Requiem II: Soul's Honor Lost

by Alisa Joaquin

Part 8: Rage and Dreams

Caine felt the rage rise in him, again. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

"I MUST BE FREE!" the dark side of his nature roared.

"No . . . we must be whole," the side that sought for truth and light whispered back.

"Arrruuugh!" The darker Caine circled the room like a caged animal. A scowl distorted his features as he bared his teeth. His hands were curled like the claws of the tiger. Each movement he made, though part of a kung fu form, was meant to threaten, but the "enemy" was invisible. Yet, he continued to circle the room as if the enemy stood before him. He took his rage p[[out on the newly replaced furniture or the walls. Deep bloody scratches could be seen in the honey-colored walls where Caine had rended his hands along them. Once again, his forearms were bloody where he ran his nails across the healing cuts and reopened the wounds.

"YOU WILL NOT BIND ME TO YOU!" the dark raged.

Tears ran down Caine's cheeks again as light warred with dark as he realized who it was who caused the cuts to appear on his forearms. He rubbed the wounds across his chest, trying to clean the blood away from them. Then he ran his hands down his pants, trying to remove the blood. He tried to focus his thoughts, to bring his chi to bare and heal the wounds, but the darker side continued to interfere with the process. The wounds continued to seep blood and spots appeared on the floor.

For a brief moment, the passive Caine managed to fight his way back to the surface.

"Did we commit murder?" he asked in a weakened voice.

HHHHAAAAHHHHHAAHHHA!" laughed the dark side. "Is that was you call it? I prefer to call it justifiable execution. Besides, they kill themselves in the end."

The words of the dark did not bring comfort to the light. The passive Caine shuttered at his darker side's words, thinking of all those who had died at Caine's hands. The light's need to know if the darker Caine had killed burned in him. He had to know so he could perform the ritual, so he could eliminate his shame. It would seem, even the dark was keeping secrets from the light. He did not think the woman Tanya would allow him to leave to search for the dagger or even give him one to perform the ritual. Perhaps there was another way.

Peter stared at the bloody shirt that his grandfather held out to him. Shaking his head, he did not want to think that his dream was coming true, but something about this scenario was different from the dream.

"No, the blood in this case is your father's. He came home one night, nearly catatonic. Two days later the police discovered the body of a man outside this very village. The man's name was Lee Sung. I thought your father might have . . .," Matthew could not finish the thought. "But it was not the truth. It was discovered that he had been killed by another."

"Lee Sung is dead?" Mary Margaret asked, astounded. "Wasn't he that guy who tried to get small Chinatown businesses to join his organization by extortion?"

"Yeah, my father and I ran into him a few times. The first time was at the temple."

"The temple?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Yeah, Lee Sung was part of a group called the Triad. They were Shaolin at one time but broke their vows by committing murder. They abandoned the teachings of the Tao. If someone shamed or threatened the order, they were not humiliated, but killed. The person who did the killing received a teardrop tattoo, symbolizing the shame that was caused. The Triad came to the temple one night. Lee Sung was their leader and he had been injured. I didn't understand back then why my father had insisted on helping the man. He thought by helping him, Lee Sung might change his ways. Well, it looks like his evil ways caught up to him. At least this part of the dream turned out to be wrong. Let's hope the rest of it doesn't happen as well."

"The dream, my grandson?" Matthew questioned Peter.

"Maybe you can help me make sense of it," Peter said, then he told his grandfather the dream.

"Most disturbing," Matthew said. "You are correct, what happened in the dream is not happening here, or at least, not all of it. There are differences. In the dream, you were here alone. In truth, Mary Margaret is with you. The blood that is on the shirt is your father's and not someone else's. As to where your father might be, I am not certain, but I believe you might know."

"Me?"

"You have not told me everything," Matthew pointed out. "Your father has contacted you."

"Yes, but only briefly. I can sense he's in great pain, but I can't tell where he's at. One moment he's himself, the next he's like a different person and he cuts himself off to me."

"Perhaps there is another way we can reach him, but it will be very dangerous."

"What do you mean dangerous?" Mary Margaret asked, listening in on the conversation.

"We may not be able to reach him in time if we try to find him by a physical search," Matthew explained. "But . . ."

"You mean if we try on the astral plane?" Peter questioned.

"Yes, but it will require three of us."

"Somehow I knew that's why you asked me to come," Mary Margaret exclaimed. "Is this going to be like entering his Bardo?"

"Sort of, but . . ." Peter did not finish but turned to look at his grandfather for advice.

"But what?"

"It will require that all three of us to enter that plane."

"So?"

Matthew did not answer at first. "We may not be able to return."

Continued with Part 9