone with her when it happened?"

"Peter and the author, Everett Cooper."

"So, Burt blames Peter for not saving her life, fueling his hatred." Kermit scratched his head. "Oh yeah. This sounds like some lousy soap opera."

Broderick stifled a laugh.

Kermit continued to speculate. "Burt decides to finish Peter once and for all. But Peter is out of town. What does he do? Go after the one thing that Peter cherishes most in the world. His father.

"Do you know where Burt is now?" Kermit asked.

"No. Ask Stiles. He might know."

"I did. He didn't know either. Unfortunately, that is the one thing he said that I do believe."

Kermit rose to leave. "I hate to say this, Broderick, but you've been a big help."

"Thanks," Broderick said half-heartedly. "I think."

Peter wandering aimlessly through the hospital corridors, oblivious to the people who brushed by him as he passed. He stopped and leaned against the wall as a jumble of thoughts raced through his mind.

My father is dead. He's really dead this time. I'm sorry I left you, Father. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you.

"Are you all right, sir?" he heard a woman's voice ask.

He glanced down to see a nurse standing beside him. He nodded his head absently and walked away.

He rounded a corner when he heard a familiar voice call to him. He spotted its source and froze.

"Detective Caine!" Sandra Mason shouted. "Peter Caine! Can I have a minute of your time?!"

He stared blankly at the crowd of reporters who roared to life and watched as police officers and security guards held them at bay by the entrance to the building. He felt the urge to escape and ran down the corridors to the back entrance, where Paul had sneaked him out earlier, and made his getaway.

"Looking for some action?"

Jody glanced up from her drink to see a grimy looking man hanging over her and smiled.

"Yes, I am," she said invitingly.

The man's eyes lit up as he slid into the stool next to hers. "Well," he said confidently, "you've come to the right place."

Jody glanced around the smoky bar, taking in the ambiance of worn barstools, broken down tables and the sleazy clientele. She laughed. "I guess so."

She noticed him lean closer, and she turned away, repulsed by the combined odor of stale beer and cigarettes on his breath. She felt him blow on her ear and smacked him with a cocktail napkin.

He recoiled.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said innocently. "I thought there was a fly at my ear."

The man rubbed his nose. "No problem," he said awkwardly.

"Maybe you could help me. I'm looking for someone."

The man seemed to shrink in his chair. "Oh?"

"Yes. There's this guy who used to hang out with my brother. And Jake, my brother, is missing and I was hoping Burt could help me find him."

The man straightened. "Burt?"

"What have we got?" Frank asked from behind his desk.

Skalany and Chin sat across from him in his office, glancing at each other, waiting for someone to speak first. Chin volunteered.

"Well, I still haven't located Ariel or Cheryl Hines. It seems that no matter how connected I am in Chinatown, I'm still an outsider."

"You haven't been made yet, have you?" Frank asked.

"No, but my questions are prompting suspicion. People want to know why I want to know."

"Then drop it. I don't want you to blow your cover. I'll send someone else searching for the girls."

Chin nodded.

"Skalany." Frank asked. "What's the report from Forensics?"

"Nothing, Chief," Skalany replied solemnly. "No prints except for Caine's." She shrugged. "Burt may have been wearing gloves."

Frank sank back in his chair. "What about Caine's neighbors? Any witnesses?"

"No one in the building reports hearing any gunshots. Nor did they see anyone suspicious."

"I don't believe this!" Frank snapped. "So, we've got nothing?!"

"It could be that they're afraid to tell the cops anything," Chin surmised. "Maybe they'll talk to Peter?"

Frank nodded. "Good idea. I'll give him a call."

"Jody may have something," Skalany said, sitting up in her chair. "She called in a while ago. She's following a hunch that she thinks might lead us to Burt's whereabouts. She'll let us know as soon as she's got something."

Frank sighed. "Well. There's one good thing," he said sternly.

The door to his office burst open and Kermit marched in. "It gets better," he said, planting himself on the corner of Frank's desk. "It seems Burt's motive is more personal than we thought."

Frank sat up in his chair. "That is?"

Kermit smiled. "Jealousy." He proceeded to tell the trio of what he had learned from Broderick.

After he finished Skalany said eagerly, "That goes with something Jody said when she called in. She told me that she had collected some old notations of Kira's and was checking them out for any leads on Burt."

"What I still don't understand," Chin said, "is why go after Caine?"

"Peter was out of town," Kermit responded. "Burt assumed correctly that Caine's death would bring Peter running."

"But didn't Burt know that Caine's an impossible target?" Skalany asked, then added sadly. "Or, at least, he was until recently."

Frank shook his head. "Burt was lucky."

"Perhaps," Kermit said, lost in thought. "Or maybe there was another person in the room. Someone could have distracted them. Cheryl Hines, maybe? Caine may have been protecting her or whomever."

"Are you saying he took the bullet on purpose?" Chin asked in disbelief.

"He's done stranger things."

"This is nuts," Frank said.

"Does Peter know about this?" Chin asked.

"I doubt it," Kermit replied.

"I've got to call him," Frank said, scratching his head. "We need his help with the residents in Caine's building."

"I'll call him," Kermit offered. "I can't wait to hear his reaction to this soap opera."

Evening had arrived when Peter entered his father's empty apartment. He stopped at the doorway and shook off a cold tremor as he peered into the studio. The room looked cold and empty, the moonlit night adding an eerie glow.

He wandered slowly around the vast rooms where his father had worked, meditated, and exercised. He picked up various articles that caught his eye, toying with them, then carefully placed them back where he had found them.

He entered the herbarium and inhaled the sweet scents of the herbs, fragrances he always associated with his father. Peter gazed around the room, still feeling his father's presence within it. Circling the perimeter, he ran his hand along the worktable and touched the jars on the shelves.

He recalled the times he had watched with curiosity while his father had ground together a remedy for someone in need. He remembered the conversations he had shared with his father and the lessons he had learned.

His eyes fell upon Caine's wooden flute resting against the wall. He picked it up and held it close, his mind playing the familiar melody his father had played many times. Was this the last thing you held, Father? Were you playing this when you were shot?

He walked, flute in hand, to the studio. He approached the altar and placed the flute upon it, then took up a book of matches in his hand. He ignited one, lit an incense stick and blew out the match. He then lit the candles that surrounded the Buddha on the small table, and blew out the flame on the stick, allowing its sweet fragrance to touch his nose. He inhaled the scent, which elicited a cough and a sneeze. Laughing despite himself, he said aloud, "I guess I have a lot to learn. Don't I, Pop?" He stopped and added sadly, "Sorry - Dad." He sighed. "I'm going to miss the look on your face when I called you that."

Tears streamed down his face. "I miss you already," his voice cracked. Wiping his eyes, he grabbed the flute once more and sat down in front of the altar. He gazed fixedly at the statue for a few moments, then he closed his eyes and said, "'To return to the root is to return to one's destiny. When one finds his destiny, then he will have found peace.' I hope you are at peace, Father."

"Does anyone know where Peter is?" Kermit asked as he burst out of his office into the squad room.

"I haven't seen him," Skalany said matter-of-factly. "Shouldn't he be at the hospital?"

"Not anymore," he said with agitation. "Neither is his father, it seems."

"What?" Her eyes widened in shock.

"I just called the hospital. At first, no one would tell me what happened to Caine. Then, after some prodding, they told me he left. I asked them where he went, and they said they didn't know. When I asked about Peter. They said he left, too."

"Where did they go?"

"That's what I want to ask Drake about. He should have been with Caine."

"But he took guard duty this morning. When was he to be relieved?"

"Not for another two hours."

"What about Officer Wilson?"

"He was relieved by Detective Morgan this afternoon."

"Have you tried to reach her?"

"Yes, but she's not answering her phone."

"This is weird." Skalany rose to her feet. "Maybe Peter took Caine into hiding?"

Kermit shook his head. "He wouldn't take the risk, considering his father's physical condition. I have a feeling it's something more."

"Like what. Burt?"

"If Burt has them," Kermit spat, "I'll use his balls as a door chime."

"Where's Drake?"

"No idea. But I have his cell-phone number. We'll call from the car. Let's go.

"God, I hope we're not too late," she said, packing her gun.

"I won't let that happen, Sweet Cakes. Let's go. We'll call the captain, too." He left the room before Skalany could respond. She grabbed her jacket off her chair and ran after him.

"Where are we going?"

A pair of eyes watched Peter from a crack in the door to one of the back rooms of Caine's apartment. Peter sat silently, facing at the altar, his back to the door.

He does not sense my presence, the observer noted. He still has much to learn.

In the darkness of the small room, he heard another man's voice whisper angrily into a cellular phone.

"I've got it under control. No, I won't tell you anything! I won't let you blow this!"

The observer heard several soft clicks as the man disconnected. "Get away from the door!" the man hissed to him.

The observer turned towards the voice. "I will not be a part of this," he whispered bitterly. "Why did you not tell me the truth?"

"Because I knew you'd react this way. Anyway, it's too late for that now. The damage is done. Just sit tight and do as I say."

The observer turned back to watch Peter. Is it too late? Has the damage been done?

Peter sat in meditation clutching the flute, oblivious to any sounds around him. After a few minutes he opened his eyes.

"This is not necessary, Peter," Lo Si said gravely.

He started. "When are you going to learn to knock," he snapped.

"You do not have to do this."

"This is what he would want," Peter said solemnly. "This is what I must do."

"You do not have to perform this ceremony, Peter. Your father is..."

"I know what you're going to say, Lo Si. 'He is always with me. He will never leave me.' I know that. I understand it now. I feel his presence even as we speak."

"Yes," Lo Si said. "It is very strong. But you misunderstand, Peter. Your father is not dead."

Peter glared up at the Ancient wide-eyed. "What?"

The sound of footsteps could be heard coming from the hallway. Kermit and Skalany entered the room.

"Peter," Kermit said. "We need to have a talk about your father."

Peter stood and turned around to face his colleagues.

A door opened behind Skalany and Kermit. They spun around, their guns aimed into a dark room.

"Police!" Kermit shouted.

"Damn it!" a voice yelled from the blackness. "You are pigheaded!"

Kermit exchanged a puzzled glance with Skalany. "Step out nice and slow," he ordered.

Kwai Chang Caine stepped out of the shadows.

Peter's mouth dropped open at the sight. "Pop?"

"I am here, Peter."

The two cops lowered their guns, exchanging relieved glances.

Drake stepped out from behind Caine. "He is the most stubborn person I ever had to work with," he said, indicating the priest, then shifted his attention to Peter. "I'm sorry, Pete. We did it to protect him - and you. Morgan was supposed to keep an eye on you, but you disappeared."

"What?" Peter asked in confusion.

"We faked his death to protect him. That's all."

Kermit glared at Drake. "You mean," he said with venom, "you faked it."

Peter stared, speechless.

"I am sorry," Caine said earnestly. "I did not know until it was too late."

"They-they told me you were dead," Peter said, his voice wavering. "At the hospital. They insisted you were dead." He shook his head, his breathing short and quick. "You lied to me. All of you. You made me believe he was dead. How could you do that to me?"

"We didn't know, Peter," Skalany insisted.

Lo Si reached out him, but he pushed the Ancient away.

"Leave me alone!"

"Peter, please," Caine begged.

His body started to tremble. "No one...No one does that to me twice!"

"My son."

Peter slammed the flute against the altar, smashing the table and its contents. Then in one swift movement threw it at the foursome. Caine, Skalany, Kermit and Drake ducked out of the way just in time and watched as it shattered into several pieces against the wall behind them.

An uneasy silence hung over the room. Peter stood frozen for a moment, staring at his father's worried face, then turned and ran out.

"Peter!" Caine called after him, but his son didn't respond. He started to go after him, stopping momentarily to say firmly, "It is time for you to go now."

Drake started to protest, but Caine left before he could say a word.

Kermit headed towards the doorway. "I'll go after them," he said. He stopped and shot Drake a piercing stare. "You're going to have hell to pay for this stunt! Did you really think Blaisdell would let you go ahead with this?"

"I did what I thought was right."

Skalany shook her head, "You've been watching too much television, Drake. What's more, you picked the wrong family to play this game on."

"What did you expect to accomplish by doing this?" Kermit asked bitterly.

"I thought Burt might show himself more readily if he thought Caine was out of the picture."

Kermit raised his hands in disgust. "Skalany, may I never doubt you again. Cut back on the TV, Drake." He left the room.

The Ancient shook his finger at Drake. "A family was scarred from such an act before," he scolded. "To put them through this again is to open deep wounds."

Drake rubbed his neck uneasily and asked, "What's next?"

"We wait for the captain," Skalany responded sternly.

Peter reached the bottom of the stars. He blinked back his tears as he raised a trembling hand to the door handle.

A hand grasped his - Caine's hand. Peter yanked himself out of the grip.

"Leave me alone!" Peter said furiously, then burst out of the door into the dimly lit alley, nearly colliding with Paul. Peter brushed past him and kept walking.

"Peter?" Paul asked, startled.

"Peter, please," Caine implored as he followed his son into the alley.

The younger Caine wheeled around to face his father.

"Allow me to explain."

"Explain what? How did you managed to defy death again? Or perhaps it's the reason why the only way to protect us is to believe that the other is dead?"

"Nice place for a family argument," Kermit said as he stepped into the night.

"Let them be," Paul whispered to him, then motioned to the far end of the alley. Kermit nodded and walked in that direction. Paul headed for the opposite side.

Caine and Peter ignored their movements.

"I did not know that they were going to do this," Caine insisted.

Tears welled in Peter's eyes. "Oh? So that makes it all right then! Is that it?" He clenched and unclenched his fists. "I spent fifteen years mourning your death! When you came back into my life, I wanted to make sure I wouldn't lose you again! Do you know what I went through today?! I thought you were dead!"

Caine stared sadly at his son, saying nothing.

"How could you do this to me?!" Peter cried. "How could you lie to me like that?! Nobody does that to me twice! NOBODY!"

Caine blinked back the tears in his eyes.

"In all my years as a cop I never pulled a stunt like this! I know what it feels like to lose someone I love! I would never fake my own death or anyone else's! HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!" He moved swiftly to Caine's side.

Caine winced. Peter brushed past him and kicked the wall.

"DAMN YOU!"

Peter's words reverberated through the alley.

"I don't know why I worry about you!" Peter shouted. "I seem to be the only person who gives a damn! Everyone expects you to take the risks! Why?! Because you're a Shaolin Priest! You are invincible! Am I the only one who cares for your welfare?! Am I that dumb?!"

Caine's brow wrinkled questioningly. "What are you saying?"

"You never get hurt! You always manage to come through without a scratch! Why should I bother with you?!"

"Because I am not...invincible."

Peter shook his head. "You are! Everyone thinks so! You've proved that more than once!"

"But you do not think so. You should not."

"Why?! Because I am your son?! Is that in my job description?!"

"Peter..."

"Tell me you weren't shot! Finding you half dead was part of the plan! Right?! The blood was fake too! Wasn't it?!"

"No."

"TELL ME!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Peter flinched, as if slapped. He backed away and leaned against the wall.

"My son," Caine said gently.

Tears streamed down Peter's face. "Tell me you weren't shot."

"I was shot. If you had not found me, I would have died."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true," Paul said, walking up to the two men. "The shooting was real, Peter, as was your father's physical condition at the hospital. Drake's the one to blame for all this, not Caine. It was Drake's idea to fake your father's death, and he went ahead with it without clearance from me. I had no idea this was going on until Kermit called me with the news."

"You told me to trust you!" Peter snapped angrily at his foster father, pushing himself off the wall and faced Paul. "You told me to rely on your decision! I never should have left the hospital with you!"

"I'm sorry son." Paul's voice cracked. "I didn't know he'd do this. You have to believe me."

"No! I'm sick of hearing that! He marched off, heading in Kermit's direction.

"Peter," Kermit said, as the young man approached. "It's not their fault."

"Fuck you!"

Kermit flinched. "Ouch."

Peter heard his fathers' footsteps grow louder, then stop.

"We must wait," Caine said. He needs to work through his anger. His thoughts are confused."

"I can't bear to see him like this," Paul said. "He'll never forgive us for this."

"He will."

Peter whipped around to them. "Go away!" he shouted between his teeth. "Leave me alone!"

"I can't do that, Peter," Paul called, moving closer to his foster son. "Your life could still be in danger."

"Oh, and I'm supposed to trust you now?"

"If you can't trust your family, who can you trust?"

Peter didn't respond.

"You're denying yourself the very people who can help you. Why would I want to hurt you?"

"You told me to trust Drake!"

"Because I trusted him. But you did too - We all did. So, what does that make us?"

Peter stared at Paul and said nothing.

"A bunch of fools?" Kermit asked sarcastically.

"Human," Caine said, stepping forward.

"Precisely," Paul confirmed. "Drake was the fool, Peter. He thought he could protect your father by hiding him and lying to us. He was very wrong. I'll make sure he pays for it, son. I promise.

"Who else knew about it?" Peter asked bitterly.

"I don't know. But we'll find out soon enough," Paul said sternly, stopping a few feet from his foster son.

Peter glared at his father. "And you didn't know?"

Caine moved up beside Paul as he spoke. "Drake led me to believe that you requested my removal from the hospital. I did not know the truth until I heard him tell Kermit on the phone."

Caine took a few more steps up to Peter. He squeezed his son's arm and placed his hand on the young man's cheek. "I am sorry for the pain you have suffered."

Peter looked away without saying a word.

"Forgive me for not acting sooner," Caine added.

"Don't ever let anyone do that to me, again," he said firmly.

"Never."

Peter glanced at his father once more, then pulled Caine close, blinking back his tears. Caine squeezed him tightly as his own tears fell.

Peter released the hug and walked over to Paul. They embraced. "I'm sorry," Peter said.

"No, Son. There's nothing to be sorry for. I would have reacted the same way."

"We should go inside," Paul said, stepping back.

"An excellent idea," Kermit said.

The four men turned and walked back inside the building. Caine wrapped his arm around his son's shoulder, walking beside him. Kermit spun on his heel and led the pack with Paul taking up the rear flank.

Paul followed Peter, Caine and Kermit into the studio. Skalany, Drake and Lo Si were still there. In an instant Peter had Drake against the wall.

"You bastard!" he spat angrily.

Drake squirmed, but could not break Peter's hold, terror on his face. "Peter," Drake pleaded. "I'm sorry. I was trying to protect him."

"You piece of shit! I ought to..."

"Help me!" Drake cried out to the others.

"This is not the way, Peter," Caine said slowly.

"Let him go, Son," Paul said.

Peter held on for a few more seconds before backed away. Drake pulled himself together and started to move out of Peter's reach, but he didn't make it. Peter grabbed him once more and slammed him against the wall. Stunned, he slid to the floor and blinked.

Kermit stepped between the two men and pushed Peter away from Drake. Peter stormed out of the room. Caine followed, leaving Paul, Kermit and Skalany to deal with Drake, while the Ancient stood off to the side and watched scornfully.

"Drake," Paul commanded. "You are relieved of duty until further notice."

"But Captain...," Drake pleaded as he scrambled to his feet.

"That's an order, Detective. You were out of line, and you didn't follow procedure. Do I make myself clear?"

Drake nodded his head solemnly. "Yes, sir."

"Good. I want a full report on my desk tonight."

He nodded his head once more. "Is there anything else, Captain."

"No. You're free to go."

Drake walked out of the room.

Paul sighed. He turned to Kermit and Skalany and said, "All right. Fill me in."

Peter marched angrily into the dark herbarium. He walked past the large table, then stopped. He reached down and picked up one of the leather punching bags Caine used for training and slammed it back onto the table. He struck it repeatedly, causing various articles on the wooden surface to shake with each violent blow.

Through the corner of his eye he saw his father approach. Caine stood next to Peter, observing him.

Peter wiped the tears in his eyes and sniffed, continuing to punch the sack. Without looking up he said, bitterly, "I know what the problem is."

"What?" Caine asked.

"No one trusts me."

"My son," Caine said mildly. "The problem is with them, not you."

Peter scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"Those who have lied to you, do not trust themselves. In their quest for justice, they take risks. Sometimes they make mistakes and hurt those they are trying to protect."

"Get real, Pop. They didn't want me to get in their way. Kelly, Drake...All of them."

"That is not true. Sometimes they keep the truth from you to avoid being... reprimanded."

"By me? What clout do I have?"

Caine shrugged, "Many of your coworkers speak highly of you."

Peter shook his head and punched the sack harder. A pestle rolled off the table and hit the floor.

Caine grabbed Peter's hand in mid-swing and held it tightly in his own. "Striking the bag will not ease the anger, Peter," he said. "Let it out."

Try as he might, Peter could not pull away. "Isn't that what I'm doing?" he asked in frustration. "No. Do you not remember the conversation we had when you were punching the pole?"

He thought for a moment. "Yes. You called it a paradox to hit the pole to alleviate anger."

"Punching with such force only creates more pain. You are pushing it aside. You must embrace it, understand it."

Peter sighed, blinking back his tears. "I don't know what to do, or how to feel anymore. Every time someone throws me a line, I tell myself, 'Don't take it, Peter.' Then I think, 'It's all I've got,' so I grab it and hang on. Next thing I know that person I depended on has let go of the rope."

His voice softened, "I'm falling, Pop. And I'm beginning to think I'm going to hit bottom."

"Not if I catch you first," Caine said with emotion.

Peter smiled. A sob escaped him. He placed his free hand on top of Caine's and said gravely, "I need you, Pop. More than ever. I thought I could do this alone, but..."

"You will see clearly, son," Caine reassured. "I will show you how to find your path."

There heard a knock behind them. Both men turned to see Paul standing in the doorway. He held up his hands.

"I wasn't listening this time," he said. "I swear."

Peter walked over to his foster father and grasped his arm. "I need you too."

"I'm here for you, son," he whispered back, squeezing Peter's shoulder. "I'm here."

Peter stepped back and wiped his eyes. Nodding, he said, "I'm better now."

Paul glanced at Caine and shook his head in disbelief. "We've got to sit down and figure out what to do with this kid."

Caine canted his head and nodded. "Yes."

Peter's eyes darted suspiciously between his two fathers. He shook his head and laughed. "Tag team fathers. What a concept."

Paul and Caine laughed.

A woman stood partially hidden in an alley across the street from the building where Caine lived.

She gazed up at the top floor apartment, then looked down at her handbag. Reaching inside, she pulled out a gun and checked the safety. Moonlight reflected off the weapon as she examined its chamber for bullets. Satisfied, she replaced it in her bag, sliding her badge aside to make room. She snapped her handbag closed. The moonlight shone on its metal clasp and the engraved initials, K.B.

"I'm ready," she whispered aloud. "Your time has come."

The crowd of seven convened in the herbarium. Caine sat on the platform, legs crossed in a lotus position. Peter sat beside him on his right, arm on his shoulder. Kermit, Skalany and Paul stood in front of them, listening to Caine recount the incident with Burt.

The Ancient walked around the room and lit several candles, then stood by the balcony doors and listened to his friend.

"Burt came here to kill me," Caine said flatly.

"Did he give you a reason why?" Paul asked.

"He said that I was...getting in the way of his plans."

"What plans?" Peter asked.

"He was not clear. He did say that I ruined his life."

"He ruined his own life," Peter snapped.

Caine shrugged. "I think there was another reason for his anger."

"Which was?" Kermit asked.

"I do not know, but I could sense something deeper than racism."

"Involving Peter, perhaps?"

"Perhaps."

Peter stared at Kermit quizzically. "I thought the motive was race related?"

"Initially, so did we," he said. "But Caine's right. It's personal - against you, Peter."

"Personal?"

"It seems Burt's been holding a grudge against you, since you and he were working out of the Sixty-Sixth. He was attracted to Kira Blakemore. He wanted her so badly that he made sure you were out of the picture."

Peter's brow knotted questioningly. "What do you mean?"

"Kermit filled me in a few minutes ago," Paul said, "while you and your father were in here talking. It appears that Burt was the one who got you transferred to the Hundred-and-First." He smiled. "And to think, all this time you and I were pointing fingers at each other."

"But he transferred, too," Peter said, confused.

"Sure. After he realized that Kira had her heart set on someone else."

"Who?"

"You, Romeo," Kermit cracked. "He realized that she still had strong feelings for you. So, he decided to make sure you were out of the picture altogether."

"But he never did anything to me before now. Why wait so long?"

"Waiting for the right opportunity, perhaps?"

Peter shook his head in disbelief.

"It didn't help to have Kira die in your arms," Kermit added.

"There was nothing I could do!" Peter snapped. "I tried!"

"Easy, kid," Kermit said, mildly. "You don't have to explain anything to me. I'm just telling you what's going on in that lunatic's brain. Did you know that one night he actually confused Jody with Kira?

Peter saw Caine raise an eyebrow.

"Well, they do look similar," Skalany said, calmly.

"Perhaps, too similar," Kermit said. "This is what's been driving him, Peter."

"This sounds like some lousy soap opera!" Peter exclaimed. "I can't believe Burt has held a grudge like this. And for so long."

"It's hard for me to swallow, too," Paul agreed. He turned to Kermit, "Do you really believe Broderick after all that he has done?"

Kermit nodded emphatically. "Oh yeah."

"What's Broderick got to do with this?" Peter asked.

"He filled me in on the juicy details."

Peter's eyes widened. "And you trust him?"

"It's all we've got, Loverboy."

Peter frowned at Kermit and shook his head.

Kermit grinned at him in his grandest Cheshire Cat fashion.

"Look," Peter said, "this doesn't change things. We still don't know where he is."

"Jody's working on a lead," Skalany said. "She'll call in when she gets something."

"Who's with her?" Paul asked her.

"No one."

Paul shook his head. "She shouldn't be alone on this. It's too dangerous. If Burt confused her with Kira once, he could do that again. Besides, we can't put it past Burt to take out any one of us to get at Peter. We all need to watch our backs."

Everyone nodded their heads in agreement.

"In the meantime," he added. "We need to formulate a plan to protect Caine and Peter, in case Burt tries to show up here."

"How about a safe house?" Skalany asked.

Caine shook his head.

Peter said firmly, "I don't think we need any more police protection."

"You can't be serious, Pete?" Kermit said in alarm.

"We can take care of ourselves."

"I know how you feel, Son," Paul said. "But it's policy."

"I agree," Caine said.

Peter glared at him. "Pop...," he pleaded.

"You must learn not to blame others for one man's mistake."

"Your father is right, Peter," Lo Si said.

Peter shook his head. "It wasn't one man."

Paul stepped closer to Peter and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do you trust me?"

Peter's gaze fell.

"Do you trust me?" Paul repeated.

"Yes."

"Then trust me now. Work with me on this, Peter. I've been betrayed a few times too. It hurts more than anything imaginable. But you can't go on through life without some trust. Eventually you learn who your true friends are. It just takes a few falls to find them standing over you, ready to help you up. Here I am, extending my hand."

Peter looked directly at Paul and said with sincerity, "You have always been there for me."

"I always will be." Paul patted him on the shoulder, then pulled Skalany and Kermit aside to negotiate a plan.

Caine leaned over and kissed his son on the cheek. "There is always a positive that emerges from the negative, my son. You must seek it out."

"How do I do that?"

"By looking within."

Peter frowned. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Caine shrugged.

Peter sighed. "I'm sorry about the flute and the altar, Pop," he said regretfully.

"I have many flutes, my son. And the table can be repaired. As will your heart."

Peter shook his head and changed the subject. "So how did Drake get you out of the hospital room?" he asked.

"A female police officer - a Detective...Morgan - told me that you insisted that I be taken home."

Peter stared at Caine with disbelief. "But you were unconscious when I left. How did they know you would wake up? What if you hadn't?"

"Then, as you would say, they would have used plan B."

"Which was?"

"I do not know."

Peter rolled his eyes and laughed, "Great."

Caine smiled.

Peter's smile faded quickly. He glanced at Lo Si. "Where were you during all this?"

The Ancient stepped toward them. "I had left the hospital after my conversation with Captain Blaisdell," he said. "I am sorry, Peter. I also thought your father was in good hands."

Peter glared at him, then looked away. "It's okay, Lo Si," he said with difficulty. "It's-it's not your fault. We all made the same mistake today."

The Ancient bowed.

Caine said, "You should not be so hard on Drake. His intentions were..."

"Honorable?" Peter quipped.

"Not quite. But his heart was in the right place. He too will learn from this."

"Maybe."

"We will all learn from this," Lo Si said.

Peter glanced back at him. "You knew my father wasn't dead? How?"

"I was here when your father came."

Peter turned his attention back to Caine. "How did they get you out of the hospital without being noticed?"

"They put me in a...disguise and took me out on a wheelchair."

"What about the hospital staff. Why did they hold back on me? If they didn't know where you were, why didn't they tell me?"

"Perhaps they did not want to admit that they...lost me?"

Peter rubbed his neck. "Why come here?"

"I told him I would be safe here."

"So, you hid in the back room the whole time?"

"No. When we heard you approach, Drake ordered us to hide."

Peter sighed and shook his head.

"Who told you I was dead?" Caine asked.

"A guy by the name of Dr. Ryder. Probably a friend of Drake's."

"Ah." Caine nodded. "Detective Morgan's boyfriend. Also, a policeman. I only saw him briefly, when he arrived with her to relieve the morning guard - an Officer Wilson. I believe Detective Ryder works out of the...Fifty-Third Precinct. I am uncertain."

Peter shook his head. "I can't believe Detective Morgan was in on this too."

Caine shrugged.

"When did you wake up, Pop?"

"I am not sure."

Peter turned to Lo Si, "How did they know I'd leave?"

"It was Drake's idea for you to go," the Ancient explained. "To get some fresh air."

"How thoughtful of him," Peter quipped.

"I had thought it was the right thing for you...and your father."

"Lo Si, are you feeling all right? I mean. Your judgment has been a little off today."

The Ancient canted his head and quipped, "Perhaps it is something in the air?"

Peter held up his hands. "Sorry," he said regretfully. "I'm a little short-fused at the moment."

"That is all right, Peter," Lo Si said with a smile.

Peter turned to his father. "So, you trusted Drake and Morgan when they told you I wanted you released?"

Caine canted his head and shrugged. "As you did when they told you I was dead."

Peter sighed and turned away, muttering sadly. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"More of what?"

"The lies, Pop," Peter said. "I'm finding less people to trust."

"They did not mean to hurt us, Peter. They made a mistake. It is the thought that counts."

"Not if the act is hurtful."

"You must see the intent, not the execution. They meant to protect us."

"Just like Ping Hi did at the temple."

Caine straightened. "Yes."

"Do you agree with his execution?"

"Whether I do or not is not important. It is in the past, Peter. We must move on."

Peter stared into his father's eyes, then looked away in disappointment.

Caine placed his arm around Peter and pulled him close. Peter turned his gaze back to him.

"Can I - um - see the wound?" Peter asked tentatively.

Caine nodded his head and pulled open his shirt to reveal a small red scar on his chest - no stitches, no bruising, no discoloration.

"How did you heal so fast, Pop?" Peter asked in amazement.

Caine shrugged. "It is difficult to explain."

Peter glanced away and said sadly. "So, were you truly unconscious at the hospital when I was there, or were you just pretending?"

"I was in a state of recovery. I was...healing from within. It requires total concentration and immersion in oneself."

"Yeah. Another miracle performed by the Great Caine," Peter said with a trace of sarcasm.

Caine placed his free hand on Peter's chin and turned his son's face to his. "You are still angry with me?"

"No. I just wish you'd let me take care of you for once."

"I am not yet well," Caine said. "You can help me now."

Peter shrugged indifferently and looked away.

"My son, I am not perfect. Nor do I expect you to be. I am merely a man, capable of making mistakes just like everyone else."

"You never make mistakes."

"I do."

Peter threw his father a skeptical look. "Name one."

"Leaving you for six months. As you would say, 'Dumb move, Pop.'"

Peter laughed and shook his head. "I wish I could be like you. Always knowing what I want, what I need."

"We spoke of this before, Peter. You need only to discover who you are. The rest will follow."

"What if I never find out who I am?"

"You will. You must have faith in yourself, then the answer will come to you. Remember not to confuse identity with destiny. They are two different things. Everyone has an identity. That stays constant no matter what their destiny is."

"So, my identity is what? Being a cop?"

"No. That is one role you play in life...to carry out your purpose. It is not what you are, but what you do."

Peter stared at Caine quizzically. "But being a priest is what you are. It's your life."

"First, I am a man. That is my identity. The fact that I am a priest is what guides my purpose, which affects my destiny."

Peter shook his head. "I don't get it, Pop. You spend your whole life helping people. You devote yourself to giving peace. And you're saying that that's not your identity."

"It is my purpose, my duty in life. It is an extension of my identity. For example, I am a man who enjoys music, nature, and the laughter of the children. That is my identity. My passion in life is to help others. That is my purpose. I perform this service as a priest. That is my role. All of these pieces come together to guide you to your destiny."

"Let me get this straight. Wanting to help people is your purpose. Doing so as a priest is your role, which is a part of your destiny?"

"Yes."

"What is your destiny?"

"That is yet to be discovered. To reach one's destiny is to end the journey."

"So, the point is that the journey never ends?"

"Precisely."

"Except when you die, right - No, wait." His eyes lit up. "I remember. When you die the soul starts a new journey. Right?"

Caine smiled. "Yes."

"So, what would my identity be? What is my purpose?"

Caine poked Peter's chest with his index finger. "That is for you to find out."

"Where do I begin?"

"You must find out who you are, first. Then you will be able to seek out your purpose.

Peter sighed. "What if I don't know who I am?"

"You do. Start with 'I am Peter Caine. I like to...,' and go from there."

Peter canted his head. "That's all?"

"Yes. For now."

"Then what?"

"Patience, my son." He shook his index finger at Peter. "You will see."

Peter smiled. He leaned over and kissed his father on the forehead.

Caine grinned. After a moment, he asked. "If a phone does not ring, can one still answer it?"

Peter's eyes widened. "Is this some modern philosophy lesson, Pop? Sort of a take on 'if a tree falls in the woods,' perhaps?"

Caine shook his head emphatically. "No. When Drake and I were...hiding, he answered his...cel-lu-lar phone. But I did not hear it ring."

"Oh. Well, a cell-phone can act like a beeper."

Caine looked perplexed. "A beeper?"

"Oh - uh - Right. You don't know what a beeper is. Okay. Well, there are cellular phones that are small enough to fit in your pocket."

Caine nodded.

"Those kinds of phones have a function that allows you to turn off the ringer and switch to vibrator. So, you'll know when someone is calling you, but you won't disturb anyone else in the process."

"Ah." Caine smiled.

Peter laughed.

Kermit's cellular phone rang, causing all conversations to cease, and all heads to turn in his direction.

Kermit grinned and pulled out the phone from his jacket pocket. "Griffin," he said into the receiver.

Frank barked into the phone. "Kermit, where the hell are you? I just called the hospital! No one will tell me what's going on with Caine!"

"He's right here, Chief," Kermit said. "He's safe."

"Where's here? And what the hell is he doing there? Who gave orders to release a critically injured patient?"

"It's a long story, Frank. Besides, he's not critical anymore."

"What?!" Frank exclaimed in disbelief.

"Take it easy, chief. The captain's here. Everything's under control."

Frank fell silent, then asked in a calmer tone, "Where are you?"

"The captain gave strict orders not the reveal that information right now. But Caine and Peter are fine."

"Why am I the last to know?" Frank asked.

"Aww Chief," Kermit teased. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

He smiled at Paul and Skalany, who exchanged puzzled looks.

"Get off it, Kermit!" Frank snapped. "I've got some news for you. Unless you know about it already."

Kermit's ears perked up. "Tell me."

"Jody just called for back-up on the east side. She says she may have a line on Burt's whereabouts."

"Where?"

"118 Broadhurst Street. Third floor. Is Skalany with you?"

"Yes."

"Ask the Captain, but I think you and she should join the back-up units."

"We're on it." Kermit switched off the phone. "Jody's got a line on Burt," he announced to the room. "She's called for back-up." He turned to Skalany. "That's you and me, Sweet Cakes." He glanced at Paul. "If that's all right with you, Boss."

Blaisdell thought for a moment, glancing around at the faces in the room, he was about to speak when Peter interrupted him.

"I'm going too," Peter said with determination. He started to get up.

Caine held him down.

"Hold it, Romeo," Kermit said. "I think you should stay with your father."

"I agree," Paul said.

"That is wise," Caine agreed.

"C'mon, Captain," Peter pleaded, trying to break his father's hold on him.

"You've been talking blue-in-the-face about protecting your father. Now you want to leave him?" Paul asked.

"If there's a chance of getting Burt, I want to be there," Peter insisted.

Paul shook his head. "We don't know if Burt's there. And, for now, no one knows your father is here. I'd like to keep it that way. Which means, no calls to the precinct for assistance. With Kermit and Skalany gone, I'm going to be the one to protect both you and your father. I'll be damned if I let you out of my sight."

"But if I went in Kermit's place..."

"No, Peter. What would you do if Burt happened to stop by while you were gone?"

"Captain, please. You said it yourself. It's me he wants. Anyway, he doesn't know my father's alive."

"If Strenlich knows, then soon the whole city will. Once Burt gets wind of it, he'll be paying a visit. I guarantee it."

"Paul..."

"As your commanding officer, the answer is still no. That's an order, Peter."

Peter sat for a moment, then snapped his fingers and said, "I don't have my badge. Technically, I'm not under your command."

Kermit reached into his pocket and pulled out a black wallet, whipping it at Peter. Grinning, he watched Peter closely, waiting for his reaction.

Peter automatically caught the wallet without thinking. He opened it up to see his badge and ID inside.

"You have it now," Kermit quipped. "Let's go, Skalany." He walked out of the room.

Peter gaped, speechless. Paul and Skalany laughed.

Skalany turned to follow Kermit, but stopped, spun around, and walked over to Caine. She leaned over to him, kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear. Caine smiled and blushed slightly. Skalany grinned and left the room.

Peter stared at his father in dismay. "What did she say to you?"

Caine shrugged. "It is a...secret."

Paul scratched his head. "What's that all about?"

Peter shook his head. "Don't ask." He finally broke free of his father's hold and slid off the platform, landing on his feet.

His knees buckled. "Whoa."

Caine leaped down from the platform. Both he and Paul ran over and steadied their son. Lo Si moved towards them and clutched Peter's wrist.

"I'm okay," Peter reassured. "Just a little dizzy."

"When did you sleep last?" Caine asked, gripping his son tightly.

"You don't wanna know, Pop."

"It's been more than a day," Paul said.

"Then you must rest now," Caine said to his son.

"Don't worry," Peter insisted. "I just need to sit for a minute. That's all."

Paul shook his head. "Can't fool us, kid. Besides, you shouldn't push yourself too hard. I don't think you've recovered fully from that broken rib."

"No. Really. I'm fine." Peter wrenched free. He swayed again and grabbed hold of his fathers' arms.

"Come, my son," Caine said. "I will let you take care of me on one condition. You will take care of yourself."

"Not another deal, Pop," Peter whined.

"This one is different. I will never forgive you if you break it."

Peter stared in alarm. "You're not serious, Pop?"

Paul took one look at Caine's stern face and said, "I'd believe him, kid. I wouldn't call his bluff if I were you."

"Someone's gotta stand guard," Peter insisted.

"The Ancient and I will do that," Paul asserted.

Peter grew pale. "I...I don't want you to be the next victim."

"And I don't want you to be either."

"I've already been. Or don't you remember?"

"Vividly. But you know and I know that it's you he's after."

Peter shook his head. "Two of you aren't enough. This is an open place."

"My son," Caine said. "Burt is one man."

"Who shot you. I thought you could dodge bullets, Pop?"

"There was someone else. A woman in the hallway."

Paul and Peter's eyes widened in dismay.

"Who?" Paul asked.

"I do not know. He came to kill me. She distracted him. He was going to shoot her. I had no choice. I had to stop him."

Peter straightened. "Couldn't you have kicked his gun away?"

"No. There was no time. There was a great risk to her life. I could not take the chance of hurting her."

"Now it makes sense to me."

"And now you will rest," Caine insisted.

"Pop...," Peter stopped and glanced at the three men glaring at him. "Okay," He said, then muttered, "Tag team fathers." He laughed. "You win - this time."

Kermit and Skalany pulled up three blocks from the address Strenlich had given them. Kermit spotted Jody's car further down the street and several back up units scattered around.

He got out of the car and started walking toward the building, Skalany following closely behind. He motioned to her to keep her back against the wall, and he did the same, making certain they would not be seen by Burt.

He spotted Jody waiting for them, leaning against a wall on one of the side streets.

"Kermit," she called in a loud whisper.

Both he and Skalany walked over to her.

"Back-up is in place," she said. "They're waiting for our next move."

Kermit whipped out his gun. "I'm ready."

Both women jumped at the sight of the hardware.

"How do you carry that thing, Kermit?" Skalany asked.

He grinned. "If I gave away all my secrets, life wouldn't be so much fun."

Jody glanced at Skalany in confusion, "Huh?"

Skalany shook her head. "Don't even bother. I gave up months ago."

"How did you find this place, Powell?" he asked.

"Burt and Kira - my sister - used to work together at the Sixty-Sixth. There's a box in my parent's basement filled with notations she used to make. After some thorough searching by yours truly I managed to find some clues to Burt's whereabouts.

"She must have taken some detailed notes."

"She liked to keep track of everything. That's what made her a good cop." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, I tracked down some of Burt's hangouts. According to Kira's notes, he liked to discuss the case at his favorite watering hole." She smiled confidently. "So, I went there and poured on the charm and the information came easily." The smile faded into a frown. "Now I have to find an excuse to cancel my date with Clint. Eastwood, he isn't"

"Speaking of heroes," Skalany said. "As Peter would say, 'Isn't it time we became some."

"Okay, Wonder Women," Kermit quipped. "Time to deflect some bullets."

Jody and Skalany shook their heads and pulled out their guns. Jody radioed the back-up units and led the way inside the building.

Paul gazed at the relaxed face of his foster son, who slept peacefully on the platform, his head resting against a pillow. He then looked up at Caine and smiled. "I wish I could have gotten him to sleep as easily when he was a teenager."

Caine sat beside Peter, leaning against the large window frame. "It is merely the touch of a hand," he said mildly.

"It's more than that, Caine.

The priest shrugged.

Paul noticed the worn look on Caine's face. "You should get some sleep, too."

"I will." Caine didn't move.

Paul laughed. "You are just as stubborn as your son."

Caine smiled. "I can say the same about you."

Both men laughed.

Peter shifted at the noise and the two men fell silent. He didn't wake, however.

After a few minutes Paul whispered soberly, "He's been through a lot."

Caine sighed. "Yes."

"He'll be fine," he reassured.

"Yes," Caine said. "He will."

Kermit followed Jody and Skalany to Burt's apartment. His feet stuck to the carpeting as he walked down the dimly lit hallway. He saw Skalany wrinkle her nose at the scent of rotten milk.

He tapped Skalany on the shoulder and signaled her to position herself two doors down from their destination. She nodded and stopped at the designated spot, leaning back against the wall. Suddenly she pulled away. She turned to look at the dirty, torn wallpaper and shook her head.

Kermit grinned at her and joined Jody at the door. Jody took her position on one side, while he took the other.

Kermit knocked on the door to the apartment.

No one answered.

"Police, Burt!" he shouted. "Open the door!"

Still no response. He motioned to Jody, who nodded and positioned herself opposite the door, yet off to the side, her gun aimed at it. He turned and kicked the door open. Then he and Jody leaped into the apartment.

A noise from the window got their attention. Kermit glanced up to see Burt climbing out on to the fire-escape.

"Burt!" Kermit shouted, aiming his gun at the moving figure. "Don't run! You're surrounded!"

Burt stopped and raised his arms in surrender.

"Step inside!" Jody ordered. "Slowly!"

Burt shrugged, then bent down to step in through the window.

"Hold it," Kermit said. "Remove your gun first. You know the drill, Burt."

Burt slowly removed the weapon from its holster mounted on his back. It slipped. He grabbed it and fired a couple of rounds.

Kermit ducked, keeping his eyes on Burt as the bullets hit the wall behind them.

Burt disappeared from the window.

"The roof!" Kermit shouted to Jody. "You and Skalany take the stairs. I'll follow the bastard." He climbed out the window and followed Burt up the fire escape.

Kermit had three flights to climb to get to the roof. He could see Burt's form reach the top, but he couldn't get a clean shot. Kermit bolted up the stairs. He hoped that back-up was in place.

He reached the roof just in time to see Burt standing on the opposite side as if preparing to jump between buildings. Jody and Skalany stood a few feet from him, guns drawn, commanding him to stop. Two more cops stood behind Burt, ordering him to freeze. Kermit approached slowly.

Burt turned to his left and laughed at Skalany, then turned to his right and sneered at Kermit.

Kermit grinned. He scanned the area. He spotted two cops on an adjoining rooftop with guns ready.

"Drop the gun, Burt," Jody commanded. "No more games."

Suddenly, shots rang out from a location behind them, across the street, ricocheting off the roof. Everyone ducked for cover, firing back at the direction of the gunfire.

"Where's that coming from?" Jody shouted.

"I can't tell," Kermit said, returning fire. "I see him on the rooftop, but I can't make out the face."

"Jody!" Skalany shouted.

Kermit turned to see Burt standing over Jody with a gun aimed at her head. Jody raised her weapon at Burt. Kermit did the same.

A shot rang out.

Burt collapsed.

The gunfire ceased.

Kermit got up and ran over to Burt and checked his pulse. "He's alive," he said. Then to Jody, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, getting up. "Who fired the shot?"

"I thought you did."

"I never got a chance."

"Maybe it was the gunman from across the street?" Skalany said, standing up.

Jody pulled out her radio and called for an ambulance. Once she heard the dispatcher respond, she barked into the walkie-talkie, "Who was positioned in the building across the street?"

No answer came.

The loud ringing of a cellular phone elicited a moan from Peter. Caine looked up from his son and stared at Paul in confusion.

"Sorry," Paul said, pulling the phone out of his jacket pocket.

"Is that a...police issued device?" Caine asked.

"No." Paul switched it on and spoke into the receiver. "Blaisdell...What?...Is he alive?" He smiled broadly. "Good." His smile faded. "What do you mean they don't know who shot him?...Did they see anyone?...All right...Let me know as soon as you hear...Right." He disconnected.

He rubbed his neck and sighed.

"Is there something wrong?" Caine asked.

"Yes and no. They got Burt. That is, he's in custody. But someone shot him. No one knows who."

"No one?"

"No. Everyone is going by the assumption that the shooter was a cop, but the person hasn't stepped forward."

Peter sat up wearily and asked, "Is it over?"

"I thought you were sleeping," Paul said.

"I was. Is it over?"

"I hope so. I'm waiting for forensics to match Burt's gun to the bullet that wounded your father."

"What's this about an unknown gunman?"

"Jody, Kermit and Skalany chased Burt onto the roof. Backup was in place on the adjoining buildings, so he was surrounded. All hell broke loose when someone across the street started shooting. The gunfire stopped when Burt was hit."

A frown knotted Peter's brow. "They have no idea who was doing the shooting?"

"None. At first, they thought it was someone working for Burt, but then they figured it was a member of the back-up team, but no one has come forward."

"They didn't see anyone?"

"Frank told me that Kermit tried to get a good look, but all he saw was a silhouette."

Peter leaned back down on the pillow. "Well at least Burt's in custody. I guess it is over."

"Yes," Caine said. "It is."

Part 3: Renewal

Without going out of your door,

You can know the ways of the world.

Without peeping through your window,

You can see the Way of Heaven.

The farther you go,

The less you know.

Thus, the sage goes without traveling,

Sees without looking.

-Lao Tzu

"My name is Peter Caine."

"And?" Caine said as he watered the plants on the balcony and moved them into the late morning sunlight.

Peter leaned against the wall and scratched his head. "This is silly, Pop."

"It is an exercise, Peter."

"Sounds like something I did in grade school. 'What I did on my summer vacation.'"

"You are avoiding the lesson," Caine observed. "Why are you so afraid?"

Peter scoffed. "Afraid? I'm not afraid."

Caine glared at him.

He sighed. "Okay. My name is Peter Caine and I like to listen to music."

"Very good. What kind of music?"

"All kinds. Rock, Jazz. Even some classical. But none of that operatic stuff. I don't like that."

"Why?"

"Cause I can't understand it. It's not musical to me."

"Have you ever listened to Rossini?"

"Um, no. I don't think so, Pop."

"The Barber of Seville?"

"Oh. I think Annie Blaisdell used to play that album when I was living with them."

"Did you like it?"

He shrugged. "I guess. I still didn't understand it."

"I will tell you the story one day."

Peter frowned. "So, what did I gain from this exercise?"

"We are not finished yet, Peter."

"I still don't see the point of this."

"You will." He glanced away from Peter and said, "Blaisdell is coming."

"He just left a couple of hours ago."

Caine shrugged. "Perhaps he has some news. I do not have a cellular phone."

Peter laughed.

"Do you have one?"

"I have my car phone, but that's it. I can't afford a portable."

"That is good. I find them quite...annoying."

Peter laughed again.

Caine smiled and turned to greet Paul as he walked out on the balcony.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he said with a smile. "Long time no see."

"Really," Peter joked. "Any news?"

"Burt's in stable condition. He hasn't woken up from the anesthesia yet. I can't wait to see his face when he does."

"Do you think he'll confess?"

"I don't see how he wouldn't. Forensics confirmed the match. There's no denying that he shot Caine."

"Do you have any idea who that mysterious shooter was that got Burt?"

"No, but forensics found a shell casing when they combed the roof last night. It's from a rifle. No leads yet, but they're working on it." He sighed. "Whoever this guy is, part of me wants to thank him. Another part wants to strangle him."

"Why?" Caine asked.

"Because he took pot shots at my officers. If he was aiming for Burt, then I wouldn't have a problem."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked with a puzzled look.

"Whoever it was, he had lousy aim. My officers ducked out of the way."

"But you said that the person stopped shooting once Burt was hit?"

"That's right."

Peter scratched his head. "Then that means this person might not be a cop."

"I thought of that. Jody's doing some more research into Kira's files to see if she knew of anyone who was out to get Burt."

Peter shook his head. "This is nuts!"

Paul laughed. "Tell me about it."

Caine sighed.

"Anything else?" Peter asked.

"Unless your father can ID the woman who was here when he was shot, we have nothing more to go on."

Peter glanced at his father. "Do you have any idea who she is?"

"No. I will try to remember, but I am not sure if I got a good look."

"Was it Cheryl Hines or Ariel?" Paul asked.

"No. It was not either one of them."

"Do what you can, Caine," Paul said reassuringly. "I have faith in you."

"Me too," Peter said with a smile.

Caine returned the grin, then stopped. His form swayed and he lost his footing.

"Pop!" Peter said with concern as he ran up to him and gripped him tightly. "Are you all right?"

"I will be fine," Caine said weakly, clutching Peter's arms for support.

Paul walked over to offer assistance but stopped.

Caine winked at him.

Paul stifled a laugh. "I see you're in good hands, Caine. I'll see you both later." He walked slowly to the fire escape, observing the two men with amusement.

Peter didn't see Caine wink or Paul smile. "Lets-lets get you inside," he said nervously to his father. "You need to rest for a while."

"Perhaps you are right, Peter. Will you help me to the other room? I am slightly dizzy."

"Sure." Peter led Caine into the herbarium. "It's-it's going to be all right, Pop."

Caine smiled. "It is because you are here to take care of me."

"I will always be here for you, Pop."

"I know."

"Hi," Cheryl Hines said as she walked into the corridor of Caine's home. "Is your father here?"

Peter eyed her suspiciously from the entrance of the herbarium. "Yes. But he's resting right now. If you want to talk to him, you'll have to wait."

She shrugged indifferently. "It can wait. Unless your concerned about the press that's swarming in the alley.

Peter spun on his heel and walked to the balcony. Cheryl followed, grinning. They passed Caine, who slept on the platform.

He glanced down at the large group that convened in the alley. "Oh great!"

"I locked the back door," she said.

He threw her a puzzled look. "How did you do that?"

"Your father gave me a key."

"He never locks the door."

"I know. That's why he gave it to me. He didn't need it."

Peter shook his head in disbelief. Turning his gaze back to the crowd, he said, "I'll go down the fire-escape and pull up the ladder. - No wait. They'll want to talk to me, too. You go..."

"I will speak to them," Caine said.

Peter and Cheryl spun around to see Caine sitting up on the platform. They walked inside.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Pop." Peter said.

"If you deny them access," Caine said calmly, "they will not leave. If we speak to them, they will be satisfied and go away."

Peter sighed and rubbed his neck.

"You must face the inevitable, my son. Allow them to come in."

"They're ruthless, Pop. And you're in no condition to face them."

"I will be fine." He hopped off the platform and smiled. "Am I presentable?"

Cheryl laughed. "You look perfect."

Caine bowed.

Peter stood at the entrance to Caine's home, waving good-bye to the last reporter as she departed. "Good riddance." He looked down at the business card she had handed him on her way out. He flipped it over and read the handwriting on the back.

Call me

555-6622

"Yeah," he scoffed. "I'll think about it. He slammed the door and headed to the herbarium, his feet dragging with every step.

He walked inside and glanced down at his father, who sat cross-legged on the floor.

Caine looked up at him and smiled.

Peter walked up to his father and sat down beside him.

"I'm beat," Peter sighed, twirling the card between his fingers. "That was the longest hour of my entire life. That was worse than any interrogation I've given."

"No one should be subject to such scrutiny," Caine said firmly.

"I warned you, Pop."

Caine nodded his head once. "You did." He shrugged. "At least they will not bother us anymore."

Peter waved the card at his father. "Don't be too sure. They'll be back as soon as they think up more questions. You've heard the saying, 'Give them an inch, and they'll take a mile."

Caine closed his eyes. "Then I must prepare."

"Oh, well." Peter rose to his feet and pocketed the card. "I'll just go and clean up the mess I made last night."

Caine's glanced up at his son. "You do not have to leave, Peter." He extended his hand. "Come. We will meditate together. Cheryl is in the studio. She has cleaned up most of the mess."

Peter knelt down to him and whispered. "Is she your servant, Pop?"

Caine raised his eyebrows and glared at Peter in dismay.

"I'm sorry," Peter said. "It's...How can you trust her after what she did?"

"She was manipulated, Peter. Forced to carry out an unjust deed."

"She wasn't forced to do anything she didn't want to do. All that time she stayed with you during those months before the emperor's ascension, she was watching you."

"Perhaps. But someone ordered her to do so."

"Why are you so convinced that she is some innocent waif?" Peter whispered bitterly. "Can't you see that she's trying to take advantage of you?"

"Must you always see the unfortunate as criminals?" Caine asked tersely.

Peter flinched. "Pop, I didn't mean..."

Caine held up his hand. "You fear for my safety," he said in a calmer tone. "I understand, but you must forgive, Peter. Cheryl is here to make amends. She is no different from you and me. She has strayed from her path."

Peter rubbed his neck and stood up. "I suppose," he said skeptically.

"Will you meditate with me?" Caine asked with a grin.

Peter forced a smile. "In a few minutes." He walked towards the hallway. "I'll be right back."

Caine sighed and shifted his gaze to the floor.

Peter walked into the studio and bent down to pick up the small wooden remainders of Caine's flute.

Cheryl crouched on the other side of the room by the altar, collecting the remnants and tossing them into a paper bag.

Peter carried a handful of shards to the bag and dropped them in. "I'll take care of that," he said regretfully. "I wrecked it. I should fix it."

She shrugged. "I don't mind. I'm almost done."

"Were you..." He cleared his throat. "Were you here the morning my father was shot?"

She glanced up at him. "No."

"When did you see him last?"

"What is this?" she snapped. "Twenty questions?" She rose to her feet.

"Keep your voice down," Peter said nervously, glancing quickly at the doorway.

"Oh, yeah." She sneered at him. "I forgot. You're the cop and I'm the convict, right? Some things never change. Is that it?"

"No," he said solemnly, shaking his head. "Some things do change." He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Okay. So maybe I'm having a hard time trusting you, but I'm having trouble trusting...trusting myself right now."

She glared at him.

"I'm not asking you as a cop, Cheryl. I'm asking you as a concerned son who is fearful of Burt getting out of prison and finishing his father off for good."

Cheryl said nothing.

"A woman was here when he was shot," he explained. "She's a witness. We need to find her. It's our only chance to put Burt away for good."

The anger faded from her eyes. "I didn't know," she said sincerely. I wasn't listening when you were talking with the press. I was in here..."

"We didn't tell the press."

"Why not?"

"To protect her privacy. We don't need the reporters snooping the city for a frightened woman."

"How do you know she wasn't working with Burt."

"My father doesn't think so."

She nodded. "It wasn't me, Peter. I'm sorry."

His gaze fell. "I'm sorry, too."

"What for?"

"Jumping to conclusions."

She shrugged and smiled. "Welcome to the club."

He laughed. "Thanks...I think."

Kelly Blaine pulled her car into the precinct parking lot and steered it into a vacant spot. She turned off the engine and sat still for a few minutes, watching the cops that hovered near the rear entrance to the building. A few smiled at her as they walked past her car. One or two waved. She returned the silent greetings, mirroring them back to her colleagues. Heaving a sigh, she grabbed her handbag and got out of the car.

She knew she didn't have to be back at work for another week. She had taken some time off to reward herself for her performance on Peter's case. She had found the undercover assignment to be taxing on her nerves, especially since Peter was involved.

His angry words still struck a chord with her. Was he right? she thought, Was I only thinking about myself?

She slowly climbed the steps that led to the squad room, ignoring the greetings from her fellow cops as she headed for Captain Blaisdell's office. Relieved to see him sitting alone at his desk, she knocked on the door frame and waited.

Paul looked up from his work when he heard the soft rap and motioned her inside. "Kelly? You're back early from your vacation. Is everything all right?"

"Fine," she said quickly, shutting the door and sitting down opposite him. She nervously fluffed her long, brown hair, which hung loosely around her shoulders. "I need to talk to you."

"By all means," Paul said.

Kelly unsnapped her handbag, reached inside and pulled out two articles: a .38 caliber police issued pistol, and a wallet containing her badge and ID. She placed both items on the desk. "I'm resigning."

Paul stared at her in shock. "Why?"

"I screwed up," she said, filled with guilt. "I've endangered too many lives. I can't live with that."

"If you're talking about Peter, I'm sure he'll..."

"No. Not just Peter. His father too...and the other cops, as well."

"I don't understand."

She sighed. "I'm the one who shot Burt on the rooftop. The gun is in my car."

Paul's eyes widened. "You were there?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you step forward last night?"

"I didn't know how the department would treat this. I went there to kill him."

Paul sat up in his chair. "To kill him? Why?"

"I wanted him to stop hurting Peter."

"And you thought that killing him was the answer?"

I don't know what I thought, Captain," she said solemnly.

"Start from the beginning, Kelly," he said sternly.

"Well - um...I-I went to Caine's a couple of days ago," she stammered. "I wanted to talk to him about...about Peter. I walked in just as Burt was about to shoot Caine. Burt saw me. He was going to shoot me, but Caine stepped in the way. I-I saw him take the bullet. It was meant for me. I didn't have my gun, so I ran. I...I'm the one who nearly cost Caine his life. It was my fault." She suppressed a sob.

Paul's mouth dropped open. "Why didn't you come forward with this earlier?"

"Because I was scared."

"Did Burt go after you?" Paul asked.

"I think so, but I managed to lose him. I didn't go home until after last night's shooting." Kelly wiped her eyes and tried to compose herself.

"Where did you go?"

"I hid out for a while. Then I went to the hospital. I needed to know how Peter's father was doing. When I got there, I saw Peter leaving and I followed him to his father's - He walked the entire way - He looked really upset, so I decided to wait. Later on, I saw Kermit, Skalany, then you show up and go inside.

"I stayed outside for a while. I...I heard the argument in the alley."

Paul shook his head. "Why didn't you go inside?"

"I saw how you and Kermit flanked Peter and Caine in the alley, and I realized that they were still in danger. So, I decided to stand guard outside. I expected to confront Burt. I thought he'd come."

"But you went after him instead. How did you know where to find him?"

"I heard Jody's radio call. I went to the scene and positioned myself on the roof across the way. I had hoped to hit him through his window."

"You could have joined the back-up units."

"I know," she said sadly. "I'm sorry, Captain."

Paul shook his head in disbelief. "Why were you taking shots at the other officers on the rooftop?"

"I...There were too many people," she said uneasily. "I couldn't see him very well. Then when I saw someone standing over Jody with his gun on her, I knew it was him."

"He almost killed Jody," he snapped. "What were you thinking?"

She sat motionless, swallowing the urge to cry.

"But you did save her life," he added softly.

Kelly shook her head. "I put her in that situation."

"Yes. You did." He sighed. "You're going to have to tell your story to the DA. You'll have to face charges of attempted murder. Turning in your badge is not enough."

She nodded solemnly. "I understand."

"But," he added, "you were also a witness to an attempted murder. With your testimony we could put Burt in prison for a long time. You might get a lighter sentence for it."

She sighed.

Paul gazed at her for a few moments, then said, "Caine's shooting wasn't your fault, Kelly. Burt went there to kill him."

"But Caine's extremely skilled," she insisted. "From what I've heard, he could have disarmed Burt."

"Caine's a human being. He could have been killed, too." He shook his head in disappointment and added, "It seems that the time has come to require everyone to take a course on police procedure."

Kelly stared at her hands and offered no comment.

Peter helped Cheryl sweep the studio. She brushed the piled-up trash into a dustpan and poured it into the paper bag. Peter put the broom and dustpan aside, while she lifted the bag into her arms.

"I'll take that down to the dumpster," he offered.

"That's okay," she said. "I've got to get going. I have a night class."

Peter's eyes widened. "A night class?"

"Yeah. I'm studying to be a teacher."

He smiled. "Good for you."

Jody walked into the room.

"Hey, partner," she said affectionately, patting him on the arm.

"Hi," Peter replied enthusiastically. "It's like Grand Central Station around here."

"I'm glad to see you too," she joked.

He laughed. "I am glad to see you. What's up?"

"I just came over to see how you're doing." She glanced at Cheryl and said, "Hi. You're Cheryl Hines, right?"

"Yeah?" she asked suspiciously.

"Jody Powell"

"Hi."

"A lot of people were looking for you."

"I was out of town," she responded defensively.

"I can vouch for her," Peter said.

"Well," Jody said with a smile. "I'm glad to hear it. We were concerned about you."

"You were?"

Jody nodded.

Peter smiled.

Cheryl said awkwardly, "I -uh- I better dump this trash. See ya." She left the room.

"Bye." Jody called out.

"So," she asked Peter. "How are you?"

"Aside from being exhausted, I'm getting there, now that my father's out of danger."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said sincerely.

He squeezed her arm. "I want to thank you for what you did. Y'know, tracking down Burt like that."

"That's my job."

He laughed. "I know. Thanks."

"Anytime, partner."

"I hope this case didn't bring up any bad memories," he said sympathetically.

"No." She shook her head. "Only good ones. Yours?"

"Not so good."

"Well. Maybe this will help." She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small notebook. "I think you should have this. They were Kira's notes."

Peter took the book and flipped through the pages. "This should be turned in as evidence."

Jody shook her head. "Not that. What's written in those pages are not pertinent to the case. They are Kira's thoughts - about you."

Peter stared at Jody, wide-eyed.

"Kira...," she continued awkwardly. "Kira cared about you very much, Peter. I think this is something you should read."

He smiled at Jody with appreciation. "I will. Thanks."

She nodded. "So...Did you hear about Kelly?" she asked, quickly changing the subject.

"What about her?"

"She shot Burt on the roof."

Peter's eyes lit up. "That's great. I'm sure the captain will be pleased."

"There's more to it than that. She was also the mystery woman who was here the day your father was shot."

The light faded in his eyes. "Kelly was here?"

Jody nodded.

"Why didn't she do anything? Why didn't she tell me?"

"She panicked."

Peter threw the book against the wall. "Damn it! That woman gets me into more trouble than she's worth!"

"Take it easy," Jody said. "Kelly didn't have her gun with her at the time, and Burt threatened to kill her. Besides, if she hadn't been on the roof when Burt had his gun in my face, I wouldn't be talking to you right now."

"If she had better aim that night, your life wouldn't have been in danger!"

"Too many 'ifs' partner." She placed her hands on his. "It's over, Peter. Everyone is safe. Don't let it upset you so much."

Peter nodded. "You're right," he said solemnly. "I've got to get past this."

"You'll be fine."

He sighed. "What did the captain say about this?"

"Word is he wasn't too happy about it."

"I'll bet."

"She's facing attempted murder charges, Peter."

His mouth dropped open. "What?"

"She went on the roof to kill Burt. The captain said the DA might give her a lighter sentence for testifying against Burt on your father's case. My guess is that she'll end up on probation."

"She won't be a cop anymore either," Peter said slowly. "I still can't believe she wanted to kill Burt. Why?"

"She felt guilty for not saving your father's life."

Peter ran his hand through his hair. "Man." He sighed.

"She'll be all right, Peter," Jody said reassuringly.

He nodded. "She wasn't cut out for this line of work anyway. It's for the best...For everyone. As my father says, she will learn from this and move on."

"Speaking of which...what are you going to do now?" Jody asked hesitantly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean in your life. What's your next move?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well. We miss you at the precinct. It isn't the same there without you."

Peter broke away from her. "I need some time, Jody."

"I know," she said sympathetically. "I didn't mean to pressure you. I didn't intend it to sound that way."

"No. You didn't. It just that I seem to be pressuring me."

"So, don't. You push yourself too hard, Peter. Take a step back and reflect. There's no rush."

"You sound like my father."

She smiled. "I'll just take that as a compliment."

Peter didn't respond. He walked over, picked up the notebook from the floor and dusted it off.

Jody watched him sadly. She walked to him and kissed his cheek. "Sometimes, just being needed is enough to get by in this world. I just want you to know that I'm one of those who truly needs you, Peter."

He pulled her to him and gave her a warm hug. "Thank you."

She closed her eyes and sighed.

Days later, Peter and his father took a trip back to Clarkton to retrieve his luggage and check out of his hotel room before he overextended his credit card limit.

"Well, Pop," Peter said as he drove. "Morgan and her boyfriend, Ryder, admitted their part in Drake's little scheme. All three are suspended until further notice. The captain also insisted that they, as well as most of the precincts in the city, take a refresher course in police procedure. Guess who's teaching it?"

"Who?" Caine asked.

"Strenlich." Peter smiled. "Too bad I'm missing it. He's gonna have them eating, sleeping, and breathing procedure."

"Is that good?"

"In this case, yes."

They pulled into town and drove to the hotel to get Peter's things. Once they loaded the car and paid the bill, Caine said, "Let us take a walk-through town."

Peter smiled. "Sure."

A few minutes later, the two men walked down the tree lined street.

"You know, Pop," Peter said, breaking a twig off a tree branch as they walked, "I started writing a journal."

Caine's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Caine?" a man said, stopping in front of Caine and Peter, blocking their path.

"Michael," Caine replied with a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm just fine," Michael replied.

Caine bowed. "That is good." He gestured to Peter. "This is my son. Peter."

Peter smiled and extended his hand.

The man shook it, staring quizzically at Peter. "Your son, huh? I never would have guessed."

Peter's smile faded. He decided to leave the two men alone to reminisce and continued down the sidewalk. "Nice to meet you too," he muttered bitterly. He stopped and turned, crossing his arms while he waited for the conversation to finish. Finally, Caine bowed to the man and walked to Peter.

Peter grunted, spun on his heel, and started walking, falling into step beside Caine.

"You are angry with me?" Caine asked.

Peter shrugged. He kicked a pebble as they walked.

Caine wrapped his arm around Peter's shoulders. "Tell me, my son."

Peter sighed. "Every time I go somewhere with you, I always feel like...I don't know. Everyone knows you. Wherever I go with you, you're always treated like royalty, and I'm treated like a peasant."

"I do not understand."

"Kwai Chang Caine is everyone's savior. Peter Caine is just his son - No. Sorry. It's more like, 'Peter Caine? Are you really his son?'"

"I do not think that way. Nor do I wish for either of us to be treated in such a manner."

"I know you don't, and I shouldn't be jealous, but..." Peter rubbed his neck. "I guess that's what's been driving me these past few years."

"Driving you?"

He glanced up at his father. "Don't get me wrong, Pop. I'm in awe of you like everyone else. I love and respect you, but...sometimes I feel like I'm competing with you."

"I never felt that way. There is no competition between us." Caine shrugged. "We are a team."

Peter smiled. "A team?" Like what? Batman and Robin?"

Caine shook his head and grinned. "Shaolin and Son."

Peter laughed.

Remember the museum? You said, 'We're a team.'"

"I remember."

"We work well together, my son. We...complement each other. We learn from each other."

"You learn from me?" Peter asked in disbelief.

"Of course."

Peter smiled and placed his arm around his father.

"So, you've been here before," Peter said in amusement.

"Perhaps," Caine responded.

"Is there any place you haven't been?"

"There are many places I have yet to see."

"Well, maybe we should explore them together sometime."

"That would be fun." Caine grinned.

"One day, we should just pack the car and go."

"Why drive? Why not walk?"

"Get real, Pop. You see so much when you drive. You can cover a huge part of the country."

"That is a contradiction, Peter. You see more when you do not drive. In a car you overlook the important things."

A butterfly landed on Caine's shoulder. Caine stopped, picked it up with his fingers and held it up to his son.

Peter stood still, staring in wonderment at the multicolored wings that fluttered slowly in front of him. He nodded. "I see what you mean."

"So," Caine said, "what is our...next move? Shall we...travel...the country?"

Peter's smile faded. He continued staring at the butterfly until it flew off of Caine's hand. "I don't think so, Pop."

Caine canted his head and gazed curiously at his son.

"My place is back in that city. I ran away once. I don't want to do it again."

"You did not run away, Peter. You were searching."

"The only searching I need to do is in here." He pointed to his head. "I'm sorry, Pop. I know how you traveled the country trying to find yourself. It's not the same for me. I guess it's like you said: walking alone isn't my destiny."

"I meant that I would walk with you."

"And you can. I just think we should do it at home."

"Why?" Caine asked mildly.

"I told the Ancient once that if you stay in one place long enough, the world will come to you. I meant it then, and I know now that I need to stay."

"That is a very wise decision," Caine said with admiration.

"You think so, Pop?"

Caine nodded and said, "A journey does not have to be a physical one. It can be a spiritual excursion into one's soul. You have discovered what it is you need to do," he added. "You have made the first step in your journey."

"You don't think I'm chickening out?"

"On the contrary. You are facing your fears."

"Speaking of fears, Pop," Peter said. "Kermit said something to me at the hospital that made sense. He said that the city looked up to me to show them who to believe in. I saw that in the faces of some of the press, too, believe it or not. They kept asking me what I planned to do to restore order in our city. I know that I alone can't change things, but I can't just abandon everyone. I have to go back and prove to myself, and everyone else, that there is someone to trust."

"That is what you should do."

"I know what it feels like to be alone in this world. I want to be able to help those who have nowhere to turn in need."

Caine smiled broadly. "You have just stated your purpose, my son."

Peter canted his head and asked, "I did?"

"Yes."

His eyes lit up. "I did!" he said proudly.

Caine laughed.

"It's the same as yours. Isn't it, Pop?" Peter added.

"Is that bad?"

"No. I just expected it to be different," Peter said sincerely.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Our methods may be different, but not necessarily our goals. Everyone has a different approach to life. That is what makes each person unique."

"But if we are all striving for peace, shouldn't our methods be the same?"

"Our diversity is what makes...the world go round. If we were to all behave the same way. Life would be...very boring."

Peter grinned. "Yeah, you're right, Pop. Anyway, look at Paul. I know he feels the same way we do, but his techniques are definitely different than yours."

"Perhaps. But Paul and I are more alike than you think, Peter."

"I know. I've been seeing that a lot lately."

"All three of us will work together to help you to find the answers you are seeking, my son."

"I'd like that. I need to spend more time with everyone: Paul, Annie, Carolyn, Kelly and you, Pop."

"That is good."

"I knew you'd think so."

Caine took a long look at his son before he asked, "Will you return to the police force?"

Peter's smile faded and he turned away from his father. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight from side to side. "I think it's what I should do, but I don't know," he said with uncertainty. "Right now, my role seems to be of a cop until I can figure out otherwise, but I don't know if I can do it."

"I think you can," Caine said confidently.

Peter threw his father a look of uncertainty. "You think so?"

"You know your purpose, My son. This is a role by which you can carry it out."

"But I'm not the same person. I may not perform the role as I did before."

"Why does that bother you?"

Peter thought for a moment. He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I'm a little frightened of the future. I mean, what if my role changes. What if I decide that being a cop is not my path?"

"If it happens, then it must be."

"What if I don't like the change?"

"If it feels right, then there is nothing to dislike. The answer lies in your heart."

Peter scratched his head. "What about all the bad choices I've made in my life? How will I know if the voice in my heart is the right one?"

"You are too hard on yourself when something goes wrong. I have seen you take the blame for situations that are not your fault. One man cannot be responsible for the actions of others, Peter. You must accept what happens in life and work through it. You must embrace the fact that everyone makes mistakes. We are all human, my son. Learn from them."

"Back to that again." He looked squarely at Caine and challenged, "Name another mistake you've made."

"Allowing you to believe that your father is incapable of error."

It took a few seconds for the smile to form on Peter's face. "It's nice to know that you're sharing this stuff with me."

"A wise man said, 'Not only does one learn from his own mistakes, but also from the mistakes of others.'"

"Let me guess...Mick Jagger, right?"

"Lo Si."

Peter laughed. "Okay. So, for now, I'm a cop again. Are you disappointed?"

"No."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Caine nodded. He smiled and said, "Really."

Peter kissed his father on the forehead. "Let's go home, Pop."

Caine nodded. "Yes."

They turned and headed back to the motel.

"Tell me about your journal, my son."

Let us cling together as the years go by...

In the quiet of the night, let our candle always burn

Let us never lose the lessons we have learned.

-Freddie Mercury