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Chapter Seven

"Adversaries and Friends"

As a way of keeping herself busy, Celeste was doing her evening physical therapy exercises, and anxiously awaited Ansel's return. She heard the slamming of car doors out in the driveway, and froze, her heart seized with fear.

Christopher Zimmerman, a big, burly former football player went to the window directly facing the driveway. His wife, Tracy, brought the shotgun to him as a precaution. She caught Celeste's gaze.

Nodding to Celeste, Tracy encouraged her with a quick smile, but as she turned back to her husband, Celeste saw the smile turned into worry. Tense seconds passed until relief washed over both Chris and Tracy. "It's okay, Celly. It's Ansel and he's giving the all clear sign."

Christopher peered out the curtains as he said, "Must be the detective in that other car. He's following Ansel up the driveway. Man, he doesn't look too happy. Ansel must have really pissed him off."

Chris Zimmerman smiled broadly as he turned and pecked his wife on the forehead. She kissed him back and laughed herself, "Well, it's not all that hard to do with Ansel. Really, Celeste, I know he's family and all, but that man could drive a saint to drink!"

Celeste picked up her cane and stood gingerly. The day had been a long one for her, mostly spent waiting for Ansel and her police escort. Tomorrow was likely to be another long day with the return trip home, not to mention battling with the anxiety of being back in familiar territory again.

Celeste watched as she saw her friend's jovial mood vanish amid concern for her.

Tracy walked up Celeste and wrapped a protective arm around her good friend. "This will all be over soon enough, Little Raven. You'll see."

Celeste smiled despite her apprehension. Tracy was pulling out the big guns by calling her Little Raven, a nickname given to her by her father, a half-blooded Sioux Indian. Celeste nodded in agreement, but didn't look into her dear friend's eyes. She didn't want Tracy to see the fear and anger swirling inside her.

Though expected and prepared for, the appearance of the police detective was making the horrible incident of her sister's death real again...The killings, the blood, the pain, and poor Tommy. All of it undeniably real.

Somehow over the past few months that they had been sequestered away from the real

world with only the job of healing her body and Tommy's spirit, she had been lulled into a false sense of security. And the feeling of safety vanished as Celeste's court date was only a few weeks away. Soon, she would be face-to-face with the murderer of her sister and brother-in-law, stating for the public record that Delmar Clark had been the killer.

Over these months of convalescence, she had tried to tell herself Ansel's paranoia had contaminated her own sense of safety, and she'd imagined danger when there had been none present. Yet, for Tommy's sake, she had to be absolutely sure he was safe. He had already suffered enough.

So when the front door opened and Ansel walked in, his face a picture of distrust and disdain, Celeste braced herself for the worst. The police detective followed him into the living room. Without warning, Celeste suddenly viewed him as the source of all of her troubles and the cause for all of their pain. There was hatred flashing through her mind and body, more than she ever thought humanly possible.

oOoOoOoOo

Peter relaxed as a wave of warm air enveloped him after closing the front door. His nostrils were greeted by the rich scent of a freshly cut Christmas tree and saw it was already decorated. Even better, the aroma of home cooking was still strong, despite the fact that it was hours past any reasonable dinner hour, reminding him just how hungry he was.

Having come to a stop, he removed his gloves as he waited for someone to introduce themselves before Tracy jumped in with an outstretched hand.

"Hi, I'm Tracy Zimmerman and this is my husband, Chris," she began as she reached out with one hand. Peter responded by extending his hand, which Tracy grabbed with a powerful grip, and pumped his hand.

Peter grimaced and Tracy released her hold on his hand immediately. "I'm sorry...Did I–"

Tracy reacted to the deep bruising across the knuckles of Peter's hand and her hand flew to her mouth out of concern and chagrin, "Oh, my!"

Raising the bruised appendage, Peter gestured for her to stop, "No, really, Tracy, it's all my fault. I did this yesterday and keep forgetting about the blasted thing. Don't worry about it."

Reaching out for his hand again, but she held it much more gently this time. Tracy exclaimed, "Chris, the man's hands are like ice. Add another log to the fire."

"You don't have to do that on my account," Peter began, uncomfortable with her concern.

"Honestly, men! It's a cold night, no matter if you're used to it or not," Tracy admonished as she went to Celeste's side for a quick once-over, and then was waved away by a stoic Celeste Crowfoot.

Peter followed Chris over the fireplace and stayed by it as he massaged his hands in the seductive warmth of the flames. Glancing around, he saw the living room was nicely decorated with Christmas cheer, a pleasant blend of old and new. The richly decorated Christmas tree already laden with an assortment of wrapped gifts lying on the tree skirt below it. Again, he was reminded of the Blaisdell home, because there was such obvious love in this place, just like at home.

As Chris went to stand, Peter tossed aside his sudden attack of homesickness and reminded himself that he was still on the job. Rubbing his hands together in front of the fireplace, Peter added, "Thanks for the fire. It's nice to meet you both, Tracy and Chris. By the way, my name is Peter Caine."

"Nice to meet you," Chris said as he carefully shook Peter's hand. "Just wish it was under better circumstances."

Ansel, AKA, Mystery Man, had already poured himself a drink and downed it in one swallow, slamming the shot glass to the counter so hard, it might have shattered, but didn't. He turned to the others. "They had a GPS tracking device on the detective's car. We got rid of it and then drove around for a few hours to make sure no one was following us.

Tracy put a hand to her mouth. An expression of fear for her friends said everything she was feeling. Chris wrapped an arm around her.

Celeste stepped forward. "What do we do now?"

Ansel looked to Peter for answers. The detective took a deep breath. "I've got to call into my captain and alert him to what happened. I think he'll probably want us to sit tight for now."

Peter paused for a moment. "You better check all the windows and doors in this house, just to be on the safe side. Make sure they are locked and secure. While you do that, I'll be on the phone with my supervisor."

They all flew into action. Peter used the telephone in the kitchen and his conversation lasted several minutes. He finally emerged just as Tracy and Chris came down the stairs and Ansel appeared from the basement door.

"We are locked up tight upstairs," Chris said with assurance.

Ansel chimed in after him. "There's no way they could get in through the basement."

"I've checked the ground floor," Celeste said quietly.

The others turned to Peter for his report. Peter couldn't help but notice Celeste's seething glare. He ran a hand through his hair as he said, "I don't think we need to worry about trouble tonight. My captain agreed with me, but he wants us to leave early in the morning. We talked about extra protection here at the house, but then decided it was too dangerous to call in outside help at this point."

Chris spoke up, "You mean, you didn't want to reveal us as helping them, right?"

Peter chewed on the inside of his lip before nodding. "There's no use in bringing trouble here when we can protect ourselves. We will have an escort from the state troopers once we hit the Interstate. My captain has some connections, so these will handpicked people, trusted people to escort us."

"I understand you didn't want to put Chris and myself in danger, but what are we going to do for protection during the night," Tracy asked.

Peter smiled at her and said, "We're locked down for the night. I see you have weapons of your own. Keep them nearby, but try not to worry. We will be out of here in a few hours."

Tracy sighed and held tight to her husband. Peter looked to Ansel. "I'll take the first watch."

Ansel chimed in, "I take the second half."

There was a brief moment where the room went silent; each person consumed with their own thoughts until Chris began to move towards the wet bar. "Can I get you something to drink? Beer, whiskey, coffee?" Chris asked cordially.

Peter smiled. "Some coffee would be great. I can't believe how cold it is out there tonight."

"It's the mountain air. It makes the temperatures seem colder to you 'lowlanders' than it really is," Tracy said as she gestured to Chris that she would go retrieve the coffee, relieving him of that duty, so he joined Ansel at the wet bar.

"Do you take anything in your coffee?" she asked when she was almost to the kitchen.

"No, thank you, just black," Peter replied.

He turned to face the woman who had caught his eye the very moment he entered the residence, recognizing her from the file photos. Though her hair was longer now, she was readily identifiable.

For some strange reason, Celeste Crowfoot had grown more rigid and was still staring daggers aimed him. Peter had felt her anger the very moment he came through the front door. His eye caught her bitter glare again and he wondered what he had done to deserve such rage.

After all, he'd been the one to drive six hours, and then travel all over the countryside waiting for phone calls in the cold, only to arrive at the final meet in the dead of night and be scowled at.

Sighing deeply, he decided he would be the picture of politeness, even if it killed him. He straightened his shoulders and walked over to her, flashing his best smile and held out his hand in greeting.

"You must be Celeste Crowfoot. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Celeste only deepened her glare and didn't say a word.

Peter let his hand drop to his side after a long moment and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something he'd regret later. He was chilled to the bone, dead on his feet, and starved. The sandwich Ansel had given to him felt more like an appetizer to a dinner he never had time for.

As if reading his mind, Tracy emerged from the kitchen with a tray filled with different edibles and his steaming coffee. Peter's face immediately broke into a wide smile as he saw everything she had brought for him.

Placing the tray on the coffee table before him, she said, "After your long trip, I thought you might be hungry, too. Here, sit in this chair closest to the fireplace. We'll get you warmed up in no time at all."

"Tracy, if you weren't a married woman, I'd kiss you," Peter said appreciatively as he sat down and started transferring a variety of items onto his plate, then paused for a swig of hot coffee.

Tracy chuckled at his enthusiastic response, only to have it stifle in her throat when she glanced over at Celeste who was strangely silent. Going to her friend's side, she said, "What's the matter?"

Celeste didn't answer her, only continued to glare at him, so Tracy tried again. "Did something happen while I was in the kitchen?"

Celeste stepped away from her, leaning heavily on her cane.

"You aren't required to feed him, Tracy," Celeste said in a cold voice.

In fact, it must have been so uncharacteristic for Celeste to behave like that, both Ansel and Chris turned their heads in her direction, but it didn't stop her from continuing. "He gets paid to do this sort of thing. It's his job. You don't have to do anything extra for him."

Tracy did a double take at her friend's caustic tone. "Come on, Celly, you're joking, right?"

Tracy tried to ease the tension in the room. "It's nothing, Celeste, really. Just some leftovers. He's cold and hungry. Come on, girl, this isn't like you..."

Celeste refused to back down, keeping a wary eye on Peter. The young detective knew trouble was brewing just by looking at his witness's tight expression. He sat his plate down on the coffee table and stood with his napkin now crumbled tightly in his fist.

"Have I offended you in some way?" Peter asked with his other hand out before him, bewildered by Celeste's unexplained behavior.

"You're damned right you offend me!"

Celeste's face flushed red as she began yelling at Peter, "Everything about you offends me! What you stand for! Why you're here now when you should have been out on the streets stopping that maniac long before he ever killed Connie...and..."

Celeste's ranting came to an abrupt halt when she caught a small movement out of the corner of one eye. To her horror, she turned to see young Tommy standing at the end of the hallway, rubbing his eyes, and trying to wake up.

Celeste went quiet as Tommy came to her and wrapped his arms around her. He'd probably heard all the noise they'd been making, Peter thought. The fight vanished from Celeste as she reached down and picked Tommy up.

While Celeste hugged him close, Tommy's silvery eyes latched onto the presence of a stranger in the house. Peter was nearly unnerved by the intensity of those whispery eyes which held him as transfixed as if Dracula himself had hypnotized him.

After a moment, Peter smiled and wiggled his fingers at Tommy in an abbreviated wave. To his surprise, Tommy repeated his wave with his own fingers as he smiled broadly, exposing his missing front two teeth.

Peter noticed that Tracy's breath seemed to catch in her chest with Tommy's reaction to him. Turning towards Tracy, he raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question. Before she could answer him, Celeste was speaking.

"Chris, could you help me get him back into bed? Tomorrow's going to be a long and busy one."

"Sure, Celly, let me carry him for you."

He started to reach forward to take Tommy, only to have the boy shrink back in apprehension. Patting Tommy on the back, Celeste whispered into his ear, "It's okay, honey, I've got you, but you'll have to walk up the stairs by yourself. I'll be with you all the way, so you won't be alone. Will that be alright?"

Chewing on a lower lip, Tommy hesitated before nodding his approval. Strangely, his eyes never left Peter's. The boy walked over to Peter and reached out one hand in a very grown-up gesture before leaving.

Glancing at the shocked faces in the living room, Peter gathered that Tommy's actions were not the norm, but it didn't stop him from kneeling down to the boy's eye level to take his hand in a formal handshake.

Not waiting for an introduction this time, Peter said, "Hi, Tommy. My name is Peter and we get to go on a long drive tomorrow."

Without warning, Tommy's other hand reached up and brought it to rest on Peter's stubbled cheek. Sensing that Tommy was searching for something deep within him, Peter didn't pull back, only smiled sincerely as he continued to meet Tommy's gaze.

Tommy finally broke away when Celeste appeared at his side and asked, "Tommy, honey, is everything okay?"

Nodding, Tommy buried his face into her clothes, and then took her hand, waving goodnight to Peter with the other.

oOoOoOoOo

After Tommy and Celeste were gone from the room, Peter stood. He glanced down at the crumpled napkin still in his hand. The reason for his own anger now seemed long forgotten. Tracy went to his side and said, "I've been praying for Tommy to reach outside of himself, beyond Celeste. And here he did it, just like that.

"That boy has been through so much...but somehow, he trusts you with your first meeting. That's a very rare thing for him. He's known us since he was a baby and he still hesitates coming close at times. I don't know why, but I feel like I should be thanking you," she said as she touched his arm, then left for the kitchen with tear-filled eyes.

Peter looked over at Ansel and Chris by the wet bar, and saw the presence of emotion in their eyes, too. When no one said anything, Peter went back to his chair by the fire and finished filling his plate. As he ate in silence, his eyes kept wandering back to the hallway passage where Celeste and Tommy had disappeared.

Remembering the haunted look in Tommy's eyes, Peter cringed, recognizing the pained expression that reflected back at him. No longer did those eyes know innocence, but only great loss and deep melancholy. Similar emotions now descended upon Peter's spirit and he pushed away from the table, his appetite dampened by distant memories.

Peter thought he'd put to rest most of his demons from the trauma of his father's supposed death. Staring at the empty hallway, Peter wondered if his demons had ever really been put to rest...or if they'd just only been hiding for a very long while instead.

oOoOoOoOo

After tucking Tommy into bed, Celeste came back and managed a semi-civil tone with Peter. "I've never been very good at apologizing and I don't imagine it will be any easier this time, but I am sorry for my behavior. I wanted to say that to you privately and explain you why I reacted like I did."

Peter waved a hand in front of him. "No need to do that. I understand completely. Hell, I might have reacted exactly like you if our roles were reversed."

Celeste took a deep breath and nodded. "Just so we understand each other. And I don't want Tommy to know that we are in danger. I don't think he could handle that right now."

Peter looked at her closely. "All things considered, I think he's doing a great job. And so are you. Try not to worry about tomorrow. We'll hit the road at first light and be back in the city before you know it."

"I hope so, for Tommy's sake," she said, disbelief echoing in her words.

"It's late. You better get some sleep. Don't worry, I'll be watching over the household for the first shift. And Ansel will take over for me for the second shift."

Celeste nodded and headed toward her bedroom. She was the last one to turn in for the night. After checking all the locks and windows in the house for a second time, Peter poured himself a glass of milk,and devoured some freshly baked cookies that Tracy had left out for him.

Peter finally sat in a recliner by the fire. Ansel came through a few hours later and said he'd take over the watch. "Why don't you use my bed to catch some shut eye?"

Peter shook his head. "No, this recliner is pretty comfortable, I'll be able to nap here. I'm a light sleeper."

Ansel shrugged his shoulders and went for another shot of whiskey. Peter closed his eyes and fell into a light sleep. With the sleep came the inevitable dreams and nightmares.

He was back at the temple's destruction. Smoke and fire was practically all he could see as he lay trapped under a fallen beam. Coughing, he tried to move the beam on his own, but it was much too heavy for him. Then, through a break in a fallen wall, he could make out his father, searching...probably for him.

"Father!" he called. "Help me!"

It seemed like his father had seen him, but then the older man turned away from him. Peter was horrified that his father could just leave him like that. He called again, "Father!"

But his father never returned. The fire was building around him and he feared he would die in that blazing inferno. There was more debris falling towards him, frightening him.

Peter bolted upright with a hand reaching forward and shouted, "Father!"

He jerked awake suddenly, his breath and heart rate racing. He gasped for air, and wiped a shaky hand across his forehead. After another moment, he sensed the nearby presence of another.

Peter's hand automatically went to his holster, but he relaxed when he realized it was only young Tommy Hills standing beside his chair. He was relieved that he hadn't had time to draw his gun. The sight of a drawn weapon might have erased all of the good Celeste had done with him while up at Ansel's cabin.

He thought back to the long talk with Tracy in the kitchen when he went to return his empty dishes. She told him another side of the story that wasn't included in the police reports while she baked her cookies. How over the long months, Tommy had finally started to emerge from his isolated shell.

A hand on his shoulder brought Peter back from his encounter with Tracy. Smiling, Peter reached forward and patted Tommy's shoulder as he said, "Sorry, sport, it was just a bad dream. You startled me. What are you doing up so late?"

He corrected himself after squinting at his watch, "Or maybe I should ask what are you doing up so early?"

Tommy blinked his eyes of silver gray and only stood there, as if in deep thought, and then paused as a pang of obvious sadness crossed his expression. Reaching under the neck of his pajamas, the boy withdrew a small woman's gold locket on a long chain and opened it to show the half-awake detective.

'Must have belonged to his mother,'Peter thought. One side of the locket held a picture of Tommy's mother while the other side his father.

Peter never flinched with Tommy's sharing, because he knew the need for such sharing all too well, though his heart did cringe as long-buried memories began to resurface, but he maintained steady eye contact with the boy. Their eyes had become a living conduit, linking one soul to another for that brief moment of time, and Peter refused to break the connection, no matter what else happened in the next few moments. Peter allowed his own expression to convey the grief he knew had to be overflowing in Tommy's heart.

"Those were your parents, Tommy?" he asked gently.

Tommy nodded in his bravest, grown-up way.

Licking his lips, Peter leaned forward a bit and said, "My mom died when I was very young. Then, we thought my dad died when I was only a few years older than you are right now. I know it's hard, but you're lucky to have so many people who love and care about you."

At first, Peter thought Tommy hadn't heard or understood him, but then the boy reached forward and pressed an open palm against Peter's mid-chest. Glancing downward, Peter looked at the small hand against his heart and back up into the huge pools of gray staring at him in a wide-eyed plea for understanding.

Peter brought his own hand to rest against Tommy's chest and said in a voice so quiet only the two of them could have heard him, "It hurts there all the time, doesn't it?"

Tommy's chin quivered a bit before he nodded again. Peter brought his mouth closer to Tommy's ear and whispered, "It gets better."

Suddenly, Peter was thrown back in the recliner as the boy leapt up into his lap and wrapped his arms around his chest in a frantic clutch of sympathetic need. Peter rocked him as they each shed silent tears. Without meaning to, both fell asleep in front of the crackling fireplace until Peter was nudged awake by Ansel. It seemed like he'd just closed his eyes but he knew dawn was approaching.

He paused another moment to look down at Tommy and then back to Ansel. The old man looked puzzled, but there was something else in his expression that Peter searched out. It seemed to be relief, maybe about Tommy feeling safe enough to fall asleep in a stranger's arms.

Ansel stared at the boy for a span of seconds before he said, "I'll put him back in bed."

The old man's voice wavered a bit and Peter thought he saw the old man's eyes tear up behind his thick glasses. Peter found himself not wanting to let go of the boy. "I can take him. Where is his room?"

Ansel told him and Peter went to put Tommy back in his bed, finding himself awash in a feeling of fierce protectiveness. "Nobody's gonna hurt you, Tommy, not while I'm around."

oOoOoOoOo