Paul Blaisdell stopped at the closed door to Kermit's office. It was unusual, the door being closed. Kermit was one of the main assets to the 101st Precinct, with many people who needed his help every day. They entered his office as a habit, many just to say hello, but most to have him search for information in the computers of the world. That was why Kermit usually refused to work weekends, and was given the right not to. To Blaisdell's eyes, the closed door seemed to almost be a warning . . . {Or maybe that's just me interpreting it.} Blaisdell knew he himself was in an emotional state.
The things that had happened recently were painful, what will him being accused of killing someone. But was Kermit in an equally emotional state? {This may be the last time I see him,} he thought sadly. He knew the long lasting friendship between them would never end. But the chances of them ever even talking to each other again were slim. Blaisdell was not telling anyone where he was going, least of l l one of his oldest friends. Contact was being broken with everyone. It had to be. {Everyone . . . }
Annie was no exception.
{One can talk to themselves about being strong 'til doomsday,} he told himself firmly. {But leaving your family behind will never be justifiable to yourself. } The pain was strong, but he did not block it. How could he fully remember his wife and children if he blocked the grief he felt at leaving them? They deserved his tears. They were brave souls, for accepting what would be done.
He had a feeling Kermit would have approved. {WILL approve. You're not gone yet, Paul.}
But Peter. He was surprised Peter had taken it so well. Blaisdell had not given him much to work with; he had only told his foster son what he had told Annie and the girls; that he had to leave. It didn't equal to much in the end. But that was the way it should be. If Blaisdell ever had a chance to get back, he would reach them. It was too dangerous for them to be able to reach HIM. Even the slightest chance of Peter finding out a phone number or overhearing a name could be catastrophic.
Kermit was different, and in some ways, worse. Blaisdell didn't think his friend would try to find his location as much as Peter would. But if the computer wizard did happen to try, he would be much more successful. Blaisdell hoped that Kermit wouldn't make the attempt.
Blaisdell knocked on the door, and waited for a response.
A brusque, muffled voice traveled through the door. "I'm busy."
Blaisdell smiled slightly at the annoyed tone in Kermit's voice. "Aren't you always busy?"
The door swung open suddenly, and Blaisdell found himself looking at a very surprised Kermit.
"Captain!" Kermit gave a fleeting smile, but foreboding reined his features. "It's good to see you."
"It's good to see you, too. Especially after all that's happened."
"I didn't expect you to . . . visit, so soon. I thought . . . after the public goodbye."
"Well . . ." Blaisdell gave a small smile and shrugged. "I felt that this might be easier."
Kermit nodded slowly, and cleared the doorway. "Come in."
Blaisdell entered, and Kermit closed the door behind him. Kermit offered him a seat in a desk chair, then sat at the computer.
"Captain . . . I won't ask where you're going."
Blaisdell watched him carefully. "Thanks. I couldn't tell you, anyway."
"I figured as much."
There was a moment's silence, then Blaisdell smiled ruefully. "It was a hell of a time for you to go on vacation."
"Yeah." Kermit sat a little straighter. "Paul . . . I wish you would have called me and told me." Kermit dropped the sentence gently, almost a whisper in the quiet room.
"It would have only been a bothersome thing for you. I was the only one who could have been involved in it."
"I know. I KNEW." He gave a sudden ironic smile. "I guess I still wish I could have been there to help." He became solemn again. "But I've had to do the same before."
Blaisdell sighed. "I'm starting to think, that at some point, everyone will."
Quiet, again. Then Kermit spoke. "How is Peter with this?"
The older man grinned. "Three days at Central Booking and a lot of paperwork hasn't daunted his stubborn spirit." The grin lessened slowly. "But he's being rather understanding. He's not too happy with it. . ." He shrugged. "What can one do?"
Blaisdell could guess what Kermit was probably thinking: {You can stay here, and not disappear like this.} But if anything of that sort was being thought behind those green sunglasses, they weren't voiced.
"Kermit. Look after him for me."
"I will."
Blaisdell nodded, and spoke softly. "Thank you." He paused for a moment. "It's about time for me to leave." He stood up, and Kermit did the same.
"Captain." Kermit took off his glasses and held his hand out to his former superior.
Blaisdell grinned, took the hand, and pulled Kermit into a hug. "I'm going to miss you, son."
Kermit hugged him back. "I'll miss you too. DAD. "
Blaisdell laughed and gently eased out of the embrace. Kermit looked into his eyes. "It's been a long time since you've called me that."
Blaisdell smiled and laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "For old time's sake, my friend." He let the hand drop. ". . . Will you watch over my family for me while I'm gone?"
Kermit grinned. "I'll guard them as if they were my own."
"I'm taking you up on that," Blaisdell said, smiling back. His expression dampened. "It's not likely that we'll see each other again."
Kermit put on his glasses with a flourish and gave a minuscule smile. "We'll meet again. Anything is possible. And as you know, the impossible is a usual around here."
Blaisdell nodded, and gave a smile he hoped was free of the pain inside. "Take care of yourself."
"You do the same."
The older man paused before speaking again. "You're like family to me, Kermit. You always were."
"I'm honored. Thank you." He stopped, silent, then spoke. "Paul. Stay alive."
"I will." He opened the door. "Goodbye, Kermit."
"Goodbye Captain. And good luck."
Blaisdell gave him a small smile, then turned away and walked out of the office.
He concentrated on the computer screen, and on finding the files on a suspect for Skalany. But his mind would not be pulled from his friend's leaving. He sat and listened to every goodbye, while he watched the screen saver as a thunderstorm raged around it's frame. He smiled sadly at the muffled stumbling joke of Nickie Elder, the resident M.E., who seemed as uncomfortable as the rest about goodbyes, but was unable to suppress it as well as the others could. Kermit sighed, and waited for the end. Then, everything was quiet a moment, except for the computerized sounds of thunder and rain. Voices flitted softly, then grew stronger. Emotions were squashed, many with pain. The officers returned to their jobs, and Kermit knew that Blaisdell must have left.
"Kermit?" Peter's voice, and another knocking on the door.
"Come in, kid." He watched as Peter slowly entered. The young man was uncomfortable as he glanced around the room, not really aiming any looks at Kermit.
"Kermit," he suddenly said, "were you here when . . ." He broke off numbly.
"Yes, I was."
"Did he say anything important?"
Kermit could read between the lines. He looked up at him. "Pete, even if he did, I wouldn't tell you."
Peter nodded, turning away to wander around the room. "Yeah, I figured as much." He gazed distantly at the floor. "So now what?"
"There's not much to be done, if I'm getting your drift." Kermit paused as Peter sat down in the chair Blaisdell had occupied only a half an hour ago. It made a complete impact on Kermit, for what he was about to say. "Peter. He's gone. And it's too dangerous to try to find out where he is. I know you've heard it all before from him, but there's no way you can find him. You shouldn't even try. He'll return when he's good and ready."
Peter jumped up and began pacing. "But If I don't try--"
"Then you won't be wasting time. He expected this from you. Don't you think he's covering up his trail with everything he's got?"
Peter didn't respond, but he stopped the pacing. "What about Annie? And Kelly and Christy?"
Kermit was silent before answering. "If their last name is 'Blaisdell', the must be strong people. They can handle it. YOU can handle it."
"I'm not certain I can."
{But YOU have two fathers,} Kermit thought. {You can go to one of the other is gone, and won't be as hurt by this as you would be.} "You can take it, Peter."
"I just want to know where he is. Everyone wouldn't be so worried if they knew."
"Don't be so sure," Kermit said dryly. "But that doesn't matter, because you'd still find something to worry about until it was back the way it was."
"I wish it could be. Paul would still be here."
"You can't change the past, so stop hanging on it. You'll drive yourself insane."
Peter got defensive. "He's been my father for twelve years. Should I just stop thinking about him entirely? Ignore the past years of my life?"
Kermit was suddenly very angry. He stood up and walking over to Peter. "Listen to what I'm saying, will you?" he said, his voice raising dangerously. "You are one of the few lucky people to have three parents to be there for you. You have people who love you and care about you all over the place. I had ONE parent, and she was and STILL IS a damned good woman. But a kid doesn't get much attention from a single parent with two other kids to support as well. And she didn't have time to be my father. When Blaisdell came along, he was like my father. He still is, in a way, and I miss him just as much as you do. But you have another father too, and Blaisdell's not dead, no matter how far away he may be. You are luckier then you know, but all you do is wallow in sadness. Be thankful for what you have. And walk away from what you can't get back. I'd give anything to have had a father like Blaisdell, if only for TWO years of my childhood. But I can't rewrite the past, and neither can you. And you definitely can't change Blaisdell's mind. He's as stubborn as you are.
"But I'm trying my best to get your mind back in your brain," Kermit said, his voice calming, "and out of your heart. I want you to see reason. If he thinks the danger is past, he'll come back. But you can't do anything about it, and no amount of people can make him return until he's satisfied it's safe for everyone."
Peter's shock turned to hurt, then shame. "I . . . I'm sorry Kermit, I'm so sorry. You're right. I've been acting selfish."
Kermit began to turn away. "It's all right." {Great speech, Kermit. Now Peter feels even worse.}
But Peter stepped around him to face him again. "Kermit. Would you like a hug?"
Kermit laughed in surprise as Peter wrapped his arms around him before he could answer. Kermit returned the hug firmly, his eyes misting behind his glasses. "I think we're gonna make it, kid." "So do I. And thanks for chewing me out. I needed it."
Kermit smiled and slowly let go of Peter. "Thanks for the hug. I needed it."
Peter grinned. "We both did, pal." He patted Kermit on the arm. "Listen. I'll see you later. I've got a lot of stuff to think about." Possibly sensing Kermit's need to be alone for a while, he smiled his goodbye and slipped out of the room.
The door closed behind him, and Kermit slumped back into his chair. The room was quiet, the way it was usually when he was alone. The other chair that Blaisdell once sat in was empty again. But Kermit found it didn't hurt as much to see it that way.
{And now we go on. And merely wait for something to appear on our doorsteps, signaling that he's back.
{And ten thousand years from now this same thing will be happening to another family, maybe another friend, and they will wait as well. {We WILL survive. We've survived worse. But I hope we won't forget. No. We'll never forget Paul. It isn't possible to forget him.}
The man had changed all of their lives. All of their courses through life would have been different, and possibly even worse, if it was not for that one man. Peter would have stayed in the orphanage, probably not finding any other people who would give his smart-mouthing a chance. {And I would be dead by now if Blaisdell hadn't thrown me into the Academy and made me pass.}
A calm settled over him. He watched the screen saver again, as the thunder continued across it. Then, suddenly, the sky turned to stars instead of rain. It was just the program running, but it stirred a memory of a poem he had once read. He had found it in a book, and had fallen in a sort of love with it. He still had every verse memorized from those days. Soft, and sad, and strangely morbid, it filled his thoughts again, like it had so many years before.
Somewhere, sometime, long ago, The clouds were in my eyes.
Somewhere, sometime, long ago, The storms were in my heart.
I waited for the world to brighten, I waited for the storms to go, I waited for the clouds in me To somehow, someday part.
In the end, old and in my bed, With clouds and storms unabated, I realized now, That in my life, I should not have ever waited.
If I had told the clouds to rain, and told the storms to thunder, the rain would wash the pain away, the storms would let' my anger.
And now I sit, and will soon pass, I will soon go away,
I now know this, I should have told The clouds and storms to stay.
The verses stilled in his mind, sad, bringing peace, though they would not, could not, bring happiness. The happiness would return in time on it's own. A minuscule smile, itself sad, came to his face. The quiet filled him, and he found that the day had left him very weary.
But he had to return to his job. He sighed, and began to read up on Skalany's suspect. {The clouds and storms will stay.} It might take a few weeks, but the fated clouds and storms that could not be expected to fade away in him, would instead thunder, storm, and shed their tears as he did. In doing so, his sorrow would not be a painful taunt, but an old memory of his former captain.
And Peter would be well.
{As it should be.}
The End
Back to the beginning
Saturday . . .
As I hang up the phone after talking to Mitch, I can't help thinking about how much my little sister Marilyn has grown. The first memory I have of her is of a shy girl stepping off of a plane. Now she's a wonderful mother, a grown woman. It's amazing how fast time moves.
Our grandparents on our mother's side lived in Ireland. Our father lived in a place I never learned of until much later. So when I was thirteen years old, my mother had no one to argue with about the decision to send Marilyn to live with our grandparents. She couldn't afford all three of us.
Marilyn was only seven when she left. When Mom got back on her feet, Marilyn came back. After three years, she wasn't a little girl anymore, but I found that I missed experiencing her childhood innocence. I wish that I had seen her through those times. Her years in Ireland were very hard on her.
Marilyn was never very strong. She always seemed very frail and sickly. But she had real strength inside, even if she had a physical weakness. To be moved back and forth the way we were, from one town to the other . . . it was hard for all of us, but Marilyn took the worst of it. Our mother finally got settled down, about a year after Marilyn had returned. But Marilyn always seemed to expect to be whisked away again, especially when David was a new member of the family, only two years old, and she wasn't the baby anymore.
Marylin told me later that she had wanted to go back to Ireland, which had been her home for an important part of her life. I could tell that she liked Ireland much better than America. She called our grandparents as often as possible. She missed the countryside and the people there.
At least she didn't keep away from the rest of her family. Mom was worried that she would avoid us and blame us for making her leave Ireland. But, to my surprise, she loved us, especially me. For the first time in a long while, I began to feel needed. I loved her more than anything, and she was the best little kid you could hope for. Well, at least for me she was. Mom could never get her to do what she was told, but for some reason, I could. Mom said it was my boyish charm. I think it was because Marilyn wanted to get on her mother's nerves.
The interesting part was Marilyn's Irish accent. She never lost it. Just when it was beginning to fade away, maybe about the time she had turned twelve, our grandparents decided to move to America. After that, there was no hope: Marilyn came home from their house every day with her accent getting thicker and thicker, until it was just as bad as when she had first returned home.
It was really strange, having a little sister who spoke with the only accent in the family. Other than Grandma and Grandpa, that is. It was like we had our own little foreign exchange student. People liked the exotic effect she had on any situation. It got her a lot of attention at school, especially from the boys, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. For the boys, that is. I wasn't. . . very diplomatic. I'm still not. My sister was shy and didn't want relationships, and I was not about to let anything be forced on her.
I would have probably been shy, too, but Marilyn prevented that, in an interesting way. It was a bad school in the bad part of town. I had the choice of being scared, or of protecting Marilyn. Of course, I chose the latter. Self-defense became a big issue for the two of us.
I turned nineteen and went off to Vietnam, thanks to the draft. Marilyn and little David were devastated that I had to leave, but I told her that as long as I was there to pull her out of scrapes, she would never learn how to handle her problems herself. She could be the big sister, now, pulling David out of scrapes.
In our family, you learned to grow up early. And she was thirteen, the perfect age to grow up.
"Mom, I'm tired of this stupid town, this terrible house- I hate it!"
"Well, too bad, Jason!" Marilyn called after him as he began walking out of the kitchen. "There's no where else for you ta' go, so you'll have to live with it!" She heard the front door slam, and the house shook briefly.
Marilyn turned and walked into the living room where Mitch was returning to her book.
"Hi, Mitch," Marilyn said, her accent strong with emotion. "I'm sorry about the fight." She sat down next to her daughter and sighed.
"Mom, why do you and Jason have to fight all the time?"
"I don't know, sweetheart. It's been so hard since your father died. . . But how are you doing, Mich?"
"I'm okay, I guess."
"How was today?"
Mitch shrugged. "The same as every day: I watched some TV, I rode my bike a little. I finished that book Kermit sent me. . . Oh, Kermit called while you were gone."
"Who did he want to talk to?"
Mitch ran a hand through her long hair. "He didn't care. He just wanted to know how it was going. We talked a long time." She paused, puzzlement on her face. "He also said, before he hung up, to ask if he could come over tomorrow after church and to tell you that 'the trial turned out fine'. What trial was that?"
Marilyn grinned and kissed Mitch on the cheek. "Honey, I'm not sure Kermit would want me to tell you. You should ask him tomorrow.--Did Amber's parents decide whether you could spend a week at her house?"
Mitch's face fell. "No, they said her grades weren't good enough during the school year. It's not fair, Mom! Amber tried so hard. Now what will I do the rest of the summer?"
"What about your other friends?"
"Pauley is in Seattle with her aunt, Angie is at summer camp, and Maria is grounded." She said the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. "So now I have nothing to do." Marilyn frowned. "Kermit's coming to visit tomorrow. We'll find something exciting to do, sweetie. I'm sure we will."
As Jason got older, into his teenage years, he grew edgy. He became rude and obnoxious, natural for a boy his age. But it seems that he was meant to have a difficult childhood. When he was almost fifteen, his father died in a car accident. Marylin and Mich pulled through after a year of pain, but Jason still fights the truth, never morning his father.
All I can do is wait and listen, be there for the boy who reminds me of myself so much. Someday, he'll be ready. And when that day comes, I'll be waiting.
As I drive towards my house, I let the relief fill me. Karen, my Captain, my friend, and a part of me that I thought I would never find again, has forgiven my arrogance and stupidity. The murder charge is no more, and Emma Thornton has been banished from my life, thank God.
The whole situation had left me with vague sense of worry for those that I loved. I just had to visit Marylin today, so I did. Now that I'm back, everything seems right again. It probably won't stay that way for long, but for now, I'm happy. I love my family, but more importantly, I'm learning slowly that I can love myself. For so long, I've been unable to do that. Maybe that's why it took me so long to realize the very real feelings I had for Karen. Maybe that was why I let Emma tear me away from her, so that I could escape the true emotions I had for my Captain.
I think I'm ready for that now. I've faced the growing emotions that the trial brought on, and admitted to having them. I've also admitted to being more than a little dense to allow Emma to get under my defenses. I psychoanalyze that this is a big step, but a still bigger one looms ahead: learning to get past the mistakes I've made in my life. If Karen, Marylin and Caine can forgive my past, can I do so as well?
Can I forgive myself?
Skalany leaned against the bar at 'Chandlers' and raised her brows. "So, what DO we call you?"
Thomas Jefferson 'don't call me TJ' Kincaid sighed at his spot on the piano. "Just call me 'Thomas'."
Peter suppressed a grin. "How about 'Tom'?"
Kincaid made a face as he began to play a song. "I hate that name. I had an aunt who used to love to call me 'Tommy-boy'. It soured me on the whole name thing."
Jody studied his face from where she sat on the other side of the piano bench. "The thing is, you LOOK like a TJ"
Kincaid looked mystified. "You know, everyone seems to think so. It's really aggravating."
Jody grinned and looked behind her shoulder at Peter. Peter shook his head and walked the few steps to the bar to order another drink. "You know, Skalany," he said as he sat down next to her, "it's nice to have everything back to normal."
"Just what I was thinking, partner," she said, and sipped her beer. "When it rains, it pours, huh?"
"As Kermit would say, 'oh yeah'."
"Hell and heaven in a few months. Seems unlikely, doesn't it?"
Peter smiled and shook his head. "I definitely know that there must be some justice in the world."
Skalany smiled. "There better be justice in the world, Pete. If there isn't, we're out of a job."
Peter nodded and smiled back. He took a drink of beer and glanced around the room. Jody was teaching TJ a new song on the piano, and Frank was chatting with Kelly and Blake on the other side of the room. Karen Simms was listening intently to a story being told by a joyful Kermit (a rare occurrence). And, best of all, no one was in danger of anything except getting drunk.
Peter leaned back and listened to TJ singing along with the piano, confidant in the knowledge that all was right in the world.
End
"There is neither darkness nor death. . .
Darkness is only in the mortal eye,
that thinks it sees, but sees not."
----Ursula K. Le Guin
(Historian's note: this takes place after "Prism" but before "Black Widow".)
(These are not my characters, except for Tonya and Dezzee. All others belong to Micheal Slone and the gang. Thanks! Enjoy . . .)
Lost In Chinatown By Dana K-part 1/11
It was late afternoon as Detective Kermit Griffin studied his computer and listened to the sounds of the precinct. As he explored the internet, he heard a young male voice behind him. "Kermit," the voice said, and the detective turned to see Peter Caine standing in his doorway.
"Come in, kid. What's all the commotion about?" For Kermit had heard a slight change come over the people minutes before. They sounded quieter than usual. A little thoughtful, in fact.
Peter sighed and walked slowly into the office. "No one's really sure." Kermit raised a brow, and Peter went on to explain. "Well, you remember that new homicide they found yesterday, the drug dealer? Nickie just finished the autopsy and he says that he can't find out how he died."
"What do you mean?"
It seemed almost as if Peter hadn't heard the question. "No," Peter said softly, as if to himself, "not HOW he died . . ." He returned his attention to Kermit. " . . . But what killed him." Peter looked at Kermit intensely. "Nickie says the vic-tim was healthy, so he can't see how it could be of natural causes. No marks, nothing, no signs of struggle, no DNA traces other than his own. . . No WOUND, Kermit! It was like his heart just decided to stop, Nickie said. I donno'. Everyone's feeling a little strange about it."
Kermit had completely lost interest in his computer now. "The captain wasn't concerned? She let everyone know?"
"Yeah. She doesn't think it's something that needs to be kept a secret. But it's making everyone act a little, I donno' . . . Skittish."
Kermit paused before speaking. "Maybe . . . The toxicological will find something."
"Yeah. You know, maybe were all just letting this strange weather effect us. Ever since the heat wave, everyone at the precinct HAS been kind of jumpy. Maybe that's it."
"Could be," Kermit shrugged. "I mean, there always has to be a reason for death. Maybe he was poisoned."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I must be taking this a little too hard. That's all." Peter smiled, but his heart wasn't in it. Kermit could see that. He could see that Peter was troubled by this. Kermit knew that the same strange feeling that hovered over himself right now had descended over his young friend as well. But he had nothing he could say in return. So he watched Peter walk out of his office, his footsteps fading into the background.
As Kermit turned back to his computer, he tried to shake a feeling that there was something more than a little strange about that death. After a moment, he succeeded clearing his thoughts, and returned to his leisure 'net surfing. He couldn't let this new mystery catch his fascination. He had more important things to do. {And besides}, he told him-self as he began digging back into the large, tantalizing pool of information at his fingertips, {Peter's father is a Shaolin priest. He has the blood for solving magical mysteries. I have the blood for computers. And at the moment,} he thought contentedly, {computers are much more interesting to me.}
It was cool inside the little house when compared to the weather outside. But she didn't care. She would have preferred to be outside in the heat and the humidity.
The woman's curly black hair fell over her shoulders in a heap, and her brown eyes were blurred in her contemplation. Her circumstances were not unique. . . But all too well the opposite.
{Police protection. Hah. I just want to know when I can leave this dump,} he thought to no one in particular. {In his own good time, they say. I'm about to make my own decision, Adonai.}
{The waiting, the stress. . .}
{All this had to happen right after I got out of. . . Rehab'.} She cringed at saying the word. It implied so many things that were wrong in society. So many things that she fought as a cop. {I was a drunk. Drunks beat their kids and kill people in car accidents. }
{But that's not me,} she argued her conscience, {I just sit there and cry. Pathetic, but not a murderer.}
The woman didn't even want to think of what could happen if she had to deal with more stress. {I will not back down. I can make it through this.}
But self-pity still clouded her thoughts as she tried to push the Eagles' song "I Will Not Go Quietly" from her mind.
She shook her head and reminded herself that there were many people who had it worse. She was only a cop who was being threatened by a criminal that she had sent to jail. So, she was a recovering alcoholic. That was just added stress for her. The others were who she was worried about: the lawyers and the judge who had been on her stalker's case. They were not used to their new problem, and they were in the most danger now. {Don't know why they aren't used to it, though. They send enough people to jail in their work.}
Her stalker, Bobby Canada, was one of those people. He was found guilty of murder, killing a woman who had not carried through with a major drug deal that would have brought her rich killer even more money. Tonya had worked on the case with a partner, but was left in complete control of the investigation. Therefore, when Canada broke out of prison seven months later, he centered his final revenge on her. "I'm going from the top to the bottom" he said in one of his threatening letters. She would be the last. That was why the highest security was being placed on the judge.
The judge was first, but according to Canada, the worst punishment was being reserved for her.
A female voice called to her, shaking her from her thoughts. "Yo, Tony!"
"What! What is it?" Tonya Scott said, looking up from the brown carpeting in front of the couch.
"Snap out of it," came the deep feminine voice. "You're making the natives restless." The voice became a body, as Detective Dezzee Holt walked in front of her, a small black woman of 30 who looked 18.
"Hah. You mean these two?" she motioned at the two male rookies also in the room. The two men laughed as Holt sighed and leaned against the living room wall. "Yeah, sister, they thought you were gonna die right there on the Davenport. Death Of Boredom, they called it in Med school. Too bad I fell victim to it myself and couldn't last through the aforementioned training."
Tonya leaned back and pulled her legs up onto the coffee table sitting in front of her. "This is driving me nuts. If I don't let out some energy soon, I'm going to crack."
Holt smiled. "Yeah, well you just try being an undercover juvenile cop at high school. THAT makes you nuts. Looking young ain't as great as it seems." She yawned and continued. "At least it's not a Monday."
"Yeah. But yesterday was."
Holt laughed and shook her head.
Hours passed, and Tonya had resorted to flipping through channels on the television.
Suddenly, she felt the anxiety build.
"That's it," she said as she jumped up from her seat, "I can't take this any more!"
The officer sitting across from her on the couch shook his head slowly. "Come on, Detective Scott, it's for your own good."
"MY own good? This isn't good! I've been cooped up in this insane asylum of a house for two weeks now. I feel like a lab rat."
Holt, now standing in the kitchen, covered her eyes with her hand. "Tony, let me get you another cup of coffee. Decaf', will you?"
Tonya sat down on the couch to the left of the male officer. "It's not the coffee, Dezzee." She looked around at her companions. "I'm a cop, you guys. The other's definitely aren't, but I AM. I don't need to be in a safe house." She lowered her head angrily and glared at the floor. {Why do I always find myself staring at the floor?} she questioned the floor. It seemed to happily decline an answer.
Holt's chocolate brown hand appeared below with a steaming cup of coffee in it. Tonya looked up into Holt's friendly face.
"Take it," Holt said with an understanding gaze. Tonya nodded wearily, and accepted the cup.
Holt sat down next to Ton-ya, who was now in the middle. "If you don't wanna be here, you know you don't have to. But Canada will still be around. Maybe you should transfer to get away from 'im."
"I've thought of that. But I don't want to run."
"Protect yourself. These are your choices."
Tonya nodded. She wondered which choice was the answer.
"We really need to talk about this, Peter," Kelly said.
"I know," Peter sighed at his girlfriend, and ran a hand through his hair.
"Well then, we can start now." She sat down next to him on the couch. "I live here. At least, I thought I did. But that isn't enough for you, Peter. You go out with other women like I'm not even here. God, we work together! How can you think you'd get away with that?"
"Kelly, you agreed that we would see other people." His brown eyes looked at her in confusion.
"But I don't feel that way anymore, Peter. I want to be your full time girl."
"Aw, come on, Kelly. It's just dating."
"Peter, I've had it with being just another girlfriend!" Kelly picked up her purse and swung it angrily over a shoulder. "I want to be your ONLY girlfriend."
Peter sighed. He was getting a headache. "Kell-"
"Listen, I'm late for my doctor's appointment. I'll talk to you about this later." She opened the door and walked out, long brown hair fluttering behind her.
"Wonderful." He slumped in a chair and looked at the bottle of pain medication in his hand. He groaned and stood up, walking into the kitchen to get a glass of water. After taking a couple of the pills, he leaned back against a wall and looked at the mess in his house. Couch pillows, papers, and books were strewn across the floor as if a tornado had been through it: the work of Kelly before she had gotten con-trol of herself. Shortly after that Kelly had threatened to move out, and had began to take her stuff and put it in a backpack. Thankfully, Peter had gotten her calmed down before she could pack more than a few pencils and a Walkman. In the end she had left for her appointment, or at least that was what she had said. {There can't be any other reason. . . } She hadn't taken anything with her, so Peter hoped she was planning on staying. {At least she didn't break anything,} he said to himself. {Not yet, anyways.} He sighed and began picking the things up and putting them back.
Peter was putting her Walkman on the table when the phone rang. "Hello?"
"Hi, Peter, " said a female voice. {Sonova gun,} he thought, {It's Tonya.} He smiled in spite of everything.
"Hey, Tony. How's everything going?"
"Better, now. I stopped the police protection, Pete. "
"Tony!" {God, how could she? The man is a lunatic with a yearly income as high as Michael Jordan's!}
"Peter, it was driving me nuts. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
"Yeah," he said angrily, "how many times have I heard you say THAT before? Dammit, you know he's a killer! You caught him yourself, for Christ's sakes!"
"I'm not going back."
"Fine!" he sputtered, and searched his mind for something to convince her with. "At least get out of the state or something!"
Exasperated, Tonya shook her head. "I'll be okay. Really."
"Tony. . ." he searched his mind for a solution. "Tony, get transferred. Get to the 1-0-1. We need more detectives."
"I don't know . . ."
"Can you come over here, Tony? Just to talk, okay? You don't have to agree to anything."
There was a pause on the other line.
He groaned. "Hey, I haven't seen you in a long time anyway. Come on."
"Okay," she said, giving in. "I'll be there in a few minutes."
"A few min-" The phone clicked and the dial tone sounded.
Peter shook his head. {She lives an hour and a half away. How will she get here so soon?}
"Who is it?"
"It's me, you silly!" Tonya's muffled voice called out.
"That's my Tony, all right," he said, opening the door.
He smiled at her. "Hey you."
"Hey you," she mimicked with a grin, "come 'ere." She reached out and hugged him. "Surprise!"
"No kidding," he said, looking her over. "How'd you get here so fast?"
"I was in the area. I was going to stop over here once I called, but after . . ."
"After . . ." His eyebrows arched. "You didn't think I would tie you up and send you overseas, did you?"
Tonya grinned as he walked her into the apartment.
"You know, though," he said, "the thought DID cross my mind a couple of times."
"I bet it did. But I'd rather be working then on vacation."
"Who said anything about vacation?"
"Please, spare me," she said with a barely suppress.
Peter ushered her over to the couch, then sat down next to her. "What are you going to do?" he asked.
Toni looked up at him and said soberly, "I'm gonna try to move on."
Peter shook his head. "But it's not over yet." He sighed and continued. "I know that you don't like to move. I'll help you. I'm sure Captain Simms will allow the transfer."
"I know. She's a great cop. . . Peter, I just don't think running away will help."
"You have to do it. It's the logical choice."
She smiled. "Who ARE you, 'Mr. Spock'?"
Peter grinned. "I think I'm getting there. But, seriously, tell me," his expression sobered again. "What else can you do?"
Tonya gave in with a sigh. "I guess you're right. Okay, I'll move."
"Good."
She smiled at a possible change in subject. "How's it going with Kelly?"
Peter eyed her suspiciously. "Terrible."
She giggled.
"Tony, don't you even start."
{Where is she?}
That night, Peter sat on his couch and watched television. He didn't really pay attention to what was happening on the screen; he was waiting for someone. For the climax of a yet unspoken ultimatum.
A knock on the door.
Peter got up and turned off the television, hoping it was the person he awaited.
He walked to the door and opened it.
And sighed. "Dad. Isn't it kinda' late?"
Caine hesitated, his silver hair shining in the lamplight. "Yes. But this is important." He looked closely at his son. "Is something wrong?"
Peter shook his head, "Not really," and let his father in. {Only the fact that my girlfriend probably left me.}
"What's the problem, Pop?" He walked into the living room again, and turned to his father.
"It is something that is happening in this city, that I sensed only a few hours ago." The priest paused. "A great, barely contained evil. It has been let loose, but is so powerful that I cannot find it's origin."
"But why tell me now, so late at night? You've sensed this kind of thing before, and you've fixed it." So many times this had happened in fact, that Peter was becoming to see it as a regular occurrence. As if the city was a human body with an alien organism invading it, he figured. Like the cause of influenza; happening regularly when the body's defenses are weak, it can always be dispelled rather easily.
Caine looked Peter straight in the eyes, causing him to listen with greater care. "This power is growing. It has the taste of death to it, and it craves more. It is an embodiment of something primordial, I do not know what. Whoever released it does not have the power to control it for much longer." He looked off into the distance, deep in thought.
"So. . . What will happen if it overpowers them?"
Caine slowly raised his eyes to his son. "Chaos."
He hadn't spoken to his father during those past two days. He had been too busy.
But he still wondered. . .
A female voice entered his thoughts. "Guess what, Pete."
"Hey, Tony," he said, looking up. "I donno'. What?"
She sat down and tried to contain a smile. "Simms has agreed to the transfer."
"That's great! When do you start?"
"Day after tomorrow, right away."
He grinned. "Need some help with moving?"
"I'd love it."
A waitress came over and smiled at Tonya. "Can I get you something? Friday's Lady's Night. Beer is half price."
Tonya sighed and blinked at the table with sudden gloom. "Ah, no thank you. I'll just have a Pepsi."
"Make that two," Peter added.
The waitress beamed happily, "Right away," and slipped into the crowd, heading towards the bar.
"Tony. Are you okay?"
"Yeah."
He reached out his hand, and she took it with a sigh. "I'm pulling through," she said with reassurance.
"How long has it been so far?" . . {Since the last drink you had. . .} He finished silently, not wanting to say it out loud. She paused grimly before speaking. "Three months, two weeks and one day."
Peter squeezed her hand tightly. "You'll make it." {It's a good thing I didn't get any beer before she came,} he told himself. {I wouldn't have wanted her to see the glass and been reminded. I wouldn't want to make this harder than it already is.}
She smiled as the waitress brought them the 'Pepsi's', and raised the glass in the air. "To forever. May I never falter until it's over."
He smiled back. "To forever."
Peter and Tonya talked for a few hours. But through the entire night, Peter couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was terribly wrong concerning his father. He had to find out what was going on.
"Yes," the tall black woman said.
"Good. Make sure about the case." His blue eyes flashed at her.
"Anything you say," she said coldly, and began to walk away.
"Oh, and Commissioner," he said, causing her to stop. "Don't make any mistakes. You don't want to be found covered in your dirt."
The woman paused painfully at the joy he got from saying the words. She closed her eyes, not turning to look back. "No mistakes."
"What?"
"I'm going to be transferred to the 1-0-1."
"That's great, Tony. When do you start?"
"I start tomorrow."
"You need any help moving?"
"Sure, if you can. Peter Caine's offered also. You remember him, don't you?"
There was a laugh on the other line. "I sure do. He's the official lady-killer of the 1-0-1."
"That's Peter all right."
There was a pause. "Hey, Tony. When you get the chance, say hi to Nickie Elder for me."
"Who's he?"
"YOU met him. He's the head doctor down there. Thin, light brown hair? And he talks a lot."
Tonya could hear a grin in Dezzee's voice, and smiled as well. "I remember him now. I'll tell him."
"Oh, and tell 'im I'm gonna be stopping by there on Wednesday, during the vacation time I'm taking off."
Tonya's smile grew. "Is this any relationship I should be aware of?"
"You know you'd be the first to hear, sister. But just between you and me. . ." She giggled, and Tonya joined her.
Dezzee continued after a few seconds. "I'm seriously thinking of mentioning it."
"Mentioning it? This is much more premature than I thought!"
"We've always been friends, Nickie and me. We met in Med school. We shared a cadaver."
"Hmm. Not very romantic, but. . . Hey, go for it."
"Believe me, I intend to!"
"There is neither darkness nor death. . .
Darkness is only in the mortal eye,
that thinks it sees, but sees not."
----Ursula K. Le Guin
(Historian's note: this takes place after "Prism" but before "Black Widow".)
(These are not my characters, except for Tonya and Dezzee. All others belong to Micheal Slone and the gang. Thanks! Enjoy . . .)
Caine threw another handful of powder into the other small fire, and it scorched higher. {I am sure that if the area around me is cleared, I will be able to find the source. } He sat in front of the two smoking pots and concentrated. . .
. . . and made contact . . .
{It searches. . . but not just with blood lust, not only for death . . .}
He perceived that it had a sentience . . . it called for something, for someone to hear.
{A name?
A quest for the one who sent it into oblivion!}
Caine gasped, the connection broken shards of the consciousness still clutching at him, longing to touch him, to share in his sanity.
"You will not find the one you seek here," he said sadly. "He is in another place, now. You have been in exile too long."
He tried again to concentrate on the data that he had gotten from the autopsy, but his headache had begun to seriously affect his thinking. He had tolerated it for the past God-knew-how-many hours, and it was still there. Adding insult to injury, his headache had decided to become a sinus headache. It was probably allergy-caused, so it just HAD to add bonus congestion to the whole package. {And in the end,} Nickie thought, {here I sit, miserable, straining to see this stupid report, sounding like a commercial for Nyquil-- Wait. Straining? } He looked at the report closely. Had he just been thinking fussy complaints, or was there really something wrong with his eyesight? He slit his eyelids and looked around the room, but now his vision seemed fine. He was really hot, though. {Great, the air conditioner's not working either. Perfect. Maybe I'll have a kidney failure too.}
With a sigh, he returned to the report, but after a few minutes he gave up. Tomorrow was a new day, and his headache might actually give him some peace by then. What he really needed was to go to bed.
Nickie blinked rapidly and widened his eyes to clear them. They were still rather hazy. . . {Nah, I just need sleep,} he thought, rubbing the painful bridge of his nose. {That's all.} He locked the doors to his office, and prepared for the ride home.
Peter plopped onto Tonya's newly placed couch. He looked around her new living room and gave her a sweaty grin.
Tonya sighed wearily, watching him with a smile. "I can't believe you're still helping me with this. I would have left hours ago."
His grin lessened a little as he looked at her skeptically. "Sure you would," he said flatly. "Right."
His mock disbelief made her smile as she sat down next to him. "If it were anyone but a friend."
"Ah. That's what I thought."
She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. "Well, we're all done. Thanks again for the help, Peter."
"No problem."
He thought of when they had first met, and all of the times they had helped each other. The brother/sister relationship had started in the academy, and had grown over the years. But when they were separated by their jobs, they hadn't talked much. It was nice having her back, even for a short time.
After saying goodbye to Tonya, Peter headed for home. As he took a shower, he decided that it was time to talk to his father about the strange visit he had made only a few nights before.
"Pop?" he asked, slowly walking into the dimly lit apartment.
"Yes, Peter. . ." his father said patiently as he walked into the room from the balcony.
"Sorry. I should have knocked."
Caine watched his son. "Is there something bothering you?"
Peter's eyes narrowed in thought. "I donno'. Maybe there should be. Dad, can you tell me what all that talk of evil was about a few nights go?"
"I can."
"Well, what's going on with it? Has it changed, or gone away or something?"
"I apologize. I would have told you had I thought you were troubled by it. But you did not seem worried at the time."
"Yeah, I guess I didn't. But everything's fine, right?
" "It is the same as it has been." He paused, the tone of his voice-becoming grave. "I have only told you of it in the beginning because I may need your help to defeat it. I must find it and deal with the human cause behind it, which may not be a simple task."
"So, you'll tell me if something wrong happens?"
"Of course. Now," he said, his voice becoming lighter. ". . . it is around six o'clock."
Caine suddenly smiled wanly, and Peter knew his father was about to attempt some scheme. "Since you are here . . . would you like to have dinner with me?"
His son grinned. {He's a master at persuasion as well!} "Sure, Pop.-Dad . . . Sorry."
There were still boxes in her car and piled up in her new apartment that needed to be unpacked from the move, and she doubted they would ever be unpacked. {I'll find undeveloped rolls of film ten years from now and wonder, "Who in the world ARE these people?"}
She shook her head wearily, locked the car, and began to walk towards the elevator.
A loud click suddenly echoed through the garage, and Tonya leapt to the ground as bullets fired past her. {Shit!} she thought, {What's going on!}
She pulled out her gun and thought, {Bobby Canada, most likely.} But whoever it was, she had to move fast and get some backup.
She crawled back to her car, stopping at moments to return fire. When she got there, she opened the door, shaking her head at the mess the attackers had made of her car tires. It would have given her an escape, but now the only use it could give was her radio. She climbed in and grabbed the speaker for the C.B. "This is DeLeon 1-3, in the parking garage on the corner of Henry and Leighton." She paused to duck as a bullet shot near her right shoulder, cracking the windshield. "I'm being fired at. I need some backup as soon as possible. Over."
"Roger that," a female voice answered, "this is Green 4-7, we're almost there. Over and out."
She hung up the speaker and called Peter on the car phone, almost sure he would be at his nearby apartment. The fastest help would come from him. "C'mmon, pick up the phone . . ." She looked at the windshield warily. A few more, she knew, maybe even one, and the car would be useless for protection.
"Hello?" he finally answered.
"Peter! You have to get over to my apartment, now!"
"Is that gunfire I hear in the back-"
"Yes. I'm being fired at. I don't know by who, but they're going to kill me if you don't-"
"I'm leaving now."
"Thanks." He was near enough that his help might be of use. She heard the click and hung up, just in time to duck again as another bullet neared the window. It crashed though, hurling glass all over her covered head as the windshield collapsed.
Tonya leveled her gun and got ready to spring from the car. It was useless now.
{Battlefield war tactics. Never thought I'd be doing THAT in my parking lot! } Tonya threw open the door and leaped out. She turned and shot a man, then ran to a car for cover. She and peered around the corner of the now-shot up vehicle. {I should have joined the army. Less dangerous.} She slipped her head out and fired another shot, then pulled back. Adrenaline rushed through her, making her senses more alert. Only a single gunman fired now, and she popped up to look over the trunk, squinting to see how many shooters were left. There was only one: the other two had been injured by her fire. They lay on the ground as the single man stood up defiantly behind a car, having no cover from the waist up. He ducked down again just as she shot one more time, and he returned his own fire.
Tonya waited for the lull in the shooting that would come when he reloaded. She got ready to jump up and shoot again, but the screech and stench of burning tires stopped her. She turned, and Peter was diving out of his now-parked car and crawling towards her, shooting his own return-fire at the unknown adversary. He was about 75 feet away, she estimated, and she began to shoot randomly to pull the attacker's attention away from him as he neared.
Peter was almost to her when the pause in gunfire happened.
She leaned out from behind her cover and aimed for the heart.
She heard a bang that wasn't from her gun. {Maybe I should have started going to church recently,} she thought with strange amusement. {Adonai, are you there?}
"Tony!!" Peter cried in slow motion-
"Auhh!" she was slammed back and to the left with a blast of psychosomatic reaction, blood suddenly seeping from her right arm as the bullet grazed her. {Damn, he tricked me!} she thought. {He wasn't reloading after all! } She looked to her gun, but it had been flung far across the lot. Her thoughts were hazy, and her head was ringing. Her mind fumbled for logic and action.
As she crawled back behind the car, Peter ran to her, heedless of the man pointing his gun at him. "Tony! Tony, are you all right?"
"Yes! Now go get those guys!"
He gasped as she held the pouring wound tightly in her fist, a recognizable expression on his face.
{Chivalry is dead, son. Don't assume that because I'm a woman I don't know how to bandage a minor bullet wound.} "I don't need your nursing, I need your automatic!" He ignored her and reached for her arm, but she pulled away. "Go shoot the bad guys. I can take care of myself! If anyone's shirt is going to be ruined, it's mine." He sat, shocked into silence, as she took out a switchblade and sawed a cut on the bottom of her blood soaked shirt. Using that as a start for the tear, she clenched her teeth, gripped the two parts, and ripped a long, thick strip of cloth from her shirt. "Well?!" she said, glaring at him, "shoot the guy!"
Peter nodded, brought up his gun to fire. She looked to his opponent and cursed silently. The man had become men, three strangers joining the lone enemy. ({When had THAT happened,} she wondered.) But they had stopped shooting, almost as if waiting for something. . . {Why aren't they attacking?}
Peter obviously noticed the men weren't firing, but until the others arrived, she was sure he knew they could do nothing. "When to the other reinforcements get here?" he said, as if reading her mind.
Her wound was still bleeding, but looked worse than she was sure it was. She wrapped the cloth tightly around her arm and looked down at her new mid-drift top. "Soon, I hope," she said, ears picking up a shrill sound, "Ahh, here they are now."
The whine of police sirens filled the air, and the attacking men glanced around nervously. One of the new attackers walked to the open in the ensuing confusion and yelled out, "Stop!" He threw his gun to the ground.
Tonya ducked down, pulling Peter with her. "Don't fire, Peter!"
The man stood tall as the blaring police car sped in. "A note from Bobby Canada, miss Scott. 'This is not the last you'll hear of me, Tonya. It's only the beginning of your end. Enjoy the ride.'" He slipped away into the shadows as a man and a woman detective got out of the car and raised their guns to him, hurrying to try to capture who they could.
The attackers had slipped into the shadows, and Tonya knew that once they were gone, no trace of them would be found.
Peter drew closer to her as the woman and man began to walk towards them. But Tonya was studying the detective that was watching her and Peter. The man was handsome. {Like Peter, but in a different way,} she thought. His face was rounder, with a hard edge to it. The brown hair that softened his face had a white streak running though the bangs, and he wore dark sunglasses and a blue suit and red tie. {This is new,} she said to herself with amusement. {Detectives never wear suits.}
The woman was pretty, casually dressed, the obvious comparison being her partner. She had long loose curls of light brown hair and a face that had held a lot of smiles. She bent down to Tonya with a polite and distanced grin, that somehow wasn't an oxymoron. "Mind if I check your wound?"
Tonya smiled, "No," and allowed her to look at the nicely clotted scrape. The blood was scabbing well, but needed more time with a better bandage. Still, the woman nodded with satisfaction. "Not very serious." She rewrapped the bandage over the wound with a smile.
The man bent down to see as well, slight hidden worry on his face. His manner relaxed somewhat when he saw that all was mostly well. He then turned to Peter, his eyebrows arched. "Okay, Pete, what are YOU doing here." He sounded like he didn't really want to know. But Tonya got the feeling it was something of a joke.
"Kermit," Peter said, giving a little smile, "she called me too." He also was more relaxed, and Tonya was glad. His worry was overwhelming at times. It was unconscious, she was sure, but could become a nuisance at times.
Kermit looked at Tonya calmly. "You ARE all right?"
{"All right" psychologically, I assume}. She scrutinized him. "Yes." {Kermit. What an unusual name,} she thought as she slowly stood up. The other three followed her lead, and they began to walk towards the direction where the attackers had escaped.
Peter got up also and ran his fingers through his hair. "I think you should go to the hospital anyway."
"Maybe," she said.
Peter sighed. "Kermit, I'd like you to meet Tonya. She's a detective at the 8-6. Tonya, this is Kermit."
Tonya nodded her head once, carefully holding her arm. "I would shake on it, but I'm a little indisposed." One corner of her mouth inched up with the dry humor.
Peter turned to the woman and smiled. "And this is Skalany. Uh, Mary Margaret."
The woman smiled back. "Hi," she said in a sing-songy voice.
They stopped, having come to the area. Skalany frowned as she stood looking at the pools of blood on the ground. She shook her head. "You injured these guys badly. So where are they?"
Tonya closed her eyes. "They wouldn't have left any evidence if they could. Even the dead bodies would be taken with them to keep us from finding out where their boss is."
Kermit said to her, "You know these people?"
She paused and bent down to look at her attackers red blood splattered on the floor. "Yes." {Adonai,} she prayed, {if it could only be a lie.}
Peter began walking back to his car. "I'm calling the 1-0-1. We need to get some people down here to gather evidence."
Skalany stood with her hands on her hips. "But if none of them were registered in records-"
Tonya finished where she left off. "We won't have a thing on them. They wore gloves, so no fingerprints. All we have is the blood. Not much to go on."
Tonya stood up and turned to her new acquaintances. Kermit continued his silence, and Skalany seemed to sense that there was nothing left to say. Except . . .
Why did this happen?
{If only I could tell you. But this is too personal. } Even though, to anyone else, it was something common. But a stalking shouldn't have ever been common, especially to the victim.
She sighed and looked at the shot up cars in the lot. {Why can't Canada just leave me alone?}
Peter slowly walked back, a look of knowledge on his face.
When he reached them, he fixed his gaze to hers and held it. "We need to talk."
Her head was bent as she looked into his eyes. "I know."
"I don't know." Tonya said. "But I'm not getting police protection just because of this."
"That's fine with me."
{What?! } She turned to him with disbelief. "Did you just say what I THOUGHT you said?"
"Yes. Don't worry, it's not reverse psychology. I just had a feeling that you would object."
She shook her head, bewildered. "So what's the point to this conversation?"
He was silent before answering. "I want you to realize where you stand with this. I know that you're aware of the danger. . . but you seem to revel in it. Don't take this the wrong way," he quickly added.
"No, no, I can see where you're coming from." She stopped. "Urban Commando is my forte, Peter. But I'm not trying to die. When the adrenaline leaves my system, I return to normal." She smiled at him. "I'm an unforgiving feminist that tries to make up her own rules. Which means, no protection. Maybe I'm insane, but after two weeks of it, who wouldn't be?"
Her expression became somber again. "I can't say it was fun while it lasted." She looked out over the lit night of the city. "But it's better than sitting on my butt all day."
Strenlich walked up to the blond woman. "Jody, you and Peter are now on the Parveno case. Here's the file."
"Oh thanks Chief," she said glumly. She was not a morning person.
He shook his head. {They all grumble like it's my fault. It's the captain, you guys. Not me.}
Skalany walked up to him. "Chief, I can't work on this new case you gave me and Kermit. I still have to finish tons of paperwork on my other cases. I just don't have time."
{I know, I don't either. } "Everyone's busy, Detective. I have no one else to assign the Clenleer case to."
A woman walked up to them. She had long curly black hair pulled up in a banana clip, and two long strands falling on both sides of her face. Strenlich turned to face her.
"Hey, Chief," she said with a smile, her brown eyes twinkling. "Give me the case."
He stared at her in surprised recollection, a smile slipping onto his face. "Tony. My God. Where did YOU come from?"
"Transferred. Simms told me to talk to you about the assignment."
"The case is yours, if you want it."
"Actually, Frank," she said, "For some reason, the commissioner WANTS me on this case." She showed him the transfer form with some bemusement.
He shook his head with disbelief. "Well, you got it then."
She grinned at him and patted him on the arm. "It's good to see you again."
His smile widened. "You too." Maybe the day wouldn't be that bad Maybe.
End part 2/11
"There is neither darkness nor death . . .
Darkness is only in the mortal eye,
that thinks it sees, but sees not."
----Ursula K. Le Guin
(Historian's note: this takes place after "Prism" but before "Black Widow".)
(These are not my characters, except for Tonya and Dezzee. All others belong to Micheal Slone and the gang. Thanks! enjoy . . .)
Kermit smiled as he exited Captain Simms' office and began walking towards his own. The captain was turning out to be very good at her job, and Kermit found her to be very intelligent. And, rather pretty. More than pretty. . .
Kermit couldn't help it, and he had to be honest with himself: he was beginning to like Karen Simms. Now, if he could just figure out why she gave him the case on that mystery death instead of Peter. . . Skalany WAS Peter's main partner, not Kermit's. Speaking of which, Kermit really didn't have a main partner. . . Anyway Peter's dad did so many weird things that the younger detective would have had a much better chance at solving the case. In fact, Caine would have probably been able to solve the case FOR Peter. . .
"Kermit," Frank's voice called out from behind him. He stopped and lithely spun on his heels. "Yeah, Chief?"
"You should have been a dancer."
"Why, thank you, Chief," he said, in unusually good spirits.
"Kermit, Skalany's off the case. Your new partner is a detective that was just transferred from the 8-6. Someone at the top wants someone new to work with you on the Clenleer file. You're now working with Detective Tony Scott."
{Great. A newcomer.} "O.K., Chief," he said, his tone now much less than light, "where can I find him?"
Kermit noticed Strenlich purse his lips together as he answered. "I told Tony to wait for you in your office."
"Thanks." {I think.}
{This is very strange.}
Strenlich didn't reply as Kermit continued the rest of the way to his office. {What was all that about?} Kermit thought, shaking his head. {Huh . . . } He wrote it off as just another quirk that had popped up from Strenlich's imagination, and walked into his office.
And puzzled over the woman he found there.
She stood with her back to him as he slowed his steps and slipped into the room.
She turned around to face him.
Kermit's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Tonya. What are you doing here." {Bobby's stalked detective,} he thought, remembering the speech his old enemy had sent someone to recite.
He hadn't thought much about it since yesterday evening, when she and Peter had left for the hospital. He and Skalany had been left with the crime scene, and he hadn't had much curiosity running free on it.
Tonya's smile was warm, yet her expression was bemused. "I was waiting for you to get here."
She brushed a lock of curly black hair out of her face. "Is anything wrong?"
"I'm not sure. A detective was supposed to be waiting for me here. A man by the name of Tony Scott."
Her smile turned to a grin. "You know what, I think I know the detective you're talking about."
"You do," he said stiffly. {Wonderful. There's a strange cop snooping in my office, Frank's acting bizarre, and my new partner is missing. This is turning out to be a very disappointing day.
It would have made more sense if it was Monday.}
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a forefinger and studied Tonya. "Do you happen to know where he is?"
"Ahem," she grinned even broader, "Where SHE is, you mean."
He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't think of a way to respond. {Tonya is--}
She stuck out her left hand, as her right, lying at her side, was wrapped in a bandage. She spoke as if meeting him for the first time. "Hello, my name is Tonya Scott. But a lot of people call me 'Tony'."
He closed his still parted lips, and reached out HIS left hand. He took her hand and shook it. "That is so annoying," he said, mostly to himself than to her. "I am really sorry." She had a firm grip and let go with a smile.
He looked into her large brown eyes as she spoke. "Don't worry," she whispered conspiratorially, a grin on her face. "'Happens all the time."
She grabbed his desk chair by the back and looked up at him. "Do you mind?"
"No," he said hastily, {Kermit, where are your manners?! }"go right ahead." He looked at her tight shiny curls of black hair pulled up by a white banana clip. {Too stylish,} he decided.
"Let me guess," she said as he closed the door and sat down across from her in his computer chair. "Frank set you up."
He nodded with a relenting half-smile. "He certainly did."
She shook her head with a grin. "Good ol' Frank."
They looked each other over, and Kermit fully expected to be asked about his sunglasses or about his name. But she was still as he noticed her ivory slacks and her form-fitting ivory blouse, and the cornflower blue button-up sweater with matching belt. It was definitely too trendy for him, {But you have to have someplace to put a gun. . .} he thought wryly.
The silence grew uncomfortable. Kermit could smell her light lavender perfume in the air, and her eyes had dimmed of their merriness in the bittersweet stillness. {After last night, you'd think she would be a little wilder than this. }
I wonder why she won't continue with police protection.}
She studied his glasses, almost as if she was trying to stare into his eyes.
He quickly looked away. "So," he said, breaking the lull in the conversation, "Frank says you were transferred."
She looked at the floor. "Yes. To get away from the guy stalking me."
{Perfect, you klutz,} he told himself angrily, {she obviously didn't want to talk about it.}
He changed the subject right away. "What do you know about the Clenleer case?"
Relived, she looked back up at him. "Not much, really."
"Well then," he said with a small smile, "We've got a lot of work to do." He woke the screen saver on his computer with a few clicks of the keyboard. "They found the victim about two weeks ago," he began.
Everything was running smoothly again, and he could get back to work.
The woman was placed in a serene pose, her hands resting on her lap, her back resting against the brick wall. The two men doing the job went about it softly, knowing the risk in being so near the public.
The killer himself watched from a few feet away. His dark skin was full African, and his eyes were deep brown. He wore a large trench coat in the terrible heat, not minding the temperature when comparing it to that of South Africa's.
He smiled over his handiwork. No one would trace them, he had made sure of that. The woman had died inside the very building he was standing next to, close to where she was being left. He and his employees would not exit the ally, but would leave through the same building, ensuring that no one saw them coming from the scene of the crime. There were no witnesses, no prints, and the body was so clean it was sanitary. . . no way for the police to trace it to him.
Unfortunately, one man in the city knew more than the killer wanted him to.
{Now,} the killer said to himself as he walked back into the abandoned building, {how will I keep the Shaolin priest from finding out about me?}
" . . . and that's all I could find in the computer," Kermit said wearily.
"Hm. Nickie said the victim had one gram of
cocaine and one ounce of a strange type of herb. A hallucinogenic, but very mild." "Cross-reaction?"
"None."
"And nothing changed about the autopsy."
She shook her head. "Nope. He stands by it."
Kermit sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "There's no cross-reaction," he said slowly, "so how can a single gram of cocaine and an ounce of a mild hallucinogenic herb kill anyone?"
She scratched a spot on her arm and shrugged. "A rare herb that we don't know that much about."
"We know it doesn't react with cocaine."
She paused in thought. "We need to talk to someone who knows a lot about herbs. A specialist in alternative medicine."
Kermit leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. {Medicine.}
He sat up and snapped his fingers. "I know someone who knows everything about that and more," he said slowly. "He might be able to help us find out what killed Clenleer even if it DOESN'T have to do with the herb."
"Who is it?"
"Peter's dad. His real dad. Have you met him?"
She shook her head and yawned. "Peter's told me about finding him, but we've never met." Her eyes were blurry and her hair mussed.
"Hm," Kermit said, watching her and noting her fatigue. "We should figure that out tomorrow."
"Please," she said slowly, "I'm exhausted."
Kermit gave her an amused half-smile. "I can see that." He gathered up some disks and papers and put them in his briefcase, and turned the computer and printer off.
Tonya groaned. "Adonai, I completely forgot. It's too late for the busses that go to my apartment."
{"Adonai"? I'll have to look THAT one up. } "You want a ride?"
"No, it's okay. I can get a taxi."
"It's not out of my way."
"Well . . . Okay," she smiled, looking up at him.
He reached out his hand to her.
She took it, and he pulled her to her feet. "That's the spirit, Tony." "Thanks, Kermit."
"No problem."
{If she's being stalked, why is she so smiley?}
Tonya picked up her purse and laid the strap across a shoulder. She walked out into the hallway and smiled at the midnight' officers. Kermit followed her out of the office and locked the door behind him. Tonya waited for him to catch up, then walked beside him down the hallway.
Kermit spent the silence thinking about his new partner. {"Tony,"} he said to himself, trying the nickname that Strenlich had called her. He looked at her closely while she was gazing ahead, then looked away. {The name doesn't sound like her.}
As they reached the doors, she walked in front of him and pushed the door open. She stepped to the side and let him through ahead of her. He smiled his thanks and began to walk down the steps.
Tonya stopped at the first step and grimaced. "It's so hot out here. Damp, like Florida. I like dry heat much better."
Kermit nodded, and said, "Most people do," expecting her to either take the comment badly, or with good humor. She took it, he was glad to see, as the sarcasm it was: with a smile and a flashing grin. "It's hard not to," she added.
He gave her that trace smile again, taking off his suit jacket without stopping his walk down the stairs. Tonya began walking after him, following his example. She took off her sweater, careful around her right arm, then folded it and laid it across the other.
Kermit stopped at the bottom stairs and Tonya caught up with a smile, a strong breeze coming up and ruffling her hair. His eyes looked over her and he marveled at her sudden happiness. She was bouncy and youthful, nothing like the tired woman who had sat in his office just moments before. It confounded him how she could be that way. It was his opinion that the time was too late at night for that kind of hyper-activity. At least, not without a good reason: like an adrenaline rush in preparing for a fight, maybe.
He ignored the way her blouse fit her, and concentrated instead on her brown eyes looking up at him.
"The car's over there," he said, thumbing his left hand in the direction it was parked.
She nodded and they began to walk towards it. "I love warm, windy nights. A little too warm, tonight, and not enough like Arizona, but. . ." She shrugged with a smile and an "oh well" expression on her face. A breeze fluttered again through her long curly hair caught up in her clip. "It's nights like these that make me want to sing at the top of my lungs."
She was beaming at him, he realized, her eyes twinkling in the street lamplight. Her constant smiling seemed natural, all of a sudden. He found that observation about her to be strange too. But he couldn't help grinning back, despite himself. It was catchy. "You sing?"
"Oh yes. I only joined the force to carry me along until someone 'recognized' my talent. Needless to say, no one did."
"I'd like to hear you," he said. He paused, then continued, deciding to lay something on the line. "I play the piano, myself. I decided that if I could type on a computer keyboard, I could play on a piano keyboard just as well."
"That's interesting. I play the piano too."
"You're very versatile."
"I guess," she said with another smile. Then she grinned and teased, "How's YOUR singing voice?"
Kermit grimaced. "I'm not THAT versatile." He hesitated. "And my voice isn't that public."
She was quiet again.
He turned to see the bland expression on her face. {Go ahead,} he said to her in his mind, {say it. 'You're not very public, at all, are you Kermit?' }
He braced himself.
But the inquisitive words in his mind never came. "Maybe I could have a private session."
Her friendly expression melted away some of his tension. {She hasn't asked me anything. And I don't think she wants to. }
He couldn't believe it.
"Maybe," he answered. "I'll have to warm up my voice, first."
The smile returned, this time with acceptance. "Understood."
And he could see that it was. In that one look, she had told him everything.
They neared his glow-in-the-dark green Corvair. Her face came alive when she saw it. "It's beautiful, Kermit."
"She sure is." He unlocked the driver's side, then reached in to unlock the other door.
She opened the door on her side. "I like the color."
He stepped into the car. "Well THAT'S a first. Thanks."
When she had gotten in as well, Kermit started the engine. They drove out of the parking lot and down the street.
Kermit began to think hard about the man trying to kill her. There wasn't much use walking around it now. {No protection. Unless she has a boyfriend or a roommate. Even then, unless he or she's on the force, the chances are grim. } He looked over at his silent companion. {Tonya's a good fighter, but she's too headstrong for her own good. The kid needs to learn when she's beat.}
He decided that the invasion of her privacy was unavoidable. {She's blinded by her problem. Or she doesn't want to believe this could happen to her.}
{Or}, he admitted to himself with more than slight understanding, {she's had her full of safe houses. Two weeks is a while, for a cop.}
She spoke up before he could start. "You turn left at the next light. If you don't remember."
He nodded. "I remember." It was quiet, and he began. "Tonya, I have to ask you a question."
"Go on." {She looks calm enough. Maybe she can take it.}
He took a breath. "Do you have police protection at your apartment?"
Her mouth tightened. "Please don't get into this."
"Tonya, I'm concerned."
"Well don't be!" she snapped at him. She winced and turned away, and she fell silent.
Kermit waited. The only sound was the wheels on the road and the nervous tapping of Tonya's ring on the door handle. {Maybe she CAN'T take it. If last night is any indication of what USUALLY goes on, she must REALLY be under stress.} He could imagine. He could really imagine.
There was a time, when he was in her place. But that was long, long ago, after he had just started out as a mercenary. Many others after that had attempted his murder without succeeding.
{Must be the first time for her. She doesn't seem like a weak one. }
She spoke up from the emptiness. "I . . . I'm really sorry. I guess this has gotten to me more than I'd like to admit."
{MUCH more than you'd like to admit,} Kermit thought. "Is anyone there with you?"
"No." She saw his small frown and continued. "I'll be fine, really. I can take care of myself."
Tonya's voice was quiet and roughened with her last words. "Anyway, you've only known me for a day."
"Whether it's a day, a week, or a month," he said firmly, "I don't like to see people get killed." {Never did,} he thought sadly. "I consider you to be someone I'd be willing to help. And that is a lot from me." {If only I knew why I was getting into this,} he said to himself. But he had no answer.
There was a silence at his response. Then, "Thank you for the offer, but I have locks on my doors and windows. And I have a gun. And myself."
Kermit sighed. {Very stubborn.} "There are very few people who can keep a determined killer at bay with just those three things, " he stressed. "Canada has men, he has a lot of ammunition, and he has a strong hunger for revenge. Even I'd need more than what you're satisfied with having."
"And you know SO much about this man," she said defensively.
"Actually, I know him very well. He's an old enemy of mine. And believe me, he can pretty much get anything and every thing he wants. He's more dangerous than you think."
She grimaced sarcastically. "I didn't know you cared."
"Neither did I," he said seriously. {And that's the truth, so don't give me that crap, Tonya.}
His words created a long pause. {Why DO I even care?} he wondered again.
Kermit lifted his hand and massaged the back of his neck. "At least get a ride to and from work with someone." {Maybe I should just shut up an' let 'er die. She annoys the hell outta me.}
"Who would I get a ride from? The only friends I have here are Peter and Frank. Frank's wife never liked me, and Peter's so busy all the time that I would be a terrible inconvenience to him."
"Busy with what?"
"His girlfriends," she said, with the distaste most people would use to say "a psychotic killer".
"Oh." Without thinking, he said, "Well I don't have a forth as many girlfriends as Peter does." {What?!! Kermit, where are your senses?} He rolled his eyes, feeling like someone in a bad soap opera. {Well, they say truth is stranger than fiction.}
She glared at him from the corner of her eye. "Right."
"No, I don't, I'm serious."--{Or I'm insane, why am I saying this?}-- "I'll give you rides to work and back."
She shook her head and shrugged. "But you hardly know me," she said, protesting in the way people do when they desperately want to be proven wrong.
The words brought him back to a lonely night at his sister's, when Mitch was having a hard time. She had fought with her mother, and Kermit had just happened to arrive after it. "Oh, Kermit," Mitch had wailed when he had asked what was wrong, "she doesn't love me anymore. No one does. I can't do anything right." She had begun to cry, and Kermit had spent an hour helping her and her mother work things out. In a way, Mitch had believed that her mother hadn't loved her. But she knew that others did love her, and that she didn't do everything wrong the way her teachers, classmates, and mother might make her feel. However, she was in such a state that she needed others to tell her that she was cared about. She would have wallowed in self-pity for a long time if no one had.
Now, years later, he looked into equally lonely eyes and noticed the small wrinkles around the corners, and the circles underneath. {Must have had many sleepless nights,} he thought. Here was another person who's self worth was pretty low. She felt there was no one to be there for her. But after that incident with Mitch so long ago, he knew he wouldn't allow it. He couldn't.
"No," Kermit said, "I don't know you well, and you hardly know me. But we seem to be a little alike, at least for the time being. And we understand one another."
She didn't speak, only nodded with agreement.
"Listen. I'll pick you up and drop you off. Hey, I'll even charge you half price for the gas."
That brought a smile to her. "You're very kind."
"It's a bad habit I can't seem to break."
Her smile disappeared, a sad look now on her face. "You don't give yourself enough credit."
"To give yourself credit you have to take credit. Taking credit for anything draws attention to yourself."
A car horn blared in the distance as they headed for her high-rise apartment building. {I guess she can't think of anything to say.}
He glanced at her in the quiet, then looked back to the road. "I thank you for never asking me anything."
"I didn't see it as mine to ask."
He waited before answering. "I think you might as well know what everyone else does."
She gave him a quick glance, then looked down. "You don't have to tell me anything, Kermit."
I know. But someday the questions are going to come up. You might as well know now."
He sighed at her silence, and began. "Yes, I do wear these glasses all the time. And whether 'Kermit' is my real name has to depend a lot on what your definition of a 'real name' is." She said nothing, so he continued. "And last, but most certainly not least . . . I have no idea why people call me 'Kermit' except maybe for the fact that my favorite color is green."
She didn't answer, only looked at her hands on her lap.
"You could have read my file, I guess, but--"
"--But there isn't one," she completed softly. "Yeah, I know. I checked." It would have been funny if it wasn't for her expression.
"You checked, hmm? So why didn't you ask?" He looked at the road, remembering the route he had taken the night she was attacked.
She responded slowly. "I didn't ask for the same reason you didn't ask: I saw what you were not willing to share. No matter what those things mean to me, they won't leave the same to you. You're secretive about some things, and I'm secretive about other things." She paused. "Your secrets have a personal value that no stranger can understand. And a stranger shouldn't try to. If you wanted to explain, I knew you would."
Kermit looked at her. "That's very true. And very insightful."
They sat in empty quiet as Kermit turned the corner down her street. "This is it."
She nodded. "You have a good memory."
Kermit shrugged and continued down the street. He drove past the parking garage attached to the high rise and found a parking spot with a meter. They got out and walked towards the building without a word spoken. Cars honked their horns and crickets chirped in the darkness as they walked inside.
Kermit watched her as they walked up to an elevator and she pushed the button. "So," he said, "what do you think of my offer?"
The doors opened, and they stepped in. Tonya pressed the button for the fifth floor, and glanced at him. "I don't know." She paused as the elevator rose. "I guess . . . I'll ride with you."
Kermit watched the floor indicator as it stopped on the number five. "Good," he said to her as the doors chimed and opened.
Tonya walked out and down the hallway, Kermit a step behind her.
She slowed at her apartment and turned to him. "Are you sure it won't be a bother to you?"
He rolled his eyes, {Doesn't matter, she can't see me anyway,} and said, "I'm SURE."
She lowered her head and took her keys from her purse, and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Kermit noted the silent look she gave him and watched while she unlocked the door.
She turned to him as the door swung open, eyebrows raised and a skeptical look on her face. "Well?"
{As in: "What are you still doing here",} Kermit said to himself. He shrugged one shoulder. "I'm just here to make sure you get safely inside."
She sighed, pain breaking through on her face. "I'm sorry, Kermit, this whole thing just makes me so defensive."
"It's forgiven," he said with a sly smile.
She flipped the light switch by the door and backed into the suddenly lit apartment. "Well. I'll see you tomorrow, then."
Kermit nodded once. "Tomorrow. 6:30?" He asked.
"Okay," she said, her face stoic, but her eyes soft and lonesome. "Good night."
He spoke softly, "Good night," and she slowly closed the door.
End part 3/11
"There is neither darkness nor death . . .
Darkness is only in the mortal eye,
that thinks it sees, but sees not."
----Ursula K. Le Guin
(Historian's note: this takes place after "Prism" but before "Black Widow".)
(These are not my characters, except for Tonya and Dezzee. All others belong to Micheal Slone and the gang. Thanks! enjoy . . .)
"It's late Lisa," the young oriental woman said to her friend. "China Town is dangerous at night."
"Nonsense, Lin. This is the busiest part. There are still stores open and people everywhere. I want to see everything before I leave!" Her blond hair danced on the breeze as she walked down the street.
Lin looked around nervously. "Lisa, do you smell something?"
"Now that you mention it . . . that is STRANGE," she added, almost to herself. "Here, it's coming from that ally, I think."
"What is 'strange', Lisa?" Lin asked as they walked down the ally. "I mean, other than the smell being here."
"Well, it smells like a dead animal, but different. I don't think I like this difference." They held their noses as they neared the end of the short ally.
Lisa looked closely at the garbage cans and boxes. "I've hunted many kinds of animals, and I've never smelled anything like this."
"What if it's a person?"
Lisa's breath caught in her throat. "I wouldn't know."
Lin froze abruptly.
"What's wrong, Lin?" Lisa asked as she walked over to her.
"It's . . ." she whispered, "it's a body."
Lisa looked down, saw it and quickly turned away. "We've got to call the police."
You Will Die, Tonya!
Bobby
She smirked and walked into her living room. "Give me a break."
She took the note over to her desk and pulled a box out of a drawer, then threw the thing into the box. She put it back in the drawer and walked into the kitchen. {If this keeps up much longer,} she said, taking out a TV dinner, {I may get used to it.}
She sighed and put her midnight meal in the microwave.
The feline stood up on her back legs and kneaded Kermit's pant legs.
"Ouch, stop it. Here, come on. Get up here." He patted his thighs and reached out his hands, but didn't bother bending down. The cat jumped up with out a second thought and Kermit caught her. She climbed up into the crook of his arm and nuzzled his ear.
"Hey!" he laughed as he walked into his living room. "No Eskimo kisses. I'm trying to cut back."
His companion merely purred in his ear and rubbed her forehead against his neck.
"Something must be up, Cat. You're never this affectionate." He sat her down on the couch and took off his tie. She busied herself with licking her back, then set her sights on his shoe.
He went to check her food and water in the kitchen as she readied her back legs to pounce.
"You have everything, and you were out a few minutes ago, so don't whine at me," he said, turning to watch her. He sighed as she jumped towards him, and then tore away to the other side of the room.
"Nuts." He sat on his couch and tried to ignore the hyperactive cat racing around his house. "Absolutely insane."
He began to think over the evening with speculation.
{What if she ends up dead tomorrow? What then? } he asked himself. {I keep working,} was his uneasy answer.
He shook his head. {Being nice IS a problem. I thought killing people smoothed over that imperfection.}
Karen was right. He was a VERY unlikely hero. He didn't want to be a hero. {It just. . . sort of turns out that way in the end, that's all.}
At least he didn't pick up strays. {Well, not anymore. . .}
He sighed, a sour expression on his face. {Just another excuse for my wife to leave me, after all.}
The cat yelped, shaking him out of his reverie. She ran up to him and meowed.
"Hey, there," he said to her coolly. She took this as an invitation and leapt onto his lap, her green eyes staring demurely into his.
He pet the black feline and thought about his new partner. {Outgoing, that one. Powerful. . . mentally, and probably physically.}
He went over the ride in the car. {Why did I say all of those things? Impulse?} He hated the word but it was true. {I never acted on impulse before. . . I hope I didn't.}
{But I know Bobby, and she doesn't. Maybe THAT'S why. This woman is in more trouble than she can even comprehend. Already I've gotten in deep, letting her know I know even the smallest amount about him. I could become very involved in her life very quickly if she knew that Bobby's an old enemy of mine.}
{And now, of all things, I'm driving her to work and back.}
{You've flipped, Griffin. You've really done it this time.}
He tried to analyze it again, from a different viewpoint. {Do I have even the slightest crush on her? }
No. He was sure of it. {She IS attractive. But I don't have any feelings for her. She's more like my kid sister.} It took him much longer than a day to become that entangled, and he already had someone else he had fallen for. . .
He sighed and closed his eyes, pulling away from the more attractive subject to what was of greater importance at the time. To what needed to be solved in order to quiet is mind. {Instinct, then. That must be it. . .} She was, he realized, acting much as Marylin, his little sister, acted when she was under emotional pressure. When her husband was first diagnosed with the cancer that had killed him, Marylin had acted the same: irritable, angry, and many times unchangeably sad. That must have been why he had faltered in the car. He couldn't think of any other reasons. {I acted on impulse, that's all there is too it.}
{But what do I do about it now?}
The doorbell rang once, and she slipped on her other shoe, swatting her loose hair from her face.
She looked at the clock. "6:31," she whispered to herself, and laughed softly. {Right on time.}
Tonya spoke louder. "Just a second." She stood up from the living room chair and walked to the door.
She looked through the peephole to make sure it was him, a good habit to acquire if you were being stalked. On the other side, a serene Kermit stood waiting.
She smiled and opened the door. "Come in," she said, walking back into the apartment, "I just have to get some things."
He stepped leisurely inside, and looked around. Tonya watched him from the corner of her eye as she picked up her purse and some files. He was looking over the apartment, she was sure, but she couldn't tell. {Not with those glasses. But then, who cares? } He could see her apartment if he wanted to.
Tonya slowly walked back to him, "I'm ready," and began to follow him out the door. When they had both exited, she turned around and locked the door, slipping the key into her purse. "So, tell me about Peter's dad."
He looked to her, (this time she was sure of it) as they walked down the hall. "With pleasure."
He was walking in from the balcony when he noticed a restless girl, of about seven years old, standing outside the doorway of his apartment.
He walked up to her. "Hello."
The little black girl smiled up at him. "Azadazi," she said, making a strange, sharp, sweeping gesture with her left hand.
{A form of greeting?} It appeared rather complicated to duplicate, so he declined.
He did attempt to duplicate the word. "'Azadazi'?"
She giggled. "Dat's m' name. You can call me Z. Like, the letter Z."
He smiled at her. "All right. . . Z."
She was a cheerful girl, her coarse hair in a ponytail down her back, and sweat dripping down her face. She didn't seem to mind the heat, though. Her spirit was undaunted.
Azadazi stared in through the doorway at the empty apartment. "Is that where you teach 'dos Karate classes?"
He thought for a moment. "Uh, yes, but it is not Karate. It is Kung Fu and Tai Chi that I teach." He looked down at her hungry gaze. "Would you like to come in?"
"Can I?" her piping voice strained softly.
"Of course."
"Thanks, man," she said, slowly edging into the room. "Woah, you got a lot of cool things in this place."
He shrugged. "I suppose. . ."
Azadazi turned full around the room, absorbing everything she could see. "You Chinese people are fresh." She turned to Caine again. "Do you think. . ." She began to look into the distance, then came out of it quickly. ". . . nah, forget it." Her face slowly began to loose the glow, and her eyes looked tired.
"What is wrong?"
"We don't got no money. I was gonna ask if you could teach me some a' that Kung Fu, or somethin', but. . . Can I just watch some?"
For the first time since she had come up to his studio door, Caine noticed her clothes. Though clean, they were old and poorly mended. She also was barefoot. Caine knew it was normal in the summer for children to have no shoes on, but when he looked closer, he saw that her feet were tough and had calluses and blisters on the sides. He was sure they were from exposure to more than summer-time's hot concrete.
"You do not have to pay me for teaching. I will teach you for no cost."
"Thanks," she beamed, "I mean, thank you."
"Do your. . . feet hurt?"
"Naw, man. I'm strong. I gotta be." She glanced around again, and movement in a window caught her eye. "I gotta go," she said, suddenly nervous. "What's your name, man?"
"My name is Caine. Why are you so upset?"
She looked back to the window. "Cops, Caine. Over there." As she spoke, Caine looked out the window and down to the street, to where she was pointing. {Ah. . . Kermit. . . and a stranger.}
The girl said, "I can smell 'em miles away," and started walking backwards, away from the door. "They're comin' over here. Is there a back to this place? Can I go down the fire escape?"
Caine watched her. "There is no reason to be afraid of the officers. I know them."
"No, man, say it ain't so! Cops don't get the street life, Caine. You got to stay away from 'em if you're on the street." She patted her chest. "I'M on the street."
"You have committed a crime?"
She glowered at him and said sharply, "Not on your life!"
"Then, why be afraid?" She didn't answer. The fear was probably taught to her. "Perhaps, if you would get to know one. . ."
He stopped as Kermit and the woman appeared in the doorway and entered.
Kermit smiled at the priest. "Hi, Caine."
"Hello, Kermit." He nodded and smiled to the woman, who smiled back, her face framed by curly wisps of black hair.
Azadazi grew frantic, and stared at Kermit as she spoke. "Caine, I have ta go now." She flew out of the room and into the hall.
Kermit watched her go. "What was that all about?"
Caine sighed. "A child who has had a fear of law enforcement installed into her. She lives on the streets."
The woman slowly walked up to the window, watching as the girl ran out into the crowded streets, running into people as she went.
Kermit cocked his head towards the woman. "Caine, meet my partner, Detective Tonya Scott."
Tonya turned around to face him. "Hi. I've been told you're Peter's father."
"Yes."
"It's nice to meet you." She paused. "We're here because we need some help with a case, and Kermit says that you're an apothecary."
Caine turned his palms outward. "I am. I will help you in any way that I can. What is the problem you have?"
Kermit answered. "We're on a murder case and we can't figure out what killed the victim."
Tonya pulled at her blouse to fight the heat. "According to Nickie Elder, NOTHING killed him."
Caine spoke slowly. "That is not possible. Though the cause may be hidden, there is a cause nonetheless."
Kermit wiped the sweat from his face. "A gram of cocaine, and one ounce of a rare hallucinogenic herb was all we found."
"Unfortunately," Tonya said, " it isn't adequate. That's why we're here. To ask you if this herb could kill the man." She took a folded piece of paper out of her purse and looked at it. "I can't pronounce the name of the herb, but Nickie wrote it here." She gave it to him and waited.
Caine read it, then looked up. "Yes. This is its medical term. It is called Wild Penyii, used by the holy men in some African religions when they contact their ancestors. It may not be well known, but it could not kill anyone."
Tonya nodded. "Like the herbs and plants that the Native Americans use to talk to their spirit guides. They hallucinate, and think they're being spoken to."
"No, Tonya," Caine said softly, "even though they use a herb that causes them to hallucinate, they DO speak to the spirits. It is a promoter to the experience. Not the cause." he could tell she had not witnessed many supernatural occurrences. "I do not know what killed him, but that might be a clue. Would I be allowed to look at the body?"
Kermit said, "Of course. You can see it now."
"That will be fine," Caine responded.
Holt smiled, met him half way across the room, and wrapped her arms around him. "Hey, Nickie. Good to see you, man!"
The nurse, working on some samples, smiled and turned his head the other way. "About time he got a chance. . ." he muttered softly.
Nickie ignored him, centering on Holt instead. He squeezed her once, and let go. "How are you?"
"I'm fine. But you don't look so good. What's goin' on?"
He sighed. {You had to ask.} "Oh, it's this new body they brought in. It's just like another that's here. And I can't tell the cause of death on either one. It's not stroke, It's not a heart attack, and it's not poison, unless it's something completely untraceable."
She smiled. "I would offer help, but I think you've been in here too long. You need a break. Come on, I'll take you out to lunch." Nickie shook his head. "You are so lucky you didn't make it through Med school." He winced painfully at her peal of laughter. "Oww. I shouldn't have said that. I have the biggest headache."
"Then you should NOT be working." She walked towards the door, then turned around when she got there. "Are you comin', or what?"
"Yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming." He grinned and turned to the nurse. "Jason, mind the store for me until I get back, okay? And if Kermit comes, tell him that we found another corpse that's like Samuel Clenleer's."
The tall, dark skinned man grinned and nodded to him. "Sure thing, Nickie. Have fun."
The black man sitting at one of the tables looked up. "Sorry, man. You missed him by a few minutes."
Kermit looked around the room. "We need to have a look at a body."
"Okay," Jason said, getting up. "What's the name?"
"Samuel Clenleer."
Jason nodded and looked at the charts on the desk in front of him. "Let me see. . . That's what I thought. Nickie was looking at that one before he left." He took the chart and walked them into the morgue, then slowly scanned the hallway. When he had found the correct body, he pulled open the drawer and looked at the chart again. "He told me to tell you that they found another body, like this one."
Tonya looked up from the covered body with surprise. "What do you mean? 'Like this' in what way?"
"I don't know. He just told me that." He looked at Caine, who was standing over the corpse. "That's not going to be a pretty sight."
Caine laid his hands on the body bag. "I will not need to see it. Only to feel the man's aura."
Jason shrugged. "Okay. Whatever."
{A forceful death,} Caine thought, sensing the cause. {The man's body gave up.} "Where is the other victim?"
The nurse went to pull out the other body, and Caine placed his hands on the second corpse. "No. . ." he said quietly. {Not this.} He looked at Tonya and Kermit. "I know what has killed them." He turned to the nurse. "Is Doctor Elder in the building?"
The nurse shook his head. "Sorry sir. He was going on lunch break."
Caine paused. "Tell him when he returns, that I will come back.--You must not stay here," he told the nurse. "Wait outside the office for him. In the outer room."
The nurse looked at him strangely. "All right."
Caine spoke to the two detectives again. "We must leave now."
Tonya's face was puzzled. "Why?"
"Please, do as I ask," he said firmly, noting the fact that Kermit had not questioned him, but had simply began to walk from the hall. It was a good sign; the boy was learning. {"Boy"?} Caine noticed with slight humor that his mind had slipped into parent mode concerning his son's friend.
Caine's attention returned to Tonya, as she nodded gravely and followed Kermit outside of the room.
Caine walked out behind her and stopped as they reached the spot where Kermit was standing. "They have been poisoned," he said sadly. "It is not safe to be there, in the same room as the two bodies."
Kermit spoke. "We should get them quarantined, then. If this is something infectious. . ."
"No," Caine said. "That would install fear of this. That is not needed. The poison will not kill, only make one very sick. I will rid the bodies of the poison, then begin to search for the killer as well."
Tonya shook her head as they walked out the doors of the precinct. "You're looking for this guy too?"
"He is very dangerous and must be stopped. The victim's bodies have given me a clue as to how to do that. I will clear the bodies of the poison so that no one else will become sick. And so that their souls will be able to rest." Caine began to walk back into the room. Tonya and Kermit followed, after a pause and a shared glance.
Caine put his hands on each covered body, and held his breath. {It is strong. But only a remnant of the real creatures power. } The poison WAS conquerable, he knew. He began to pull the evil remains away from the bodies, and turned it into the powerless waste products of death that they should have become. The spirits of the dead were mournful, clinging helplessly to their bodies, wanting to leave. The otherworld called to them, but they could not go. Slowly, carefully, Caine released the spirits of the hold that was on them.
{Go free,} he said, washing the memories of their deaths and detainment from them. They were no longer tormented spirits, but soaring entities. {You are ready to leave this plain and live in the other.}
He pulled his concentration away from them and looked to Kermit and Tonya. "There. It is done."
It was around noon when they took Caine home, to find Peter waiting at his father's apartment. Kermit and Tonya left them to talk, and spent the rest of the day interviewing the old man who had found the first body and the police who had been at the scene.
Other than what had happened when Caine had looked at the corpses, it was a slow and tiring day. The man had seen nothing of use, and the officers who had answered his call hadn't found anything either.
He began typing on the computer, and after a few seconds, found the section for accessing the 101st precinct's computers. He typed the code for the first security block, pressed 'return' and waited.
It was a familiar procedure, one that he had done many times before. The precinct's computer system was very hard to crack from the outside, but he hadn't had to do so. Although hidden deep, all of the codes and commands were in the 101's computers. All he had done was find them from the computer he had in his office, and hook a "relay" up to his one at home.
He added another code, {Almost there,} and waited for the third and final block. After a while, it appeared, and he punched in the last set of numbers.
"Presto-chango," he muttered to himself, and looked for Tonya's file.
{Ahh. Found it. Now maybe I can find out what Canada is after her for. } He opened the file and began to read.
Tonya had been born and raised in Arizona. She was born to a Jewish family, but worshiped loosely. Her father had taken care of her from the age of four, when her mother had died in a car accident. According to the file, she had hardly any recollection of her mother at all. Her father had remarried when she was twenty, so she had grown up without a mother. Then her father had died in a car accident two years ago. Her grandparents were dead as well.
The middle section of the files was routine: high school, applying for acceptance by the Academy before collage, and then getting accepted after the four years had been completed. What she had told him about not wanting to be a police officer must have been only half true: she had showed great enthusiasm at the Academy, for even Physical Training, one of the most hated activities. But then, the file added that she had been a qualified gymnast ever since she was a small child, and that might have had something to do with it. Yet, Kermit suspected that she had wanted to be a police officer.
The interesting part was when he reached the recent events that were put on file. {She was put into a rehabilitation center for Alcoholics. BEFORE Canada started stalking and threatening her.}
He sat and thought for a long time after that.
End part 4/11
"There is neither darkness nor death. . .
Darkness is only in the mortal eye,
that thinks it sees, but sees not."
----Ursula K. Le Guin
(Historian's note: this takes place after "Prism" but before "Black Widow".)
(These are not my characters, except for Tonya and Dezzee. All others belong to Micheal Slone and the gang. Thanks! enjoy . . .)
The next day, Tonya and Kermit began to look up the correlation between the African herb and killer. Kermit worked on the computer to find out about the places in the city you could buy Wild Penyii, and to research the two victim's files on what enemies they had. While he was doing that, Tonya returned to Caine's apartment to ask him a new round of questions.
Caine was just leaving when Tonya got to his apartment. "Caine, 'm sorry, I caught you at a bad time. . ." There was an uncomfortable "but" hanging on the end of her sentence, and she ran her fingers through her curly hair uncomfortably.
"No," he said slowly. "You wish to talk to me about the murders you are working on." She nodded as he continued. "It is fortunate for the both of us that you arrived at such a time; I am leaving to finish my search for the murderer as well. It would benefit both of our. . . Investigations, if you were to join me now."
She looked at him solemnly. "I will, then."
"Thank you." He looked into her eyes with sudden concern. "Are you well?"
"Yes, I'm fine." Strangely, she chose that moment to straighten the shoulder pads on her red blouse and pulled at her suit jacket.
He nodded, noticing the actions and not being convinced. "Tonya. Tell me about yourself."
"Tell you about. . . myself?" She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Why?"
He smiled slightly. "It is always best to know the person with whom you are searching."
"Well, then. . ." She smiled and began. "I'll make this short. . ."
Tonya spoke with her back to Peter. "I didn't time it." There was a grin in her voice.
"The conversation was not too long," Caine said, watching his son as he neared. "Hello, Peter."
Tonya turned around and smiled. "Hi Peter. Your father and I were just going to start 'searching'." She turned back to Caine. "I hope it wasn't. I don't want to get in trouble for chitchatting on the job. And my dad always said I talked a lot."
Peter looked at the two of them. "Chit-chatting? Searching? For what? What's going on?"
Tonya responded. "Searching for the killer in my case."
"Oh, that." He still looked confused.
Tonya rolled her eyes and smiled. "Peter you're not the only one who can ask your father for help with a case."
He gave her a tolerant glance. "I know. It's weird, that's all. I walked over here to talk to you," he said to Caine, "about THAT."
Tonya looked at him closely. "Peter, isn't your 'in' box a little full right now? You shouldn't be helping me. Simms'll--"
"I know, I know what 'Simms'll' do. I've already asked if I could be reassigned, but she refused. That's why I've JUST come up with the perfect excuse."
"What's that," she said flatly.
Peter grinned. "'I was helping my father'. --Did you take your car?"
She rolled her eyes. "Simms'll tan your hide."
All Peter did was shrug.
Canada smirked, uncomfortable at the display of strength. "Good. Do you know why I sent for you?"
"No."
Canada walked slowly around the room. "You saw it happen. You seem to be law abiding. So what I want you to do should not worry your conscience."
"What is it that you want me to DO?" the man stressed coldly.
"Simple," Canada said with a smile. "Tell the police. They will go to the scene of the crime soon, I am told. Wait there, around the area. Go to the woman, tell her that you saw him. Be realistic when you talk to them."
"But if Monteruebeau finds out--"
"You are under my protection. He is under my power. That means I can destroy him any time I wish. You can either chose to go along with it and be protected, or be destroyed as well." He smiled slightly, without humor. "You know you have no choice."
Caine sensed that she did not wish to bring up that point. "We are two thirds of the way there," Caine answered calmly, then decided to bring the point up for her. "But it is late for both of you, is it not?"
Peter answered grudgingly. "Yeah, it is. Jody's gonna kill me if I don't get back."
Tonya agreed with a nod. "I have to see what Kermit's found out."
Caine spoke as they started toward Tonya's car. "And I must go to the precinct as well."
Peter looked at him in surprise. "Really? Why the precinct?"
Caine spoke slowly. "I have promised to talk to Nickie Elder about the cause of death. And I am also worried that some of the people have grown ill from the time they were there. It is not a deadly sickness," he reassured the two young adults when they showed their concern, "but it is very uncomfortable." {I hope Nickie has heeded my advice,} Caine said to himself.
Peter spoke. "How did this illness get to them?"
"I will explain later," Caine said as they got in the car.
Tonya got in the front seat and looked at Caine. "But Nickie knows this? You did tell him?"
"I told the nurse to tell him. Jason, I believe?"
Peter nodded. "Yeah, that's one of 'em."
{Perhaps Jason forgot to tell Nickie,} Caine thought. It would matter little now, except, perhaps, for someone who had been around the body frequently. {Such as Nickie.} The sickness, though nonlethal, was not something particularly enjoyable. Caine knew that Nickie had more than a fair chance of getting sick.
Peter looked at his two companions. "Then it's settled. We'll all go back to the 101."
Tonya started the car and left the abandoned neighborhood behind, happily voicing her hatred of it.
After a few minutes of light talking, everyone settled into silence, each with there one personal concerns. Soon, they arrived at the precinct. They got out of the car and went inside.
Tonya glanced at Caine and Peter as they walked through the doors. "I have to talk to Kermit. Thanks for having me along, Caine."
He bowed. "Thank you for coming with us."
She smiled at them both and began to walk away, down the corridor.
Peter turned to Blake, standing behind the front desk. "Hey, is Nickie here?"
Blake shrugged. "He's back there somewhere," he motioned behind him.
"Thanks." Peter and Caine started to walk away.
"Hey," Blake added, "Captain Simms wants to talk t' you."
"Okay."
Caine followed Peter back to Nickie's office, and walked through the doorway after him. Nickie sat at his desk, his eyes red and his breathing shallow.
"Nickie!" Peter hurried over to Nickie and took his head gently in his hands. "Oh, Nickie."
Nickie hunched over in his chair as he spoke. "I really don't feel good, Peter."
Peter spoke as Caine helped him pick up the M.E. "Come on, Nick, you need to get some help."
Caine laid his hand on Nickie's forehead. {A fever.} "There is a great amount of evil invading him. I must try to cleanse it from his body." {I wish he would have listened. Perhaps he was not told.}
Peter watched as his father gently put his hand on Nickie's chest. "Dad, how did those bodies do this to Nickie?"
{Nickie is having great difficulty breathing,} Caine thought, so absorbed that it took him a moment to understand and answer his son's question. "It is the corruption that they gained when they were murdered. Their souls were poisoned, and the poison entered any who had extended contact with their bodies."
Peter looked at him, clue less. "Right."
{Someday you will understand what I talk about, my son.} Now, we must get him to my apartment so that he may be healed."
Peter nodded and helped his father to walk Nickie out the door.
The few officers who were at the morgue at the time watched their process down the hall, and many began walking towards them.
Jody was one. "Peter, what's going on? What's wrong with Nickie?"
Peter glanced at her as he carried Nickie through the growing crowd of cops and M.E.'s. "He's really sick, is all I know."
Strenlich joined their procession. "Is it contagious?"
Caine quickly answered. "No. But he must get outside of this place." {They must not make this problem more difficult than it already is by over reacting.}
Jody stepped back and stopped as they came up to the doors and walked out of the morgue. "Poor Nickie."
Strenlich scowled and watched the doctor as he was carried away. "I wonder what's wrong with him."
"Yeah," she said, distracted. "I wonder when I'll get my partner back."
Strenlich looked at her. "I wouldn't want to be around Captain Simms when she finds out about this."
An anger built in him, but also a fear. A coward at heart, he had to admit he did not know what he would do if the soul had escaped. And, yes, he realized as he probed his mind, the soul HAD escaped! His face crumpled, and he cried out angrily, a roar that had no words. "Whoever did this," he swore softly to the empty room, "will pay dearly."
But just as he was sure who it was, he knew, as he looked upon himself in self-pity, that he would not have the control. His instructor, Jauran Nytora, ad been appointed by Canada. Canada had learned much about the accursed man who lived in that city, the man who had all the strength of white magic at his command. Nytora had warned both himself and Canada, and Monteruebeau had felt his presence. Now, the man had stolen his only power. And though Monteruebeau sought revenge, he would never be able to make that threat real. Not anymore.
Monteruebeau covered his face with his hands, silently cursing Qui Chang Caine.
Tonya nodded, then said, "I know the officers on duty went over the crime scene of the second murder, but I really want to go over it again."
"I don't see a problem with that," Kermit said from where he sat at the computer.
She nodded. "Good. Well, this is what I found out from Caine: the herb that was in he first body is also in the second. And it's only used in specific ceremonies. You have to be of a certain single clan to use it. It is considered evil to allow anyone not in the clan to eat the herb or inhale it in smoked form. He said that that was the reason the victims had the herbs in their stomachs. They were not of the clan, so, to promote evil, they were made to eat them. Caine said it was one more factor against them and their deaths. Witchcraft, I guess. But that's a very good lead."
Kermit responded as he began to shut the computer down. "Yes. We need to find someone from Africa who is in that clan. But not now." He put his trench coat on and took his gun from the desk on the other side of the room. "If we're going to look at that crime scene, we need to get to it before the rain washes whatever's there away."